Adventures in Adulthood
A series of memoir essays by award-winning writer John Sheirer (www.johnsheirer.com). Whether you're just beginning the journey as a young adult, enjoying your golden years, or middle-aged (like John), you'll find something to enjoy in these unique looks at the one wild adventure everyone from 18 to 118 has in common: adulthood. (Updates will come online roughly once a week.)
Faking It
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I love my job ninety-five percent of the time. There are days, however, when that five percent yaps like a movie star's accessory dog in the face of paparazzi flash bulbs. One of those days arrived in my mid-thirties, just as I was climbing the lower third of the career ladder, looking to do all the little things that could pull me up to the next rung. When the phone rang, I knew this would be one of those days.
The call came at 7:30 a.m., exploding me from Saturday morning sleep. It was the student recruitment director at the little community college where I teach.
"Monica was going to talk about careers in the liberal arts," she blurted, "but she called in sick. Twenty people signed up. It starts in half an hour. Can you do it?"
I agreed, silently cursing my usually rock-steady colleague Monica, many rungs above me on that career ladder. As I threw off the sheets, my curse quickly turned to good wishes. Monica was the rare person who only calls in sick when she really is sick.
I gobbled some toast, ducked in and out of the shower, dragged a toothbrush through my mouth, fiddled a necktie approximately into place, and raced to the college.
This was a recruiting program to attract new students from technical high schools in the area. These were kids who either didn't like or had trouble with the traditional academic program. They were our bread and butter, the ones who weren't going to big state universities or small selective colleges. Open enrollment, minuscule tuition, and practical programs attracted them. We could draw them a map that at least showed them the way to their own career ladder, even if that ladder was, at this point in their lives, buried under fallen leaves behind the shed.
My business card had "Assistant Professor of English and Communications" printed in nice blue script under my name, so my role was to teach them to string together coherent words, sentences, and paragraphs, both on paper and out loud. My unspoken charge also included convincing them that books could be used for more than just paperweights and that my classes weren't a waste of their valuable time or a playschool hoop to jump through between their "real" classes.
Today's event included introductions to such programs as accounting, computer repair, office administration, and machine technology, among the many other job-preparation areas of the curriculum. The "Careers in the Liberal Arts" session I was drafted to preside over stood out like a sore thumb that also had a broken nail painted pink.
Whose career ladder led them to design this hour-long workshop? I had a hard time believing that twenty people would sign up of such an oxymoron. Perhaps they were late registrants closed out of better sessions. Maybe they were just confused. I certainly was.
When I walked into the room, there were indeed twenty young people staring at me, waiting for me to enlighten them for the next hour. In the back corner sat their teacher, a big Buddha-faced guy in jeans and sweatshirt, looking like he just stepped out of his vegetable garden to pop in for a visit. This was a guy only a few rungs above me on his own career ladder who knew that tasks like today's session are part of everyone's climb to the middle and possibly beyond.
I welcomed everyone and killed ten minutes rambling about the college in general, our free parking, drama club, and student lounge. Then I spent fifteen minutes trying to define the indefinite. Just what is "the liberal arts" anyway? And what careers fall into that murky category? I thumbed through the college catalogue and quoted a few course descriptions. I couldn't help thinking that I only managed to confuse them (and myself) even more.
I asked them what careers they were considering. One young man raised his hand and said, "H-VAC." Ignorance and embarrassment were now added to my confusion when I had to ask him what "H-VAC" was. "Heating, ventilation, and air conditioning," the kid told me without a trace of condescension. I glanced at the room's ever-present radiator and considered it. How many of them are there in just our little building? Many--this guy is on to something. No one else volunteered a career choice.
Another five minutes gone--although I honestly believed that the clock on the classroom wall actually started ticking backwards at this point.
Finally, on the verge of desperation, I turned to what I knew best: writing, critical thinking, communications. "You'll all have to write reports for your jobs, give presentations to clients," I said. "Employers want people who can work together and think creatively, not just do what they're told." At this point, I was gamely trying to combine being creative with doing what I was told. Their expressions informed me that I was having mixed results at best. A couple of heads nodded. One kid clicked her pen and jotted a word or two into a notebook. Several gazes slid to the windows where a slight breeze fluttered the maple leaves just beginning to turn color.
That took ten minutes. Then I asked for their questions. One hand went up, one lone voice. "Sorry," I responded, "but we're just a little community college. We don't have any sports teams."
I let them go fifteen minutes before the hour was up. My excuse was allowing them plenty of time to get to their next session, but they knew I had nothing left to say. They gave me polite half-smiles and a spattering of applause anyway ... nice kids.
I waved as everyone filed out of the room, directing them to their next session, one I trusted would be of more use to them than the one we had all just endured.
I felt more than a twinge of guilt for my half-assed attempt at "Careers in the Liberal Arts," undertaken primarily for the brownie-points it would earn me with the administration, another rung up the ladder. I wanted to be passionate about every moment of my career, passionate about helping to mold young minds and guide young lives. I wanted a ladderless passion, but I couldn't conjure such a feeling that Saturday morning.
At that moment, my only passion was for stopping at a fast-food drive-thru on the way home to order breakfast. I could indulge in a greasy breakfast sandwich on the back porch before diving into this week's batch of student papers that needed to be organized, read, commented on, graded, and prepared for safe return to their young authors in my Monday morning class.
The last person to leave the room, the teacher in day-off mode, a picture of Zen and the personification of Karma, beamed at me and pumped my hand--happy, it seemed, not to be the one faking it for a change.
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Posted by John Sheirer at 7:02 AM | 1 comments
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John Sheirer
John Sheirer (pronounced Shy-er) is the author of the new memoir Loop Year: 365 Days on the Trail, which received the Connecticut Green Circle Award for environmental activism, as well as the 2005 memoir Growing Up Mostly Normal in the Middle of Nowhere, a finalist for the Sante Fe Writers Project Literary Award.
He teaches English and Communications at Asnuntuck Community College in Enfield, Connecticut, where he has been honored multiple times by Who's Who Among America's Teachers and recently received the Distinguished Service and Educational Excellence Award.
John lives in Northampton, Massachusetts, with his wonderful wife Betsy Barone, terrific stepkids Danielle and Daryl, and Daisy the amazing hiking dog. John's website is www.johnsheirer.com, and he can be reached at jsheirer@acc.commnet.edu or (860) 253-3138.
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You are an inspiring man, John Sheirer. And those of us who have been in class with you know and recognize that.