The Pygmalion Effect
He lifts up both his hands to feel the work,and wonders if it can be ivory,because it seems to him more truly flesh. --his mind refusing to conceive of itas ivory, he kisses it and feelshis kisses are returned. And speaking love,caresses it with loving hands that seemto make an impress, on the parts they touch,so real that he fears he then may bruiseher by his eager pressing.~Ovid, Metamorphosis
Throughout most of my academic life I was a good student in the most common usage of that term: I managed pretty good grades. I did receive a few clinkers here and there, but for the most part I was a solid A-B student. During my sophomore year in high school, mom convinced me to take a typing class, because, she reasoned, it would help me when I had papers to write for college. Fair enough, I thought, but on our first day of class, the teacher, a seasoned typing teacher, told us, "If you're a boy, the best grade you can expect is a C. Your fingers are just too big and clumsy."
Well this was news. I'd never been told anything other than "the sky's the limit." Recalling this today as a middle class white man, I can see how much that was a function of simply being a white male, but at the time I treated it as a novel experienced. There were no particular expectations on me and I lived up to them, not only receiving and C, but doing the quality of work and giving an effort that barely deserved a C.
This is a very obvious example of a very well-researched CONTINUE READING: Teacher Tom: The Pygmalion Effect
