RBOC--start of the year, start of the term

• My afternoon class is always turned up to 10. It's a rare semester when that class is sedate or quiet. Last semester, a group of them yelled my name and commented on my outfit each day when I came into the room. This term, they mostly stared at me like they were bored. Second week of class and I've already had to give the evil eye/you're pissing me off look to a student taking out her phone. Questions hang in the air like a bad smell. I may have to start eating chocolate during class before it's over with.
• I've exhausted most of the television series I wanted to watch on Netflix. That makes me sad. Binge-watching Netflix has become quite dear to me. I started Twin Peaks, since I didn't watch it originally. I don't know if it's worth continuing. We'll see.
• The department somehow ended up with several first year students who don't have a composition course to enroll in. All of the sections are full, so new ones have to be created. But a number of students came begging to be overloaded into my sections. They balked at the idea of finding a class taught by a different instructor. A couple said that the material I chose for my classes was right up their ally. That made me feel really good, especially since I often feel like the work I do in the classroom means nothing to anyone but me. Of course, I still sent them out of my office to find another class.
• The pastor of the church we attend asked the membership to fast this month. Skipping meals gives headaches, so I was going to fast from sugar. Then I made a cup of hot tea and the honey was coming out too slowly. So I used sugar. Then I decided to fast from candy only. That's probably not really what the pastor had in mind, and it's probably rather pathetic, but it's the best I can do. And since there people keep leaving mini-chocolate candies on the lobby desk, it's not a small thing to resist.

Why I Love First Year Students

While they also annoy me and are prone to toatlly losing their way without warning, first year students are refreshingly, well, fresh.

They say things like, "Is it okay if we read ahead on the syllabus?"

or

"Can I volunteer for that?"

or

"Can I see you in your office hours?"

Isn't that interesting?

After teaching for a while, a few things have become commonplace. I will have a student named Brittney (or Brittany or Brittanee). And one named Ashley. And one with strange colored hair. And one from Chicago.

Except this semester I had a class in which not one student was from Chicago. Or any state in the Midwest. I know because we did an icebreaker.

But you know who was in that class? Two students born with six fingers on each hand.

TWO of them!

Isn't that interesting?

Thoughts not quite related to Easter

• Okay, fine. I'm about half way through The Help and, well, it's getting better. I'm kind of, almost interested. Oh, and I've found some African American women who do actually like it. Some people might think that this means I was wrong, but it doesn't, okay?


• It's near the semester's end and the sentence "I just want to talk to you about my grade" rings through the hallway outside the department office doors.


• Again, who are the people who are seriously interested in the royal wedding? I think journalists are insisting that Americans want to know so that they can take a trip themselves.


• Trying again to relay the resurrection story to my children. I thought it would be more and more difficult as they grew older and understood more, but they absorb it and are less freaked out by it than I thought. That makes me happy.

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.

Getting some things off my chest

So, old people at the gym: Congratulations on still being able to get around and everything. But could you not annoy me with your annoying, narrow political rhetoric while I'm on the treadmill? It's already pretty unpleasant that I'm still gaining half a pound on the regular despite my time on said treadmill. Your self-involved and greedy ideology isn't helping. Move to the machine on the other side of the room, please. Or just shut up.

The Diva: If you need a wife, I guess I need a nanny. The Babydoll just wrote a note to me that read, "To Mommy. I don't like you. From The Babydoll." I told her that it hurt my feelings, so she sighed, then returned with a note that read, "I like you." I'm thinking this is going to show up in her Freshman Composition literacy narrative assignment.

Abusive parents and other jackholes: What the yuck is wrong with you???!! I watched Tyler Perry on Oprah and seriously wanted to cut off some folks' hands . . . and other parts. Human beings were not created for this kind of evil. Someone should have protected the little boy that Perry was. His stories are so raw (which makes me wonder why his writing isn't better). I keep wondering if there's some child who I see regularly who's wishing that I would be the one to protect him.

Students who either didn't read or just didn't come to class today: I realize that there is a big game tomorrow. Yes--Tomorrow. Today is class. And we covered Douglass today. Douglass! You should be ashamed.

DVR: I hear you calling me. I'm coming soon. I miss you, too. Smooches!

"That's Gay"

Over the years I've had students who have willingly exposed their sexual difference in my classes. I've had students who I suspected were struggling with their sexuality. I've had students who were clear about their own sexuality and who were painfullly clear about other people's sexuality, too. I've even had a student, no joke, whose gender I was pretty unsure of during the entire term. I hope that I've been able to make my classroom a place where students don't have to be afraid of being intentially hurt, for any reason. I hope that I'm getting it right. I know that there have been times when I clearly did not. I'm working on it. But we've been looking at a text recently that forces our discussion of sexuality and I've been afraid that the students who are homosexual are uncomfortable, not because of mean or homophobic comments; just because there are all these words and thoughts flying through the air and they seem to land on them specifically. Still, I don't want to force us to be silent as a class. That's worse.

A post over at CocoMamas today makes it palpably and poignantly clear why we HAVE to get it right. I hope you'll take a look.

Introductions

So, I had my first day of class. It was a good day. I enjoyed my students in that"undefeated season, before the first big game" kind of way.

I tried a new introduction activity this time. In addition to their names, hometowns, and standard info, I asked them to say who would play them in the movie of their lives. This is something everyone's thought about, right? But some of them couldn't answer. They had no idea. So I gave them the option to name, instead, their theme songs. For a couple of them, this was too difficult, too. One student asked, "Who thinks about this kind of stuff?" Well, obviously I do! I thought that was odd. I've been trying to come up with a theme song since that episode of "Ally McBeal". And I've known for years who should play me . . . probably in a Lifetime movie. Plus, I told them, I have a friend who has a theme song, an actress in mind, and a personal emblem. (Isn't that right, The Diva?!)

Nevertheless, the day was good. I'm satisfied and feel like I'm back in the swing of things. On that notes, I'll go prepare for the next class.

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!

And Then . . .

Just as I'm getting riled up into a good vent about my annoying students (one of whom told me that I use the word "annoyed" an awful lot) one of them shows up today to bring a gift to me. She's one of the ones who totally gets it--she's bright and hard working and sure of herself without being closed to suggestions. She wanted to thank me for writing a string of rec letters and helping with a couple of other opportunities. She's really a wonderful student and genuinely nice person, so I truly hope that she is successful with every position she's going for.

That meant the world to me.

This Is How I Know I'm Old

I'm reading through the mountain of end of term pieces from composition students. All year I've heard what seems like an extra amount of complaints and griping from students. Therefore, it doesn't surprise me that, left to write about whatever they want, many of them would vent.

I find myself frustrated, though, with their short-sightedness and lack of logic. They fail to make connections between, for instance, the benefits of attending a small liberal arts institution and the disadvantage of limited campus dining options. Or between demanding they be treated like adults and resenting a community service requirement that means they often have to go off campus. Professors want too much work! Not enough scholarship money! The speakers who come here are boring! I hate my new friends!

Even if the speakers are positively world-renowned, most 18 year olds wouldn't know who they are or if they are important. Time has made it very clear to me that who we are at the beginning of our adulthood may not who we are in the middle of it--thank goodness! But they are so unforgiving of other people!

I can only chalk it up to the folly of youth. They don't even know what they don't know. "You are sooooo young!" I think every time I hear a new complaint. I wish I could be more forgiving, too. But I want them to see how much they are growing, appreciate all the newness of college life, and DO something with all of the information and experiences offered them. Maybe it just takes my own patience to watch them in the coming years. They'll get there. Right?

What the what?: Questions from grading jail

• How can I take some project and pimp it out for the next couple of decades like Candace Bushnell?
• How can I tell if non-traditional students are serious when they claim that they are "Just really confused" about citation methods and "don't understand" the problem with taking 90% of an article, plopping it in your essay without quotations marks, and inserting totally different names in the parentheticals?
• How can I explain to publishers that my book project is actually much better than Lil' Wayne's ex-wife's book (oh, wait--she's so much more than his ex-wife; now she's an authoress)?
• How can I get all of my besties to move to my city since now one good friend is applying for a position at my institution?
• How can I get a CT scan of Henry Louis Gates' head to see what's wrong with him for suggesting that American slavery (and Jim Crow too, I guess) is everybody's fault and nobody's fault?
• How can I keep from killing the lovely herbs that I've just discovered in my new backyard?

Saying thanks again

Over at academic writing, the discussion was about saying "Thank you." That's been on my mind again lately, so I'll repeat what I wrote on her page

I asked my class to do a check-in exercise that I like to do at mid-term. I asked them to write down what they thought was working in the class and what they thought was not meeting their needs. That lead us down a series of paths and they started to talk about graduating. They were so moved and spoke with such angst about leaving that one of them had to leave the room. This institution, they said, has nurtured them and helped them grow, taught them and pushed them. Their friendships and their professors were important in ways that they would never again experience in quite the same way. They didn't want to leave. (Incidentally, my daughter asked last night why babies had to leave come out of their mommies's tummies. Can't they just stay in if they want? she asked. I thought my students seemed to be asked a similar question.) It was gut-wrenching. And yet, I felt so proud to be playing any small role in the experience that was shaping these students. And to top it off, more than one of them said that they really liked my class and were learning a lot.

So, thank you, thank you, thank you to my students today! I needed that!

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.

Manic Monday

Just when your day feels like it's going head first into the crapper, a few brilliant students show up.

Today did not begin well. We had sort of a lazy weekend, mostly at home, but we are in the middle of house-buying and that decision is totally freaking me out. I'm the worst decision maker you'll ever meet, so I'm scared to death to pull the trigger. What if it's the wrong house? Wrong neighborhood? The schools turn into Eastside High? (from Lean on Me) Our neighbors hate us (incidentally, one of the neighbors has turned out to be my current department chair!) That has been running through my head while I was running through the house trying to get ready and get the children ready; we were all sleepy because they wouldn't stay in bed last night, in part due to someone shooting off firecrackers, which make my daughter's teeth chatter, literally. Anyway, the house, plus potty training that isn't really going anywhere--did you know that a little boy can pee through the crack between the toilet seat and the bowl?--was churning into a hot cup of crap.

But I'm glad that I read the Our Daily Bread devotional this morning. It noted that the original list of deadly sins listed sadness because Christians are supposed to have a joyful heart. So I figured I should climb out of this emotional ditch before I left the house but it didn't really happen. I was laboring to avoid meltdowns all the way to the front door, and I didn't do it with grace and love, let me tell you.

The first class of the day was annoyingly quiet during the writing workshop, so I was concerned that the writers wouldn't get the help they needed. Of course, a digression into Lifetime's The Pregnancy Pact (which, apparently, is going to come up in every single class today) got things perked up pretty quickly. But then one of the bunches of students who have reappeared from the fall to ask for rec letters came to bring a thank you note. She drew pictures on it herself! It was all brightly colored and cheery. Man, did I need that! Then, I met with my majors and they were smart and on top of things. And they were clearly impressed with my insights into the novel. At one point I suggested an interesting connection and one of them said, "And that's why you have a PhD! That's so smart!" Yay for me!

So maybe I'm not just a loser who can't pull it together. Of course, the day is young . . . .

"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!

End of Semester Rant

Beloved students,

I've been having a fabulous time prying your brains open and pouring in my brilliant professorly thoughts. However.

I'm tired and ready for the holidays and I don't need a bunch of bull stinky, okay? So along with the list of what you should submit in these last few classes, here is a list of what you should not bring to class with you:

• A snotty, know-it-all attitude. Yes, you must do the peer review. Because I said so. Because you need someone to tell you that your citations are completely wrong before I see them and give your paper to my coughing, runny-nose child to play with because I'm so annoyed. Because maybe if you learn to edit someone else's paper you'll accidentally learn to edit your own. Because you are supposed to be contributing to the community of learners, even if your own is perfect, which it isn't. And because I said so. And I'm the one with three degrees. You're the one with no degrees and some credit hours. No, wait--you don't even have credit hours until the end of the semester.
• A request to let you--and you only--resubmit an assignment or take another crack at something that you already had two chances to do. There is a built-in system for that. It's called revision and it's outlined in the syllabus. Sorry you forgot. I'm very busy, too. So I'm going to forget that you made this request.
• An annoying question that doesn't deserve an answer. Do you have to turn that in? Yes. Why do I want to see it? To be sure that you did it. Actually, I'm marking your progress, but you don't deserve that answer. What am I going to do with it? Well, I'll be throwing yours in the trash. Ha, ha. Sorry, was that audible sigh also a question?
• An assignment in which you say that all of your classes are pointless and useless in helping you prepare for a career. Did you look up the definition of a liberal arts education before you arrived, deary? Do you know we're doing here? I don't care enough to explain that to you, but you really should find out. And you should do it before, as some time-worn Southern women have been known to say, someone sees you rolling your eyes and snatches you bald headed.
• Your relative. Actually, going to my sister's teacher to ask about her progress and what she needs to do to pass the class is actually something I would do. But it's inappropriate. Loving, but waaaaay inappropriate.

Can't wait to see you all next week!

Is It Just Me?

Is it just me, or are my students really, really interested in sex?

We are working on research papers and the number of topics having to do with sex is pretty high. In particular, I have about a thousand papers on sex education. Clearly, these people want to know what the deal is, and they wanted to know by middle school. It's intriguing to me. They have such a plethora of easily accessible information, but they feel locked out and kept in the dark. Maybe they need an informed way to interpret the media onslaught so prevalent in their lives. I'm also intrigued by the number of topics on teenage pregnancy, especially the fact that many of them report bunches and bunches of examples from their high schools, and they have been disappointed with the way those cases were handled, both by the students and by the adults. There are also a fair number of papers on same-sex marriage and homosexuality, which technically doesn't have to do with sex, but I'm getting the idea that most of them are so over this debate; for better or for worse, they just think everyone should get over themselves and let folks get married.

I realize that the early adult years (or late teenage ones, perhaps) present a biological imperative to have as much sex as possible--or as The Diva noted after her biology class, "Your body is always trying to get you pregnant!"--so maybe that explains it. Or maybe I'm old and more interested in sleep. If they knew what I know, they'd be stocking up on it now, too, because it seems to me that opportunities for both sex and sleep go downhill the older you get. Is that just me, too?

First Time for Everything

There's a first time for everything, right? Today marked:

• the first time my daughter spontaneously told me she loves me. I nearly had a sobbing fit. She has said "I love you" to her father and her brother without prompting, but never to me. I spent Sunday and Monday near death and face down in the pillow with migraines, but she came to rub my back; today she kissed my forehead and asked me if I was okay now. I asked why she kissed me, and she said, "Because I love you." I'm crying right now . . . .
• the first time I had a student throw up in class. It was lovely. It was the last class of the day and I was a hand sanitizing fool all morning, directing coughing and suspiciously nasal looking students to sit on the other side of the room. I was inclined to comfort this regurgitating girl from across the room; instead I threw caution to the wind and rubbed her back and felt her head for fever. But I sent a student with her to the infirmary. After all, I'm not actually your mother.

Maybe both have something to with today as the first 09/09/09? Oh, wait--it's not the first, huh?