How much do I love my students? I love them in so many ways. Imagine -- a sandwich counter worker, a scrap metal worker, a flooring worker, a windmill factory worker, a hospital worker, a Wallmart worker, two nursing mothers, a mortuary science student, one married couple, two sets of boyfriend/girlfriends, and sisters who are both single mothers --all this amazing opportunity in my Thursday night Composition I class.
In a way, we go together because they're all beaten down from jobs, kids, and school. And so am I. Beaten down may be an overly melodramatic way to put it, but my point is I think we get each other because we're all trying to do it all. Why else would anyone teach or take a three hour night class?
By the time we reach the final third hour, I know we're getting to the end of every one's brain power, including mine. I try to keep the three hours interesting with small groups, class participation, audio/visual diversions, and a plentiful supply of hard candy strewn across the center of the table around which we sit. I dismiss at about 8:45 pm and my students dart out of the room like rockets. I don't blame them. They still have 30-40 minutes of driving in the dark. They return to homes in all directions, north, south, east, and west.
So, here's the magic. Last Thursday I returned their first batch of graded papers, essays that I was terrified to grade. I got some advise from a dear professor friend on how to set up the next assignment; but for this one, I just had me to go on. Grading essays is almost as terrifying as being a parent--you just don't want to shut anyone down. Yet you want the grade to be fair and academically useful. And so I decided to make up for my inexperience by giving each paper a lot of consideration. I went over each student work three times and wrote tons of comments including what worked well and suggestions on where to stretch the writing.
Yes, the magic. And so it was 8:45 p.m. and time to dart out the door. I returned their graded papers and excused the class. . .and. . .where's the darting? No one darted. My students just all sat there in their seats and poured over my comments, unique to each essay. And so who darted? I did.
It's a moment when you realize the power you have over others. And it's frightening. Yet I understand, because I do the same thing when my monthly packet is returned from my mentor. When I see that red, white, and blue postal priority mailer arrive I drop everything and immediately rip it open. On the spot, I read all the comments front to back. No matter what. I read my mentor's suggestions over and over again. And then I put them somewhere special knowing that I will probably read them again in the future.
My writing mentor is always extraordinarily kind and useful. I have great teaching role models.
Why am I blogging when I should be reading, annotating, writing, preparing my class, participating in the book discussion board?
Because I am.
Thanks so much for coming over!
With love, T
