Not Creepy, Just Brazilian

So there I was in the computer lab with my students yesterday. The lab tech was helping them with some persnickety TOEFL software, and I was getting myself set up to be productive while they moved through Kaplan's TOEFL tutorials on their own. The next thing I know, the tech has his arm on the back of my chair, his other hand on the top of my monitor and is leaning with his head next to mine. Just as I'm beginning to panic, "Teacher," he says, "What do I have to do if I want to study in the U.S.?"

"Whew," I thought as I clamped down on the panic reflex. "He's not creepy, he's just Brazilian."

Intellectually, I know that the minimal amount of personal space necessary for comfort is a variable defined by culture, and when my students and colleagues join me in my personal space, it's okay. In fact, the novelty is refreshing. When I was teaching high school, I had to train myself not to touch students as I worked with them, and the Koreans I sometiems teach at the university level work together to erect a fortified barricade between the students and the teacher.
Not until now have I realized how aloof Americans can be. We might smile or shake hands, but not much more than that. Touch can be a simple yet powerful tool to request attention, to show compassion, to share joy, yet in American workplaces and schools, we deny ourselves this form of communication for fear that it will be misunderstood or, worse, misused.

Ultimately, the tech and I had a nice conversation about the elaborate hoops and reams of paperwork required for an international student to study English or music in the United States. He's a blues guitarist, acoustic as well as electric, an informal music teacher with some area children, a skilled computer lab technician, and a proficient speaker of English. Eventually, he got tired of leaning and squatted next to me, still surrounding my personal space with his arms on my chair and computer. It was an act of will not to let my discomfort rise above slight tremor. The words not creepy, just brazilian were flowing through my head like a mantra.

At dinner, I told this story to a Brazilian colleague who has just returned from 16 years in the United States. When he stopped laughing, he commended my self control.