So if things go as planned, right about now I’ll have my PowerPoint loaded up, and I’ll walk around my desk, ask after everyone’s health, and launch into my last-lecture-of-the-semester in COMM3399, Media Campaigns. (At least, I think that’s the name of the class. I hit the midterms last semester before I realized I’d be calling a class I was teaching by the wrong name.)
But whatevs. I showed, every time, on time, prepared to teach. And if I can’t for the life of me remember the class name, or when is scheduled the final, that’s all on the syllabus, Sparky, and you can look it up yourself.
This 8 a.m. class was not my idea. 8 a.m. is never my idea. I am almost always up before 8 — sometimes long before 8 — but I am rarely both dressed and ready to speak coherently. At semester’s start, I counted the days I’d have to be up at 5:30 to make this damn class, and then teared up a bit because it seemed insurmountable.
Who knew that it would turn out to be one of my favorite classes? Who knew that the election (which we followed closer than most) would go so much off the rails and give us so many hours of discussion pleasure?
Who knew? I didn’t. The same goes for my JRNL3352, Journalistic Research, which may actually be called Journalistic Performance. We started the class with “What is the truth, and where can I find it?” We were so young back in August. This was before we talked about “fake news” and “post-truth.”
So today is the last day of the campaign class. I don’t have much planned, mostly a quick run-through of what we discussed, and what might show up on the final (to be held at 8 a.m. on an upcoming Saturday, if you can imagine that). I will be done by 9:25, at which point I might do a little jig down the hall. I did it. I showed up, on time. And learned a great deal. That’s one of the secrets of teaching. You learn.
Onward. And I really would like to live the kind of of life where a 5:30 a.m. alarm is followed strictly by climbing onto a plane to go somewhere awesome.