It's Too Hard to Say Goodbye

I have had my car for 14 years. It is my first car and it has gone everywhere with me--or rather taken me everywhere. I drove it to my first graduate school classes, pushing the gas to make it to Shakespeare's Comedies and Tragedies on time. It went with me to College Town where it sat outside my very first apartment and braved the ridiculous winters, never once groaning because of the many feet of snow nor throwing me into a spin-a-round when we encountered ice. I welcomed my new husband into the passenger seat (more often driver's seat--and that's not a metaphor in any way). I parked it in front of the building of my new job as an English Professor having just earned my Ph.D. I drove it back and forth from my apartment to my new house, transporting clothes and crafting materials and boxes upon boxes of books. Later,my car reliably took me to the hospital regularly to sit with my daughter as she battled it out in the NICU. And eventually, many months later, I nervously, cautiously drove her to the babysitter on our first solo ride together. Just the other day, as I picked The Popcorn up from school, she ran to a car that was the same color as my car thinking it was my car and revealing that she is learning to distinguish it from other cars. My car has been with me for a long time.

But, now, in spite of its almost-problem free history, it is starting to have some problems. It doesn't always go forward immediately after I press the accelerator and sometimes, it will not only stall, but go backward. It pains me, but we have started looking for a new car.

I want something the same size as my car--economy-size--but DH wants a mid-size car. Really, he wants a cross-over, but that's not going to happen. We went car shopping this past weekend and I test drove a Volkswagen Jetta. Ever since I was a non-licensed teenager, I thought I would want a Jetta. The ride was okay, but I had to press harder on the accelerator than I was used to in order to make it accelerate. DH was concerned that when he had to drive the car, he would not be able to fit in comfortably on long trips. My brother said he should be able to fit; he would just have to leave his manhood outside. Jokes. He got jokes. Anyway,I guess the Jetta is out.

My mother-in-law tried to help me out by telling DH that a professor should be driving a Mercedes. We looked at a sweet white one online. I could see myself behind the wheel in that, shades on, radio playing Nina Simone. Bringing sexy back to the English professors. DH said professors don't drive Mercedes; they ride bikes. I could only laugh because it's true. Especially for someone making an English prof's salary.

So, where does this leave me? I'm taking my car to a transmission shop today and hopefully they tell me, "Oh, you just have this minor (read: cheap) issue and we can fix that right away." Leaving me many more years and miles to go in my car. Maybe, just maybe, it will last long enough for The Popcorn to not only distinguish it from other cars, but eventually drive it, too. Okay, I know that's just wishful thinking.

Use Your Words

So I'm working on my syllabi and assignments (well, not right now--right now I'm avoiding work and writing this post). I'm always excited about the narrative assignment. It is often the best writing from students and the most interesting. But sometimes it's hard to read because they disclose so many personal and painful stories that, eventually, I just felt like I couldn't handle it anymore. I want to solicit happier stories this time around, and I'm trying to figure out how to do that without literally saying, "Don't make me cry and freak me out, people!"

I also thought that maybe I would write my own response to the assignment so that they will have an example of what I want since I won't have a student example for this new assignment. I thought of a story that happened recently:

Not long after we moved into our new house, The Hubby was moving around boxes and exploring the nooks and crannies. He found a note from the original owners--yep! the family who lived here close to twenty years ago. It was a note from the mother to her daughter. It was a short expression on a cutesy sticky note. She wanted this young girl to know that her mother thought she was bright and loving--and loved. She told her that she was growing into a wonderful young woman (we figure the daughter must have been about ten or twelve years old) and that she (the mother) was having a fabulous time raising her.

I was crying as I thought about what that would have meant to a little girl. Actually, I'm crying right now as I'm writing this . . . . What a sweet gesture. It doesn't just express love. It's a seed of confidence and strength in a world that constantly tells girls that we're not enough, or too much, or wrong in some fundamental way. Who could this girl be, with a concrete reminder that in her home she was safe and valuable? Who could my daughter be, also raised in this house?

When we had our house blessing, I thought of the moments of joy and sadness and laughter that must have filled this home in the last decades. I imagined that the words of the blessing--peace, joy, comfort, safety--went out into each room and took root. This family wasn't the only one that lived here before we moved in; but I saw us as part of the history of this house. The house was in great condition and had clearly been well taken care of. I remember hoping that the people who lived here were also well taken care of.

What a beautiful example of the power of language! I really wish we could find these people and give that note to this girl, now a grown woman. And I wish we could see who she turned into.

Lit Happens

So, The Diva and I are kicking it together at a gigantic grading marathon. It's PhDs gone wild over here! We're pooped and it's not even over yet. Clearly, I am a complete idiot. I just completed a grading marathon on my own campus before starting this one. Still, it's always cool to hang out with a girlfriend. We saw Sex and the City 2 while we had a free second. The Diva thought it "so-so" but I really liked it. I cried when Charlotte and Miranda were talking (and sipping) about motherhood. It was a really beautiful and honest moment that only real friends and mothers could share. I'm also glad that they acknowledged their privilege in employing help--that's especially true when neither of them is compelled to work for money.
Other realizations during the gigantic grading marathon:

• There are many, many, many ways to express the EXACT same idea.
• Premium ice cream heals all wounds.
• I need time away from my family sometimes, but it only takes a second for me to really miss them.
• Wuthering Heights is not the go-to text after you've just read about 4 million very questionably written student essays.
• Sitting around with your girlfriend, doing basically nothing, is lots of fun when you are (practically) middle-aged.
• You might want to mentally devise an escape plan for when your cab driver takes some unknown residential route and you think he may be taking you to his own house where he will abduct and disembowel you. Just in case. It helps to crazy paranoid and have a friend join in.
• People who teach English and English-related fields come in two camps: neat, buttoned-up, bookish types or bohemian, artsy, colorful rebel types. It's generally immediately clear which camp someone belongs in. Except for The Diva and me--we're a little of both. :)

The Reviews are In: All Confused and Such

I just received my evaluations. It's nice that I could have electronic copies, which means that I have them now, as opposed to finding them at some random point when I'm on campus again. Clearly, though, it would have been useful to have had them earlier. Or perhaps it just would have been confusing.

In general, the review are good. I had an overwhelming number of "Strongly Agree" responses for most areas. They reflect the vibe I got while the classes were going on and afterward, when goo-gobs of students returned for rec letters. It also reflects the number of students in the spring who enrolled in my courses as a result of recommendations from friends. But there are some stupefying moments:

• More than one person indicated that they did not use the library--not even electronically! What?! We had a research paper! How does that work, without using the library????
• Someone was unsatisfied with "revisions." But I have no idea what that means. Did the student not like the fact revisions were allowed? Or was he/she upset that she/he was not allowed to do revisions (in which case he/she did not read the syllabus, which clearly spelled out the revision policy and the "dissatisfaction" is really unfair.) One word answers are not useful!
• More than one student indicated that they really liked a text from the very beginning of the term. I didn't think they liked it or that it was entirely related, so I omitted it from the list for the next term. Guess I need to think about adding it again.
• I was glad that there were fewer personal comments than I sometimes get. Those are often not attacking, but I never really know what to do when students critique my personhood.

In general, I'm pleased with the feedback, and I'm so happy that students are saying that they learn in my classes! Mostly, I'm glad that many students are enjoying this almost as much as I am. Yay!

Another Manic Monday

After I spent the entire weekend grading the enormous stack of papers that seems to keep multiplying, I walk into class today and NOT ONE of these sorry, so-called students has read! It was a quick sample of letters to the editor that would have taken 5 seconds to go over and they didn't do it. This, after I sent an email last week explaining where to find it electronically and which selections to read for which day. "Well, I didn't know which day the letters were for, " one of them whined. So you decide it's best to read NOTHING? I seriously could have spit on them.

I remember distinctly when something like this happened when I was an undergrad and the professor just walked out. We sat there for a few minutes and then declared class over and skipped off to our now free afternoon. So I knew better than to just walk out, as badly as I wanted to. I went and made copies of the reading and made them write out answers to boring questions for each reading and turn them in. Do I need to say that I will not actually be reading what they wrote? Plus, we were supposed to write our own sort of ranting letters in class, which I thought would be kinda fun, but now they are adding that to their homework for next class.

These are generally good students, certainly some of the most promising I've had since I've been teaching, and I'm very glad to have a job at all (I just had the anniversary of the masscre, after all), but they better be glad I didn't have pepper spray on me. Arrrggg!

Seriously?! First class of the day--no reading. Last class of the day--no reading. I'm going home. Nothing for me to do here.

Zinn, Salinger, and my students

So, it looks like this is one of those times that, sadly, proves the rule that bad things happen in threes--we've now lost three insightful, artistic geniuses this month. Howard Zinn and J. D. Salinger joined Teddy Pendergrass in leaving the world a little better than they found it.

I was glancing through the remembrances and personal reflections of the work of Zinn and Salinger. Many people had their own threshold moments about how their words changed one's perspective on the world or how their ideas connected deeply to another's sense of isolation. It might seem odd that I throw all three of these men together, but the truth is that they challenged the way we see the world. They made us ask the questions that force a look at our collective humanity: Do I matter? Do other people matter to me? Am I loved? Will my love be returned? Am I free enough to be unguarded? There's something so fearless about their work, all in their own ways. I'm amazed.

As I am meeting with students this week, I'm also feeling pretty amazed at their fearlessness. They are writing literacy narratives and I've asked them to think about moments when writing or language helped them overcome silencing. Their stories are poignant and moving and, too often for only 18 years old, painful. Seriously painful. Rape and suicide and violence and death kind of painful. I can't believe they are telling me this stuff (and several times I have wished they they would please stop telling me this stuff! Geesh!).

The point I think I am left with is that words matter. I know. That's simple and cliche. But I hope that my students realize the raw truth of that idea. Words, even their words, can change the world.

"First of the . . .": RBOC on beginning a new semester

For some very strange reason, I keep hearing Bone Thugs 'n Harmony's "It's the First of the Month" in my head.

Actually, it's the first day of class. Not quite the same thing. Plus, it's almost the middle of the month.

I was so nervous last night. I keep hoping that at some point that will go away. But every semester I have a hard time sleeping the night before and I have to check all the paperwork a bunch of times. My stomach is all butterflies. I don't know what it is, but it's both exciting and vomit-inducing, the nerves.

Anyway, I'm please at how the day is going. My fabulous, exciting class on a favorite author looks as if it will make. There were only four students registered last night, so I was elated that there were seven people there when I walked in. Three of them were from last semester, so I'm going to take that as a compliment. My composition classes are totally full, but we've been instructed not to overload anyone into our classes, so I'm happy to turn down the beggars. I foolishly let people in last semester and I wanted to slap them by mid-term. Three comps is a LOT of grading and I should not have invited more--after all, it's the worst part of the job. This time, the cap is the cap is the cap and you can't override the cap because it's the cap. Sorry. Find another section, chick.

Also excited because I bought a new space heater for my office. It's freezing in there, and it seems to only be my office. Now I don't have to swaddle myself in a big wrap. It's toasty!

Blessings to everyone who's beginning anew. May you all have brilliant, hard-working students, fast grading, and upbeat colleagues!

Know Your Audience

In my composition classes, I teach my students about the rhetorical triangle and the significance of knowing one's audience. By the end of the lesson, I hope they understand that as with a triangle, there is an interconnectedness between the writer, the audience, the purpose and ultimately, the text. You cannot ignore the relationship between either of these entities if you desire to be effective. For instance, the writer must understand why he/she is writing and what his/her goal is in doing so. Also, the writer must consider what the audience expects to receive when they read/hear the text. This latter part is part of knowing your audience. Knowing whom you are communicating with, what their relationship is to you, what they want and what they value.

I think Miss California USA could have benefited from being in my class.

On Sunday night, Carrie Prejean was asked by gossip blogger and pageant judge Perez Hilton, "Vermont recently became the 4th state to legalize same-sex marriage. Do you think every state should follow suit. Why or why not?”

Now, her answer could have manifested itself in myriad ways. She could have given a non-answer ("I believe states should consider what they should do in this matter and ultimately work toward world peace") or a carefully worded pageant answer ("Isn't it all, in the end, about world peace?") or she could give the polarizing, I-decided-I-don't-want-to-win answer that she gave.

Hey, I am all for people standing up for their beliefs and their principles, but unless her purpose (to win the competition) changed mid-stream, she should have given an answer that showed she knew her audience.

I have heard that the pageant audience was filled with openly gay individuals; whether this was true or not, we know that the judge asking the question is openly gay. Why would she just flat out say she believes marriage should be between a man and a woman only? Aren't pageant contestants the queens of evasive answers? She could have said, "As a Christian--" some have said this is polarizing, too, but that's not this post--"As a Christian, I believe God gives humanity the choice to make their own decisions about whom to marry. Who am I to say what that choice should be?" (This is true. Doesn't God give us free will? Whatever we do with that free will is between the individual and God, for right or wrong.) Or she could have said, "I understand people have their varying opinions about it. This is a highly controversial topic and one that I can assure you will not be resolved tonight. " (Okay, I concede that is a non-answer answer and she might not have gotten away with it.) I just don't think the answer she gave was a good one considering her audience and their expectations of her as the speaker (she's the queen from California, no less).

And even if she changed her purpose by the question-and-answer period and decided that speaking up for what she believed in was more important, wouldn't winning the competition have given her a better platform for her ideas and achieving that purpose to a greater degree?

Prejean is a real life manifestation of what I try to communicate to my students: English is not just about split infinitives, thesis statements, and analyzing Huck Finn as a metaphor for America's lost youth; English is about thinking and interacting and living one's best life. And if you apply the principles, you will be a winner (not just a runner-up).