Today, I taught a workshop, "College Writing 101," with a friend and fellow English major and one of our professors. It was hosted by the Academic and Career Enrichment Center on campus, an event specifically tailored to incoming freshmen.
Now, something most people know about me is that I have always resented the assumption that, because I am an English major, I want to teach. There are other career paths for the literary-minded, you know. This was especially exasperating because I couldn't see myself teaching at all. Partly -- okay, mostly -- out of vanity, I just did not want to be stuck in a classroom, plodding through the beat-to-death classics, grading 2-page papers and spending entire class periods reviewing what a thesis statement is and how to write it.
Guess I forgot that I was once that blank-faced, thesis-less student, and wouldn't have been there in the ACE today, teaching, if not for some great teachers who got over that vanity. Oops.
Not to mention that, but my students today surprised me. Some were a bit blank-faced, but they caught on to what we were teaching and made an effort. I loved seeing the "ohhhhh" looks on their faces when something clicked. One of the best feelings in the world, I think, to know that I've succeeded in helping them, and enjoyed it, to boot.
Now, I know that this was an exceptionally good experience and that there will be those students that come along and just don't get it and/or just don't care. Baby steps, though. At least I know that the prospect of ending up in a public school classroom (which is most likely to happen to me, given the current economic climate as well as the lack of resources where I live) is not such a bad one after all.
Best of all, I spoke to a student at the end of the workshop who wanted to know what classes to take to improve her fiction-writing skills. Fellow creationist in the making. Score.
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