Teach to Power

Last night my niece asked, “How did you know you were gay?” I balked, my normal quip when friends ask this question was not appropriate, so I said something awkward about crushes on teachers and best friends you fight with too much. She was thoughtful for a moment and retorted, “Ok, I just want to know in case I find out that I’m gay; I wanna know the signs.”

Dear Community College Students: thank you for taking notes when I lecture, for having done the readings as assigned, for engaging in lively debates, and for being so earnest about and grateful for the chance to be educated. I know you're not all like this, but my class this term is full of you. I love my job, and I just have to say it, I love my fellow broke-ass people.

Just received this email from a student: “It was pleasure having you as my instructor. I feel I’ve learned more from the short 10 weeks of your class than in any of the English/writing classes I’ve had. You must have had your off days too, but you always came to class with positive energy and I truly respect that.” My heart explodes.

Yesterday, at the river, there was this woman who captivated all of us with her buxom and confident beauty. As she was leaving, I couldn’t help but tell her how beautiful she was. She teared up and replied “Thank you! I almost didn’t leave the house today because I felt so ugly.” Point is this: Don’t take for granted that people know they’re doing the right things. Tell them. And keep telling them.

I think it’s a good sign that I had my class in stitches during a lecture in which I discussed Foucault’s panopticism, and also the limitations of the Cartesian model of subjecthood. Stand-up theoreticians for life!

Last night, one of my students told her story of running in the Portland Marathon this weekend: The last person to make it to mile 25, that mile in which you are so exhausted physically and mentally that you lose reason and motor function, she ran straight into the Occupy Portland crowd. Her first response was to cry. She had trained and prepared for this moment for six months and now throngs of people would prevent her from hitting the finish line. But then, to her surprise, the great masses parted---'like Moses' Red Sea,' she said---and began to clap and chant her name. They cheered her all the way to the finish line, and then, despite being tired beyond words, and never having heard of Occupy Portland, she joined the protest and came to class with a new perspective.

Last night I went to class sick and one of my students immediately noted: "Hey, your hair isn't poofy. Are you OK?" Turns out, the higher my hair the closer to good health.

A sign that I set my students a little too at ease: tonight, in a one-on-one conference, a student said, "I'm just gonna be honest, I get really stoned before I write these essays." We both just sat in silence for a moment and pondered where to go from there. Do I reprimand him? Report him? Ask for the number of his connection? So many ethical dilemmas.

Tonight one of my students asked me if I know Chelsea Handler, and I got all faux modest because I expected they were about to say I reminded them of her, but instead they said, "You are totally funny enough to write for her show!"

My flyer for Critical Inquiry (made by a friend of mine)

It's taken four years, a hundred cute outfits, years of sparkling wit and hints about my queerness, but tonight I finally got asked out on a date by a student. Don't worry, I respectfully, if reluctantly, declined.

So I came into the corporate teaching interview rocking blue hair, neon orange lipstick, a lace skirt and heels. During the interview, when asked what my teaching style is like, I pointed to my outfit and said, “Well, as you can probably see, I bring energy and creativity to my classrooms.” Then I pointed to my matching lipstick and nails and said, “But I also bring detail and structure.” Based on their awkwardness, those stuffed suits didn’t know what hit ‘em.