But first: one of the prompts was to write an apology, from me, not from someone else. I just about howled (like one does at the moon) when I heard this prompt issue forth from my workshop leader's lips, and figured that between kelly, akr, and my own "public apology" section in the class I teach, there will be no escape from this prompt until I participate in it.
So, I might as well post my response. You might note that even though it is from me, it is fictional. That is the only way I can manage to get out an apology apparently.
Dear Students,
I am glad to see you all here tonight, such a muggy evening in B-ville. As I'm sure many of you know, it is supposed to rain tonight as it frequently is supposed to rain in this illustrious small Pacific Northwest village. You might note that there are umbrellas and plastic bags provided for you in this eventuality and I assure you that you will not be charged for them as I have paid form them out of my ample 401K, penalties for early withdrawal notwithstanding. The umbrellas are a tad damaged so you might want to opt for the plastic bags, which are Hefty bags and thus durable and large enough to cover most of your upper bodies, if not your lower bodies.
In consideration of the high probability of rain, I would like to take this time to thank you especially for coming out to tonight's event, and I'm amazed as I look out there at all your many faces, how many of you I have had the honor of coming to know in the past eight years. I see faces that remind me of the great times and places I have been to... some of you traveling from even so far as Chicago, and I think... Jorge M, is that you? It is?! Welcome, welcome... Even Ecuador then. And ever so many from the county too... Kelsey, I'm so glad to see you! No, not you, Kelsey; the Kelsey in the second row. How did that trip to Italy go? Did my recommendation work? Excellent, excellent! And S... you never went too far away, did you, but I can say I'm distinctly proud of the news article work you do. As for the rest of you, welcome, and again, thank you.
I am sure most of you understand why we are here today, after you received my invitation, and I can see the gravitas that rests not-so-lightly upon your shoulders as you come seeking words and actions that are long overdue. I can feel that it has weighed heavily upon you and occupied your minds, and it seems clear to me that this moment has come unbearably late for many of you who suffered the psychological and resultant physiological pain and hurt of those who have had to wait too long for justice.
It came to my attention several months ago that you have been wronged, and I was dismayed... no, distraught... to discover myself the culprit. I can only explain the horror and dawning realization as it came to me one evening, when, while randomly googling myself, I discovered my own actions and flagrant wrongdoings by stumbling ignorantly, if not ignominiously, upon RateMyProfessors dot com. I understand now what has happened, and can only grieve my errors.
I hope that you can understand the burgeoning shame and sorrow that filled me as, scrolling down in hopes of the seemingly imminent "red chili pepper," I only discovered the discord and disharmony that my brief presence in your life has provided. To quote bestfriendgirl@hotmail.com, I have been "overly intellectual while yet still distracted" and have "graded harshly and unfairly." While hot-to-trot@gmail.com has given the concession that I "know my material and at least attempt to transmit it," he also rightly points out that I become "overly irritated with those who can't follow my convolute explanations." I applaud you, hot-to-trot, by the way, on your use of exemplary vocabulary. And no less damaging, the chorus of protestations over my "disorganization" and penchant for assigning "so much reading that not even the nerds could keep up." As angerly-biding-time@yahoo.com so eloquently put it: "She needs to understand that we all have lives outside her class, and composition is not really that much of a priority, thank you very much."
In addition to these lower-level albeit alarming offenses, there is the one that haunts me well into the night as I raise my glass of libation in hopes that my fervent repentance meets forgiving ears: "She made me hate writing, and I used to love it." You are right, partygirl230476835@aol.com: "not all writing should involve endless analyzing, pointless analyzing, self-reflective analyzing, and way way too much over-analyzation."
I refuse to retreat to the apparent safety of self-defense -- such action is akin to chasing the mirage that emanates alluringly from the sweltering desert of ego maintenance -- although in a minute I might explain, though not justify, my actions. I do not want to discount your reasonable objections, your suffering and anger. Nor do I wish to ignore your valiant efforts to seek redress on the Internet, so above all else, and firstly, secondly, thirdly and in conclusion, I would like to express my heartfelt and truest apologies. I am sorry, students, and I apologize.
I apologize for those papers returned a week late; for not sending email reminders in addition to the syllabus and online daily schedule; for not understanding properly that I am a geek in love with language and thought, which is an attribute that can hardly be projected upon you. I am truly sorry for the excess of comments - I tell myself each time to set down the pen - and furthermore, I apologize for their horrendous illegibility. My ridiculous disregard of grammar in favor of ambition, and my constant harping on the utter boredom that ensues upon the perusal of 5-paragraph essays is inappropriate; after all, you are only doing what every other heartfelt teacher has taught you before. I apologize for my ineptitude in leading conversation, in failing to instruct you how to converse about ideas versus cellphone reception and the teachers one ought to avoid. I apologize for ignoring grade inflation because it irritates me. I also apologize for being very bored by comp theory, especially the theory that holds that talking about writing is more instructive than actually writing. I am sorry for assigning way too much work. Trust me, I am very very sorry about assigning way too much work (especially sorry at 2am in the evening as I finish reading your work and begin the long process of dreaming about grading your work.)
I would like to back up a few steps and apologize for not earning those "red chili peppers" I was undeservedly hoping for. God dammit, I fervently apologize - to you, and to myself - for that one. After all, there are several colleagues of mine who have more clearly earned those "red chili peppers," and it was silly of me to have seen myself in relation... nay, in competition... for those sexy hot peppers... although I might have to chastise you for conferring one upon my Ex, if you were going to enforce such high standards. Really, that must have been a slip-up.
I have let you all down. I feel it in my marrow now, each day as I enter the classroom and see all your beautiful fresh faces out there, waiting and hoping for the unexpected, looking for the teacher who speaks to you in the tongue of exotic life. I understand the long tedious hours of following rules, and reading someone else's reading list, of hoping or dying for an excursion outside, where some brilliant teacher might light upon the shuttling beauty of leaves in transition - from bud to shiver, or shiver to darkening, or darkening to absence. And I understand the longing for the chairs to misalign, and the podium to contort into a fat cocoon that occasionally undulates with the life that is forming, as if to tell you... or me... perhaps, to erupt and come forth, to become.
I have failed you, students. Every day that I show up and claim my paycheck without once having stood on a desk in the center of the room with a sword withdrawn while reciting the Communist Manifesto followed by a little Emily Dickinson... is a day I have failed you, and failed to earn more than a three-star rating on RateMyProfessor, along with absolute no "red chili peppers"!
All I can offer is redress: hefty bags, faulty umbrellas, this moment, and the promise to do better in the future: to pare back my ambitions while simultaneously expanding yours; to inspire you to write instead of asking you to write; to give you all A's even if you didn't earn them because that is one way to make trouble, and I like making trouble. I promise to teach you all grammar, but in a new way. I will discover that way, so you will succeed, because that is what I promise to begin dreaming of: your success, and becoming a better teacher, a real teacher and not the fake one that I have become so that I might pick up my paycheck, feed myself and my dog, and then go to work in my studio, where I do what I secretly want to do, what I long to be doing while holed up in a coffee shop, shlepping piles across my brain, and angrily arguing with all of your voices.
And now, as I look out across all your wet shiny faces, your hefty bags glistening like an oil spill across the gulf... only better than that, I mean... a positive oil spill, I mean... I say thank-you again, for having been there then and being here now in the rain together, and somehow seeking the teacher you know I can be. Above all, you deserve that. You deserve a better, kinder, red-hot spicy habañero of a teacher... and that is what I am promising you today. Thank you.
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