Finally a chance to write freely. Just posted to teaching blog, eating a cheeseburger and fries from the caf’… time to self. Yes, the adjunct professor gets that. Held writing exercise, or freewriting prompt in the 100 class, inviting students with inquiry, “What’s your story?” I had to ask myself what my story was and I found the answer rather simple. “A father.” Then, a bit of expansion— “More than simply motivated by his babies, but defined in definite definition. Why do I, or how can I, work as much as I do, write as much as I do, be this ‘tireless writer?’ Looking at their faces, them looking back UP at me. They need me. They need me to work harder than just ‘hard’. No. I will only work in my passion and I will be an addict of my work. I want them to have every and all opportunities. I want them to be comfortable. More than just ‘comfortable’. I hope they always associate me with hard work. They always see me writing, and Jackie sometimes will say something to my wife like, ‘I’m writing like Dada…’, typing on a pretend laptop (usually using one of the downstairs couch pillows). And, it’s not easy. No. Not at all easy. That’s what coffee is for. Drinking some right now actually, between scribbles and lifting my head to watch the students write. What else can I add to my already over-crowded plate? I’m determined by this work, all of it as that’s what defines the life I provide the babies. I know the story moves quick and it isn’t forever, so I need to somehow find a way to outrun the clock, its evil arms. I’m taking up arms, employing more self-employment. Not slowing for anything. I can’t. The babies need me on-task. On all of the tasks. Students read their stories aloud to each other, to me. And I’m humbled. Have I even lived? These readers have so much life under and over their belt. I’m in an amazing situation, I realize. I have all needed to get to where I want to be, for the babies. Why can’t I get there quicker, goddamnit? I can. Babies, two, need me to.”
Interesting, what I wrote, in that I finally get it. I’m a daddy. My babies are my bosses, and they should not accept anything short of brilliance from Daddy. But, I’m not brilliant. I’m hard-working. That should be enough. Didn’t think I would be as into today as I am. This morning was a bit exhausting for the tireless writing daddy. Freedom, in this adjunct cell. With my lunch, that I so very much deserve after my over-5 mile run this A.M. But even if I didn’t have my run, I would have had a burger. Just needed one. Thought about it before class, driving to campus. Probably why I was so sluggish setting up in the classroom, not talking that much to the early arrivers. Not sure how interesting I was at that point. In fact I’m sure not at bloody all. So now with the burger done, only like five or so fries remaining, Daddy has to get back to work. And work harder and harder till I’m convinced I’m at the stage of impressiveness I never knew I’d hit. That’s the next thing I want to write about, what I want added to my story— that I taught myself something, that I shocked myself, that I passed myself.