A Semester in Review

As I sit on a semi-crowded subway car (crowded depends on what kind of New Yorker you are: the die-hard, new transplant, or wannabe vis-a-vie the tourist), the woman on the right scratches bingo lotto tickets in hopes of striking gold. The woman on the left takes an unseemly amount of photos of herself wearing a child's hat. I, stuck very literally in the middle, feel the effects of finals grade deadlines, days of grading, and the post semester exhaustion setting into my weary ladden academic bones.

I think back to late August and the jokes of my new superpower being Syllabitch, as I cranked out five different syllabi. The first days of class, getting to know the atmosphere of the two campuses I teach at, memories of New York flooding me at every turn, the thrill of autumn, and the joys of my job.

I wore heels every stinkin' day until late October when I did something unkind to my knee. I sported a big, scary assed brace, fought the gimp look, and begged my doctor for a smaller brace to fit under jeans. I wore my already well worn, thread-lacking, and non spring holding running shoes in lieu of my girly heels. Several students are convinced I was playing football in the park; I was not.

I used perfume daily, wore clothes I love, and destroyed a blazer in a fight with a dry erase board and marker. The skirt blew through American wars in the grandest proportions, emblazoned the horizon with history and reform for Environmentalism, danced with historical figure heads, toured interdisciplinary studies, and told her Women's Studies class that "everyone's got a skinny person inside of them, but I shut that Bitch up with cookies." Many other things were conversed, but learning that "pop" means a loose chickie still rings in my memory.

Two smart-ass students said "Dr. Babic, you didn't spell your name correctly." My response, quipped back after a moment of shocked silence, "I can guarantee you I did. You didn't write it correctly, and it's on Angel. Rest assured, there are two things I'm completely capable of in life. Spelling my name and finding bad dates."

Students have come out of woodwork to tell me how much they enjoy my class. There have been some particularly bad papers that bourbon couldn't help. Annoying students--maybe five out of a hundred or so--tested my resolve, and one undesirable floats in the mix. My majors at one school are entirely too excited about our spring class, and the other school can't hire me back as there's no budget. A new school awaits, in its replacement, for the spring.

I've graded Women's Studies papers to Lifetime movies, war ones to French World War I flicks, and Tourism Studies in the greatest tourist destination...New York City, via the N and Q line and Central Park. The sticky hot air turned to a cool, brisk autumn with brilliant shades of red and gold. Autumn suddenly turned to the bitter chill of winter with a momentary blanket of the white shroud. And then, in a flash, the twinkling lights of holiday cheer came and the semester ended.