Is This What I Want? by Patricia Mann Page B
Authors: Patricia Mann
Tags: Fiction, Family Life
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waiting list and see if a space opens up. I’ll add students in order of the highest number of units if and when any openings become available.”
They always expressed understanding, but the disappointment and anxiety they walked away with left me heavy-hearted.
When the last student left I looked at my watch, assuming I still had time to get online and print out the most updated version of my class roster.
“Shit.” I didn’t mean to say it out loud. The other students and professors in the room looked my way.
“Sorry,” I said with an unapologetic smile as I grabbed my things and raced to the elevator.
Standing in front of the door to the classroom where I would spend three hours every Tuesday for the next fifteen weeks trying to teach a group of fifty youngsters about business communication, I took the time to inhale deeply and exhale slowly several times. I reminded myself that I had done this many times before. That it didn’t matter who the kids were this time around. That we’d have fun and great conversations and they’d appreciate my passion for teaching and genuine interest in their thoughts and ideas.
I breezed into the room with a well-rehearsed easy smile. Brushing the hair off my shoulder I surveyed the sea of faces before me. I recognized about four of them. Myra Lipton smiled and waved a tiny, shy wave right in front of her chest. I mouthed, “Hi, Myra.” I knew it was just my hungry ego feeding off the junk food high of repeat students, but still I allowed the feeling to soothe the first day nausea burning my stomach.
I unpacked my briefcase slowly, laying a neat stack of folders containing syllabi and various other handouts on the desk in the front of the room. As I pulled out my laptop and began the process of hooking up the cables, students realized they had a few minutes before we would start and began chatting quietly. With their attention taken off of me momentarily, I felt my heart rate slow a little.
The old classroom clock high on the wall above me struck 4:00 and I began to move more quickly to set things up so that the students wouldn’t think it was okay to show up late to my class because I didn’t start on time anyway. The door opened and out of the corner of my eye, I saw the silhouette of a male student scurrying to grab an open seat in the front row.
With everything in place and my introductory PowerPoint slide filling the screen, I stood next to it and looked out at the class again. The large welcoming smile on my face was almost impossible to maintain as I became aware of the identity of the student who had just arrived. This can’t be happening, I thought. This must be another nightmare. I stood stunned as I looked at him. His eyes moved from side to side as if to tell me I’d better get started or the other students would notice something was wrong.
“Just a second. Sorry.” I started ruffling through my stack of folders as though I needed to find something very important.
I can do this, I told myself. I have to do this. I have no choice. He can’t be in the class, I thought. He wasn’t on the roster. It was calming to think that he must be trying to add the class, because I could easily reject his attempt. Then it occurred to me that the last roster I printed was two days ago. Someone could have dropped the class and he could have added it online when the space opened up.
My shaky hands lifted the list of student names and I carefully tried to pronounce each correctly to check attendance. When I finished, I asked for a show of hands to see how many people were not enrolled in the class and wanted to be on the waiting list. His hand didn’t go up. I hoped my face didn’t look as red as it felt.
“Okay,” I said, “and I didn’t get a chance to print an updated roster today. So is there anyone who added the class online in the last day or two and didn’t hear me call your name?” I thought my heart would leap out of my chest as I waited.
One hand
They always expressed understanding, but the disappointment and anxiety they walked away with left me heavy-hearted.
When the last student left I looked at my watch, assuming I still had time to get online and print out the most updated version of my class roster.
“Shit.” I didn’t mean to say it out loud. The other students and professors in the room looked my way.
“Sorry,” I said with an unapologetic smile as I grabbed my things and raced to the elevator.
Standing in front of the door to the classroom where I would spend three hours every Tuesday for the next fifteen weeks trying to teach a group of fifty youngsters about business communication, I took the time to inhale deeply and exhale slowly several times. I reminded myself that I had done this many times before. That it didn’t matter who the kids were this time around. That we’d have fun and great conversations and they’d appreciate my passion for teaching and genuine interest in their thoughts and ideas.
I breezed into the room with a well-rehearsed easy smile. Brushing the hair off my shoulder I surveyed the sea of faces before me. I recognized about four of them. Myra Lipton smiled and waved a tiny, shy wave right in front of her chest. I mouthed, “Hi, Myra.” I knew it was just my hungry ego feeding off the junk food high of repeat students, but still I allowed the feeling to soothe the first day nausea burning my stomach.
I unpacked my briefcase slowly, laying a neat stack of folders containing syllabi and various other handouts on the desk in the front of the room. As I pulled out my laptop and began the process of hooking up the cables, students realized they had a few minutes before we would start and began chatting quietly. With their attention taken off of me momentarily, I felt my heart rate slow a little.
The old classroom clock high on the wall above me struck 4:00 and I began to move more quickly to set things up so that the students wouldn’t think it was okay to show up late to my class because I didn’t start on time anyway. The door opened and out of the corner of my eye, I saw the silhouette of a male student scurrying to grab an open seat in the front row.
With everything in place and my introductory PowerPoint slide filling the screen, I stood next to it and looked out at the class again. The large welcoming smile on my face was almost impossible to maintain as I became aware of the identity of the student who had just arrived. This can’t be happening, I thought. This must be another nightmare. I stood stunned as I looked at him. His eyes moved from side to side as if to tell me I’d better get started or the other students would notice something was wrong.
“Just a second. Sorry.” I started ruffling through my stack of folders as though I needed to find something very important.
I can do this, I told myself. I have to do this. I have no choice. He can’t be in the class, I thought. He wasn’t on the roster. It was calming to think that he must be trying to add the class, because I could easily reject his attempt. Then it occurred to me that the last roster I printed was two days ago. Someone could have dropped the class and he could have added it online when the space opened up.
My shaky hands lifted the list of student names and I carefully tried to pronounce each correctly to check attendance. When I finished, I asked for a show of hands to see how many people were not enrolled in the class and wanted to be on the waiting list. His hand didn’t go up. I hoped my face didn’t look as red as it felt.
“Okay,” I said, “and I didn’t get a chance to print an updated roster today. So is there anyone who added the class online in the last day or two and didn’t hear me call your name?” I thought my heart would leap out of my chest as I waited.
One hand
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