Last classroom day...

What a bizarre, surreal thought that is: barring the unforeseen, today was the last day I will ever spend in front of a classroom of students as an English professor. I really can't take that in just yet. Strange indeed.

I was relatively busy in Advisement, but I got a nice compliment: the woman at the front desk told me that she was happy to have assigned a particular student to me, as she knew that he needed a little supportive encouragement and that he'd get it from me. Nice. And I am, actually, going to take that as my exit cue from Advisement--about which more in a moment.

The 102 was actually fine. Snotty daughter didn't show up, and Mom was so thrilled to have completed her essay that she was charming about the whole thing. They were fascinated with the dissertation thing, too. The only down note was that the other adult woman was simply incapable of pulling together her essay. She couldn't even make up her mind why: life too complex? school work load too complex? just couldn't get a hold on the topic? She was going around and around in endless circles--and very upset, because she really wanted at least a C. As it is, she's going to take the D and be content to have the requirement done so she can go on about her business. She's in our Health Information Technology degree--which is very focused just on getting students the knowledge they need to get jobs essentially processing medical records, so I don't feel I should pressure her to retake the class. In fact the opposite: I told her she needs to save herself the stress of trying to write the paper for tonight when she can't be sure that the result will get her the C in any event. (My hunch is it wouldn't.) But that makes my life a trifle easier: I can generate numbers that will get her the D, even if I have to fudge a bit.

The 101 was great--of course. They were filled with questions about all sorts of things--not just my education and career trajectory (which always fascinates them) but also things like how long it took me to pay off my student debt. (Answer: not long for what I had as an undergrad--and I honestly hardly remember having any debt, though I know I must have--but I got my doctorate debt free, an accomplishment I am very pleased about and for which I offer gratitude to the City University system for making education affordable.) At the end of class, I got the contracts for incompletes from two students, talked to a few others about little stuff--and then had to talk to those two students who hadn't uploaded. The very good student hadn't gotten my email, so when I started talking to her--having sent everyone out of the room--she started to cry, hugely upset. I quickly reassured her that I wasn't going to take a penalty of any kind; I just wanted to let her know that she needs to be very careful to quadruple check things in the future. The other student--who isn't even half as good, on any level--didn't seem to be too fazed by the whole thing, not even when I told her she probably wouldn't pass the class. I'll give her 50% what she would otherwise have earned and then I'll crunch the numbers. I told her that's a gift, but I don't think she realizes just how much of one--even though the end result may be the same: failure in the class.

I will say, when I was wrapping things up with them and reminded them that that moment was my last ever of that kind, I also told them that all semester, I had been thinking how grateful I was that I would finish my career in that room with that group of students, because they'd been great to work with. (And more of them stayed to the bitter end than I think has ever been the case for me.) I almost teared up--I almost could now, thinking about it--and I heard one of the students say, "I want to cry." They'll miss each other, too--though at the start of class, I heard that same student say, "We should keep in touch, hang out and stuff." I hope they do.

Switching back to the 102, the mom asked me why I decided to teach at NCC. I didn't tell her "It's where I got hired"--because, in truth, I could have kept looking, and refused the community college route. But instead I told her what I put in my cover letters: I felt like a missionary, and missionaries don't preach to the already converted; they have to go out among the heathen and bring them into the fold. At a nice liberal arts college, or at a university, I wouldn't have been so important: those students would do well no matter what. But here, I've made a real difference. I've changed lives--and not in insignificant ways. That matters to me. That's what I want to take with me when I go.

But that's not just yet. One student today asked me for comments; I told her I'd get them to her if I could. She has to drop off her self-evaluation on Thursday anyway, so I'll see her then--but I'll only provide comments if I get everything else pretty well done before she shows up. Other than that, I finished the essays for which the students requested comments, and I started the "skim, slap on a grade, move on" process for the rest. I probably could/should squeeze a few more out tonight, but instead, I'm going to bail on my last ever Advisement session (unless I find a way to get paid for them in the future) and just spend tomorrow here in the office, slamming through what I have piled up on the desk.

At the moment, I feel relatively confident that I will be able to get everything--and I mean everything--done by Thursday. I may not get the actual paper part of the paperwork done before the office closes, but if I have to trundle over here just to hand in those rosters on Friday, that's not terrible. The main thing is that I want to avoid having to be here grading/crunching numbers/filling in paperwork on Friday.

So yes, I'm sure I'll be posting to the blog tomorrow and Thursday--and I may continue the blog in the spring, filling readers in on those incompletes, talking about life in the Writing Center (assuming I get hours, which I'm pretty sure I will). And maybe talking about the process of cleaning out the office, which may make the Augean stables seem like a cake-walk in comparison. (Less smelly, but similar amounts of crap.)

And with that, my dears, I am going to stagger across campus to my car and take myself home. Until tomorrow.