Letter to a Student

Dear Mr. Too-Cool-for-School:

This admission might surprise you, but when I was an undergrad, my classes frequently frustrated and bored me. Like you, I often sat in class without taking notes. Like you, I seldom had my work done on time.

Our similarities end there, however.

Unlike you, I didn't sit angry as a storm cloud, glowering, arms crossed, radiating negativity that filled my corner of the classroom. My demeanor indicated interest—even on the days it was feigned—so professors found me attentive and polite and were willing to give me a little grace when I missed an exam or deadline.

Unlike you, I have an excellent memory. Not only could I remember everything the professor said during a lecture, but I also remembered all of my own musings—the connections, consequences, and applications of the material covered in class. So when I had to write an essay or take an exam, I didn't regurgitate my fuzzy, superficial understanding of the lectures. I had instead substantive, insightful things to say, further winning me points with my teachers.

Unlike you, I was such a good writer—a reputation that often preceded me—that professors would say, "Give me the paper next week, Sparky. Your essays are always worth waiting for." Unlike you, I almost always earned As. And when an iron-willed instructor got tired of my attempts to bend the rules and refused any more grace, I recognized that I was at fault and accepted the punishment. Unlike you, I didn't have tantrums appropriate for two year olds during which I blamed the professor, the computer lab, my frozen water pipes, etc. for my own shortcomings.

I've read your essays and observed your attitude. You're perfectly capable of college-level work, but you're no great talent. I assume that your parents did let you in the house, but you act as if they kept you out in the barn, behavior that doesn't inspire any grace from me. This means that you have to do things on time, based on the lectures given in class. So you might want to pick up that pencil and start writing things down, for you will never hear me say, "It's okay, Mr. Cool, I'll take that assignment late. I'll use the extra week to let my anticipation build for what will inevitably be a great essay!"

Yours truly,
Professor Lightbulb

Swagger Jacking

My freshman composition students are drafting their definition essays. As they were choosing their topics—they have to define a type of person—I encouraged them to bring something new to the table. When I asked for possibilities, one of my students offered "swagger jacker," a term I had never heard. The student explained that a swagger jacker hijacked someone else's swagger, or style. I was delighted with the name.

When I saw Elizabeth later in the day, I asked her if she knew what a swagger jacker was. She did not, so, puffed with superiority, I defined it.

"So you swagger jacked CJ?" Elizabeth asked.

Yes, it's true. For years my style had been boring but my own: neat but casual, too much 100% cotton, everything fit for a washing machine. But then last summer, I began watching all seven seasons of The West Wing on DVD, a show I missed during its original run. CJ became my role model for dressing. I liked the masculine suits softened with colorful collared shirts, camisoles, and jewelry. I decided that at 45 years old, I should own suits of my own, and have since bought four with shoes to match. When classes started this spring, I wore a new suit each day the first week. CJ's style is classic, so I can keep it for the rest of my professional life. The West Wing premiered in 1999, but I heard that the office staff reported to my dean, "Damn, Professor Lightbulb looked good" when I wore the taupe suit on Monday.

Now that I've 'jacked a TV character's style, I guess I'll have to be less critical of the colleague who roams the hallways dressed as Brittany Spears circa "Hit Me Baby One More Time" or the one who exits his ordinary little Toyota dressed as a Hell's Angel—black motorcycle boots, black leather jacket, wallet secured with a chain to his faded jeans, unshaven face and pony tail. We're all being someone else.

New Beginning

A student approached me after class the other day to ask, "Do you post as Sparky Lightbulb?" I said no, and at the moment that I responded, I meant it. Then I remembered that I used to blog—as Sparky! Oh, no! Students had learned my secret identity! Oh, no! What information that I didn't want to share had they discovered?

I signed into my Blogger account ready to "draft" any embarrassing posts—if not delete the entire body of work—but I discovered that this blog is a charming snapshot of my life two years ago. So what if a person who knew me as Clark Kent got a little insight into my Superman?

Rereading some of the posts here reminded me how much I enjoyed blogging—as well as photographing, something else I've essentially abandoned as my work life and other projects swallowed up my time. I dusted off the camera, and, in search of a sure thing, drove to the Lukas Nursery Butterfly Encounter, where I shot those proverbial fish in a barrel:

Click photo for large version.

Click photo for large version.

Click photo for large version.

Click photo for large version.

Click photo for large version.

I had so much fun that I might just have to dust off the Spandex and cape, ready to soar through cyberspace once again!