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To Everything Turn, Turn, Turn

Midterm, noun. The middle of the school term, a time of tests and essay writing and textbook requisitions, signaling the coming close of autumn. Momentary panic is bound to set in. How can six students in my class of nineteen be failing? What book do I teach next term? Will I be given another class to teach? More importantly, how did my hands get so chapped? I am constantly asking myself these questions, and yet, the panic hasn't closed in. In fact, I ain't even nervous. This time last year, man, was I a wreck. At risk of sounding too much like "The Yellow Wallpaper," I have a "nervous condition." I'm a worry-wort; stress affects me badly. But this midterm, I feel much like the boy from The Alchemist (our class book)--I feel like all the omens are pointing me down the path to my Personal Legend. (Look it up--it's on Sparknotes .) Everything has its time: a time to write midterm tests, a time to grade essays (stifle your groans), a time to ...
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Old Brown Shoe

"Live the question." -Rilke   A mentor is a pretty cool thing to have. I have one that likes to complain about his student's inability to understand prepositions ("They have the preposition sheet right in front of them! What do they mean 'Slow down'?!?!?!?") and one that, well, that's always been good for a thought-shock quote like the one above. Professor M. taught me how to write poetry when I went to school here at the community college. "You made the first cardinal mistake," he said when I came to work the first day. "You came back." Mea culpa, Phil, mea culpa. I proceeded to ask him the ever-so enlightened question, "How do I teach them, Phil?" Though they are "reprobate little bastards," they aren't idiots. Don't let them know you like the novel they're reading for class, because then they will hate it on principle. During class discussions, don't give them the choice. Th...
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Red Flannel Balloon

How quickly one can become deflated. As you know, I work as a Writing Tutor as well as teaching a class. (My twin sister also works in the Writing Lab.) In the Writing Lab, we can't make every paper an "A" paper. Frankly, that's not our job. Our job is to answer specific questions asked by the students. If the students asks me to look at commas and fragments, I'm not going to do a dang thing about their content. That, I'm afraid, is up to them to fix. Bathroom gossip is the worst, isn't it? Not only do I find it kindasorta disgusting when people talk through the stalls to each other, often what they say isn't nice at all. And they can't see who's listening. Long story short, one woman told another that if she was to go into the Writing Lab, don't bother "if you get the short haired twin." (That's me, by the way.) A professor marked her down on a paper, and, of course, her grade is directly my fault. I'm a sensitive...
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