Down Memory Lane: Eric Spencer
I am borrowing Phil's blog-structure for a day.
Five years ago I arrived, 23, in Bloomington, Indiana. I was an ignorant, careless, quite happy young woman. People would ask: are you not scared? And I used to think: mmmm....maybe they know something I don't....why should I be scared? I was going with a teaching assistantship, which meant I was going to have enough money, I had a place to stay, I had a department to back me up, and I would be studying and working with a group of people who were doing the same as me.
Indeed, there was nothing to be afraid of.
Anyway, one of the things I enjoyed the most was teaching. I used to teach 18-30 year-olds. At 8 AM, everyday. Then go to class for the MA. Happy hectic times. Giovanna and I would go out of the building to smoke a cigarrette, in the snow.
My first class was a group of around 25 youngsters, who were my first students (I had only taught really small kids until then). They were a wonderful group, very few of them wanted to learn spanish, really, but they were funny, and there was a wonderful group atmosphere.
I remember one day I got to class and I sang my "Buenos Días", for them to answer. I got to the front of the class, and nobody had answered. It was not really that weird, being 8am. I started erasing the blackboard, and then I sensed something was really wrong. Nobody was chatting. I turned around, and saw that everybody was really serious and stern, and one girl was crying and another one was holding her. I asked what happened, and they gave me the uni paper. I read. One of my students had died in a car crash. A deer crossed the road, they turned and crashed onto a tree. He was the only one wearing a safety belt. I remember standing there, and suddenly seeing the empty space where Eric Spencer used to sit. I could not speak. I then went nextdoor, where another girl from my department was teaching. She had been there for longer than me, and I asked her if it would be OK to cancel the class. (Our department was really really strict with these things). She told me to go upstairs and ask. I did, and neither my supervisor nor my boss were there to ask. So I went downstairs. By this time, I was crying non-stop. I was very impressed. I got to class, and said that there was no way I was going to start talking about tomatoes and vegetables in Spanish, so I cancelled the class, and we chatted for a little while before everybody went home.
I then had to see my supervisor. I was very nervous, very impressed. He asked me what had happened, and I started to explain about the deer and the tree, and he said: no, no. what happened to the class? did you cancel it? I stopped and looked at this monster. I said: yes, I cancelled it. I could not teach. He then told me he thought there would be no problem if I did a make-up class for my group. Then asked whether they were drunk in the car, and then I left.
I arranged a make-up class, and told my students that they were not obliged to go. I would be there, but they did not have to come. These were students that always went to make-up classes. This time none of them came, which I thought was the right thing to do.
We sent flowers to the family, and got a really sweet card from Eric's mother.
At the end of the semester, we had the final exam. I arrived with the exams, and everybody was kind of giggling and chatting. They had a gift for me. It was wrapped in homework paper....:) They had bought marsh-mellows, buiscuits and chocolate, and they wanted me to do the thing you do when you go camping with the boy-scouts. So before the final exam in the university, I had to take out my lighter, burn the marshmellows, put them with the chocolate inside the buiscuits, and eat that horrible thing.... The headache lasted for hours.....
Eric Spencer used to come to class with a cap, sit at the back, and look from underneath his cap. He was very shy, but cool at the same time. He used to answer with the minimum amount of words, but in a funny way, so he had made really good friends in the class. By mid-semester, he was sitting on the second row, looking a bit more confident, and enjoying the class, laughing and doing very well in his homework. He was polite, funny, and very very very handsome. The type of silent, but cool and very noticeable friendly guy. Nervous smile on his face everytime you asked him something.
Five years ago I arrived, 23, in Bloomington, Indiana. I was an ignorant, careless, quite happy young woman. People would ask: are you not scared? And I used to think: mmmm....maybe they know something I don't....why should I be scared? I was going with a teaching assistantship, which meant I was going to have enough money, I had a place to stay, I had a department to back me up, and I would be studying and working with a group of people who were doing the same as me.
Indeed, there was nothing to be afraid of.
Anyway, one of the things I enjoyed the most was teaching. I used to teach 18-30 year-olds. At 8 AM, everyday. Then go to class for the MA. Happy hectic times. Giovanna and I would go out of the building to smoke a cigarrette, in the snow.
My first class was a group of around 25 youngsters, who were my first students (I had only taught really small kids until then). They were a wonderful group, very few of them wanted to learn spanish, really, but they were funny, and there was a wonderful group atmosphere.
I remember one day I got to class and I sang my "Buenos Días", for them to answer. I got to the front of the class, and nobody had answered. It was not really that weird, being 8am. I started erasing the blackboard, and then I sensed something was really wrong. Nobody was chatting. I turned around, and saw that everybody was really serious and stern, and one girl was crying and another one was holding her. I asked what happened, and they gave me the uni paper. I read. One of my students had died in a car crash. A deer crossed the road, they turned and crashed onto a tree. He was the only one wearing a safety belt. I remember standing there, and suddenly seeing the empty space where Eric Spencer used to sit. I could not speak. I then went nextdoor, where another girl from my department was teaching. She had been there for longer than me, and I asked her if it would be OK to cancel the class. (Our department was really really strict with these things). She told me to go upstairs and ask. I did, and neither my supervisor nor my boss were there to ask. So I went downstairs. By this time, I was crying non-stop. I was very impressed. I got to class, and said that there was no way I was going to start talking about tomatoes and vegetables in Spanish, so I cancelled the class, and we chatted for a little while before everybody went home.
I then had to see my supervisor. I was very nervous, very impressed. He asked me what had happened, and I started to explain about the deer and the tree, and he said: no, no. what happened to the class? did you cancel it? I stopped and looked at this monster. I said: yes, I cancelled it. I could not teach. He then told me he thought there would be no problem if I did a make-up class for my group. Then asked whether they were drunk in the car, and then I left.
I arranged a make-up class, and told my students that they were not obliged to go. I would be there, but they did not have to come. These were students that always went to make-up classes. This time none of them came, which I thought was the right thing to do.
We sent flowers to the family, and got a really sweet card from Eric's mother.
At the end of the semester, we had the final exam. I arrived with the exams, and everybody was kind of giggling and chatting. They had a gift for me. It was wrapped in homework paper....:) They had bought marsh-mellows, buiscuits and chocolate, and they wanted me to do the thing you do when you go camping with the boy-scouts. So before the final exam in the university, I had to take out my lighter, burn the marshmellows, put them with the chocolate inside the buiscuits, and eat that horrible thing.... The headache lasted for hours.....
Eric Spencer used to come to class with a cap, sit at the back, and look from underneath his cap. He was very shy, but cool at the same time. He used to answer with the minimum amount of words, but in a funny way, so he had made really good friends in the class. By mid-semester, he was sitting on the second row, looking a bit more confident, and enjoying the class, laughing and doing very well in his homework. He was polite, funny, and very very very handsome. The type of silent, but cool and very noticeable friendly guy. Nervous smile on his face everytime you asked him something.
posted by Teresa at 12:08
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