My Final Semester: First Impressions.
I realize this exercise is not as exciting for everyone else as it is for me, but I feel the need to go through and do my beginning of semester overview, mostly to reflect on what I am into this semester; to organize my thoughts, don't you know.
In the first part, on the surface, it comes to me that this will be an easy semester. Granted, I am taking 15 credits while I am taking on a full-time, or near full-time, load at work. Nonetheless, I am still not anticipating any issues.
I suppose I should begin by confessing that I am taking two of the easiest gen eds on the planet. I am taking Physical Systems of the Earth and Weather and Climate. I am nearly blinded by the sheer ease of these selections; it almost does not seem moral, and I find myself questioning the choice, purely because it does not challenge me, at all. Although, I must also note that these were the ones that I could fit into my schedule, without having to add Monday classes: the lesser of two evils.
The first is physical systems, which is on Tuesdays and Thursdays from noon to 1:15. It is probably the single easiest possible science with lab available in the catalog; thank God, that I have already taken my science lab, because I imagine it probably would tie with geology for most stupefyingly boring. The students in this class are something of a mix, but a great many of them are sophomores and freshmen. There is no spirit of volunteerism, and you can smell the attitude on certain students, even from where I sit in the upper decks.
The Prof is trying very hard, and he seems like the kind of guy who it would not be bad to have a beer with, but, unfortunately, the class is not exactly game, and his questions go unanswered and his dad-jokes fall flat, even though some of them are actually fairly decent. He wants to spend a period doing some geocaching type work, if he can ever find enough volunteers to go into the cold. I feel sorry for him when people leave after attendance has been taken.
The guy sitting next to me is in a similar boat to mine. He is an upperclassman, both bored and fairly intelligent. We sit in the back, largely because we can watch everyone else.
Weather and Climate is comprised, almost entirely, of bored Juniors and Seniors, all of whom--it is my assumption--are fairly pissed off, because they were surprised when they discovered that they would have to take this class instead of Soviet Revolution and Regime. Still, they labor on gamely, in a class which their professor insists, was designed to get them an easy A, just so long as they take lecture notes and do the homework. I weep.
I am so toast by the time this class arrives in the evening, that I have not much to say about the others in the class, except that I have met many of them before, and they represent a cross-section of various majors at IPFW, and that many of them are actually fairly serious students...just not pushing themselves in this instant.
The professor is a man, beginning to go gray, with a quiet and calm demeanor, a soft voice, but a certain air of authority, which probably comes in part from his other job, which is nothing to sneeze at. He strikes me as being extremely nice, but we saw a little bit of iron when the person who came in 40 minutes late was asking question after question about things we had already covered.
Intro to linguistics will be very interesting. If you walked into the class, you would notice 20 odd heads of varying age, all sporting somewhat longer hair, and belonging to females. Then you might spot the one the one closely cropped--balding--head of what appears to be a man; that would be me. I am waiting to see if I have any lost brothers who have not made it, but we will see. *Edit, lost brother showed up mere hours after I wrote this. There is another dude. One more.
Another thing I have noticed, is that I am probably the second oldest student in the room. In fact, I have noticed, with something like annoyance, that most classes, and the campus itself, houses an unnatural profusion of whipper-snappers, who listen to their music too loud and need to get off my lawns.
H'anyway.
The professor is a tall man with an angular face, dark hair, and a voice that is sharpish and bossy, somewhat nasal, and almost always set to sardonic. His jeans were a little short over the tops of his white trainers the first day he walked into class, but that just enhanced the general elan of I don't care that was radiating off of him. Not that he did not care about his work or his students, which I believe he does, but that he cleverer than anyone else in the building, knows it, and his wit could probably raise welts on you if you cared to mock him for his faux pas.
The material is all familiar ground, and I only wish I had taken it much earlier.
World in the Twentieth Century is also so much familiar ground. It is, again, absolutely full of people I have had class with before, including a couple fellow club presidents, the other Withers Scholar. I sit next to a forty year old man, who shares my appreciation of irony, and a set of twins, who might just have an attitude.
The professor is tall, ginger, and has a voice which is set to project to the far corners of the bulding. She lays her emphases in the oddest places, and tells us to write things down, which I rebel against, but she has a sense of humor, and some of it is directed at herself, so I am on her side. She is, naturally, outspokenly of a different political-ideological mindframe than that which I espouse, and her demeanor makes me believe she would probably have me burned alive if she found me out. No worries though, she has heard only good things about me, and would never suspect the dark affiliations I have made.
The class is structured for those who have not thought about the topics of nationalism or identity before, so for a political historian like me, the first couple classes have been a touch boring. I hope for better things when we get to socialism; a topic which seems to bring the light to her eyes.
The last class on my slate--best for last--is History of the Early American Republic. Which will cover the time period from the ratification of the constitution to the glorious reign of William Henry Harrison. The content is familiar, but is presented so well, and with such a fresh perspective, that it all seems new.
The professor is about my height, beginning to round just slightly, has dark hair, dark eyes, and looks young enough to be one of the students. His voice is a little higher, somewhat nasal, and yet it is not entirely unpleasant; when he gets really excited, he sounds like Radar. He has a grin which could only be described as impish, and his sense of humor matches his grin. He is genuinely funny. He is a moderate democrat--a difficult animal to find in the wild--and does his best not to let politics bleed into history. I should say: his best is pretty damn good.
The students are actually a mix. I am one of the only ones who has had Malanson before; his fan club has since graduated, so this class holds a greater proportion of people who need to take an upper level analytical writing class, and who think American history will be the most interesting choice. This group includes a couple pre-med peops, business majors, a couple crazy older guys who venerate the founders, a few hard line history students with other world interests, and a crop of newer history students, who are about to learn how to work.
I admit; I am slightly disappointed with this as a last semester, mostly because it is largely without a challenge. I would have liked it to include Soviet History and a couple other topics which I find more interesting, but basic sciences are what I get. I will go through the motions, get the easy A, and wonder who a joke is being played on; the bureaucrats, who seem to believe that these classes are imparting something better to me than more intensive upper division courses in my major, or me, who pays for these inferior group-nap sessions. Who knows.
I will get something out of all of these classes--I always do--but I feel like I might get more out of it than I am. I also wonder, since we have individual advising with the faculties of our departments, who have the greatest interest in turning out savvy students, why not let them determine what is appropriate to each student? Why does a paper pusher, probably without any knowledge in my field, and certainly without knowledge of my capabilities, decide what would make me a well rounded student; was it not an indicator that I passed my first science and lb practical with A+ grades? Is a pair of easier classes really necessary?
Maybe. Maybe I am just being spoiled. It is just that, here at the end of my time on campus, there are great professors, with whom I would be privileged and honored to study further, and with whom I will not get to study again. I will miss these professors; I will miss their lectures and I will miss our talks. It will not be easy for me to find people I can talk to about my areas on equal ground, much less who have a wealth of knowledge to share.
I suppose I should tell them how grateful I am.
Now wouldn't that make for a nice awkward little exchange.
Their poor little selves having to sit their and take it while I tell them who ardently I admire and love them. No. I'm afraid not. Ours is a staid branch of knowledge and learning. We do not blow things up. We do not make pretty light. We do not cut people open (normally). We write. We research. We geek out with each other over discovered minutiae that would cause others to yawn. A fun, kind of quirky, group.
That is my tribe. We are not there for the money. There is no glory in it. We are in it for the love of history, and I just feel like I would have liked spending my last semester surrounded by this group. I get to spend some time in that environment, but not enough.
Granted, I have romanticized all of this wildly, but I am a historian, and I think we are all romantics at some level.
In the first part, on the surface, it comes to me that this will be an easy semester. Granted, I am taking 15 credits while I am taking on a full-time, or near full-time, load at work. Nonetheless, I am still not anticipating any issues.
I suppose I should begin by confessing that I am taking two of the easiest gen eds on the planet. I am taking Physical Systems of the Earth and Weather and Climate. I am nearly blinded by the sheer ease of these selections; it almost does not seem moral, and I find myself questioning the choice, purely because it does not challenge me, at all. Although, I must also note that these were the ones that I could fit into my schedule, without having to add Monday classes: the lesser of two evils.
The first is physical systems, which is on Tuesdays and Thursdays from noon to 1:15. It is probably the single easiest possible science with lab available in the catalog; thank God, that I have already taken my science lab, because I imagine it probably would tie with geology for most stupefyingly boring. The students in this class are something of a mix, but a great many of them are sophomores and freshmen. There is no spirit of volunteerism, and you can smell the attitude on certain students, even from where I sit in the upper decks.
The Prof is trying very hard, and he seems like the kind of guy who it would not be bad to have a beer with, but, unfortunately, the class is not exactly game, and his questions go unanswered and his dad-jokes fall flat, even though some of them are actually fairly decent. He wants to spend a period doing some geocaching type work, if he can ever find enough volunteers to go into the cold. I feel sorry for him when people leave after attendance has been taken.
The guy sitting next to me is in a similar boat to mine. He is an upperclassman, both bored and fairly intelligent. We sit in the back, largely because we can watch everyone else.
Weather and Climate is comprised, almost entirely, of bored Juniors and Seniors, all of whom--it is my assumption--are fairly pissed off, because they were surprised when they discovered that they would have to take this class instead of Soviet Revolution and Regime. Still, they labor on gamely, in a class which their professor insists, was designed to get them an easy A, just so long as they take lecture notes and do the homework. I weep.
I am so toast by the time this class arrives in the evening, that I have not much to say about the others in the class, except that I have met many of them before, and they represent a cross-section of various majors at IPFW, and that many of them are actually fairly serious students...just not pushing themselves in this instant.
The professor is a man, beginning to go gray, with a quiet and calm demeanor, a soft voice, but a certain air of authority, which probably comes in part from his other job, which is nothing to sneeze at. He strikes me as being extremely nice, but we saw a little bit of iron when the person who came in 40 minutes late was asking question after question about things we had already covered.
Intro to linguistics will be very interesting. If you walked into the class, you would notice 20 odd heads of varying age, all sporting somewhat longer hair, and belonging to females. Then you might spot the one the one closely cropped--balding--head of what appears to be a man; that would be me. I am waiting to see if I have any lost brothers who have not made it, but we will see. *Edit, lost brother showed up mere hours after I wrote this. There is another dude. One more.
Another thing I have noticed, is that I am probably the second oldest student in the room. In fact, I have noticed, with something like annoyance, that most classes, and the campus itself, houses an unnatural profusion of whipper-snappers, who listen to their music too loud and need to get off my lawns.
H'anyway.
The professor is a tall man with an angular face, dark hair, and a voice that is sharpish and bossy, somewhat nasal, and almost always set to sardonic. His jeans were a little short over the tops of his white trainers the first day he walked into class, but that just enhanced the general elan of I don't care that was radiating off of him. Not that he did not care about his work or his students, which I believe he does, but that he cleverer than anyone else in the building, knows it, and his wit could probably raise welts on you if you cared to mock him for his faux pas.
The material is all familiar ground, and I only wish I had taken it much earlier.
World in the Twentieth Century is also so much familiar ground. It is, again, absolutely full of people I have had class with before, including a couple fellow club presidents, the other Withers Scholar. I sit next to a forty year old man, who shares my appreciation of irony, and a set of twins, who might just have an attitude.
The professor is tall, ginger, and has a voice which is set to project to the far corners of the bulding. She lays her emphases in the oddest places, and tells us to write things down, which I rebel against, but she has a sense of humor, and some of it is directed at herself, so I am on her side. She is, naturally, outspokenly of a different political-ideological mindframe than that which I espouse, and her demeanor makes me believe she would probably have me burned alive if she found me out. No worries though, she has heard only good things about me, and would never suspect the dark affiliations I have made.
The class is structured for those who have not thought about the topics of nationalism or identity before, so for a political historian like me, the first couple classes have been a touch boring. I hope for better things when we get to socialism; a topic which seems to bring the light to her eyes.
The last class on my slate--best for last--is History of the Early American Republic. Which will cover the time period from the ratification of the constitution to the glorious reign of William Henry Harrison. The content is familiar, but is presented so well, and with such a fresh perspective, that it all seems new.
The professor is about my height, beginning to round just slightly, has dark hair, dark eyes, and looks young enough to be one of the students. His voice is a little higher, somewhat nasal, and yet it is not entirely unpleasant; when he gets really excited, he sounds like Radar. He has a grin which could only be described as impish, and his sense of humor matches his grin. He is genuinely funny. He is a moderate democrat--a difficult animal to find in the wild--and does his best not to let politics bleed into history. I should say: his best is pretty damn good.
The students are actually a mix. I am one of the only ones who has had Malanson before; his fan club has since graduated, so this class holds a greater proportion of people who need to take an upper level analytical writing class, and who think American history will be the most interesting choice. This group includes a couple pre-med peops, business majors, a couple crazy older guys who venerate the founders, a few hard line history students with other world interests, and a crop of newer history students, who are about to learn how to work.
I admit; I am slightly disappointed with this as a last semester, mostly because it is largely without a challenge. I would have liked it to include Soviet History and a couple other topics which I find more interesting, but basic sciences are what I get. I will go through the motions, get the easy A, and wonder who a joke is being played on; the bureaucrats, who seem to believe that these classes are imparting something better to me than more intensive upper division courses in my major, or me, who pays for these inferior group-nap sessions. Who knows.
I will get something out of all of these classes--I always do--but I feel like I might get more out of it than I am. I also wonder, since we have individual advising with the faculties of our departments, who have the greatest interest in turning out savvy students, why not let them determine what is appropriate to each student? Why does a paper pusher, probably without any knowledge in my field, and certainly without knowledge of my capabilities, decide what would make me a well rounded student; was it not an indicator that I passed my first science and lb practical with A+ grades? Is a pair of easier classes really necessary?
Maybe. Maybe I am just being spoiled. It is just that, here at the end of my time on campus, there are great professors, with whom I would be privileged and honored to study further, and with whom I will not get to study again. I will miss these professors; I will miss their lectures and I will miss our talks. It will not be easy for me to find people I can talk to about my areas on equal ground, much less who have a wealth of knowledge to share.
I suppose I should tell them how grateful I am.
Now wouldn't that make for a nice awkward little exchange.
Their poor little selves having to sit their and take it while I tell them who ardently I admire and love them. No. I'm afraid not. Ours is a staid branch of knowledge and learning. We do not blow things up. We do not make pretty light. We do not cut people open (normally). We write. We research. We geek out with each other over discovered minutiae that would cause others to yawn. A fun, kind of quirky, group.
That is my tribe. We are not there for the money. There is no glory in it. We are in it for the love of history, and I just feel like I would have liked spending my last semester surrounded by this group. I get to spend some time in that environment, but not enough.
Granted, I have romanticized all of this wildly, but I am a historian, and I think we are all romantics at some level.
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