Sunday night and there was no home-cooked dinner forthcoming. Instead, we
jumped in the Mini Cooper and headed to a nearby picnic table drive-in burger
joint — with killer chocolate malts. Typically, it’s crowed with motorcycles
transporting large women tough enough to make me quake but also enchant me. But
that evening, it was threatening to rain. We walked right to the window and placed our orders. Without much delay, they called “Sue” and I
received the quizzical look I also get when I claim to be the intended
customer. As is often the case, we were ahead of the trend. Not long after
we started munching, a considerable line had formed. In Europe
this happens because our bodies long for an evening meal several hours before
the sun sets. But in general, we seem to have our stomachs calibrated to signal
the need to seek nutrition before the rest of America lumbers up to the
counter.
That’s how things have been lately. For example, my 11 aspiring
STEM teachers are approaching peak anxiety levels. I felt they’d been overly mellow and happy during their summer courses. Meanwhile, I was worried they were entirely unconcerned about the
immensity of the challenges they were going to face. But at the last class
meeting, I was ready to let them go because I was convinced we had nothing more
to teach them. They had tried stuff out in the real world. A former
advisee came that last day to share advice and I thought it was a delightful
way to show them it was possible to survive and prevail. Looking around
the room, most of their tanned faces had become ashen. I’m ready to buy rounds
of drinks for my lovely instructors but we can barely pry the student teachers
out of their chairs, down the steps, and out into the gritty world. Tomorrow
evening I’ll see them after they have spent a few days in school. I am eager to
be in their delightful company. Truthfully I anticipate they’ll be
trembling with a school-onset version of PTSD: nails and hair chewed to a
frayed condition, eyes wide and twitchy. Me: I’m proud as an uncle who after teaching my siblings' kids to make fart noises from their armpits. I am up and my students will probably be down.
For several months, I am experienced this odd sensation that my
emotions are completely unsynchronized with the rest of the world. Here’s an
example: my new post-doc is eagerly hiring “minions” to help collect
qualitative data in schools next month. AND she wrote the IRB application plus is
coordinating the protocols with other members of the project. Similarly, even though our
participation rates on our survey were less than half of what I wanted, we
STILL hit some important milestones in terms of statistical significance and
adequate effect sizes. All of this is frosting on top of the delicious cake
that is my preservice STEM program. When I hear about others who aren’t have
the same time of their lives as me, I worry and wonder whether there might be
something to the notion of karma. My brother’s depressed because his “baby”
graduated from college, a former doc student just buried his father-in-law, a
local outdoors buddy just told me his wife* is leaving
him, and someone I remotely know just spent two
weeks sleeping on a hospital bench next to her daughter who was recovering from
a scary ailment. I don’t really believe the universe cares enough to make sure
the happiness quotient is zeroed out. I feel nothing resembling guilt because others are
talking to divorce lawyers or funeral directors or pediatric residents. I
suppose what I wish is that others could be as tickled by their work and lives
as I am right now.
But that’s not going to happen soon. My teacher friends are
frantic because their classrooms aren’t fully stocked and set-up for the
invasion of knowledge seekers. My professor friends are realizing they must tuck shirts into long pants and shuffle off to lecture halls and office
hours. Me? After assuring my underlings that even though the work is demanding and that they will eventually find moments of delight (or at least decent stories to tell others), I walk out the door and prepare
for a European expedition. Yes, while you’re worrying whether the Find/Replace
feature caught all the dates on your slides so nobody knows you are recycling
old presentations, I’m struggling with whether it will be dry enough in Cyprus
that I can depend on hand-washing undies so I can get by on half the number of
briefs relative to the number of days of travel. Department meeting next week?
Sorry, I’m away at a conference. Paperwork for accreditation? It’ll have to
wait until mid-September. Paid trip to Athens, Georgia? Oh sure, I’ll be back
in time for that! And I will happily buy drinks for my compadres!
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* Note: Use google translator to see how to say "bitch" in Spanish.
