Endings and Beginnings

Big day today, as I submitted final grades for my courses. It’s always such a hectic time, these last few days of the semester. Whenever you think you’ve got it all done, there are always new details to be taken care.

Beyond all the work is the emotional aspect of this time of the semester. Inevitably, there will be those students who struggle and don’t do as well as I, or they, wanted them to. For some reason, they froze in the exam room or just couldn’t get it in gear. Then there are those that chose not to do their best, especially near the end of the semester, even though they were doing well in the course. I often wonder what happens—what goes so wrong in a person’s life that the thing they’ve invested so much money in, so much of themselves in, and so many hopes and dreams in—that it suddenly takes a back seat to everything. So they don’t bother showing up for class, thinking it won’t hurt their grades. But it does. Or they don’t pass in that last essay, or they just do a sloppy job on it, thinking that whatever they pass in will get the same grade. Not true. Rarely is. These are the kinds of people I feel slip through my fingers, making me wish I could have one last chance to help them, just to show them that there’s a better way to end the semester after having done so much work already. But there’s nothing I can do. Nothing they can do. Just let it go.

Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Then there are the students who sort of floated under the radar all semester, who didn’t raise their hands in class, never came to see me in my office, only hoped to get by day after day without being noticed. If that was the goal, then, to some extent, they succeeded. But I always notice when someone’s trying not to be noticed. They become like ghosts in my daily life, and, as a person who’s made a life out of studying and writing about ghostly figures, they would actually be the first ones I’d take note of and remember. I understand the need to be still, to be silent, to hope the danger passes. Maybe it’s out of self-preservation, a sense of fear, of not really wanting to participate except to observe. Maybe some of you are even reading this blog. Just want you to know: I get it. It’s okay by me. I’m not sure my approval would (or should) even matter. But just letting you know.

Not Waving, But Drowning

Of course, then there are the students who inspire—who somehow find a way to do better than they have all semester. Now, this rarely happens unless a student has been working hard and coming to see me in my office to talk things over once in a while, and genuinely striving to improve their thought process and their ability to express those thoughts both aloud and on paper. There are always a few students who surprise me on the final exam by suddenly showing that they “get” it—that they finally understand what it is I’ve been saying to them all semester long. Thankfully, there were some of those this time around, and I was only too happy to reward them for their enlightenment because it is an enlightenment that comes only from hard work and perseverance. Those qualities are not always rewarded in life, and it’s nice when they are.

I appreciated those of you have taken the time to stop by and say a few words, either in my office or at the end of the exam, to say you enjoyed the experience this past semester. It reminds me of why I teach—because I want to inspire, to make you want to learn, to be better able to express what you see in the world, to be able to see and understand more of what the world, and your own life, reveals to you. It is a sad person who is filled with experience and thought but is unable to share insight for lack of the right words. If I can somehow contribute to your own ability to communicate your thoughts and feelings, or to introduce you to an author or poet who inspires you, or simply to entertain you on your way for a few minutes every day, I am honored for the privilege.

There are many of you I will never forget, but, alas, many of you whom I will forget in time—I will always remember your faces, even when your name inevitably gets lost in the sea of names that whirls in my head like thousands of leaves in a hurricane. Right now, your faces and names are fresh in my mind and I am aware of so many hopes and triumphs, and so much heartache and sadness at the same time, that you have gone through in these past four months alone. When I look out across the exam room, or when I put in those final grades, I think of you, what I know about you, imagine how I think you will react to the number. And in the end, it is just a number, even if you are not. It doesn’t define you. I did my best, as I hope you did, to ensure that that number reflects the quality of your effort in the past few months. But that truly depends on a communication between you and me. In that regard, I’ve done everything I can. The rest, as I like to say, is between you and your God. Only you can say whether you showed up each day. And if you showed up, did you have something to say?

And the other voices—mine, fellow students, the authors we studied—did you allow them to speak to you? Or did you close your mind, along with your eyes? Sometimes, just showing up is not enough. Sure, it can be an act of bravery to show up (not just in class, literally, but in life, figuratively)—to make the moments count for something. You have to be present in order to truly live. If you managed to do that, then you’ve impressed me. More important, I hope you impressed yourself. Because sometimes it’s just not that easy.

I plan to keep writing in this blog over the holidays, to lighten things up or to put some things in perspective, mostly having to do with my own life experiences and observations. If you’re still reading this, I’m assuming you’re along for the ride, willing to see where this one goes.

Right now, it goes to stores around the St. John’s area, as starting tomorrow the Christmas shopping must begin in earnest. After that, a few days of well-earned rest, hopefully. It won’t be too long before the preparation for next semester must begin.

*Shudder.*

Best not to think about it.

Best to keep on moving. Except, occasionally, to stop by woods on a snowy evening. Or at least for an afternoon at the movies with my loving, patient wife.

See you around.

Thanks for being present.