This Is How Students Say "Thanks for a Great Semester!"

Had to share this one.  The back story: This semester, I used an online platform to receive and grade student papers.  I was told it helped streamline the whole evaluation process, that it was easier for students to receive and implement feedback, and most importantly, that it would help me grade thousands of papers in less time.  I used it, and still haven't decided whether I like it or not.  But what you REALLY need to know is that it's incredibly easy and user-friendly for students.  A knuckle-dragging Cro-Mag could submit an essay on it with no problems.  Literally, it's a one-click submission process.  And my students have been turning in work on the site for months.

The following email correspondence took place between me and a student last week, the day before the final assignment deadline.


Dear Professor, 
Hey it's Jordan from your 9:30 class.  I just wanted to let you know that I've been trying to upload my paper to turnitin.com but it's not working.  I've tried everything, including reformatting the document as a different document but the document still won't go through.  I just wanted to let you know, fyi.


Dear Jordan, 
Thanks for checking in.  Since you've successfully submitted all of your previous work this semester on the web site, I'd say go back and see what format you used for those earlier essays.   Everything you've turned in so far has made it to me without any problems.

Dear Professor, 
The last time I turned something in to you it was a Word document and I know it was fine but it's not working now.  Respectfully I think the problem is with the web site and not with me so you let me know when you fix it and I'll turn in my paper in after that.

Jordan, 
I just checked online, and so far, two-thirds of your class has turned in their final essay without any problems.  And again, since you've submitted your earlier assignments online without experiencing any difficulty, I'll leave it to you to go back and fix the issue.  Remember that the deadline is tomorrow at 9 a.m.

(Two hours later)

Dear Professor,
I've tried everything.  I don't know why it's not working, but I know it's not my fault.  I strongly think you should either fix the web site, or let me turn my paper in to your mailbox later this week.  I don't have time to do so until Thursday because of my busy schedule.  I know the deadline is Wed but I'm assuming you'll make an exception for me due to this difficulty which is out of my hands.

Jordan,
As of now, 85% of your class has turned in the final paper without incident.  Are you using the same computer you used to submit past assignments?  Are you sure you're online?  I'm sure that sounds somewhat patronizing, but I really don't know what advice to give, since you've been able to turn in all previous work online without any problems.  Since you live in the same dorm as several of your classmates, maybe you could ask a friend to help you troubleshoot.  Beyond that, I'm not sure what to tell you.  Do be aware that you're required to meet the same deadline as everyone else.  This situation doesn't warrant an exception.

Dear Professor,
I think you should know that I'm deeply offended by your response.  I'm just trying to do the right thing and turn my paper in on time.  You are being incredibly unreasonable about your deadline and you've been that way all semester which I think is ridiculous!!  You care more about turning essays in on time than about the content of the essays themselves.  I consider that to be very irresponsible for a teacher!  This paper is a big part of my final grade and the fact that you don't even care is incredible to me.  Thanks a lot for nothing.  I will remember your disrespect of me for the rest of my college career.


Dear Jordan,
I'm sorry you feel that way.  After the holiday break, if you feel the need to register a formal complaint with my department, you can do so by contacting my department chair.

(Two more hours later)

Dear Professor, 
Oops, sorry.  I was trying to turn our paper in to a different class by  mistake.  My bad.  Have a happy holiday break!

New Pirate Posts!

Hey you guys, you know how I have badge over on the right side that claims I'm a contributor to DadCentric?  And how I haven't posted over there in so long that it's amazing I haven't been asked to relinquish that badge in shame?

I've posted over there this morning, for the first time in just four short months (ish.)   We had this county-wide blackout last night, I had a couple hours worth of battery life left in my laptop, and a little too much time to kill.  And as we know, inspiration strikes at the weirdest times, so voilá: new postage.  It's mainly about my uncanny ability to panic in the face of uncertainty.  Yay! Go here to see.

Also: if you're a TV-lovin' sci-fi geek like me, maybe you'll be interested in reading my predictions for some new shows that are rolling out over the next few weeks.  If so, you can read that action over here at Culture Brats.

Check me out, two whole posts today!  Three if you count this one!  Which you shouldn't!  Because this one is really just a post telling you about two other posts! But what the hell, I say it counts!  Three, count 'em, THREE whole pirate posts!  You're welcome!

Giddyap... maybe.

So.  I've been off the Internetz grid for a while now.  I'd like to say it was due to the high demands of my job as a top secret sniper-ninja-spy for the government, which sometimes sends me on dangerous missions for months at a time.  And any fool knows you don't send tweets when you're in the middle of covert ops.  Rookie mistake.

But I have in fact popped my head up a couple times here on this blog, over the last few months.  I've posted twice since April.  And even that was rough.  And if you read those posts, you know my absence is due to a more predictable reason.

I've always found it hard to write about experiences as they're happening.  Especially difficult ones.  It's like reflecting on the scariest part of the roller coaster ride while you're still screaming in panic with the wind rushing in your ears.  It's much easier for me to wait until the ride is over, stumble through the exit, maybe go puke in a trashcan, let my stomach settle... and then wrap some words around the entire thing later.  

That, essentially, is why I haven't been posting anything here in a while.  I'm still in the middle of the goddamn ride, and it hasn't let me off yet.

But if I engage in the Big Fat Cliché that tells us life itself is just one long roller coaster adventure, then what am I gonna do: wait until I'm 90, and start a blog then?

Not so much.

*

Last weekend, I attended BlogHer, the Godzilla-big blogging conference which took place here in my hometown this year.  BlogHer, the conference where women bloggers are celebrated, and men bloggers are... tentatively let into the building.  (I'm just kidding.  Actually, if you're a dude, you're welcomed with open arms and nuzzling at BlogHer.  Or, if you're Whit, you have women throwing panties and hotel room keys at you.  Seriously.  Crowds of women were following that dude everywhere.  He's the Elvis/Justin Bieber/Robert Pattinson of blog conferences.)

I only attended the evening parties during the weekend.  I didn't attend any discussion panels, although now I wish I had.  I could've learned more about how to monetize my blog.  Or how to maximize SEOs.  Or what SEO means.

There was a lot of learning, strategizing, networking and business card passing happening at the conference.  I knew going in that that wasn't going to be my deal.

I went to BlogHer because it was a once in a lifetime opportunity to meet some writers I greatly admire. And be in the same room with some creative, funny and talented people.

Which is exactly what happened.  I could list all the cool bloggers I met, and I could litter this post with all kinds of inside jokes that would be totally irrelevant and irritating for those who didn't attend the convention.  But that wouldn't really serve a purpose.  Plus, I'm sure I'd forget to mention some super-amazing people, and that would just make me feel bad for the rest of the day.

Although I will say that I finally got to meet more of my DadCentric compatriots, which was the highlight of the whole event for me.  (Muskrat.  TwoBusy.  Whit.)  I finally got to meet one of my fellow Culture Brats (My beloved new BFF The Weirdgirl.)  I also got to confirm the high-quality charisma of Kristine from Wait in the Van.  The vivacity of Jules.  The infectious energy of HipMamaB.  The make-me-snort-vodka-out-my-nose-from-laughing-too-much wit of Lexa.  The absolute kindness of Sweetney.  The Go Get 'Em kick-assitude of Doug the Laid-Off Dad.  Among many others.  Many, many others.  Many people with great blogs I'm now discovering for the first time.  On one evening, I attended the "Listen to Your Mother" open mic session, and heard some outstanding women read their wonderful works.  Put it all together, and that's a lot of awesome sauce in the ladle.

Basically, I had the privilege of hanging out with people that made me want to write again.

That's what I wanted, you guys.  That's really, really all I wanted.

I talked to a lot of people who gave me a lot of support.  I also met people that are blogging while, yes, going through some serious shit in their own lives: I don't have the market cornered on personal upheaval, apparently.  There's value in writing about it.  There's value in the writing, and in the sharing of it all.  I can do that, if I proceed cautiously, step by step.  I can't guarantee it'll be always be funny, but I can at least try and provoke a little back-of-the-throat vomit.  How does that sound?  Awesome, right?

The next sound you hear will be a very small, tentative "Giddyap."

Just don't give me crap if my next post doesn't go up until November.  'Kay?

The Father's Day Showstopper

How do I know our daughter is going to be ok once the divorce dust settles?  Here's how.

Here's the gift I received for Father's day.

I was in my office this morning checking email, when the Mini-Pirate called down from upstairs, "Daddy! Go in the living room and sit on the couch."

"What's going on?" I called back up, skeptical.

"Just go sit there!  There's a surprise!"

I peered out from my office, into the living room.  The couch looked harmless.  There was no painted X on a particular spot, or a bullseye.  I looked up, but didn't see an anvil hanging from a fraying cord, or a bucket of pig's blood balancing precariously over head on a beam.  (Mini-P is still dealing with anger issues, at both Saucy and me.  Understandable.  Still.  Hence my misgivings about going to sit somewhere at her command.)

Saucy, upstairs, with the Mini-Pirate, called down to reassure me:  "Just go sit down.  It'll be totally worth it."

I went and sat, as instructed.  Moments later, Mini-P and Saucy made their entrance, elegantly descending the stairs.  My daughter was wearing: her favorite skull T-shirt, a showgirl feather in her hair, gigantic butterfly wings, and a pair of her mother's lace-up boots.  Saucy was wearing a jaunty scarf, and an expression of amiable chagrin.

It turns out that Mini-P wrote me a song for Father's Day.  I would find out later that she worked on it all day yesterday, and made Saucy rehearse it with her several times while they were at the grocery store.  In front of people.

I sat and witnessed something awesome.  This was not a half-hearted, self-conscious little non-performance.  This was Idol.  This was Best New Artist Grammy.  This was my daughter channeling Selena Gomez, her favorite famous person, currently touted as the Mariah of the current Tween Generation.  Only without the voluminous talent.  (Or slutty wardrobe, so that's a plus).

Move over, Selena. There's a new rockstar in town.

Right there in the living room, my daughter gave me the showstopping performance of a lifetime.  Not only that: her Mom totally delivered as her back-up singer.

It was a ballad, but I could tell that if there'd been a band backing her, it would've provided a solid, driving backbeat.  I did not have a video camera to record it, and I know that if I try to get them to recreate it on film, it won't be the same.  That's ok.

Afterwards, I received the lyrics.  Here's what my girl wrote and performed:


Ha-pp-y Father's Day
Thanks for all the care and love you give
every day of the wee-ee-eek
and the times that we get a little saa-aad.
You make us feel a whole bunch better.


(Mommy:  Shoo-bee-doo, Shoo-bee-doo)


I'm a little high strung
Just because I'm young
Daddy we adore ya
And we'll do anything for ya
Although some days do make us frantic,
with one single crazy antic,
and when we're bouncing off the walls
you're the one who stays caa-aalm.
Because you love us for who we are
We'll always love you-oouuuu Daddy!


(Mommy:  Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh)


And the crowd on the couch went wild.

And that's how I know things are going to be ok.

She Skips.

My daughter has never walked.

That is to say, she's never just walked.  When going from Point A to Point B, she doesn't merely put one foot in front of the other.

She skips.  She spins.  She leaps.  She gamboles, shimmies, sidesteps, saunters, wheels, hops.

She doesn't walk.  She dances.  Ever since she was able to stand on two tiny, plump legs, this has been true.  I don't think I've ever seen her simply walk anywhere.

Example: For the last four years when I would drop her off in front of her school, the Mini-Pirate and I had a ritual.  I'd stop the car, she'd unbuckle herself, lean forward as I leaned back, and she'd kiss the back of my bald head.

"Ouch!" She'd say every time.  "Your bald head just shocked me!"  And we'd laugh.

Then I'd try to impress upon her some nugget of advice, some little tip about whatever it was we'd been talking about lately:  Remember to be a listener.  Treat other kids the way you want to be treated.  Stand up for yourself when you need to.  Remember that your teacher is only trying to help you.  Think about the tone of your voice when you talk.  Count to ten when you feel frustrated.  Just a last minute review, my way of trying to say, "Let's be careful out there," before she would head out into the world.

Then she'd get out of the car, hauling her gigantic pink backpack behind her, stand on the sidewalk as she got her arms through the straps, turn and wave at me, and then off she'd go, heading towards school.

Never just walking.  Skipping.  Always skipping.  Even on days when she was in a bad mood, days when she was worried about a teacher, or a project, or recess politics.  She would always skip.  She couldn't help herself.

Monday was her last day of fourth grade.  Big school-wide pizza party, games, fun stuff all designed to say Happy Summer.

Two days earlier, Saucy and I sat her down and told her, as gently as possible, that we are not going to be married anymore.

It was awful.  So awful I won't be writing about the details here.  For now, I'll just say that we rehearsed the conversation very carefully, consulted with a family therapist beforehand, made sure she knew there is no Bad Guy in the situation, and then were by her side for the rest of the weekend as she wrestled with the hardest emotions she'd ever had to deal with, at age nine: anger, sadness, desolation, rage, depression, confusion.

It was a long and painful weekend, but it had to happen.  Our daughter can't start the healing and rebuilding parts of the process until the horrible parts happen first.  Still.  Worst experience ever.

We didn't know if she would want to go to school on Monday for the big end-of-the-year party.  Saucy and I were ready to stay home with her and just hang out, talk, let her continue to vent all of her frustrations if that's what was necessary.  But when Monday morning arrived, our Mini-Pirate got up, had breakfast, and got dressed, preparing for school.  Saucy and I looked at each other over Mini-P's head, silently agreeing that if she wanted to go, then so be it.

I drove her to school that morning, glancing back at her in the rear view mirror all the way.  She was quiet.  All I could do was drive, and worry.

We pulled up to the drop-off point, and she unbuckled her seatbelt.  She leaned forward, and I leaned back.  She kissed my bald head, wordlessly.  She climbed out of the car, and pulled her backpack onto her shoulders.  We waved to each other.  I watched as she walked up the sidewalk.

Halfway up to the school gate, I saw her pick up her feet.  And skip.  Only for a few steps.  Halfheartedly.  But she really tried.

***

(P.S. Dear Loyal Crew Members: This blog will return to form soon, I promise.  Thanks to those readers who have emailed, showing concern about my absence.  I miss blogging.  I miss writing on my site, I miss the sites that I used to visit, I miss interacting with you guys.  I'll be cranking this site up again on a regular basis.  And not with sad stuff, either.  I really do have a lot to tell you.  My students this Spring?  HOLY GOD, YE CATS.  They gave me some great stories.  I kept track.  And will absolutely share.  Remind me to tell you about the kid who blamed his late paper on his roommate's malfunctioning bong.)