...About Freshmen Year?

For all of the things life may or may not be, I know it to be a time-consuming endeavor. This blog has been a casualty of that fact, and will likely revert to its victim-state sooner rather than later. Caleb has been tirelessly chasing a debt-free existence working more hours in a week than most. I have begun the journey through academia, having recently completed my first real semester at a real university. I wanted to reflect on my experiences so far at U of L, so I figured I’d breathe life into this blog one more time. Just know that it may only be to watch it wither away once more. 

My first class of the week was English 102. A Chevy Chase lookalike was to be our guide for this course. If only he was a fraction as funny as Clark Griswold or Pierce Hawthorne. It isn’t that he didn’t try; he simply failed to engage an entire classroom. His case was not helped by his apparent lack of hearing. No matter the volume in your voice as you answered a question, you were always interrupted with a “What’s that?” from Mr. Ty Webb. Most students simply stopped offering their responses to his prompts. I can’t say if that was the class-wide reason for the lack of participation, but it was certainly mine.  The class work was fairly rudimentary. The bulk of our grades came from the four papers we handed in over the course of the semester. Being nervous about my first “real college” papers, I had Caleb read over the first few. Together, we fixed a few things here and there. I was never really happy with any of the four papers, but apparently Mr. Repairman-from-Hot-Tub-Time-Machine’s bar was set much lower than mine. I received an A for all four papers.

English was followed immediately by History 102. My professor in this class was energetic and engaging. I was originally going to talk about how History is just a dreadful subject; it is nothing but reading assignments and rote memorization. While I do believe that to be true, the same argument can be made for English, Math, Humanities, Science and most school subjects. I realized the real reason why I disliked this class and History classes in general.  History is, essentially, a story. It is our story. It is the story of humans and our progression throughout time. And it is atrocious. 

There are far too few heroes, far too many villains. There are far too few truly good deeds, far too many despicable acts. The primary motivation for teaching students our History is so that it won’t be repeated; that we can learn from the mistakes of our ancestors. But each day revealed a new horror, a new conflict, a new group of people oppressing fellow humans, a new war. Maybe I never paid much attention in previous History classes. Maybe I simply didn’t care. But this semester, that class made me angry each and every day. It made me angry that I was to be associated with these monsters in any way. The recent decision about gay marriage in North Carolina only solidifies my position of shame that I am to be lumped in with the human race.

 Trigonometry was next on the agenda, to be followed by Biology the next day. I have nothing to say about these classes. The professors lectured, I took notes, and I took tests. My final class, EDTP 201, was the final thing I wanted to talk about. This class was Education for the Teaching Professional. For those unaware, I went back to school with the intention of nurturing young minds. Ironically, this was the class that pushed me away from that endgame. Every day, we would light-heartedly engage in discussion, play games, or do arts and crafts. We spoke often about what we believed made a great teacher, while the professor spoke about things such as passion, creativity, heart, and a dedication to your students. All in all, it was a pretty fun place to earn a grade. That, I have no qualms with.

I began to observe the teachers in my life more critically. Not just my college professors. I watched the teachers in the elementary school in which I work. I watched the teachers I was assigned to observe. I thought back to the various teachers I had in my schooling. What I saw was a distinct lack of many of the qualities we had talked about as being absolutely vital for a teacher. I had visions of being the Dr. House of education; I would play by my own rules, for my rules and methods were in the best interest of the students. What I realized, however, was that most of these uninspired, dull, almost comatose teachers I have been around probably had similar goals at one point. It would be unwise to commit to such a low-paying high-stress job without the aim of making a difference. My conclusion was simple. The machine is too strong, and I’m not sure I’m up for that fight.

That being said, I haven’t completely given up on teaching. I have shifted my major towards something more generic, with the intention of revisiting the idea of teaching after my bachelor’s degree is in hand. A Masters is a requirement to each in Kentucky, anyways. This course simply doesn’t pigeonhole me as much. No matter my career path, I will always be looking to help our children. If you refer back to my piece on playing the lottery, I stated that my dream job would be running a teen center of my own design. That hasn’t changed, nor do I envision it ever changing. If anything, this experience has rededicated me towards my kids at work. After all, they are still stuck in the machine.