So teaching went pretty well, I’d say.
I was predictably nervous before class on Thursday, made more so by the fact that I had a late afternoon class, and all day long in Tompkins Hall I was racing to prepare my notes as my fellow grad students descended the stairs to their first classes, sharply dress and visibly tense and jittery.
Earlier that morning I had been feeling relatively sanguine about it all as I wrote the previous blog post and prepared to head in, confident of my ability and my preparation. Angie meanwhile hasn’t begun her new job yet, and so busily flitted about the kitchen preparing a lunch for me, healthy snacks, a water bottle, a travel mug of coffee, and generally making sure little Zaky was all set for his big debut. On the way out to the car she had me pause so she could take a photo of me in my new gray herringbone twill sportcoat, the one I had bought specifically to mark the occasion of becoming a teacher, complete with—forgive me for the cliché—elbow patches. The added attention only ramped up my nerves, but I was certainly grateful as well.
I had English 624, a teaching practicum, several hours before teaching, during which we went over last minute qualms and concerns. Every one of my peers was looking great, dressed professionally in a way grad students seldom are, and I felt like I was back in my last corporate job, at the Convention and Visitor Bureau, where everyone dressed well as a matter of course. Afterwards, up in my cubicle, I got an email telling me that the computer console in my assigned classroom was broken, as well as the overhead projector, and that I should make alternate arrangements. My lesson plan had involved some pretty intensive use of that machinery, so I nearly panicked. Then the internet went out.