Redemption

While teaching writing is not nearly as satisfying as writing, it is less work in some ways. And there is a limit to how much you can give to your students, and how long you will work on an assignment.

All that said, I am grateful to be back in the classroom, albeit on something of a lark. There has been no contract to sign, I have completed paperwork but received no official notification from anyone that I am the instructor of record. No, I just showed up with good intention, and the office staff also showed intention by making me a mail folder and being patient with my stupid somewhat irritated questions. The paperwork may come eventually, and I think I have to wait eight weeks for the first miniscule check.

I don't get paid enough, and neither do they. So we're all in this collective that decided to do this community service project, and make it look like college. The trick is that the accreditation people take this very seriously, as they should, and so we must all act like it is a very very important thing we do.

But in the end, it isn't all that important. I show up to work, I do some good, I go home. The student show up, think about stuff and go home to their lives. That's how it should be, really. I'm no saint, I'm no better than my students. I just have a body of experience and knowledge that they have some murky idea that they "need." What they want is not to spend three hours in a room with me twice a week, but if that's what it takes, then they are willing. They will gladly pay that in order to get the reward.

The best thing about these international students is that they have overcome big obstacles to get here, even if it was simply a matter of travelling many hours, filing the right paperwork and coping with the weird life here in America. One student from the Middle East appears to be from one of those mega-wealthy families, but he is the only one who has that air of entitlement, and it's hardly noticeable.

They are polite, filled with gratitude, eager to learn and somewhat shaky at the prospect of doing a full-on writing class IN a FOREIGN language where proficiency is expected rather than coached. And they show up.

So must I. But it beats asking "whip or no whip? skinny? decaf?" I too am grateful. Why? There's a darker reason.

Many years ago, in another state, I had the fortune of teaching at both community college and university in a town where writers were a dime a dozen. Swing a sack of dirty socks and you could hit a writer. But somehow I had an inside track on this shadow life of contractual employment, semester-to-semester.

Except for the time when my father had a stroke, and I missed several weeks to be by his side, cheering him with crossword puzzles and specially prepared thick soups and other things. And I missed all kinds of deadlines for re-applying for work. I was simply NOT available when the call came, and I found myself in November buying groceries on credit cards, and by December, I was buying wine on credit cards.

It was a dark time. I took temporary employment as an admin with a machine shop for three days, and walked out after lunch on the fourth day. I also made up some dramatic story why I had to quit the data entry job. I could not go into good honest labor. I felt ruined.

Somehow, someone needed an English instructor at a distant, new community college campus - some place just south of town where a large percentage of Hispanic and tribal folks took classes. In a weak and reluctant moment, I agree to teach two classes, both at the worst possible times.

Too far away from my house, too far away from my regular haunts, too far away from my recovering father who was not quite the same, not enough money to make ends meet, I felt compelled to do something unforgiveable. I was also applying for full-time jobs, and I agreed to take one MID-TERM. It was about 6 or 8 class meetings into the semester. I cannot remember if I had graded a set of papers or not.

But I quit. I told the dean, who could barely disguise her displeasure. She shifted quickly and professionally into CYA mode, finding someone to cover my classes and minimize the damage to students. My replacement was much less forgiving. I met both classes with him, introducing him and then slinking out like the ratfink I was.

I left town two weeks later to take that job, near my parents in my home town.

Though I returned to teaching four years after that, I never did penance, really. I justified and rationalized my actions. But this morning, as I prepare for class, I see clearly and objectively that I violated a near-sacred trust. I left my students in the middle of a semester. Granted my schedule prevented any other jobs, and of course the pay was horrible. I would not have been able to sustain myself for the full 16 weeks, so what happened, happened.

Many years later, though, unbeknownst to them, my students are providing me with something very important: the opportunity to meet the challenge, to foster their education, and to redeem myself on a karmic level. Even though I am compensated, it's not enough for the hours and work. But this is me paying it back (paying it forward) in a roundabout way. When the semester is done, we're even, and I can move forward.

But no way am I going to tell them that, nor should I. It will be my little secret. And ours.