8.24 school  

i like middles. they're safer than starts and kinder than ends. middles are ok - and undemanding beyond their steady requirement to keep on keeping on, left foot, right foot...

here at the start, i stumble... a bit. confronted with rooms full of new faces - each ideally unique but practically indistinguishable one from another until experience forges distinctions - i never get the names right... not for the longest time. laura? theresa? chris? jim? no... but by the middle i'll know these names and faces as i know my fingers and toes.

the same is true of class material: shaky starts in each of my three class preps. regular sophomores are reading ender's game... honors start with puritan poets... ap seniors with oedipus rex... but it takes a while for me to remember what we do with it all... how does one "teach" a novel or a poem or a play? entering year 27, i'm still wondering. smartypants answers: you read the novel, the poem and the play and let them teach you... or, you wonder what reading is and how we do it and how we do it wrong as often as we do it right. you wonder where meanings come from and why mine are sometimes different from yours.

by the middle everything has been sorted, but at the start we've got this mess of particulars all jumbled up. and so i assign seats and homework. and try to learn names. and after a natural summer of never raising their hands to speak, they now raise their hands to speak (but teacher never has to raise his hand). here at the start everything can go wrong. a bad start will haunt us all the way to june.

the birthday always comes at the start. it is a good day of doing the necessary things and knowing that some people are remembering me... they send me cards and call me... and even if they aren't sending me cards or calling me on the phone i know they are thinking of me sometime... even if not on my birthday. i know they're out there liking me as much as possible, thinking mostly good thoughts about me, which is what i think of them on all their birthdays... which i always forget to mark with a card or a call - and other times too.

moon dust


This world understands nothing but words, and you have come into it with almost none.

Antonio Porchia

talk to me

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