Tonight I am frantically grading papers for my lit class, as their final class and "celebration" is tomorrow afternoon. I'm not sure how celebratory they will be when they see my comments on their papers. Yet, I'm not sure just how candid my comments will be. It's 11pm and I'm still grading.
I am also participating in Holidailies this year, and have yet to post something, so I'm rushing in to do just that, and then head back to the grading. A rather inauspicious start.
It would be grand if classes had some kind of flourish at the end. In all of my experience as a student, and now longer as an instructor, they do not. It is rare and the highpoint is usually buried deep on a bright and cheerful afternoon where the gestalt is just so, and I leave the classroom thinking "I just taught the HELL out of that class." The next thought is, "and they don't even know it."
No, class ends in a flustered rush of writing/reading/reviewing/testing, during which time some or all of us are freaking out at the workload. There are no high-fives, no Gatorade on the head, no applause (rumors of this at Ivy schools intrigue me).
Behind the scenes, the administrators are starting to look at the next semester, and begin sending out policy memos and dire warnings about upgrades, grade deadlines and... let's not forget the Fall Term traditions of copious amounts of sweets and even BBQ in the faculty lounge at odd moments.
Dear Administrators: How about a bar and chair massage?
Dear Students: How about you just wait for your grade to be posted, and then take it in stride?
Dear Colleagues: Quit hogging the computers, and please keep your voices down. Unless you have booze. If so, share!
Dear Me: Get back to work!
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