Marvin’s Book
The Story of a Professor and a Promise
M. Soldani Lemon
Published by Visual Impressions Publishing at Smashwords
Copyright
2011 M. Soldani Lemon
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Marvin’s Book
The Story of a Professor and a
Promise
©2011 by M. Soldani Lemon
Published by Visual Impressions Publishing
10 Alexander Drive, No.
633
Asheville, NC 28801
Cover and text design by Janet Aiossa/Adam Hill Design
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, reproduction, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission in writing of the author.
Disclaimer: This book is a true story, however, all names associated with the student responses have been changed.
For Marvin Mark Scott
A portion of the proceeds of every book sold
goes toward the
Hero Scholarship Fund.
Contents
30 Éclair Affair (Generosity of Patience)
Kendrick’s Book and Marvin’s Prayer
This is ___________, Leader of __________
November 2010: Seven Holiday Guests
December 2010: Red Ruby Writing Slippers
When I imagine the house of a history professor, I see amber walls, brown sofas and lots of bookcases. There would probably be a cat lounging on a pillow next to a stained glass window.
On the dining room table, there would be stacks of papers to grade, thesis chapters and book reviews.
I don’t imagine a history professor’s life to look like mine, exiled in an early 2000s housing bubble development, surrounded by children, grading essay exams with a very, very sharp crayon.
My children and husband have grown used to tiptoeing around me while I grade, avoiding my martyrly speech I give when interrupted, which goes something like “LOOK at ALL this grading I HAVE to DO. And I HAVE to read these CAREFULLY and COMMENT on them. But I KNOW we need to go to the grocery….”
If I give the speech just right, they’ll do anything to shut me up.
On one particular night—the night by which I told students I would have their papers graded—I was behind schedule because of a Project Runway marathon. I begged my husband to go to the grocery store for three items, one of which I needed immediately. As a bonus, he took our son. Peace.
When the boys came back I was flipping through the near-empty tests that always land on the bottom of the pile, the tests that come from the students who were the first to give up.
My son Zack tried to hand me a box from the Publix bag, but I didn’t want to get up or look up.
“Honey, do you know where those go?” I said, not looking up because I was reading and rereading an exam in which the student rewrote the exact same essay answer for all four questions.
“Yes. They go in the potty.” He marched away.
I turned to the next exam, written in that textbook-perfect handwriting nuns forced upon my father in his New Orleans parochial school, revealing an author who probably was my age—or older.
The first two essays were complete, and perfect. She didn’t answer the second two essays. I wrote “10/20—the part you completed was beautiful.”
Then I picked up the last essay on the stack.
Instead of sentences, the student has listed terms. Brown v. Board of Education. De Facto Segregation. Montgomery Bus Boycott. I decided to give her 1 point (out of a possible 5) and wrote in the margin—“Please connect and tell me the story.”
I flipped through the rest of the exams, making sure they were all empty, that I was really done.
Zack interrupted, “Mommy, the soldiers’ jackets come off!”
I didn’t look up and instead started alphabetizing the exams.
Our house is full of naked Barbies, naked dolls, naked Builda-Bears.
A naked soldier would be a welcome addition to the mix.
Maybe save Santa a few bucks.
“Mommy? Why do the soldiers have tails?”
“Tails?”
“Yes. The Potty Soldiers have tails.”
“The potty soldiers?”
“From the box. From Publix.”
That got my attention, and I looked up, because the box from Publix didn’t have soldiers.
And on the coffee table, neatly lined up in straight lines were a bunch of tampon soldiers who had originally been intended to fight a different war. On a different front.
I put the exams down and went to the store by myself, mentally preparing for the next day’s lecture.
The Beginning: Marvin’s Question
I remember one time literally coaching Marvin to finish his exam.
“You’re only on the second essay? There are only seven minutes until the next class comes. Please don’t worry about scratching all that out, just draw one line through it.... I know you were here for this, but if you don’t even attempt the last question that’s five points you can’t earn credit.... please just start your next essay, I’m worried!”
He smiled up at me, pen in hand, then silently shook his head and took his time, carefully selecting each and every word of his succinct essay, unbothered as students from the next class—and their professor—entered our room.
On our after-exam walk toward the student and faculty parking lots, he asked why I tortured him with essays when he knew could ace multiple choice.
“It’s part of college,” I told him. “You have to be able to put your thoughts into writing. And I love, love, love reading essay answers. Sick, huh?”
He laughed. And he earned an A. I never got to see what he was thinking in those statements he scratched out.
Did he think Einstein was president instead of Eisenhower?
Did he put the Ho Chi Minh Trail on the 38th parallel?
Or in Cuba?
Did he confuse Jefferson and Jackson?
I still wonder.
I remember being twenty-one years old, my first semester as a grad student, carrying a stack of blue books (exam books) around the Denver airport on my flight home from the University of Colorado for Thanksgiving. I was as proud of those blue books as other girls my age might have been of new boobs or a fat diamond.
So there I was, standing in line to get my seat, smiling and hugging my blue books, which really could have been stuck in a backpack but WHY?
The man in front of me turned around and made a comment about his connection, assuming I was going to the same place.
“No, I’m going to Miami,” I told him, shifting a little to keep the unwieldy stack of thin books from sliding forward.
“Miami?” He said, eyebrows up. He shook his sandy brown head. “I could never go there. How do you stand all those Cubans?”
I shook my head and took a beat to reflect on his question.
“I don’t know how I stand them. My house is overflowing with them. Bet they’ll even be in my car on the way home.”
“Ah,” he said, redness rolling up his neck, “I couldn’t tell by….”
“Really?” I said again, looking back down on my blue books, shifting the stack again to keep them from sliding away.
My freshman year at Loyola University in New Orleans, way back during Reagan’s second presidency, I took the prerequisite writing/composition class from a cheerful bearded male professor who graded our essays “thoroughly.”
On the days he returned our essays, that professor would have an index card in his hand with bloopers of grammar, logic and spelling written on it. Upon entering the classroom he would stand with his back to us, silently copying a list of our collective, anonymous mistakes onto the board.
I don’t remember if any of the mistakes were mine, but I do remember the “teachable moments” that came out of the laughter over the mistakes we made.
No finger pointing, no blaming and certainly no teasing.
In that same spirit, I began posting anonymous funny bloopers from my students’ essay exams on Facebook in the fall of 2009.
I know, I know, Facebook is a huge jump from the privacy of a classroom.
This is exactly how it started.
While grading exams, I came across a particularly funny incorrect answer.
To the short essay question, “Explain the Atlanta Compromise,” a student had written “How Alaska became a state.”
I put the exam down and laughed at one of the worst guesses ever.
Alaska and Atlanta clearly aren’t even the same place.
That wasn’t a “studying” mistake.
It wasn’t evidence that the student wasn’t the chippiest cookie in the cookie package. It was not a sign of the downfall of public and private education, the result of some crack in the system that I’m trying to fix. It was just a funny “slip of concentration” mistake—I see those a lot in exams, especially from students who are new to writing essay exams.
I turned the exam over to see whose it was—I knew the student, I knew he had been to every single class.
I posted his anonymous, incorrect answer as my Facebook status and let other people giggle:
“Grading exams: ‘Q: Explain the Atlanta Compromise A: How Alaska became a state.’”
Thirty people “liked” it.
The person who made the mistake immediately recognized himself and loved it.
He will never, ever, forget that the Atlanta Compromise was what critics called Booker T. Washington’s famous speech, and years later he still likes to laugh at history with me.
I posted more bloopers—just the funny ones like “WW2 started when France invaded Germany through Poland.” [1]
And “The Neutrality Act just said we would help out everyone in any way we could.” [2]
In an essay on Operation Mongoose a student wrote: “When JFK became president he came up with a plan to kill Sadam Hussein called Operation Mongoose. Shortly after that, he announces he is communist. This was the Cuban missile crisis.”
Looking for slips of the pen and slips of the mind and slips of stories took my favorite thing (grading) to a new level.
Students loved reading bloopers and learning from them in class.
Ex-students loved that they remembered the material. Colleagues, strangers, friends of friends passed the bloopers among themselves and smiled.
I liked that. I really liked making people think about history and laugh, and so I kept posting bloopers week after week, semester after semester.
A former student suggested I take the bloopers and turn them into a tear-off-a-day calendar. That seemed like a lot of work. I told him thank you, maybe later. (Seriously.)
Another friend suggested I create an iPhone app for my bloopers. Again, that seemed like a lot of work. I told him thank you, maybe later. I had a book to write—Marvin’s book—and even though no deadline had been set, I was definitely (in my mind) taking far too long to do what should have been a straightforward task.
I’ve been like Marvin on test day, taking too long, scratching things out, starting and restarting, acting like I’ve got all the time in the world.
Recently I added a new question to my Unit 1 Pretest. After asking, “Who is the Commander in Chief?” and “Name five countries in Asia,” I asked the students something they weren’t ready for.
“#24: Tell me what you’re great at.”
When a roomful of fearful eyes darted up from the page, I changed it a little and added, “What would your NICE friends say you’re great at?”
A few students winced, so I continued. “For example, if you won the lottery what would you DO for fun that you’re already great at?”
A student blurted out, “Well I wouldn’t be HERE!” and a few others laughed along.
I didn’t laugh. I stopped cold and lost all my bouncing Tigger energy.
“Oh no! I don’t wish that for you! I want you to be happy, now and always, like I am!” I told them I taught my heart out as a graduate student for $1300 a class, just as hard as I teach full time now. And if I won the lottery tomorrow, I’d STILL be teaching here, same classes, same students, same attitude (cuter earrings), because every single day at my job is fun.
The class stopped and everyone looked up, because this whole “life thing” sounded serious.
I reminded them that life is supposed to be fun. FUN FUN FUN.
Too many of them looked at me like I was crazy, which was a problem because it was early in the semester and I was still doing my best to not look crazy. I had to concentrate on “composure” more at the beginning of the semester than later, with a CNN-crawl through my head saying HEY! Don’t throw pens. HEY! Don’t trip over your feet, HEY! Don’t wear the same outfit twice in a row, HEY! Don’t lose the wireless mouse.
While I had their attention (and also because they were taking a test that I was giving by narration, they didn’t know the next question so they were literally hostages) I told them about H* from last semester who came to my office for advising.
While discussing the right math sequence for his major, H* told me he knew he could find a job after graduation with the state, and it would be steady work.
I asked H* if he’d LOVE that job and he laughed at the question, shooting back, “Dr. Soldani, not everyone can LOVE their job like you do!”
When the shock of his statement rolled past me I told him I wished better for him. I wished for him a life that brings fulfillment and joy.
Their answers to question #24 were beautiful. Across three classes my students candidly shared they can (among other talents, I’m sure) hunt, fish, sing, do hair, fix cars, build computers and make other people feel included.
The fact I think I have the dream job and get giddy at work sometimes bothers people.
One day I got to class ten minutes early, ready to set up. Another professor was still there, having a serious talk with a concerned student. I erased the board behind her and found a place to put my stuff.
Then, I guess I swirled around like Snow White because she stopped talking to her students and said, “Did you just swirl?”
I caught myself and felt my hand against my favorite long peach, silky dress.
It was possible I just swirled, but just in case, I did a deliberate twirl and told her I was so happy to teach Reconstruction I couldn’t contain myself.
She told me to get my head checked, which was funny, so I swirled and twirled again, and soon enough I was off telling stories to another class, positive I have the dream job and wishing the same for all of them.
There is no “average” community college student, which is what makes teaching them so exciting.
My students come from all walks of life, and from all over the world.
My chairs are filled with dual-enrolled high school students, grandfathers, student-athletes, working single mothers and bartenders. They have GPAs from “very low” to 4.0 and everything in between.
Some of my students are natural, happy, fluent writers. Others would rather jump into a thorn bush than take my essay exams.
Today, students can shop professors online at sites that show our average grades, post comments and rate us.
It feels really weird to me that students walk in the door with an idea of who I am. To level the playing field, I ask them to write me a few paragraphs about themselves for a fictional website I call meetmystudents.com. I didn’t do this back when Marvin was a student ten years ago, but I wish I had because their responses give a window into who they are, outside of history class. [3]
Mac and Bowl of Ice Cream
Mac is bound to approach every task you give him with the gusto of a fat kid eating ice cream. In fact, the bigger the challenge the better he will be. Mac will show up to class regularly and with punctuality. He loves to take tests and believes that essays are truly the only form of examination. I must warn you though. As much as Mac loves school he has a commitment far greater in his eyes than any work you can give him. As a soldier in the United States Army it is almost guaranteed that there will be many days that he will not attend your class. But, you need not worry, as I have seen in the past semester, once his duty as a soldier is halted for the time being it is most certain that he will accomplish all that he has missed.
Penny, Not Your Typical Student
Penny is not your typical student. To the regular professor that doesn’t go the extra mile. You’ll never find out here true character. It takes a one on one with her to peel off just one of the layers that makes her. She is a tactile learner. In which type would prefer a verbal test rather than written, as well as projects rather than bookwork. She is a very quite yet spontaneous student in the classroom.
Golden Rays of Ken
Ken is a very outgoing student that walks into class everyday with a smile on his face so big it makes you feel like the world is a better place. He sits in the class quietly, paying full attention to every word you say. He completes all assignments before the deadlines that they are due. The fact that he never misses a class is important but when you put all his characteristics into one package some would go as far as to say that he is the perfect student and receives a ten out of ten. Having a high caliber student such as Ken in your course makes you feel like golden rays of sunshine are beaming on your head on a brisk spring day.
Austin, A Clean-Cut College Kid
If you were writing something to describe me as a student you would probably tell them that they’re getting a kid that’s motivated and wants to get the job done. I think you could tell them that you’re getting a kid who will stand up for something that’s not right and will not stop until he gets it right.
The best thing you could tell them was you’re getting a hard working, clean-cut college kid who wants to make it big one day so he’s taking college important.
Dierdre from Germany
Dierdre is an international student from Germany and good student. Normally you will find her in the first three or four rows since she wants to be able to pay attention to the instructor and does not like to sit in the back rows. You will not hear her talk very often since she is shy and a little afraid of mistakes she might make when talking to you in English. English is only her second language.
While she is taking a class she will put all her effort in that class and she will try to get an A. An organization were she participates is the International Student organization at Tallahassee Community College.
Eric, In The First Or Second Row
Eric never misses class and is usually borderline punctual. He’s very meticulous with his studies and retains loads of information easily. Being far away from home, Eric may get discouraged and slump half to three-quarters of the way through the semester. This is about the time he’ll make himself noticed and may make frequent visits to your office. His slump could last three weeks before he regains his confidence and fully rebuilds his motivation.
Carefree Tammy
Tammy currently has no kids at the age of 32, in which she doesn’t look a day over 25 (which can be a good and bad thing). She is currently happily separated and needs to quit shopping so much and taking vacations and go ahead and spend that money on the divorce. Tam is a very outgoing, outspoken girl that likes to have fun and make people laugh. She’s a good student that just wants to stay on top of things and strive for the best.
Luke, Former Goalie
Observant, quiet, and shy are some words that may describe Luke, but that is until you get to know him, then those words may change to words like nice, caring, and funny. He enjoys spending time with his family which plays a large role in his life for a lot could be due to his disabilities, which include, scoliosis, club feet, Spina-bifita, and many more. On his thirteenth birthday Luke’s mother signed him up for the Make A Wish Foundation and were they made it possible to experience Walt Disney World. Also living in the north he played his favorite sport, hockey. He never played on an organized team, but just street hockey around his neighborhood with friends. His position was a goalie and a good one at that.
Luke has huge goals and creative ideas that he hopes to achieve in the future. He wants to become a successful entrepreneur; therefore he could give back to his family, community, animals, and environment. He has a huge heart and wants to one day become an inspirational speaker by helping others find their way and not give up hope, give them a reason to help themselves and others around them. Luke has many aspirations for his future, not just for himself but also for others. To make the world a better place one person at a time.
Lost Larry
The first day of class was like amazing to me because I had never had a teacher that was happy to teach history to a student. At first I thought she was crazy because the way she act…. Damn I love this class. [4]
Outstandingly Observant Otto
Otto is a good student, always keeping up with his studies. He either eats a bowl of fruity pebbles or a plain bagel with strawberry cream cheese every morning. He has recently broken up with his girlfriend of almost 2 years…so don’t be mad if you catch him checking out the beautiful girls in class. And let him know if you see one checking him out ahah.
Eduardo the Quiet
Eduardo is a quiet student who tries to get to class early and be ready even before the professor arrives. He is always sitting in the first three rows in order to understand clearly what the professor is trying to explain and pay attention in class.
Whenever Eduardo has something to say, add or question many students will try to not make a single noise in order to hear his accent. Sometimes they even ask him to repeat what he just said, in order to hear his unique accent again. This situation only happens occasionally since Eduardo is a generally very quiet student.
Amazing Ashley
Do not let the blonde hair fool you; this girl takes her education seriously. Ashley always shows up for class and is very concerned about her grades. She is not looking to walk out of class with an A, but she wants to take things she learns in class and be able to apply them in the real world.
Tardy Terry
Her negatives are Terry comes to class almost every day late; it may only be five to ten minutes late but the fact remains she is late. Her positives are that she does come to class even though a little tardy everyday.
GI Geoff
Geoff, the guy that sits in the well known “Sniper seat” in the classroom is an 8 year Navy veteran who is excited to be getting his education now that the new GI Bill is in effect. He’s been waiting for 4 years for the post 9-11 GI Bill. This is his second year at Tallahassee Community College and his first year receiving a scholarship for theater. He has been seen in past shows at Tallahassee Community College such as A Chorus Line and Big River and Chicago. Geoff has one more semester here at before he will be transferring to Florida State to finish his degree in musical theater.
30 Éclair Affair
(Generosity of Patience)
In late December 2009 I was sitting on the sofa, holding my less-new leather journal—hugging it actually—staring into space when Zack interrupts my ruminations with “Please, will you play cars and tracks with me?” in a tone that implies I might not have heard him the first few times.
Yes, I nod, even though I don’t want to play with him, his cars or his new tracks.
I don’t want to get up. I don’t want to have fun. I don’t want to do anything at all actually, and I’ve been this way for weeks. I’ve spent the last month ordering take-out and watching On Demand, coughing and sneezing, alternately dayquiled and nyquiled, holding steamy coffee mugs to my stuffed up head.
Still, I say “yes” to my son, mostly because I read in a fantastic parenting book that “no” should be used sparingly.
Example: “Can we go to McDonald’s?” “Yes, but not today.”
And: “Can I have a sleepover with Friend X?” “Yes, when you are thirteen, if she invites you and you still want to.”
And: “Can I join a rock band?” “Absolutely, good luck, that sounds like fun. Definitely learn to read music first.”
Also: “Can I build a roller coaster in my room?” “Absolutely, when you learn how. What kind of engineering should you study?”
Zack, well trained to expect a conditional and unsatisfactory “yes” puts one pleading hand on my thigh, leans his kindergarten-sized self over so his long curly eyelashes almost touch my glasses. “When?”
Not saying “no” (at least, not verbally) I shake my head. “I’m not sure, I just want to finish writing this… I can’t stop and play in the middle of this train of thought, but when I’m through….”
He understands and nods. “Are you writing about Zoe putting my electric race cars on her head—and getting them tangled in her hair?”
I shake my head.
“Are you writing about how at first you kept eating that piece carrot cake instead of going to help her while the wheels kept running and spinning and tangling into her hair?”
I shake my head. I’m trying to write Marvin’s book, but I’m stuck. I don’t know what to write, so I take Zack’s bait.
“Do you think I should I write about that?”
He nods his head, then adds, “And remember you said you were going to write about how you ate the entire box of éclairs on Christmas.”
I start to shake my head no, and then remember to save the no.
“Yes, I will. And they were mini-éclairs.”
Satisfied in his mission, Zack takes his hand off my thigh and straightens up. “OK Mom, take all the time you need, then come play with me. Take two hours.”
“Thank you. I might need it.”
“Or, you can just take one hour.”
“Thank you, thank you for understanding. I never know how long the writing will take. So thank you.”
“I understand Mom. I’d rather you came to my room and played with me sooner than later, but I absolutely understand,” he tells me, patting my thigh again and kissing me on the cheek before backing away.
He heads back to his room, tap dancing down the hall while humming a Lady Gaga song.
Relieved to find a window of time alone to write, I re-open my journal and flip to a new page, which I title, “The 30 Éclair Affair.” Then I closed my journal and got up off the sofa, lured away by the generosity of Zack’s patience.
I have a secret confession. I love my kids. I love my office. But I do not like bringing my kids to my office. My office is my quiet space, my grown-up space, the one space anywhere in my life (right now, at least) I don’t have to share.
And also, my office is decorated with the coolest things, some of the best of which I stole from my children. Paper lanterns hang from my ceiling; Christmas lights line my walls. You get the drift.
On a particular March morning last spring, I had Zoe with me on campus, swinging through on the way to a dentist appointment. After three minutes of “Hey!.... That’s my lava lamp! Hey!... There’s my froggie!... MOM! And... what??? ... So there’s Zack’s nutcracker!” I offered to take her to the Student Union for lunch and her demeanor snapped back to adoration.
It was only after she had eaten and we cleaned the table that I saw David Lowe was also eating lunch, sitting in his chair at a table alone. If I’d known he was there, I certainly would have invited him over to join us.
My eyes went, as usual, to his legs, metal works of art and science where his knees and calves once were.
Then, I waved and smiled and went straight over to see him, Zoe in tow.
“Come meet my friend, my student. He’s a Vietnam veteran like your Grandpa Carl.”
Because he was sitting in his electronic chair and she was standing, they were face-to-face, eye level.
I introduced the two of them—“David Lowe, this is Zoe; Zoe, this is Mr. Lowe”—and noted that she waved hello instead of offering her hand to shake his.
After quick small talk, he asked me something about an online quiz for his class.
“Oh, yes, I knew that would be confusing so I sent an announcement about that quiz through Blackboard, earlier. It should have come to your email by now... Didn’t you get it?”
He shook his head. “My computer is at home.”
“What?” I asked, “How can you survive all DAY without a computer?? Don’t you just check email on your phone? Or your Blackberry?”
And then he gestured, and explained. “Only one arm. One hand. No thumbs. Makes texting while holding on to the phone kind of hard...”
We laughed at his imitating himself trying to text without dropping the phone. I explained when the quizzes close and what they’ll be worth.
After saying goodbye, I took Zoe’s hand on our stroll back across the grassy square toward my office.
“I like him a lot,” she said. “He’s a cool shiny man.”
I told David, and he liked that.
Soon after that, with only a few weeks left in the semester, David Lowe had to drop out of school after suffering a traumatic fall and breaking his leg. He was exiled to the VA nursing home in Lake City.
The students in his class missed him so much they decided to try to ransom him back from the VA by sending a carful (my car) of puzzles, chips, board games, blankets, candy and DVDs to fill the back of my car.
David’s six-week exile turned into a three-month sentence.
My summer school students pulled together a king’s ransom and sent me back to the VA with an overflowing truck full of office supplies, books, chips, candy, more books and more good wishes. I took pictures. I posted them on Facebook, and we all felt a little more connected.
We’d had every reason to believe David would be back in school by Fall 2009.
He wasn’t.
So I asked my fall semester students to bring games, toiletries, snacks and DVDs to ransom David out of the nursing home.
The day before Halloween I lead a caravan that included Chris, a recent Army vet and new straight-A honor student, and Morgan, one of David’s former classmates and the person who gets the credit for deciding the class needed to send something to “Mr. David.”
After we unloaded boxes of toiletries, a football signed by the entire FSU team, wrapped gifts of puzzles, games and DVDs, candy and office supplies, we joined other residents of the VA sitting in a circle having a pre-lunch chat.
We met Father John, a World War II veteran who survived the Bataan Death March and the prison ships and wrote a book about it. He gave me a signed copy of his book and I swooned.
A large man told a story about how cold he was in the Korean conflict—being dropped behind enemy lines wet and freezing and staying that way for months.
Chris chimed in “That’s what you train for,” and all the men agreed, training was worth it.
I don’t know if you imagine a nursing home to be a sad place.
I’m sure everywhere has sadness, but not all suffer.
The men there in their world seemed to keep each other good company.
Chris and I felt good leaving that day, knowing every single resident received a care and comfort package from Tallahassee Community College (TCC) students on Veteran’s Day.
It wasn’t enough—the VA still wouldn’t let him David come back to college.
David stayed through Thanksgiving and football season.
He was still there through his birthday in December, past Christmas, and was still there in January 2010, when classes started without him, again.
I made sure his absence did not go unnoticed, especially in my “big class”—the classroom that he had been in, an auditorium-like room I totally love because I can run up and down the stairs with impunity. One day I might trip and fall. I’ll probably laugh and write about it.
Anyway, in Spring 2010, translator Carol Strickland joined me in the front of one of my classes to translate for hearing-impaired students who coincidentally took up chairs in the same space where David Lowe had sat.
I absolutely love having a translator, more than I should. I don’t know if this is a sin or not, but in past semesters when we’ve worked together, I’d stop talking during a particularly fast-paced lecture and let her catch up to me. When she finally joined me in my pause, I’d ask her “What do you think happens next?” and she’d laughingly admit she hadn’t been listening.
Not listening? I’d act all indignant, but I understood. The words moved through her; she couldn’t keep them in her head and plant them. She was always a beat behind me, saying what I’d already said while hearing what I was going on to say. This was an aerobic feat for which she was especially fit as a black- belt-sporting marathon runner. Also, she was a single parent raising a teenage son, which she admitted gave her even more courage and patience than she could have thought to pray for.
In that large class every single one of the students were new to me, and in the first classes they felt stiff, starched, anxious, sometimes blank-faced. Good thing they opened up in their essays.
Ethan, Destined to Be the First
Fantastic student!! Ethan is a motivated student. This student is very eager to learn. Ethan participated in playing basketball all four years of high school and made the varsity team starting his sophomore year through his senior year. He was captain of the varsity team both his junior and senior year. Ethan told me that someone once asked “Why are you going to college?” this student believes that unless he further his education with a college degree, the chance for him being able to get a good paying job to make a living would be very slim. Furthermore, to accomplish this challenge in his life would be very rewarding to not just Ethan but to his entire family. Ethan would be the first grandchild out of seven to receive his college degree and also is the first grandchild out of seven to be born!
Crawl, Walk, Run Ron
As a member of the Florida National Guard and prior Active Duty soldier I was able to take the skills I learned in those professions and apply them to my college commitments. Now I do admit that there were times when my occupation over stepped my scholastic priorities and I was unable to complete assignments at the scheduled time. How ever, this did not prove to be a major problem. Just as missions on the battlefield, I adjusted fire, re-situated my time, and completed work in all my classes. I realize I am not the best or brightest student that has ever graced the halls of Tallahassee Community College. I know that I have leaps of improvement awaiting me. I will rest at nothing to ensure that I achieve nothing but the best. I am not there yet, but as my Drill Sergeant said, “Crawl, walk, run son. It’s the only way you’ll get it done.”
Kira, Optimistic, Outgoing and Vibrant