I dismissed a class early today. I regretted it as soon as the words left my mouth, but there they were, and Silent Sam and Sullen Sheila were out the door before I could even finish the sentence. While Quizzical Quentin and Querying Qwenda came forward to ask, all sorry-eyed, if we would ever discuss the reading we skipped.
My righteous anger faded, replaced by guilt, even though I remain suspicious of whether or not they actually did the damn readings. If they had done the readings, why did they spend the first hour and a half of lecture with their heads down, scribbling abstract art in their notebooks as I tried with flagging spirits to get a reaction from them? Any kind of reaction. Some flicker of engagement!
But regardless of how dull the class was, regardless of how disengaged and bored they seemed, it's my job to teach. And I didn't. I feel like I reached the bottom of my bag of tricks, and threw in the towel. That's it. I'm done.