For the Moments When Teaching Has Lost Its Bloom

Week four of the semester is generally a difficult one; tests, papers, and overflowing schedules combine and create stressed students and busy teachers. Luckily, I'm both.

JB introduced me to The Moth last year. Basically, it's a storytelling event. He goes every month and graciously allows me to climb into his car whenever I would like to go along. It's a very positive character trait, I think. Since he introduced me to The Moth, I've used it in my classes and encouraged students to attend.

Last night was the February Moth event. I, along with another friend, hopped into the CARDIS and journeyed through the frozen wasteland of Milwaukee. Arriving at the theatre, we found seats and were huddling together for warmth when I was tapped on the shoulder.

Six of my students from last semester were there. They had come as a group, riding the bus for half an hour then walking the rest of the way through the frigid air.


It was a flurry of greetings, reminiscence, and laughter.

           "I miss our English class."
           "It was eight, so I wasn't expecting it, but we had fun."
           "Can I have retroactive extra credit if I tell a story tonight?"
           "You'll know my story when you hear it. You'll know it's me."

We met up again at intermission and at the end of the evening. It was wonderful to see them. They were my students. Now they're a group - choosing to spend time together - choosing to spend time together hearing stories and absorbing language.

I wish I could take credit for being an amazing teacher that has given these students something concrete, but I can't. And maybe I shouldn't want to. Those students and I spent a semester together, and, somehow, that wasn't the end of our stories. Our stories have been impacted, an ongoing transformation.

I've written two rather self-pitying posts and chosen not to publish them. You are welcome. But I have now told you about them, so you can judge me for them without having to endure reading them. Again, I think about you, dear readers.

It's about midway through the third week of the semester, the time when everything still seems like smooth sailing. (Hint: it's not - weeks four and five allow you to realize just how innocent you were way back in week three.) Everything's going well. Students are alive. Teachers are alive and well. One of them keeps making me watch movies for class - it's odd, but it's an American Lit class, so I understand that there aren't enough good books to read. (Note: that was a deliberately inflammatory remark.) Enjoyed a polar vortex day off of school (gave me time to read Utopia). Had a birthday.

MA Exam is six weeks away. There is some level of panic. I'm reading random things as quickly as possible while trying to remember what I've read. Trying not to beat myself up too much about misidentifying a Petrarchan sonnet in the last practice question while still accepting enough responsibility to be sure to remember the correct rhyme scheme in the future.

In short, I'm busy. I read an article today about why not to use the word 'busy'. As you can see, I'm choosing to ignore that pellet of wisdom. Mostly because I think it's an accurate choice of word for describing my chosen situation.

Now I've nattered on for paragraphs without saying anything of substance. Sorry. Feel free to pretend this post doesn't exist. I mostly just wanted to say hello and that I haven't forgotten you all.

It's unusual to arrive in Milwaukee and discover warmer temperatures than those left behind. Last week, I experienced that phenomenon. Even saying "last week" surprises me because it feels like it's been so much longer.

The first week of classes has gone fairly well. The team teaching research project has finally been approved by all of the various committees. Brick and I have not yet killed each other, and have actually, I think, done a fairly good job at working together. We need to work on transitions and presenting a united front, but the concepts are being taught.

My own classes are less than thrilling this semester. I suppose that's what I get for procrastinating and putting off the classes I didn't want to take. The practice MA looms - took a practice question yesterday and am terrified anew at the vast amount of knowledge I don't really know.

Oh yeah, blogging.

I'm alive. I'm in Michigan. My return to Milwaukee was scheduled for Sunday, but you've heard there was a storm, right? Traveling is a little uncertain. I'll either head back tomorrow afternoon with B, or Zeke will take me back Thursday night so I can squeak into town right before my mandatory meeting Friday morning.

It's been a good break. I've slept, graded, studied, and watched the new Sherlock episodes.

Updating the blog is going to be, I expect, fairly rare over the next few months. The M.A. exam is two months away and I need to focus on that if I have any dream of passing.

Two more weeks and I will be back in Michigan for a month. I'm excited. 

It often feels as though I'm counting down towards things rather than existing in a present moment.

Some days I can't decide if that is good or bad.

An "I am thankful that this too shall pass" doesn't sound like existing in the moment, but rather looking forward to a hopeful future. Which is, after all, what we should be doing. But it also involves an expression of discontent with my current situation - I don't like this, but at least I know it won't last forever.

I don't really have a resolution for this question. It's simply one I'm currently pondering.

When crying feels like greed . . .

I told my mother that I have trouble crying because she taught me to laugh at the ridiculous.


She taught me to laugh at myself, to remedy the distorted perspective of self as most important, most knowing - the focus point of the universe. Twisting the tears into a lens of self-reflection that is about more than personal hurts and struggles.


There is something ridiculous about sitting in an apartment that smells faintly of your roommate's cat and burnt chicken, looking at the empty hole in the carbon monoxide detector that's meant to hold the batteries, and stressing over the opening conjunction of a thesis statement.

Picture it.

Enjoy an amused smile.

A new perspective.

On Thanksgiving

Over the past few days, it's begun. My Facebook feed is filling up with status messages about Thanksgiving.

"I won't be taking part in your THURSDAY shopping spree. It's wrong to take people away from their families on a holiday!"

"Uh, guys, did you forget that there's a holiday between Halloween and Christmas? Be thankful!"

I should note that neither of these are direct quotes, but rather an amalgamation of different threads of thought that I have noticed. And I love you all, my dear Facebook friends, but you're frustrating me.

Thursday shopping - a pre-Black Friday - is an attempt to make a profit. We live in a culture that revolves around producing and consuming. It's a waste of time to scold a business for attempting to make money. That's why they exist. And we need them to exist. But here's the problem. Because of our culture of consumption, we see buying things as a positive. And it becomes even more of a positive when it's a deal.

We want something for nothing. And when we can't get something for nothing, we're at least going to get it for 75% off. We'll stand in line for hours, punch people in the face to rip a toy from their hands, and trample anyone who gets in our way. It's a dismaying glimpse at the power of greed.

All of that greed conspires to make working Black Friday a miserable experience. I can't imagine that working Thanksgiving will be any less miserable. The argument is, potentially, that it will be even more miserable because of the number of people torn away from their families on a holiday. It's terrible that people aren't able to spend enough time with their families. I love my family. I have a lot of empathy for people who have to work on holidays. I've done it and hated it. But it's disingenuous to say that an arbitrarily chosen date is the wrong time to indulge in a capitalistic orgy of spending - these kinds of things should be saved for Friday where they belong: wait until after midnight.

If you're worried about the retailers and the developing trend of extended sales, stay home. I hope you do. I will. But don't hug that to your chest as an achievement that indicates your superior understanding. Recognize that you are speaking from a place of privilege. What about the kids who are only getting a Christmas present because their grandmother got an amazing deal in a sale? Or because their father was able to pick-up some overtime working the Thanksgiving shift? Forget presents even - what about those who are able to take advantage of the sales to feed and clothe themselves and their families? Attacking retailers for trying to do what they are designed to do is, in the end, a likely ineffective attack on the symptom of what is, really, a much larger disease.

The second strain of thought, the outcry against the apparent forgetting of Thanksgiving because of the expanding Christmas season, is similarly reductive. Don't get me wrong. I am very thankful that my country was formed, I just think it's slightly ridiculous to idealize a single moment as the epitome for which I must be thankful. And that's not even my biggest problem with all of these complaints.

There seems to be a high level of concern that Thanksgiving will be forgotten. This perspective, while understandable, makes it feel like Thanksgiving is an item on a list. We need to celebrate it, and celebrate it properly, so that we can say we have fulfilled our obligation to be thankful this year. Then we can move on to Christmas.These two things do not exclude the other. You can be excited about Christmas and happy about Thanksgiving. You can even be thankful for Christmas.

I've done some Christmas shopping, I've hung lights. I'm also looking forward to Thanksgiving because I have the ability to think about more than one thing at a time. I drink pumpkin spice lattes and peppermint mochas. (Yes, I know I have a coffee addiction.) Thankfulness should be a consistently cultivated attitude.

One of the few things I remember about my great grandmother, and I only remember being told about it, is her habit of writing down each day one thing for which she was thankful. There is a date in one of her old day planners in which I was a part of her thanksgiving.

That is something for which to strive - an attitude which perceives the world through a lens of gratitude.