Something Gorgeous
I know you always want me to name names in my stories, but you wouldn't know this name--although a few of the teachers-who-came-back might. Nonetheless, each time I get to page six of The Great Gatsby (my edition does NOT have Leo DiCaprio's face on it), I think of this kid.
It was over a decade ago--maybe even fifteen years. It was August, first period, day one of school. This kid came in, "Good morning, Mr. Waterhouse. How are you?" He had this way, too, of nodding his head and smiling as he spoke. Just odd. A bit unnerving. Now, as you know, I make it a point to remain completely aloof from Freshmen and Sophomores. This greeting and the manner in which it was given left me a bit frightened. In other words, "Who is this punk and what exactly does he want?"
As class ended, he sprang to the door and held it open for everyone. When his last classmate had exited, he said, "Have a nice day, Mr. Waterhouse." Nodding. Smiling. Frightening me.
And he did this every single day.
After about two weeks, I concluded this was not an act. This kid was indeed ridiculously kind and polite. Deep in my cynical mind, however, I imagined something a little more raw and honest suddenly emerging, perhaps at 9:00 some random Tuesday he would smile and nod as the door started to shut and say, "I hope you go straight to the devil, you lousy sack of garbage!"
But he didn't. He maintained.
Like Gatsby.
"If personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures, there was something gorgeous about him..."
Let's define personality as "the way others think we are" or "the way we are perceived." This is established, according to our novel, but "an unbroken series of successful gestures." That "unbroken series" part is easy. My student did the same thing every day--greeted me in a kind and civil manner and wished me the best as he departed. Every day. I was suspicious of his motives for weeks. I'm not used to people being kind to me; quite frankly, it makes me a little uncomfortable. But he did it long enough that I was comfortable with it. More than that, I responded in kind and with confidence. He could have easily called me a "sack of garbage" at any moment and broken the series. He could have just simply NOT been ridiculously polite at one point and the subsequent act would have been less successful.
Gesture is a little different. Usually, we associate the word with a certain longish finger with a certain common and not so nice gesture. I can imagine, as we dry out from recent rains, a situation in which that gesture MIGHT be used. Or might NOT. And the GESTURE used would serve to define personality.
Imagine we were back on campus (it's easy if you try!) and I was scurrying to my truck after school. You see me and you are behind the wheel of YOUR car. You see between me and my truck a puddle. You grin in an evil manner, accelerate, swerve, and splash me. My REACTION is one of recoil. Cold, dirty water hit me. The GESTURE is after the reaction. It's the moment thought comes into play. Would I extend a single digit or laugh and wave the whole hand?
By now you know I would laugh and wave the whole hand. That's the gesture. And I hope that I've successfully executed enough similar gestures that you would have faith in it.
I would also hope that you wouldn't splash me in that manner, but that's not something I can control.
The question posed by all this is quite profound. Is personality REAL? Is there anything about us that isn't simply built out of nothing?
You will find that Gatsby isn't Gatsby. I'm not going to "spoil" anything, but he did create himself--and that is both his greatness and his tragedy. Both this greatness and this tragedy are encapsulated in his single brief appearance at the end of chapter one.
It was over a decade ago--maybe even fifteen years. It was August, first period, day one of school. This kid came in, "Good morning, Mr. Waterhouse. How are you?" He had this way, too, of nodding his head and smiling as he spoke. Just odd. A bit unnerving. Now, as you know, I make it a point to remain completely aloof from Freshmen and Sophomores. This greeting and the manner in which it was given left me a bit frightened. In other words, "Who is this punk and what exactly does he want?"
As class ended, he sprang to the door and held it open for everyone. When his last classmate had exited, he said, "Have a nice day, Mr. Waterhouse." Nodding. Smiling. Frightening me.
And he did this every single day.
After about two weeks, I concluded this was not an act. This kid was indeed ridiculously kind and polite. Deep in my cynical mind, however, I imagined something a little more raw and honest suddenly emerging, perhaps at 9:00 some random Tuesday he would smile and nod as the door started to shut and say, "I hope you go straight to the devil, you lousy sack of garbage!"
But he didn't. He maintained.
Like Gatsby.
"If personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures, there was something gorgeous about him..."
Let's define personality as "the way others think we are" or "the way we are perceived." This is established, according to our novel, but "an unbroken series of successful gestures." That "unbroken series" part is easy. My student did the same thing every day--greeted me in a kind and civil manner and wished me the best as he departed. Every day. I was suspicious of his motives for weeks. I'm not used to people being kind to me; quite frankly, it makes me a little uncomfortable. But he did it long enough that I was comfortable with it. More than that, I responded in kind and with confidence. He could have easily called me a "sack of garbage" at any moment and broken the series. He could have just simply NOT been ridiculously polite at one point and the subsequent act would have been less successful.
Gesture is a little different. Usually, we associate the word with a certain longish finger with a certain common and not so nice gesture. I can imagine, as we dry out from recent rains, a situation in which that gesture MIGHT be used. Or might NOT. And the GESTURE used would serve to define personality.
Imagine we were back on campus (it's easy if you try!) and I was scurrying to my truck after school. You see me and you are behind the wheel of YOUR car. You see between me and my truck a puddle. You grin in an evil manner, accelerate, swerve, and splash me. My REACTION is one of recoil. Cold, dirty water hit me. The GESTURE is after the reaction. It's the moment thought comes into play. Would I extend a single digit or laugh and wave the whole hand?
By now you know I would laugh and wave the whole hand. That's the gesture. And I hope that I've successfully executed enough similar gestures that you would have faith in it.
I would also hope that you wouldn't splash me in that manner, but that's not something I can control.
The question posed by all this is quite profound. Is personality REAL? Is there anything about us that isn't simply built out of nothing?
You will find that Gatsby isn't Gatsby. I'm not going to "spoil" anything, but he did create himself--and that is both his greatness and his tragedy. Both this greatness and this tragedy are encapsulated in his single brief appearance at the end of chapter one.
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