Oh, Yes, I Remember Now: I DO Love My Job
Scenario One:
18C-Lit. Class. On the docket, Samuel Butler's "Hudibras." A student, perhaps the keenest of a bunch who are all as keen as a...big...keen...thing, bounces into the room at the top of the hour. "HEY!" he half-shrieks, and I swear you could actually SEE the all-caps, "Samuel Butler ROCKS MY WORLD!"
Believe me, as many times as I've taught this class, that particular sentence has never been uttered. I've gotten some chuckles over Butler, but not this ringing primetime endorsement. I see that several of the other students are nodding enthusiastically. "Well, great!" sez I. "Glad to hear it. What exactly..." and before I can finish he cuts me off.
"So, he wrote this when the Puritans were still in power, right?"
"Well, maybe he might have drafted some then? But publication was actually early Restoration."
"But still! Really close! So, so, this is pretty much Stephen Colbert at the Press Club Dinner!"
Well...yeah. It kinda is. Student A, you rock MY world.
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Scenario Two:
Student from same class, who is the lone student who has not ever taken a lit class from me, pokes her head into my office, looking very solemn. "Heya," I chirp, "What's up?"
"I need to thank you for something that I'm not sure I should be thanking you for." Of course, at this point, I feel not unlike I do when spotting a policeman on the road. I'm pretty sure that nothing weird or fire-worthy or tawdry or illegal has happened? But the mind starts racing anyway while the foot mashes the brakes.
"Ooookay...."
"I just want to thank you for letting us be mad at the stuff we're reading. It's cool. After I vent, then I can think about it."
Oh, right. A student just figuring out that I mean it when I say, "I don't expect you to be enthusiastic about everything we're reading. I DO expect you to be enthusiastic about the process of learning to talk about it, including why you hate it." It's called critical thinking, and you're welcome, dearie.
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Scenario Three:
This is what comes of being a theatre prof. I think. I am crossing campus, and am almost to the street after leaving the ad building. I hear a strange loud noise behind me: a sort of "EEeee EEeee EEee." I am about to turn around anyway, when a voice bellows, "DR. SHAMELLAAAAA!" I turn, to see one of the freshmen drama minors heading towards me, employing a Walk straight out of the Ministry of Silly. It is not quite a lope, not quite a skip, not quite hopping, but employs elements of all three. And perhaps more. All accompanied by the bizarre squeaking, and some arm waving. He gets to me, and runs around me three times, then stops, beaming, and says, "HElllOOOOOO!"
Baffled, I say, "Hi...um. Are you...a monkey? Or in need of oil?"
Without missing a beat, he bellows cheerfully, "I am a SQUEAKY MONKEY!" and goes on his way.
Now tell me the truth. How many of you are old enough that YOUR first response was, like mine, "Now is the time on Sprockets when we dance"?
18C-Lit. Class. On the docket, Samuel Butler's "Hudibras." A student, perhaps the keenest of a bunch who are all as keen as a...big...keen...thing, bounces into the room at the top of the hour. "HEY!" he half-shrieks, and I swear you could actually SEE the all-caps, "Samuel Butler ROCKS MY WORLD!"
Believe me, as many times as I've taught this class, that particular sentence has never been uttered. I've gotten some chuckles over Butler, but not this ringing primetime endorsement. I see that several of the other students are nodding enthusiastically. "Well, great!" sez I. "Glad to hear it. What exactly..." and before I can finish he cuts me off.
"So, he wrote this when the Puritans were still in power, right?"
"Well, maybe he might have drafted some then? But publication was actually early Restoration."
"But still! Really close! So, so, this is pretty much Stephen Colbert at the Press Club Dinner!"
Well...yeah. It kinda is. Student A, you rock MY world.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Scenario Two:
Student from same class, who is the lone student who has not ever taken a lit class from me, pokes her head into my office, looking very solemn. "Heya," I chirp, "What's up?"
"I need to thank you for something that I'm not sure I should be thanking you for." Of course, at this point, I feel not unlike I do when spotting a policeman on the road. I'm pretty sure that nothing weird or fire-worthy or tawdry or illegal has happened? But the mind starts racing anyway while the foot mashes the brakes.
"Ooookay...."
"I just want to thank you for letting us be mad at the stuff we're reading. It's cool. After I vent, then I can think about it."
Oh, right. A student just figuring out that I mean it when I say, "I don't expect you to be enthusiastic about everything we're reading. I DO expect you to be enthusiastic about the process of learning to talk about it, including why you hate it." It's called critical thinking, and you're welcome, dearie.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Scenario Three:
This is what comes of being a theatre prof. I think. I am crossing campus, and am almost to the street after leaving the ad building. I hear a strange loud noise behind me: a sort of "EEeee EEeee EEee." I am about to turn around anyway, when a voice bellows, "DR. SHAMELLAAAAA!" I turn, to see one of the freshmen drama minors heading towards me, employing a Walk straight out of the Ministry of Silly. It is not quite a lope, not quite a skip, not quite hopping, but employs elements of all three. And perhaps more. All accompanied by the bizarre squeaking, and some arm waving. He gets to me, and runs around me three times, then stops, beaming, and says, "HElllOOOOOO!"
Baffled, I say, "Hi...um. Are you...a monkey? Or in need of oil?"
Without missing a beat, he bellows cheerfully, "I am a SQUEAKY MONKEY!" and goes on his way.
Now tell me the truth. How many of you are old enough that YOUR first response was, like mine, "Now is the time on Sprockets when we dance"?