|Dammit, don't get|
me all misty!
I get to my office, open the door, and there's a large envelope on the floor. I open it and see two 8X10 photos of my favorite new songwriter. The note inside the envelope is from a student from last term. It's the kind of note proffies dream about. I encouraged this student to take charge of her own heart and head, made her give a shit about things. We've all gotten notes like this and the details are not relevant.
We do a unit each term on the portrayal of women in music videos, and this artist is one we covered in class last year, a brilliant songwriter whose record company seems determined to turn into a common whore.
My student saw this songwriter was doing a show OUT OF STATE, and drove more than 10 hours to see the show and take some photos for her "sometimes cranky and moody, but always awesome and inspiring prof."
Yeah, I got a little moisture in my eye; it was almost as if my heart wasn't dead and black.
Goddammit, this job is hard. And the rewards are meager. But one good student, one good student who gets it, finds something, is challenged, is changed, gets to begin afresh, makes all of the misery worth it.