Forty -seven semesters now I have stood in front of classes for the first time (whether in person or online). (Should be forty-nine, but there was that one summer I couldn’t teach because I was in Kenya and didn’t have reliable internet, and then I didn’t teach this last summer either.) Forty-seven times I have talked about plagiarism (which now includes a subsection on AI). Forty-seven times I have explained the grading system. Forty-six times I have submitted final grades.
When I first started working at my college, I thought I’d only be an adjunct there a couple years before we’d have to move for my partner’s job. But neither of those things went as planned. And somehow, I just started my seventeenth year. Assuming I can retire when I’m eligible at thirty years in (insurance will likely be the deciding factor), then I am just over halfway.
And, honestly, it feels like a blink.
Things have changed. The students are different, with different needs and different issues. Not to mention different skills. I have been part of three re-designs of the developmental English program (because legislators keep changing their minds). I witnessed the world shutting down and had to move solely online (something I thought I would enjoy – but turned out to hate…all the worst parts of of the job without any of the fun parts). I’m continuing to witness the fall out of that. I’ve served on committees and developed programs and created trainings. I’ve had more professional development than I can recall. I’ve taught at least 184 courses (minimum five each fall/spring and two in summer – I know this is low, but it’s a close-enough guess) classes. I’ve taught at least 3,680 students (average 20 students per class). (Part of me wants to figure out the actual data. If I do, I will come back and edit. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ )
And when I look at it that way, I suddenly can’t help but think – I’m only halfway?
Time does not play fairly. It stretches and constricts in ways I can’t always follow. All I know is that I just introduced myself for my forty-seventh semester.
And for the first time, I wasn’t nervous?
You read that right – sixteen years, three semesters a year (minus two summers), and I was still nervous on the first day of class.
But this semester, my forty-seventh semester, not a single butterfly in sight. I’m not sure yet what it means.
Ami Maxine 