The second day

I felt as if my brain were somewhere at the bottom of my stomach swishing around in a murky pool. Just before reaching my classroom, I bumped into a recently graduated MFA-er, and he told me that I would get better at facing my class. I was going to be all right, he insisted. That's what everyone has to tell you, of course, when you're the epitome of nerves on edge; they would never tell you anything that would drive you over that precipice, even if it's the truth, that things won't get better but you just have to grin and bear it anyway.

Thank goodness, however, that my friend was right about me. I muttered a last-minute prayer, walked into the classroom, found a seat, and set about busying myself with arranging my files and notebooks. Of course I made myself look more occupied than I really was. Students continued chatting to themselves and others streamed in. Finally, when I could bear it no longer ("it" being the awkwardness of the instructor sitting there with no one talking to her), I said, "Right, time for class." And it was time for class.

I tried taking attendance but my mind was just a blur. I just couldn't put my pen to the list of names and figure who was who and who was here. Finally, with everyone watching me, I gave up and said, "Okay, I might get a few names wrong, so bear with me." I started with the student on my left, stated their names one by one, until I reached the other student next to me. The correct number of students, and even better, the correct names for every one of them. They were impressed. Hell, I was impressed. While they murmured their approvals, I encouraged every one to make the effort to know their classmates' names.

Then we began class for real. I managed to remember my list of announcements, got them out without too many mistakes, and then opened the discussion for our reading for the day. Almost every one was willing to participate, and this really helped move the discussion along. Very smoothly too. Some group work, another class activity, and finally I set them a writing task. While watching them write, I thrilled at the thought that I had survived this second lesson rather well. Of course I did make some silly mistakes, which I shan't bother elaborating here, but I left the class feeling rather pleased with myself, if I may say so.

Now I just need to repeat this kind of thrill for the next 13 weeks.

The weekend is here. Back to my own writing, and then more planning for next week. I do happen to have another class - a Musicology course on race and identity in opera, but more on that later. Let me go pat myself on my back a few more times, and then collapse onto my bed from emotional exhaustion.

Posted by Monoceros at September 9, 2004 8:08 PM