I once had an introverted student who painted his fingernails black and doodled lines from Marilyn Manson songs in his notebooks. Colleagues were alarmed, the school chaplain was notified and his parents were called for an interview. There was grave concern for his wellbeing. The young man began blackening his lips and wearing mascara. As his tutor it was my duty to help him (i.e. reorient his deviant meandering). I was confused. My heart wasn’t in telling him he was wrong. My own sense of ...
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