Midyear Postmortem

It’s over.  Final grades are in.  Fall semester is complete. 

All told, it was one of my better semesters of late.  (I’ve probably jinxed myself by writing this; now some disgruntled student will crawl from the woodwork to jam me up.)   All but one of my five sections had their fair share of engaged learners.  I’m guessing this is because most of them met in the morning or early afternoon, though my one evening section was okay too. The outlier was my Monday-Wednesday midafternoon section, which had comparatively low enrollment and contained the typical listless lot of “traditional” community college students.

A couple of my classes were pleasant surprises.  When I discovered both contained a large percentage of early-college program high school kids I felt a sense of trepidation if not dread.  My fears were misplaced, though the character of each section differed.  The first was kind of rambunctious since most of them sat together.  Nevertheless, they managed to endear themselves to me as the weeks passed despite my normal curmudgeonly dislike of teenagers.  It was kind of like the college gave me a box of puppies for the semester. The youngsters in the second section were somewhat more restrained but were pleasant company for the most part.

I kept reminding myself to enjoy what I could while it lasted.  I am now facing what may well be a protracted decline in my professional and personal lives.  Next semester I’m teaching a reduced schedule with a strong possibility that at least one section won’t “make” (enrollment). 

There are other factors contributing to my low mood this week.  Just after Thanksgiving an administrative assistant whom I worked with for years passed away suddenly, the second death of a friend and coworker in three months.  A series of snowstorms has brought hope for an end to a multiyear drought where I live, but the cold and the absence of sunlight is wearing on me.  Things continue to break around the house but I don’t feel sufficiently motivated to fix them.  I’m sleeping a lot but don’t feel rested when I’m awake.  I’m still dealing with the myriad minor afflictions that have bothered me for more than a year.  A few weeks ago it turned out that the malaise I was feeling for a spell last July and August may have been the product of a periodontal infection the damage from which required oral surgery to repair.  (Apologies for the TMI.)

There are reasons for me to be cheerful, though.  I’ve landed a summer school assignment for next year.  I’ve had one conference paper accepted for the spring, and a decision is pending on another one for a conference in June.  Best of all, I received an invitation from out of the blue to participate in a colloquium in South Africa this summer.  (Our summer, not theirs.)  It’s a long trip to be sure, and an expensive one, but there is a good chance that it will lead to my first ever peer-reviewed journal article.  Quite the feather in my cap if I pull it off.

Then again, nothing I do seems to impress my bosses.  Teaching awards, better than average student ratings, acing my classroom teaching evaluation, active participation in academic conferences, publishing a journal article, doesn’t matter.  I draw dog sections which can never attract high enough enrollment to avoid cancellation, I’m rebuked for minor complaints from students in the wrong, and the administration brings in additional instructors who are given classes which used to be mine.

I’m not the only one.  During the semester I struck up a friendship with a new adjunct prof who, like me, came to academia in middle age.  Despite rave reviews from colleagues and students alike, she was passed over for a temporary full time position and given a reduced schedule in the spring to boot.   Needless to say when she told me about this she was quietly seething.  There was a silver lining, though.  Her thesis advisor from graduate school invited her to teach at his institution where I’m sure she’ll knock ‘em dead.

It’s nice to have choices.  Another adjunct I’ve long considered a rival confided in me a while back that he was planning to go back to school for his doctorate or to earn a K-12 credential.  Being part-time faculty was too hit-or-miss, he told me.  Yeah, it is that. 

Unfortunately I’m too old to make a go at a new career.  Opportunities for men over forty are limited.  I still have a son in school, so (voluntary) retirement is not an option.  Most importantly, remaining in academia for me is worth fighting for.  It’s the third career I’ve followed in my lifetime and, notwithstanding the barrage of complaints I have posted on this blog over the years, it’s the only one I’ve loved.  And notwithstanding my position on the lowest rung of the professional ladder, I have not received as much respect in the community as I have as a teacher and academic.  It would be very painful to walk away from that.

At least for the next couple of weeks I will be spared the possibility of further bad news since campus will shut down for the holiday break.  (I’ve never been into Christmas very much, but this year I’ve barely noticed its impossible to miss trappings.)  I didn’t plan my usual post-semester vacation in a balmy clime this year, but maybe I’ll treat myself to a few days in Vegas instead.  After all, no place on the planet is farther removed from daily reality.

And who knows?  Maybe I’ll get lucky. 

© 2015 The Unassuming Scholar