Teaching Freshman Boys
I adore my job.
Some days it's wading through the mire from the shore with these kids, and having to leave them farther in the bog due to time constraints. I just had one consultation where the student didn't seem to even understand the idea of a formal argument, let alone the constructs of an essay. In trying to explain this to him I ended up not finishing my sentences for fear that it would require three hours background.
Am I old enough for this? I don't know. I doubt it, when I think of incidents like tonight: apparently I scheduled a meeting with a student at the wrong venue during my work hours, and left my cellphone at home. Something told me to leave work early and grab my phone (thanks!) and when I did, I found five calls from that very student. He had gone home, so I offered to pick him up in my car and drive us back over to the library. When I told him to get in the front seat, I realized that he could hardly move due to the crate of clementines, the crumpling empty water bottles, CD's, papers, and worn, torn books that littered the seat and floor of the car. "Thanks for picking me up, Miss Synnestvedt." It was after eight, so he didn't see me blush and frown behind the wheel.
But some students come in with immaculately conceptually organized essays, if lacking in formatting. They're grateful for all the corrections you can suggest. They're eager to communicate and feel proud of what they're doing.
And the thing is, I can't possibly tell you the satisfaction that comes with reading over an essay that is purely narrative, sitting down with the student and explaining in three or four sentences what an argumentative essay is, and having him cut you off, eyes alit, to say "O! So then you do this, don't you!"
When I stood up to teach the class the other day, Baird referred to me as "Miss Synnestvedt." I told myself not to stumble over the name, but lo! It came out as, "Hi, again I'm... Miss... Synnestvedt." He pointed out later that really, I'm only something like five years older than these boys I'm teaching. Fancy that. What a fledgling! Hmm, Miss Synnestvedt. Who'dda thought?
I'm teaching another workshop next semester, and trying out a mock-trial essay game (don't ask just yet) with the junior boys. Eventually I might be student teacher to Bonnie. I was invited to chaperone at a high school dance party, and my old teacher told me her life story and in the same conversation, referred to me as a colleage. I'm twenty years old!
Most days I feel I'm the luckiest girl in the world. And strangely average. Basically I'm absurdly blessed.
Also, everything works out in the end and I hope people feeling down remember that. My future self, included.