Deletions and Bears

I recently joined Google+. It would be an adventure if anybody used it. When I joined, I started cracking down on my Google account and the various pieces of data--pictures, personal information, etc.--that have accumulated over the past few years. I changed privacy settings all over the place and removed pictures that I didn't want more than select friends and family to see. I found one folder that had random pictures and deleted them, before realizing that they were all of the pictures from this blog. It's a tragedy, as the pictures proverbially add 1,000 words to each post. I have reposted a few of the more recent pictures available on my hard drive. However, many were lost in the abyss. I mean, what about the one in which my student drew a man riding an elephant that was flying on a magic carpet on his quiz? C'est la vie. Loss is a very real part of life. Grief is too. I would know; I read A Grief Observed (Lewis) yesterday. And I read the Twilight saga over break. Bella, like, totally grieves when Edward is gone. So, I know all about it.

Nevertheless, we move on into a new semester with new pictures and new students. I am teaching courses on conflict management and negotiation, and popular culture this semester. Both are new to me, and I am looking forward to it. My main excitement is the idea of showing Blazing Saddles to students. It has taken me awhile to get pumped for this semester, as I had a very difficult time teaching over the summer. Suffice it to say that online teaching is a different bear. The kind of bear that mauls you in the night. The kind of bear that takes all of the food from your campsite, especially the one package of Keebler's Grasshopper cookies that you brought for a special once-a-year camping treat. The kind of bear that poops right in the middle of your hiking trail just because he can. The kind of bear that reports you to your senior faculty members because they didn't get the grade they wanted. A petty asshole of a bear.

Where was I? Oh, yeah. I had a bitter taste in my mouth from teaching that particular group of students. I won't go into the stories from those 5 weeks. I would rather not sound like a harpy, but would prefer to maintain my persona of quietly suffering in a world of student entitlement. (That was sarcasm, in case you were unsure.) Instead, I am choosing to start another semester filled with hope that I will have classrooms full of adolescents who want to learn, who do the reading, who write coherent papers, and who engage energetically in class discussions. They will be the cute kind of bear, perhaps a baby polar bear or even a stuffed teddy bear just waiting to be cuddled and instructed. Yes. This semester will be the semester in which I have perfect students... at least until the first day of classes.