I started teaching a few years ago, public speaking at the local community college. I loved it; I’m good at it. I got to connect with people of all ages, in school for all reasons. There is nothing like being responsible for teaching a valuable, necessary skill to people who don’t share your racial background, your ethnicity, your gender, your overall interests, your political affiliation, your life goals, your amount of time alive. The learning is mutual, even from the dually enrolled high schoolers. I’m struggling this semester, though. I’m not teaching public speaking.
My undergrad degree is in English. I’ve always wanted to teach literature or creative writing. Last fall I went to the dean when classes were being distributed and asked to be considered for English as well as public speaking. It turned out that there were no available public speaking classes, so I was asked to teach Technical Writing. Sure, I can do that.
I did that. I didn’t like that. It’s a hard skill to teach, but I say that with the confidence that I can still teach it. It’s just hard, though, especially when basic composition isn’t a prerequisite, and especially when it’s a required course rather than an elective (which would mean people who were interested in the field or something similar would be the ones taking it instead of construction management majors who can’t possibly render themselves less interested). But, I understand its needing to be required. If it weren’t, there’d be too few students signing up for it. Probably.
If we’re friends on Facebook, you know I sometimes post about the lengthy, discuss whatever we think of, phone calls I have with my father. I thought about breaking this list of topics up because it’s rather lengthy, but no. In order to understand the majesty of this 2:14:30 call, you have to see it all (and yes, it’s hard to try to keep track as we go. Just think, I may have missed some stuff).
We started off slow this week talking about how I’m recovering from being sick last week. It was a strange sickness–a consumption-like cough, body aches, and nothing else. So, we started with that and cold medicine: what works and what doesn’t. Somehow, that led us to:
Let’s get right into it, shall we?
Election results and what’s transpired since last Tuesday’s Debacle of Degeneracy:
Safety pins. They keep bras together for the titty gifted. They keep pants closed when you can’t afford a new pair after becoming an unwanted 12 after being an 8 for years. Basically the pins sit in the bathroom until you need them, but not where you left them, WHY AREN’T THEY WHERE I LEFT THEM, and puts something back together, temporarily, that was likely previously moderately ok, but now says nope, I’m out.
We like to pretend that we are smarter, more open, evolved, aware. Many of us are. And yet, look where we are. Black and brown people are being murdered before our eyes, here and abroad, by those the same color as them and those not. By those in professions of power, and those not. We are being forced out, threatened with walls to keep us from returning. We are being told we don’t belong, aren’t wanted. Our religious beliefs are persecuted. Our love lives, even consensual sexual acts, are fought against. Our bodies are not our own because decisions about them are still made by others.
I remember President Obama saying there was no way Trump would make it this far. He wouldn’t get the nomination; he wasn’t a real contender; no one was foolish enough to elevate him. #ThanksObama
It could happen, y’all. He could actually win. Think about that. Think about what it means even if he doesn’t win. Projections have this as a close race. It’s not going to be a landslide either way, but more telling is that it won’t be a landslide for Clinton. There are millions of people in our country who are purposefully voting for Trump, willingly.