Class Notes

“Foundations of Educational Thought” — second meeting

The most important thing that happened in class yesterday did not occur in the time/space of the class. About two hours before class I was busy sorting through a reimbursement snafu where I completely lost my composure. I was seething mad. In retrospect I am pretty happy that I didn’t do anything REALLY stupid given how internally angry, how royally pissed off, I was.

Prior to that I prepped a pretty good class sketch. I even made a hand-out. I like to think of all my classes as jazz structures: I put in a unison line or two, a few thematic sections with minimal chord changes, and leave room for improvisations from myself and the class. This class, on paper, had it all. Plus: this was the class where my Primer was the featured specimen. A class full of hope and promise.

I ask my students to be present in class. By “present” I don’t just mean to show up; I want them to fully present, to dwell in the class in every possible way. Sadly, the incident before class clouded my availability in class last night. My anger prevented me from being wholly present, from truly dwelling with them. I tried to follow the chart I drew up, despite my internal condition, and I even told them about it — but I stumbled over the changes, missed several beats, and left feeling like I just got bye. It was one of those nights when you just feel lucky to get out without being booed off the stage, or worse.

It was a tough night on the classroom bandstand. There were some moments, I think. I hope? One student asked me about my abuelito Rocha—to whom my Primer is dedicated—and I almost lost it emotionally. It was then that I truly realized that I was still in shambles from the earlier event.

Afterwards I returned to my lovely great-aunt’s (by marriage) house where I am staying till our apartment is ready to move in. I ate a warm, filling dinner, realizing that I hadn’t eaten since 10:30 am, and went straight to bed, well before 9 pm.

The reason for all the detail of things unrelated to the literal class time is because they show what really happened during this class. This morning I write this reflection while being serenaded and prayed over by John Coltrane’s classic trinitarian jazz-suite: A Love Supreme. It is healing salve to me and a reminder of what being present sounds and feels like.

My fault yesterday was twofold: being too presumptuous about the class to begin with, too pleased with my preparatory compositions; and allowing my anger to lead me to despair: a dark, cynical, selfish despair. As Chesterton teaches, the two sins against hope are presumption and despair. Mea culpa.

Next week’s class is canceled because it falls on Labor Day; this will allow time to grade the papers I collected from them (describing the word ‘word’) and prepare to begin anew — with Plato’s Meno. I am full of hope for it, for redemption.