Having Now Taught the Last Class of My First Semester Teaching,

December 8, 2011 § 9 Comments

I thought I might do something sentimentalyish–like write something about teaching.

Because today was not sentimental at all. I was tempted as I walked out of the classroom to yell, “LIVE SHORT AND NEVER PROSPER!!!!!!!!” because that’s what would happen if they didn’t learn to “apply these principles” . . . right?

After our class as a whole analyzed one group’s multimodal project–man, I hate that word–one of my students (who used to be a favorite–okay, they’re all favorites except one, but that’s another story) yelled out to his criticizers: “LIKE I GIVE A CRAP ABOUT WHAT YOU SAY!”

The rage! The fury! He was in a horrible mood today. (Finals.)

I told him later–well, actually, I told his group after he stormed out after class, that he was acting like a PMSy girl, then realized ashamedly that 1) I was gossiping, and 2) I was reinforcing gender stereotypes. Ah, well. Live and learn. (Although, I have to say: PMS is a real problem–I read it in my Women’s Bodies, Women’s Wisdom book. And, needless to say, it is a particularly female thing.)

What I wanted to say today, in addition to the idea that our bodies are like texts–“a means of influence and persuasion” (we were discussing our presentations):

“Dear students, remember when I had Grooveshark up on the projector and you saw one of my playlists titled ‘Romantic Bath’ and I know you all thought about me naked?”

“Dear students, remember when I dropped the dry erase marker on my face and accidentally drew a line down my chin?”

“Dear students, remember when I graded your papers with a crappy eraser and smeared lead all over your pages and you thought, ‘WTF?'”

“Dear students, remember when, in the words of B.J., my butt jiggled as I erased the white board in front of you?”

“Dear students, remember when you ran into me at the Battle of the Bands concert and unbeknownst to me until later, saw me chanting and cheering like a maniac?”

“Dear students, remember when I saw you at the Malt Shoppe after the Battle of the Bands? Yeah, that was . . . cool.”

“Dear students, remember . . . anything?”

 

Saddest part about all of this: I feel as though I’ve triumphed only because I managed not to fart in front of them.

 

 

 

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