Is it December yet?

Well, I didn't get any papers marked today, but I did read half the sabbatical applications--and met with two frustrated students from the Short Story class. I started the day with an interesting meeting of an ad-hoc committee; I won't say much about it here (shhhh, the possibility of spies from administration monitoring what I do on this computer), but I did volunteer for one small task. Small, really (I hasten to add, hearing a groan of disappointment from the crowd: she missed the punt!)--and I volunteered largely because my friend Kristin has done 99.9% of the work for the committee so far, and I could tell she was about to take this other piece on, too. I'm not sure this task goes on the triage list, but it's probably one of those "I can't be in student minds any longer without going bonkers, but I need to keep working for a while" bits.

It's a good thing I was feeling good about accomplishments when I went to class, as I ended up having a mini-rant at the earlier 102 class. No one wanted to volunteer an answer from today's homework, and someone said they all were scared of me--and then one of the students who had been bitching about grades on Tuesday started up again with the "we see our grades and get discouraged" thing. OK, if you hit my "launch" buttons enough times, eventually I will indeed take off, though as my rants go, this one was pretty low-octane. I snagged one of Paul's lines--giving him due credit, of course. He differentiates between "bad" pain and "good" pain, as in the difference between a sports injury and the sore muscles of having played hard. This, he says--and I echoed--is good pain. The one who'd been bitching didn't say anything, but I did see her body language saying "Well, yeah, if you put it that way, you have a point."

In that class, I was truly appalled that several of the students didn't know who were on the opposing sides of the Revolutionary War. I said, "That's like not knowing who the first president of the United States is," and a student--in all seriousness--said, "Abraham Lincoln, right?" I stared, mouth agape. Another, seeing that that was obviously the wrong answer said--also in complete seriousness, "Benjamin Franklin?" I just put my head down on the desk for a minute. They all laughed--and I was playing the moment for comedy, but I genuinely am utterly aghast. I said something about it, and the girl who had suggested Franklin said that history was her worst subject in high school. I said, "This isn't about school; this is about just being a person in the world! How can you live to be your age and not know this, no matter what you studied?" She just laughed, but, well, words fail me. I mean, I sort of know this is true, but when it slaps me in the face like a rotten flounder, it's a different matter. It was a relief to get to the second class and have the Bright Boy of this semester not only know his history but automatically get bits of the poems that I usually have to draw out of students like impacted wisdom teeth.

In both classes we galloped through the day's poetry a bit too fast, but they were getting it--and in both classes, students who have never before responded to readings had things to say. And some who've talked up before but seemed a bit dim actually had very smart things to say. Excessively cool. Along those lines, the second class has developed a fondness for sitting in a circle instead of working in groups; I'd be concerned about the tendency of some students to retreat into silence when they're not in small peer groups--except that most of them are not, in fact, retreating into silence. They're talking, and responding directly to each other.

Two favorite moments, both from the later class: A) Two young men started to talk at once and then had a brief "After you, my dear Alphonse" back-and-forth yielding of the floor--until one of them said, "No, you go ahead, Bro." The other students responded with gentle laughter and smiles, acknowledging the warm familiarity. B) A student was fussing around with papers when I was getting ready to move on. I was waiting for her, and she said, without looking up, "Don't wait for me; pass out a handout or something." I laughed hard, as did the rest of the class. Prof. TLP, the Queen of Handouts. As I was laughing, I said, "That was brilliant!" She looked up and said, "Did you just call me brilliant?? I'm writing this down!" They're fun.

In that later class, a student showed up today who I thought for sure was gone for good. He told me his "sob story"--his words, not mine--and it does sound like it's been a rough time, but mostly he accepted that he is seriously behind the curve and will not be able to make the kind of grade he could/should have. In fact, after class I ended up talking with him and three other young men, all of whom are behind the curve, for any number of reasons. One also told his sob story (my words, not his), about how he had to go to court and hadn't even been sure he'd be allowed to go home (as opposed to being incarcerated, one assumes)--and apparently he's still not certain whether he's going to end up in jail or not. I told him about the possibilities for an administrative withdrawal and how to go about looking into that; we'll see what happens. Another of them is quite bright, but he's barely waving at most of the work--and he registered at the last possible moment, so he missed the entire first week. Well, he'll either pull up his socks or he won't. True for all of them. I've pointed out that their socks are falling down; the rest is up to them.

But shifting back to the students from Short Story who came to the office today: I think I mentioned the one who is clearly developmentally disabled, and it was extremely difficult to get him to understand that summary is not an argument, and that adding quotations does not create an argument if there isn't one. He said the right words when he left, but whether he understands the concepts behind those words is anyone's guess. I suppose I'll see when I get his next papers.

The other student had talked to me after the very first class, telling me that he always did badly in his English classes. He was submitting his paper late and wanted to talk to me about it--and I told him that just by glancing at the first paragraph, I could see he was doing all the things I've expressly said not to do, and conversely that he was not doing what is required. He dropped his head--a common reaction to being told that one's work is not cutting it. At first he looked up from time to time, but his head was hanging lower and lower, and the glances up stopped altogether, so I finally said, "What is it?" He whispered, "I'm frustrated." Oh, sweetie. I could see he was fighting tears, so I spent the next ten minutes giving him a pep talk: that gutting through frustration is the mark of the best students; that he's doing the right things by seeing me and working it through; that I'm making him write and think in ways that are completely new, and it's hard to let go of old habits; that it's early days yet--and he can revise. He said that he does want to learn and wants to do whatever professors say, but he also wants good grades, and the two are often in conflict. Yes, indeed. If one wants to learn, being concerned about the grade can get in the way. I ended by telling him that I refuse to lose him; he is going to make it through the semester, and he's going to see his grades go up. His first response was doubtful, so I made him restate it with more conviction. He left, saying he would do his best. That's all that can be asked of anyone.

Now I have a bag full of papers to take home over the weekend. I almost decided to take more with me, but I realize that would be evidence of delusion: it's highly unlikely I'll get through what I've already put in the bag. I'm just concerned to get the decks as clear as I can before Thursday's onslaught--and I'd prefer not to spend Tuesday on campus, grading. I'm willing to do some at home, but as long as the presidential debates are going to force me not to teach and fuck with my schedule of assignments, I'd prefer to treat Tuesday as a bonus gift of a day "off." Sleep late, leisurely breakfast, mark some papers--and go to dance class with no stress or worry about the work....

I just looked up and was reminded of the seasonal change: it's full dark out, and has been for a while. I sometimes complain about the short days, but right at the moment, it feels rather cozy, to be in my lamp-lit office (no overhead fluorescent lights for this woman) against the dark and nip of an autumn night.