Not dicking around...

I really don't care too much for that expression, for more than one reason. Regardless though, it seems appropriate for today. I'm not dicking around, fucking around, messing around; take whichever "rated" version you are in the mood for today... I was grading papers today for the better part of the afternoon and I was thinking about writing as a "hobby." While my students have to write under the tyrannical oppressive classroom like atmosphere that I create and the assignments that also match that foreboding description, I, on the other hand, have free reign and total autonomy over the ideas that I choose to contemplate and then deliver. I parent in much the same way although there is a lot of laughter mixed with the dictatorial comments that I spew randomly at the three minors who cavort daily in my home. Writing certainly is cathartic although if you think TOO much about what you want to say, then you are just editing your thoughts and then one has to ask, "Does that really help my mental state?" Writing as a hobby implies a certain amount of creativity, speculation and articulation that is equivalent to the level of understanding of which your audience is capable. Use a word that you know they aren't going to recognize or "Google" at their leisure and they may miss the point entirely. By the same token, repeat the same sentiment more than once and you may lose the gnat like attention span of the current members of Generation "Y" as I have heard them referred to in recent days. When I am grading papers, whenever I am grading papers, I give much consideration to how the student arrived at the thoughts that he chooses to share on the paper in front of me. Sometimes I sit for quite awhile and try to imagine the process that brought him to "this" idea or "that" conclusion. I know that I've said this before, but writing is such an intimate activity as it brings to the surface those pieces of you that may have been repressed or just hidden away for a long time. The process of grading a paper is much like being re-introduced to the writer himself; he is showing me a part of him that I may have never considered and that act, in that second, when the words cross over from the page into my brain, I make a real connection with that student, whether he realizes it or not. And that connection, that moment of synchronicity between our minds is, for me, what makes the act of writing so personal, volatile and highly provocative. Even when people are discussing an idea, there is often a lack of depth to the dialogue because when we speak to someone else, we are immediately responding to the most current idea in a timely fashion. We tend to discourage long pauses in conversation, at least in our U.S culture. We speak instantly and sometimes we start speaking even before the other person has had an opportunity to finish speaking. Thus, a lack of depth, clearly not always, but for me, it seems to occur more often than not. Unlike in writing, where one has the opportunity to expand on some ideas and to minimize others, with editing tools... I am pontificating on the artistic merits of composition. My mom told me not long ago that I was a "good" writer; that meant a great deal to me coming from her and then she added that I should do something with my writing skills. I smiled and then laughed, adding, "Mom, I am a writing teacher." She laughed too. So as to not "dicking around," well, I can honestly add, as it relates to the notion of writing as a hobby, I don't have much time these days to do said "dicking." Time and thoughts are often limited to packing lunches, walking the Pug, doing laundry and running kids all over town in the Tahoe. I am lucky if I have a few minutes to sit and ponder an idea that initially sounded like a good writing topic but that then ultimately goes nowhere. Tomorrow night my students will give their presentations on their research papers and hopefully they will discuss the process that they took in arriving at their final product, but my experience tells me that most of them will just choose a solid section from their papers and they will summarize what they've written. Often it's boring, but every once in awhile, there is a group of students who collectively seems to enjoy the process from inception to presentation. I am hopeful that this will be the case tomorrow. I always look forward to hearing their ideas and strangely, to reading the papers, strangely only because they are the longest product of the term and they usurp quite a chunk of my non-existent "free" time in the grading of them. But in the end, I learn several things, many of which are ideas with which I am unfamiliar. I never claimed to know anything let alone everything. I feel enlightened after I read most of them and with some, I drop my head and shake it slowly wondering how a student could hand such a pathetic product in after 8 weeks, but there are almost always 2 or 3 that end up with a sub-standard grade due to apathy or "personal" issues or just plain poor planning. Regardless, I will hold them in my hands tomorrow night and until I am ready to delve into the minds of the students, those papers will sit on my dining room table, taunting me, teasing me, even trying to solicit me... well, maybe not solicit. We will make that determination after I read some of the titles of the essays. I actually wish that I had more time to "dick" around; I long for the days when I could just sit on the porch and do nothing and when I could say, "I'm so bored." I do get bored, but I never have more than a few minutes to feel that before the dog needs to go out or Ty can't find his backpack or Jake needs to go to CVS for a posterboard at 10:00 at night. Maybe "dicking" around will just have to be reserved for those few days in my life when there will be no pile of papers looming at the end of the table or when the kids no longer want me to go anywhere with them or when it's hockey season and I lose Tim anyway. Maybe "dicking" around is reserved for those times in our lives when we just put aside all grown up things and allow ourselves to just not care about that pile of bills or the dentist appointment. Ah, I got distracted. Tim just came up and rubbed my shoulders for 10 minutes - all the tension has dissipated. All of life's dilemmas can be solved much easier after a few minutes of back rubbing. At least that's my opinion. Time for bed. Time to stop "dicking" around on the computer... Goodnight.