Balm to the soul

Earlier today I got kicked in the heart (metaphorically) and was so distraught I was unsure I would be able to finish the day--even though it's a short day. I entirely missed the department meeting (though William informs me that I didn't miss anything important), but I managed to pull myself together well enough to finish marking the few assignments for Native American Lit--even started on some stuff for the 102s--and then went to class.

A number of the students were missing (they tend to disappear when I've assigned something challenging to read--and a few are already in danger of not passing the class), but those who were there were great. I started with very technical stuff about paper formatting, getting them ready for their mini-papers, due Tuesday. Then we sat in a circle to talk about the chapters I'd assigned from Vine Deloria's God Is Red. It's very dense, challenging material--and even the study questions are not easy--but I told them that even having an answer they didn't think was good would be helpful: we could work through it and get to something good, and that would be beneficial to everyone. I also remembered to encourage them to be in touch with me if they're not seeing marks they like on their logs, or if they're struggling with the reading, or anything: I assured them that I want to help them, so they shouldn't feel like they need to flounder.

I wouldn't say there was a lively discussion of the reading, but they had smart answers and good questions--and then we just got into some questions about Native beliefs, Native history in general. Two students spoke up for the first time (hooray!). And much to my amazement, next thing I knew, it was the end of the class period--and I'd thought I might let them go after about 10 minutes.

But the best part was after class. Several students stayed to talk after class. One young woman said she was really struggling with the readings, and I was reassuring: they're very challenging, I said, difficult material. I said she may find it easier once we get into the literature itself (as mostly we've been reading background stuff), but that if she continues to feel like she's in deep water, she should contact me and we'll work on things together. The problem could be that she needs new techniques for reading, or that she needs some conceptual framework, or who knows what, but that we can work it out.

And then one young man came up to me to tell me how much he loves the class. He was practically bursting out of his skin with enthusiasm. He kept saying, "I love this class!" He's going to become a physical therapist, so math and science are his thing, but he loves the way the readings challenge him to think "outside the box," to think critically (he used the term), to have ideas "out of left field." He said, yeah, he likes his math and science classes--but this one just sets him alight. I asked him to write a letter to the president of the college, or to the board of trustees, or both, to tell them how much the class means to him--and why. I told him that they are generally interested in killing off the humanities because we don't help students find good jobs--and he said A) there are no good jobs anyway, and B) that he feels having his brain stretched by my class makes him much more interesting and versatile as a job applicant anyway.

Manna. Truly: falling from heaven, manna. It was lovely to hear his delight in the class, his desire to be challenged--his willingness to get "torn apart" by his grades because he feels he's really learning something worth learning. Precious. Wonderful. I am grateful.