Last night in the middle of a three hour class, after their midterm but before the fatigue, A.S. gave a speech about fruit flies. I’d say that for 90 percent of the students in my classes English is a second language. 140 spoken or represented by the 25,000 students at BMCC. I’m still sort of floored by those numbers. Take a lot for granted. A.S. is from the D.R. and she thinks through her words like an old soul searching for a particular memory. Watching students translate on the fly is terribly rewarding—the double joy of articulating an idea and in another language is a tough moment to deny power as a teacher and all I have to do is listen. A.S. is doing the real work. We’re both smiling though. Somewhere in the middle of the mating habits of fruit flies and sugar attraction A.S. said the words beautiful spell and touched her nose for a brief moment, tracing an arc through the air and away from her face as the image resonated in our ears. For the five seconds of silence that followed as she searched for the words of her next sentence I let the glory of a failed translation sit like lavender in the air. Smiling. Certain no matter how beautiful a smell she wanted to convey the spell cast was perfect and what everyone needs every once in a while.    

1. 6/18, 10/21, 12/25, 4/19 —-> number of students who have been stopped and frisked by the NYPD this year versus number of students present in each class.

2. 20 year old single mother of two, M.P., tells us the results of the tests and it’s a boy and she’s been with the father through it all and she’s scared because her boys run around crazy and she really wanted a girl but most of all she’s happy because he’s healthy and due in August. We all jump up and down every goddamn one of us. 

3. G.R. called something “gay” before class and before I said anything three women and two men, his peers in the back row, all started talking to him and asking him questions: why is it gay? what do you mean? why did you use that word? what did you mean to say? doesn’t that seem different than what you said? did you know I’m gay? No one yelled but there was an energy going around the room where G.R. knew he had made a mistake. It felt like he learned something. All before roll, all without me.  

I sat in the hallway outside my 8:00AM class this morning talking T. through the next presentation. She works with the horses cops and tourists use to move through the city. Her hair hangs in a pile of deep red ringlets. She’s more awkward than anyone else in class. Born in Russia and adopted at 3 months by a couple in the Village. Dad makes documentaries and mom is a psychoanalyst. She was confused about the assignment. All of this in one prolonged breath. She wore a thick plastic bracelet on her right wrist that said in fat white letters I LOVE MY BOYFRIEND. On the first day of class she told us he was a giant nerd but that she loved him anyway. I could tell she was having a lot of difficulty finding or trusting the words she wanted to use for her speech. She cries as she struggles to get the words just right if out at all. This isn’t the first time she’s cried in front of me although I suspect it’s the first time anyone else noticed. An aspect of the job that will never be the same thing twice is listening and talking with students who are upset or fragile or maxed or burned or just having an off day. Giving the space, listening, not correcting or teaching or fixing those moments is incredibly difficult. Finding a reentry point is delicate and breakable. Every single word was a battle she was losing over and over in her head.

A. another woman from my 800AM came to my office later in the afternoon. She’d made the appointment and I knew she was coming in. She’s a great student. Lots of questions, works incredibly hard, and wants desperately to do her best and succeed. She’s very tiny and wears eyeglasses the color of empty perfume bottles. She sat down and took out her outline for the next presentation and it was something ridiculous like 8 pages longs because she wanted to make sure it was exactly right and even though we only have 4-5 minutes she was already at 9 when she ran through it the past 5 times and what am I supposed to do does any of this make any sense. One of the biggest differences between teaching at a two-year community college in the city and say a four-year state university in Ohio is that, generally speaking, these students don’t take a goddamn thing as a given or as their right. A. is 20 years old. A high school drop-out. Single mom. Two kids: 4 & 2. Putting herself through school and working and wakes up at 3:30 to get everyone ready for school provided day care. Her mother and grandmother tell her everyday she should drop out and take care of her children, find a man and focus on her real life. She said to me that she feels like if she fails even one assignment anywhere in her classes it might push her over the edge and make her quit all of it. These students aren’t throwing frisbees on the quad. They can’t afford to blow off class for some Pita Pit to saok up the mistakes of last night. The students here make most everyone else look like spoiled kids. This woman is my hero. Yet I’m supposed to teach her. 

Two wildly different moments of intense expression by two students on Friday that I’ve been carrying about all weekend. Every step I’ve taken these last few days, every photo I’ve taken and every smile I’ve given. Now I’ve got just as many slackers and blowhards in class as I did everywhere else but it’s easier to let them go. Even though I give them just as much as students like A. & T. they don’t stick with me. Three steps out the door I’m already thinking about the crosswalk at Chambers and Greenwich. But the ones that give something back even eye contact. Teaching me. I’m very very lucky. 

The first day of a new semester makes me happier than any other day during the year. Meeting five new sets of students. Fumbling names. Sweaty shirt. Bad jokes. Nerves. Hope. I usually forget how much of an impression they all make on me these first days until I look at them again somewhere toward the end of the semester and can see how much progress they’ve made. I don’t care what anyone says, getting up in front of people and talking, speaking clearly and articulately and intelligently is fucking terrifying for a lot of people, particularly a population of students that may have not been given a lot of encouragement over the years. Finding a voice is a process and it’s scary and hard. Being a part of that process with my students over and over again every semester is a wonderful thing. 

1. C.R.E.A.M. - The Wu-Tang Clan
2. Illmatic - Nas
3. Just Got Paid - Johnny Kemp
4. Let’s Get Physical - Olivia Newton John
5. Power of Two - Indigo Girls
6. Everybody Knows - Leonard Cohen