A sincere warning to my more sensitive readers, do not open this one until after the holidays.
It's the eve before Thanksgiving (well I guess now it is actually Thanksgiving), and my head should be swimming with the pleasantries of tomorrow. The parade on TV, the Cornish hens I am going to attempt to cook... but instead I can't sleep and it's not the normal slew of excited jitters that keeps me awake before the holidays.
A week or so ago, when I was prowling the professor rating site, trying to see if I was the only one who had been so verbally slandered, I made a run through pretty much all the other English profs at that university that were on there. A few names stood out to me. I had heard them, maybe even met them, but could not recall a body to the name. Others I knew fairly well. One of the previous, a man who was just a name, we'll call him Mr. M, stood out to me for some reason. I think, indeed, it was his name. It was very familiar to me, though I couldn't think of why.
I read his list of reviews, like I had read the others. His, unlike the others, were fairly consistent. Though they differed here and there, the one thing they all made sure to mention, whether kindly or exasperatedly, was that he was "BORING" or "dull." At the time I had thought, well at least I'm not "boring" (I know it sounds selfish, but it mainly had to do with my reason for perusing and my state of mind at the time.) Besides that, I had kind of smiled a little. Being boring wasn't so bad after all. I had certainly had my share of teachers who, no matter what the subject material was, could lure me off into a day-dream, if not nearly an actual one, with no more than the sound or rhythm of their voice. I never particularly despised any of these teachers, and, while I don't remember much from their classes, they seem to hold a pleasant place in my memory nonetheless. Perhaps it was usually because they were kindly, fairly knowledgeable older men, or maybe its just the link to pleasant slumber, but either way, I did not at the time view it as such a horrid thing.
Last Thursday, a day I was trudging through due to a horrible migraine (wishing I had just canceled classes), I was in my office, my door open, flipping through essays to select for the next week's reading. I heard some students out in the hall, and just as any ear picks up suddenly new voices, so did mine. They were signing up for conferences. They came in short bursts. Small groups of two or three, occasionally one that would speak aloud to themselves. The majority of them seemed a bit put out about the idea for signing up for conferences. About the third or fourth round of them was a group of two or three girls, that was soon joined by a guy. They not only complained about the conferences, but about the teacher.
"Mundane Mr.M" one of them said and the others laughed and sighed. I don't know if the name would have stood out to me if I hadn't been on that wretched site so recently, but I suspect it would have anyway when I first saw it on the site it had. And this, perhaps, was why. His office was right by mine. At any rate, I remember thinking how weird it was that these opinions were voicing the same thing as the site. I shook my head, perhaps chuckled a bit. "Ah, students." The initial announcer of the nickname (I doubt they were the originator of it) wondered off, but the remaining continued to complain about the conferences and to further complain about the teacher.
It was like that kind of bitching circle fever, catch-able any time you realize someone else is just as annoyed or baffled as you are about a circumstance or person. They prattled on, not overly long, but long enough to the point that I sincerely began to wonder if they were taking any note of their surroundings. I had heard my share of teacher-whine-fests, even been apart of a few of them as student myself, but they were in the Faculty Office area, carrying on as if in their mother's basement. It's not a very big hall. I for one had my door open. Regardless, any one just hanging about was likely to know Mr. M, or at least be on the same level as Mr.M. i.e. a professor. It seemed completely tactless.
I had stopped listening to their individual words, when a deep voice rang out muffled, but quite clear, "I can hear you."
Even I held my breath, waiting. The shame of being caught in such an unflattering moment was palpable. There was perhaps a whisper, but no more. The hall was silent. The students quickly gone.
Was it him? Was it someone pretending to be him on behalf of some kind of decency? I wasn't sure, and I wasn't going to go nosing about to find out. Unfortunately, people still needed to sign up for conferences, and as one or two of them couldn't make any of the remaining times, they knocked on his door to see if he was there to schedule a different time. He was. Actually, I think he heard one beginning to really stress out because she hadn't made it in time to get the slot she wanted, and he kindly stepped out to help. He seemed pleasant enough. Changing the schedule to accommodate.
Regardless, he was there.
It must have been him.
He must have heard.
The event kind of stuck with me. It felt so wrong, though I couldn't put my finger on the precise reason why. There were the obvious ones, but there was something else nagging at me. Not to mention the door it opened to other, broader social pondering- do people really know what others think of them? etc- but unfortunately, before I could flush out my preoccupation, this story took a quite unexpected turn.
Early Tuesday, taking a break from grading, I logged on to check my email. (My students were not meeting that day, and) I was expecting drafts and questions about the upcoming essay, but I wasn't expecting an email from the head of my department. It was simply titled "sad news."
"It saddens me to tell you that [Mr.M] collapsed last night and died of a heart attack. His wife emailed me this morning ... The college will not tell his students of his death until after the holiday, when a care team member can be there with me to deliver the sad news."
I had received sad news emails before, though they were typically labeled condolences and concerned people I had never heard of before or family members of people I had never heard of before. Usually off in some other department, who knows where. But this, this was someone from my department.
At the time I was a little shocked. A later email went out about a card they were sending. Later that day I looked him up in the roster to see what classes he was teaching. Three sections of 101.
I'm never sure what to do in these situations. I didn't know him personally. I can't even tell you what he looked like. At the time I just kind of took it in, moved on with my day. What else was there to do?
I told Chris later on. I told him what I knew of the man. He was older. etc. When I got to the part about the students in the hall he told me to stop. Partly, he was driving, but partly, I think we both knew that once the amusement of "he caught them" wore off, there was something else there.
I haven't been totally aware that I have been thinking about this, until tonight. It is just kind of accumulating. I probably would have wondered deeper about these things anyway, but now I feel like I have no choice but to wonder.
What did he think when he heard those students in the hall? Had he heard those things before? Had he looked up his account on that site? Was he well aware of his nickname? Or was he hearing those words for the first time? Did something else happen further? Was it more than just fate or his time?
After years and years of teaching did it just come down on him? Did he not see the point any more? Did the words of his students, in some way, kill him?
I know the last question seems very drastic, but it is a stressful time of year. I do not know if he was the type of man who would have laughed about it or told his wife about it or shrugged it off as silly student nonsense. Or if he was the type to keep it to himself, to say nothing, to internalize it, to know it was somehow unfair, but too embarrassed to share their opinion of him even if only to hear it was wrong.
Tonight I'm tossing and turning and wondering if I should have emailed the head of my department right away and let her know that he had conferences. That they may have even been for yesterday. That she had better contact the students and tell them something, anything, so that they don't show up to their conference and he isn't there and then they hear it from someone else, not in the class room. Will they even be meeting in class on Tuesday? When I have conferences I can't have class. There are too many students, and he had three sections.
I don't know if this would be weird. I don't know if they know, or if it is beyond the point, if the conference sheet was left hanging on his door, or tucked away in a folder, or how much his wife knew about his schedule or syllabus or grading, or if they'll wonder how I knew he had conferences, why that seemed like something to share. Or if it even matters.
I wonder what his class will think. Will they feel bad for the words they uttered in the halls? Will they only care about their research papers or final exams? Was there a student that liked him, that genuinely liked him, who will need that care team member, but be too shy to say so?
There are too many questions. Too many questions for a man I barely knew, a man who was just a name.
Tomorrow, or this morning, is Thanksgiving. And I should be writing a blog entitled "Gobble, Gobble" or "What's with All the Food?" I should be planning a photo, step by step process of the Cornish Hens I will be basting and turning in my jerryrigged cake pan contraption or mourning the absent dessert, the sugar cookies I didn't bake.
But these things, though I will do them, seem somewhat trivial. Seem somewhat unfair. Mrs.M won't be doing these things, even if the students of her husband are blissfully unaware.
It seems cheap to turn this into a Holiday lesson, a "be thankful" for each other kind of fair, but what else can we take from this? Perhaps it is more than being thankful, more than appreciating the ones who are here. Perhaps it is showing them, showing them that we are more than thankful, but that we'd truly miss them if they were not there.
Perhaps it is clinging to what is real- to what is physically here before me- and putting the unanswered questions about a voice and name away for another day.
It's the eve before Thanksgiving (well I guess now it is actually Thanksgiving), and my head should be swimming with the pleasantries of tomorrow. The parade on TV, the Cornish hens I am going to attempt to cook... but instead I can't sleep and it's not the normal slew of excited jitters that keeps me awake before the holidays.
A week or so ago, when I was prowling the professor rating site, trying to see if I was the only one who had been so verbally slandered, I made a run through pretty much all the other English profs at that university that were on there. A few names stood out to me. I had heard them, maybe even met them, but could not recall a body to the name. Others I knew fairly well. One of the previous, a man who was just a name, we'll call him Mr. M, stood out to me for some reason. I think, indeed, it was his name. It was very familiar to me, though I couldn't think of why.
I read his list of reviews, like I had read the others. His, unlike the others, were fairly consistent. Though they differed here and there, the one thing they all made sure to mention, whether kindly or exasperatedly, was that he was "BORING" or "dull." At the time I had thought, well at least I'm not "boring" (I know it sounds selfish, but it mainly had to do with my reason for perusing and my state of mind at the time.) Besides that, I had kind of smiled a little. Being boring wasn't so bad after all. I had certainly had my share of teachers who, no matter what the subject material was, could lure me off into a day-dream, if not nearly an actual one, with no more than the sound or rhythm of their voice. I never particularly despised any of these teachers, and, while I don't remember much from their classes, they seem to hold a pleasant place in my memory nonetheless. Perhaps it was usually because they were kindly, fairly knowledgeable older men, or maybe its just the link to pleasant slumber, but either way, I did not at the time view it as such a horrid thing.
Last Thursday, a day I was trudging through due to a horrible migraine (wishing I had just canceled classes), I was in my office, my door open, flipping through essays to select for the next week's reading. I heard some students out in the hall, and just as any ear picks up suddenly new voices, so did mine. They were signing up for conferences. They came in short bursts. Small groups of two or three, occasionally one that would speak aloud to themselves. The majority of them seemed a bit put out about the idea for signing up for conferences. About the third or fourth round of them was a group of two or three girls, that was soon joined by a guy. They not only complained about the conferences, but about the teacher.
"Mundane Mr.M" one of them said and the others laughed and sighed. I don't know if the name would have stood out to me if I hadn't been on that wretched site so recently, but I suspect it would have anyway when I first saw it on the site it had. And this, perhaps, was why. His office was right by mine. At any rate, I remember thinking how weird it was that these opinions were voicing the same thing as the site. I shook my head, perhaps chuckled a bit. "Ah, students." The initial announcer of the nickname (I doubt they were the originator of it) wondered off, but the remaining continued to complain about the conferences and to further complain about the teacher.
It was like that kind of bitching circle fever, catch-able any time you realize someone else is just as annoyed or baffled as you are about a circumstance or person. They prattled on, not overly long, but long enough to the point that I sincerely began to wonder if they were taking any note of their surroundings. I had heard my share of teacher-whine-fests, even been apart of a few of them as student myself, but they were in the Faculty Office area, carrying on as if in their mother's basement. It's not a very big hall. I for one had my door open. Regardless, any one just hanging about was likely to know Mr. M, or at least be on the same level as Mr.M. i.e. a professor. It seemed completely tactless.
I had stopped listening to their individual words, when a deep voice rang out muffled, but quite clear, "I can hear you."
Even I held my breath, waiting. The shame of being caught in such an unflattering moment was palpable. There was perhaps a whisper, but no more. The hall was silent. The students quickly gone.
Was it him? Was it someone pretending to be him on behalf of some kind of decency? I wasn't sure, and I wasn't going to go nosing about to find out. Unfortunately, people still needed to sign up for conferences, and as one or two of them couldn't make any of the remaining times, they knocked on his door to see if he was there to schedule a different time. He was. Actually, I think he heard one beginning to really stress out because she hadn't made it in time to get the slot she wanted, and he kindly stepped out to help. He seemed pleasant enough. Changing the schedule to accommodate.
Regardless, he was there.
It must have been him.
He must have heard.
The event kind of stuck with me. It felt so wrong, though I couldn't put my finger on the precise reason why. There were the obvious ones, but there was something else nagging at me. Not to mention the door it opened to other, broader social pondering- do people really know what others think of them? etc- but unfortunately, before I could flush out my preoccupation, this story took a quite unexpected turn.
Early Tuesday, taking a break from grading, I logged on to check my email. (My students were not meeting that day, and) I was expecting drafts and questions about the upcoming essay, but I wasn't expecting an email from the head of my department. It was simply titled "sad news."
"It saddens me to tell you that [Mr.M] collapsed last night and died of a heart attack. His wife emailed me this morning ... The college will not tell his students of his death until after the holiday, when a care team member can be there with me to deliver the sad news."
I had received sad news emails before, though they were typically labeled condolences and concerned people I had never heard of before or family members of people I had never heard of before. Usually off in some other department, who knows where. But this, this was someone from my department.
At the time I was a little shocked. A later email went out about a card they were sending. Later that day I looked him up in the roster to see what classes he was teaching. Three sections of 101.
I'm never sure what to do in these situations. I didn't know him personally. I can't even tell you what he looked like. At the time I just kind of took it in, moved on with my day. What else was there to do?
I told Chris later on. I told him what I knew of the man. He was older. etc. When I got to the part about the students in the hall he told me to stop. Partly, he was driving, but partly, I think we both knew that once the amusement of "he caught them" wore off, there was something else there.
I haven't been totally aware that I have been thinking about this, until tonight. It is just kind of accumulating. I probably would have wondered deeper about these things anyway, but now I feel like I have no choice but to wonder.
What did he think when he heard those students in the hall? Had he heard those things before? Had he looked up his account on that site? Was he well aware of his nickname? Or was he hearing those words for the first time? Did something else happen further? Was it more than just fate or his time?
After years and years of teaching did it just come down on him? Did he not see the point any more? Did the words of his students, in some way, kill him?
I know the last question seems very drastic, but it is a stressful time of year. I do not know if he was the type of man who would have laughed about it or told his wife about it or shrugged it off as silly student nonsense. Or if he was the type to keep it to himself, to say nothing, to internalize it, to know it was somehow unfair, but too embarrassed to share their opinion of him even if only to hear it was wrong.
Tonight I'm tossing and turning and wondering if I should have emailed the head of my department right away and let her know that he had conferences. That they may have even been for yesterday. That she had better contact the students and tell them something, anything, so that they don't show up to their conference and he isn't there and then they hear it from someone else, not in the class room. Will they even be meeting in class on Tuesday? When I have conferences I can't have class. There are too many students, and he had three sections.
I don't know if this would be weird. I don't know if they know, or if it is beyond the point, if the conference sheet was left hanging on his door, or tucked away in a folder, or how much his wife knew about his schedule or syllabus or grading, or if they'll wonder how I knew he had conferences, why that seemed like something to share. Or if it even matters.
I wonder what his class will think. Will they feel bad for the words they uttered in the halls? Will they only care about their research papers or final exams? Was there a student that liked him, that genuinely liked him, who will need that care team member, but be too shy to say so?
There are too many questions. Too many questions for a man I barely knew, a man who was just a name.
Tomorrow, or this morning, is Thanksgiving. And I should be writing a blog entitled "Gobble, Gobble" or "What's with All the Food?" I should be planning a photo, step by step process of the Cornish Hens I will be basting and turning in my jerryrigged cake pan contraption or mourning the absent dessert, the sugar cookies I didn't bake.
But these things, though I will do them, seem somewhat trivial. Seem somewhat unfair. Mrs.M won't be doing these things, even if the students of her husband are blissfully unaware.
It seems cheap to turn this into a Holiday lesson, a "be thankful" for each other kind of fair, but what else can we take from this? Perhaps it is more than being thankful, more than appreciating the ones who are here. Perhaps it is showing them, showing them that we are more than thankful, but that we'd truly miss them if they were not there.
Perhaps it is clinging to what is real- to what is physically here before me- and putting the unanswered questions about a voice and name away for another day.
Comments
Post a Comment