given the whole prison photos thing, this really is inconsequential

I've been sick. Knock down, drag out, loopy sick. The kind of sick where you feel so incredibly bad that you think 'wow, I feel so bad, I must be hitting the crucial sick point, thus tomorrow I'll start feeling better' sick, but then you never actually start feeling better. And it's been going on and on and on since last Wednesday. It started out like I was swallowing glass; it quickly went downhill. And, given the nature of mine and Stella's jobs at x doing x, calling in sick? Ha.

So I've been at work sick, which also means I've been teaching sick. Here are the week's highlights from teaching sick (and one actually IS a highlight):

A few weeks ago students enrolled in xxxx xxx were given a revision assignment. They were told to revise the story they wrote the week before; revisions needed to be signifcant. They had to do more than fix grammar/punctuation and/or address my concerns. One student, who I'll call W to keep things simple, is a good writer. Nice ideas, lovely use of language, etc. He got an A on the original assignment. But his first person narrator dies at the end and keeps on narrating. So I make all sorts of comments about how to revise, the limitations of a first person narrator, etc. The next week W turns in his revision. In the first version, the character ODs accidentially. In the revision he ODs on purpose. Uh huh. No other changes. So he doesn't receive a grade. He goes home mad after making an appointment to see me before the next class.

Of course the next class falls this week, as I crawl upon death's door. I'm prepared for a fight. I have my notes ready. He sits down. He looks oddly sheepish. I explain all the reasons why the revision was not an acceptable revision. He agrees! And then admits he talked to his pop, a professor of xxxx, who essentially (drum roll, please) AGREED WITH ME! Told W he didn't fulfill the assignment, that he'd obviously tried to find a loop hole and got called out on it.

So about this time, recounting the story to Stella, I'm all like 'oh, sure, he had to go to a man to find out my advice was right' - snivel snivel (remember, I can't even talk at this point) - but then we suddenly realized something awesome. In an age where parents are quick to defend their children, no matter what (even when said childt might be wrong - and accountability is out the window), this pop earned props by telling W that he, uh, didn't follow through. He was wrong.

Made me feel better.

Now, about the student who emailed to say 'I talked with my advisor about my grades. Now I want to talk to you" - ??? Hi, I'm your teacher. The one who says every day in class 'We're not all natural writers. If you have concerns, come talk to me.' And it's what - week 11? Love it.

Almost as much as Stella loves the band across the street.

Word.