Foolish Scribbling

A message in my faculty mailbox this morning shook a stern finger at all GHC faculty, reminding us to get our final grades turned in by noon tomorrow. I sit in my comfy robe on my couch at home, listening to the hosts of NPR's "Morning Edition" chatter in the background, and tally up grades for all my endearing, quirky students this term. The little black dog--Sylvia--curls up by the fireplace like a lump of coal. Every once in a while she raises her head and gives me a look, and I realize I've been mumbling.

I am not mumbling to myself. I am talking to once and future students. To those leaving 1101, I grumble when I have to enter a C instead of an A because you missed the major portions of the portfolio. I sympathize when I have to enter an F instead of a C because you just couldn't get it together this term, and maybe you won't ever get it together. Or maybe you really did have that car accident, followed by three dead grandmothers and a sick aunt. Poor dear.

It makes me so happy to enter an A. I love to enter an A. That is all I want to do--I want to go down the line on the SCORE sheet clicking A, A, A. It's the easiest grade to enter--the top one on the drop down menu, followed by all the other letters and then a long line of hellish looking symbols (what the heck is a % for? Why is that even an option? I hope I never have to give anyone a %).

This is the thing that anyone who has ever taken one of my classes will tell you: I care about you. I care more than I should--and I can't help it. Every term I start off resolving to be less open, to be more standoffish and distant and old-school tough--but I just can't. It's not me. I find all of our students fascinating, all of your stories interesting in what they reveal about your experiences and your view of the world. To a writer, all people are riveting.

So to my future students, 1101 & 1102: I already care about you. Let's let that be the foundation of our first meeting, and keep in mind that this both obligates me to you and it burdens you with the weight of my concern. I haven't met some of you yet, and already I have high expectations for you, for your writing, for your thinking, and for our coming months together.

The picture of this lovely, wonderful, extremely British sign posted here speaks to the classroom as well. I consider the classroom a sacred space, a place entered with respect and reverence, a place that holds untold potential for self-discovery and self-actualization.

Let's avoid desecrating it with foolish scribbling.