Harrumph!

 

So I have been reading reading through all the class information packets that got sent home with the sunny girl on the first day of school, and I think I may need to poke a stick in my eye to obtain a little relief.  In Prince William County, Virginia, the first week of school is nothing but forms, forms, info packets, forms, and requests for donations.

Photo courtesy of the fabulous Miser Mom

Every class has a different set of forms to read through. And all of these freaking forms have to be signed by a parent:  "Yes, I realize that my child will be required to attend this class.  Yes, I realize that my child is required to wear clothes to school.  Yes, I realize that you think my child is a dumbass and comes from a family of litigious dumbasses who will sue you if you don't state categorically that students are required to provide their own pencils."

But today the one form that has particularly frosted my cake is a particular teacher's screed about all the nonsense up with which she will not put.  She uses very huffy language (kinda like I'm using now), and I was actually only partially offended by her tone ( I do love a teacher who won't put up with a lot of nonsense). 

But my head exploded when I read this:  " . . . so keep your electronic devices off and out of site."

People, I get that we are all busy, and everyone makes mistakes or overlooks typos, but come on! --

1.  You are a teacher.
2.  You are introducing yourself to your students, and should want them to see your best possible self.
3.  You are also introducing yourself to their parents.
4.  Some of their parents can actually read, and do know the difference between site and sight.
5.  You had the whole summer to proofread this document. 
6.  You would lower the grade of a student who made this mistake.

Harrumph!

I guess a place to sit is too much to ask for . . . .

 

Well so here's just a little update on my first day of classes at the community college:  What the hell?

Every student showed up to attend this composition class and receive the gift of my brilliance or at least snag a copy of the syllabus.  The class size is supposed to max out at 27, and believe it when I say the doodahs and pooh-bahs bang it into our heads that no class may ever be expanded beyond that maximum number.  "Don't make any false promises to a student!  A closed closed is a closed class!" they say.

 So I was thrilled and not at all surprised to find 28 names on my roster.

And it was even better than that because this classroom has only twenty desks.  Being gifted at math, I used my fingers and my toes to count them up, and said to myself, "I think this might be a problem."  Then I took some students with me on a stealthy mission to steal chairs (extra actual desks would be too much to dream about).  I figured I only needed seven more.

 

So this nice-seeming girl went home after her first day of college and reported to her mom that she sat on the floor.  So that's tuition money well-spent, don't you think?

First day


Well, today begins the fall semester of classes at the community college where I teach introductory writing courses.  I'm looking forward to meeting my new students because the students I have had in the past have been hilarious.  Sometimes they just didn't know it.

Here are some actual things my actual college students have actually said to me:

* * * * *

Here was the sentence under discussion:  We were annoyed by his digging in the yard.
ME:  In this sentence digging is a gerund, because it is a verb form used in place of a noun.
STUDENT:  Now you're just making stuff up, aren't you?
* * * * *

Talking (as I do over and over and over) about the correct use of subject and object pronouns:
ME:  Him and me went to a bar.  Who can tell me what's wrong with this sentence?
STUDENT:  Well, it's wrong because . . . -- hey!  Who did you go to a bar with?!
 * * * * *

During a unit on fairy tales, I went off about why, and how much, I hate the Disney version of "The Little Mermaid."   I may have even stamped my foot.  I was eloquent, y'all.  When I paused to take a breath when I finished, I heard someone mutter, "Dang . . ." under his breath.  And then a girl raised her hand and said, " No offense, but if you talk like that at home, your kids must really hate you."

* * * * *

During that same fairy tale unit, the class considered Angela Carter's "The Company of Wolves," a dark feminist re-telling of the Little Red Riding Hood story.  The phrase we were considering was:  "Carnivore incarnate, only immaculate flesh would appease him." 
STUDENT:  Maybe it means that her innocence is what saves her?
ME:  Well, but is she really that innocent?
ANOTHER STUDENT:  She's banging a werewolf -- how innocent can she be?

* * * * * 

I can't wait!  Let's do this!

Georgia on my mind . . . .



So the girl in charge is firmly ensconced in her new digs at Emory University, on the Oxford College campus -- and you have never seen a happier girl. 


We left a day early to get her there because the drive to Atlanta takes about twelve hours.  The girl and I loaded up our rented SUV (and the girl in charge just screeched in outrage -- did you hear her? -- because I did not load one item into that vehicle; not even my purse), and we headed out.  The husband stayed behind, because the tall boy and SHE moved into their college dorms at Catholic University on the same weekend that Emory opened its doors to the girl in charge.

tangent: And people, this all happened the same week that the tall boy got out of the hospital, SHE flew into town to help take care of him, the girl in charge and I flew around town running the off-to-school errands that we had planned to run before the tall boy's lung drama re-arranged our schedule, and I finished the final vexing negotiations with the car insurance people who so cheerfully informed me that my car (crunched back in June) was a "total loss; thank you for letting us serve you." As the husband said to a friend, "for a while there, we had it coming and going."  If only the it had been Xanax . . . .


We spent the night in a hotel in Covington, Georgia, which is a booming metropolis with a Walmart right across the street from our hotel.  The next morning we rolled up to the girl in charge's new home and unloaded a whole crapload of stuff the well-thought-out and totally necessary items the girl in charge had brought from home (as an example, see froggy wastebasket above).


We met the roommate, who is adorable and sweet, and who is from a city in China near Shanghai -- so that's cool.  She kept apologizing for her "not very well English," but her English is certainly a lot weller than my Chinese.


She helped us carry the girl's stuff to their room, and they left to explore together, while I made the newly minted coed's bed.  I could get all sniffly and nostalgic about making my little girl's bed for her one last time, but who here really thinks I have made that girl's bed for her even once in the last ten years?  Oh, please.  The walls were only waiting for the necessary Harry Potter, Wicked, Doctor Who, Billy Elliot and Gashlycrumb Tinies posters to make it seem just like home.


The girl in charge and I made a swing through the college bookstore so I could collect the obligatory swag.  She was giddy with anticipation when she saw all the textbooks (we make 'em nerdy here in my house).  We both suspected that her godfather would be happy to see that this play is being taught in a political science class.


So the grand finale of Move-In Day at Emory is a "Coke Toast" as parents say goodbye to their freshmen.  Those of you who remember my love of all things Coca-Cola know how tickled I was by this custom, which stems from the fact that the vast bulk of Emory's endowment, as well as the land on which the main campus sits, comes from various corporate Coca-Cola donations.  I mean, don't even think about strolling across that campus with a Pepsi -- the girl in charge was given just the smallest bit of a fish-eye when she carried a twelve-pack of Dr. Pepper into her dorm.


After leaving my girl (sniff), I went to my dear friend Randy's house, to decompress with her and her husband Bart.  And let me just say that everyone should have a Randy and Bart to decompress with.  A delicious meal, a glass of wine, and a chance to relax and visit with these lovely people -- it was a perfect way to end a day spent saying good-bye to my beloved girl.