Well, just finished off the last of my grading for this semester, and although that is indisputably reason for celebration, something about the process of assigning people letters for achievement (or lack there of) always makes me feel like a sellout; I can so clearly recall my tumultuous years in high school, saying aloud more than once, “…if I was the teacher, I’d just give everyone A’s and let the kids get high in the classroom…” or some such infantile blabber, so passionate about the “us vs. them” distinction inherent to teachers and rebellious youths. For some reason though, rather than concentrating on all the palpable flaws that one can find with my juvenile proposition, as soon as I enter those final grades into the appropriate boxes all I can focus on is a mental apparition of me at 15, one eyebrow raised, eyelids heavy with disillusionment, shaking my head in disapproval. So who gives a fuck, right?! Why should anyone give two shits about what some naïve, idealistic, angsty younger version of themselves thinks about the way you conduct your life today? I mean, we’re bloody functional members of society now, we learned a lot of our lessons the hard way---and anyways, some puffed up teenager just couldn’t understand… okay, I just threw up a little bit in my mouth writing that last bit there, but I think that sums it up quite properly. In some quasi-Jungian way, when I send off my students’ grades at the end of every semester, I am, in that moment, everything I hated as a young boy: judge, authority, evil grader of lives; yet, even though we all know living well in the modern world requires a lot of philosophical compromise, in these moments that logical fact provides no solace. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining; I have never been more fulfilled with another job in my entire life, it’s true; however, I’d be a rotten liar if I didn’t admit that some small part of me still seeks to break the rules, dose the water supply, as it were. Herbie Hancock never stopped shaking things up, to the ire of lame jazz purists, but to the endless glee of heads the world over; Paul Jackson’s funky bass drives this number along, but it’s Herbie’s crazy synthesizers and keys that always elevate things into another dimension. So, am I a “traitor” for giving students the grades they earned instead of just passing everybody right on through? Of course not, but I doubt I’ll ever get fully used to it, just the same.
