The first week of classes has begun and I’m already exhausted beyond belief. My mind. My body. I joke to anyone who will listen (my students) that I’m an old man. These last few days, as I navigate campus and interactions, I can’t help but feel truth to the joke. I’m just tired already, and I’ve only had four days of teaching under my belt. So far, the students are brilliant. The sound design students are energetic. The creative writing folks are trepidatious to engage with each other and me. They will need a bit of work but I’m confident by February we’ll have a good line of communication rolling.
The hardest thing for me is finding my rhythm with waking up, driving to work, work, and returning home. I already hit the snooze button in the morning, shortening the time I have to prepare for the day ahead. After I get home, instead of doing anything else, I take a nap to gain some of the energy that was sapped away during the day. The problem with that means less time in the afternoon/evening for activities that help me reset.
With that said, I just need to tweak my approach to all of this. To find the positive, I should accept that perhaps this is the routine that resets me every day. There are plenty more class days ahead—my routine will adjust and change. And I will find a rhythm that doesn’t mean sleeping to help eliminate the fatigue of the day.
Perhaps a nice cup of coffee will boost me to get through the day. I am not a coffee drinker, but I can try it! Right?! I just need to avoid staying up deep into the night.
Regardless, this first of classes have been long and rewarding. I enjoy teaching and I hope my students can see that—despite my fatigue.
Author: Jesús Rivera
-
-
At the time of writing this, the Spring semester begins in two days. It’s a frigid January day, with the forecast predicting snow on a Thursday that threatens the start of classes. As a result, I’m taking a break from preparing my first few lessons to reflect and think about life. As one does when impending snow may or may not force you inside.
I find myself thinking about teaching, about its importance as a career for me.
Over the winter holidays, my mother retired after thirty years of being an elementary-school teacher. She dedicated most of her adult life to being an educator. This coming Spring semester marks my sixth semester teaching at the college level and fourth year as an educator. With my mom now retired after so long within the realm of education, I wonder if I’ll ever achieve thirty years.
If I had to give an honest answer, it’s a no. The no arises from different ambitions.
Teaching at a University is my current plan, but I am open to stepping aside if content creation and my novel can provide enough income for a comfortable life. My passion lies with writing and content creation. And, while I love teaching, it’s not my passion. Being a teacher is a long road towards a mountaintop. It fulfils both a financial requirement and a path towards personal growth.
Teaching has been such an incredible experience from grad school days to my brief period in Japan. I’ve grown and learned more about myself than I ever thought I would. At some point, however, changes will occur, as with all roads, and I’ll have to turn down a fresh path towards the mountaintop. The world shifts and changes, but my ambitions will always remain the same. Writing. Content Creation. And, someday, I will build an animal shelter and have an army of pups, cats, and other creatures to look after. Teaching doesn’t fit into the long-term goals and plan. I see myself replacing students with all the fur babies you can imagine.
For now, though, I will continue to pour my heart into this incredible opportunity. There is still a long road ahead, and for now, teaching offers me the stability I need as the mountain draws near. -
On Thursday, January 9, the Spring Semester begins. Back in October I took over a playwriting class, and it was an incredible experience. I’ve always wanted to teach playwriting, and now I can mark that off the bucket list of dream classes. With the Spring Semester looming, I can teach another dream class—Sound Design for Theatre.
For those unaware, prior to attending graduate school and following the path of education as a career, I worked as a sound designer and engineer for several years. My favorite aspect of that time was when I taught and guided interns—aspiring designers and engineers. This is where I fell in love with teaching. Being able to have a formal class with a small group of students is both terrifying and exciting.
As I work on my syllabus, I wonder just how effective I will be. Oh, I’m knowledgeable in sound engineering and design, but I’ve struggled on the explaining front—the lecturing side. I learned how to design and engineer by being thrown into the lion’s den. Need to route a new speaker placement? Figure it out. Cue not firing correctly in Q-Lab? Troubleshoot it and retrace your steps. Horrible screeching on a mic? Do an EQ sweep. Don’t know what an EQ sweep is? Well, time to learn!
I ask myself, do I throw my students into it with the same expectations? Or is there another path to take?
The obvious answer is… It’s somewhere in the middle. What that middle looks like, I’m unsure. My mentors always expected me to know—or, at the very least, know where to go. Can I expect that of ten students who may or may not be interested in a career in sound design? I’m not sure I have an answer on that…
But, with my first time teaching this class, I get to experiment and find a common ground as the semester moves on. We’ll see where it all ends up at semesters end.
-
By Jesús Rivera
I want to be a tree.
The thought came to Phil while he watched his friends play at recess. They chased each other around a small, fenced courtyard between two red brick buildings. They called for Phil to join, but Phil waved them away. He turned his attention to the oak trees beyond the courtyard. They stretched to the horizon, their tips poking the sky the further away they got–at least to Phil they seem to.
“I will be a tree,” he announced to his friends as their game of tag ended.
“You what?” asked Chuck, self-proclaimed leader of their merry band because he was the tallest of them.
“I want to be a tree,” Phil said, “nothing to worry about… No school. No silly assignments to work on.”
“But you can’t,” laughed Lilly, the only girl of the group. Despite what Chuck thought, Lilly was the one who claimed the title of leader. She had a permanent scowl on her face and fire red hair that seemed to grow redder the angrier she got. Teachers, parents, and kids went out of their way not to cross her, even though she was only ten.
“No way to turn into a tree,” shrugged James. He was lanky, almost as tall as Chuck, with dark brown hair, blue eyes, and glasses that hung at the edge of his nose.
Edger, the last member of their group, stood off to the side, hands in his pocket. He was as tall as Phil, slightly taller than Lilly, and had perfect white teeth. His parents never let him have anything with sugar and, from what Phil gathered, never let him eat meat. “I dunno know… Being a tree would be cool.”
Chuck laughed, “Crazy, the both of you!”
Lilly rolled her eyes.
“We’d grow taller than everyone,” Edger said, eyes locking on to Phil, “Think there’s a way?”
The other friends all turned to Edger, mouths agape. “You’re not serious, are you?” James said shaking his head, “There’s no way you can–“
“We can’t keep playing fantasy games,” Lilly placed her hands on her hips, “we are ten now and practically adults. We need to act like it!”
Chuck and James nodded their agreement.
“This isn’t a fantasy game!” Phil looked between them, hoping they would come around, “I really want to be a tree. If we work together, we’d probably find a way!”
They shared a look.
“Whatever,” Lilly mumbled.
Without another word, they stormed off as the bell for recess to end sounded. Edger turned to Phil, smiled, and followed their friends inside. Phil, however, turned his attention back to the trees, his heart yearning to stand as tall as a tree. He imagined all the animals that would play in his branches and use him as a protection against the weather.
“Come along, Phil,” A teacher called out, “recess is over, back to lessons.”
Phil turned away from his dream and followed the teacher inside. His friends, except for Edger, ignored him for the rest of the day. And he was fine with that.
***
Annoyed by his friends, Phil sought aid from his mother, Tabby.
“I need your help,” he said as he got into her old yellow Ford F150 after school, “I have research to do.”
“Oh?” Tabby said hunched over the dashboard and wiped endlessly at dust that didn’t seem to disappear. A smile crossed her face, and she turned to look at Phil. She tapped her finger on the side of the steering wheel. “What sort of research?”
“Trees.”
“Is this a project for school?”
“No…” Phil paused for a moment, his mind returning to his friends, “I mean… Yes. Sort of. My friends say tree’s aren’t cool. I want to show them they are.”
“Since when have trees been cool?” Tabby asked, as she drove away from the school. “Are they coming into style?”
“No… I just think they’re cool.” Phil replied. He sat back in the seat, his eyes finding the trees outside the car, and watched as they zoomed by. “I want to be one.”
Tabby’s smile faltered for a moment. “You want to be one?”
“Yeah.” Phil sighed. “I’d be tall and see so many animals. I think that’s the coolest part about it.”
Tabby laughed. “When we get home, we’ll spend a few hours looking up trees on the internet. But eat everything on your plate during supper. Got it?”
Phil let out a low groan. “What are we having?”
“Oh, your father’s favorite… Stuffed peppers.”
Phil wanted to gag.
***
Phil’s parents, not wanting to dissuade their son from his dream, told him to pursue his goal of becoming a tree. Better to let him believe than crush his dreams. Or, at least, that’s what his parents figured at the moment.
“What forest would you live in?” Doug, his father, asked over dinner. “Plenty of places… Maybe a mountain? You’d get a magnificent view. What was that mountain we climbed last summer? The one by your friend’s cabin?”
“Oh, Mammoth! That would be a good one. The snow is dreadful in the winter, though. Perhaps along the coast?” Tabby suggested as she shoved a fork into the mountain of junk piled into a green bell pepper. “You’d get to see the ocean.”
Phil poked at his own pepper.
“You must research what trees thrive where.” Doug continued. He leaned back in his chair, a glass of white wine in his left hand. “Some climates won’t be good for you, depending on what type of tree you are. Figure out what kind of tree you’ll be before deciding on a location.”
They continued their conversation of climates, trees, and other nonsense that Phil didn’t care about. He was certain none of it would matter if he became a tree. That was the important part, transforming into a tree. So, he breathed in, held his breath, and began shoving the junk inside the bell pepper into his mouth. He swallowed as much as he could as quickly as possible.
“You’re going to choke if you keep eating like that.” Tabby said, but Phil ignored her. He didn’t want to taste the bell pepper or anything within its body. Doug laughed at the exchange and kept drinking wine.
As dinner ended, Phil set his fork down and stared at Tabby. “Can I use the computer?”
Tabby nodded. “Clean off your plate first.”
Phil scooped up his plate, hurried to the kitchen, ran the plate under the sink for two seconds, and then darted to the small nook under the stairs that housed the family computer. He went to Google and searched for ways to become a tree. His heart was pounding in his ears as he clicked on page after page. Most of the sites offered no insight into becoming a tree. Most of the websites were enthusiast tree growers or something to do with Dungeons & Dragons, which neither helped him at all. Tabby came to help him search, but Phil waved her away. So, she sat and watched as he kept clicking through the pages. He got to page 20 of the search results before Tabby announced it was time for bed.
With a sigh, Phil stood from the computer, but something at the bottom of page 20 caught his eye: “Celtic Druidic Arts and Nature.” He paused, clicked on it, and his eyes grew wide. Topic of the Day: “Becoming A Tree.” He sat back down and read on. The post was utter nonsense and went on forever, but at the very bottom were a series of symbols (one symbol looked like an upside down walrus) with a warning that attempting the spell may cause loss of life. Phil drew the symbols as best he could and wrote the directions of the spell: write the symbols in dirt around a leaf, a branch, and the user who wants to become the tree and recite the prayer.
“Anann gift me your blessing. Morrígu lead me down the path of fate.” Phil said the words as he wrote the prayer.
***
Phil recruited Edger to help him turn into a tree. The weekend after writing the symbols down, they went into the woods behind Edger’s house and set up a small circle. Together the two drew the second-hand symbols in the dirt, gathered a few branches, and made a pile of leaves. It took them roughly thirty minutes to gather everything and find a spot far away from prying eyes. Edger’s sister and her gang liked to roam the woods, but Edger reassured Phil she wouldn’t travel this far out. All the while, Edger and Phil laughed at the possibility of showing the others how they turned into trees.
“Lilly will die of shock!” Edger put a hand to his chest. “She won’t know what to do.”
“Chuck will probably poop his pants.” Phil dumped a few leaves on the ever growing pile. “I think we might have enough. The site didn’t say how much we needed.”
Edger stopped gathering branches. “Cool. So, we just stand in the middle?”
Phil shook his head. “I think I should go for now. It may not work and it said we could die.”
Edger flinched. “Wait, you mean we could die?”
“Well, it said something about loss of life. I think that means death.”
Edger frowned and backed away. “I’m not so sure we should do this then… If it isn’t safe…”
Phil shook his head. “We have to try. So what if we die? Isn’t it worth it if we can become a tree?”
Edger chewed his bottom lip. “No… No… Err… I’m going home.” He darted off in the direction they had come.
Phil watched him go. A bit of sadness crept into him, but he ignored it. This was his chance to change. To hell with Edger if he didn’t want to become something more than a ten-year-old kid. Without hesitation, he stepped in the center of the druidic symbols, with leaves and branches. There was an odd sense of calm hanging in the air. The world seemed to freeze in time.
“Anann gift me your blessing. Morrígu lead me down the path of fate.” Phil recited, breaking the calm.
The wind blew. Leaves rustled. Birds chirped. But nothing happened. Phil repeated the words again. And again. He repeated them fifty-two times. Nothing happened. The world stayed the same. A part of him knew this would not work, but it didn’t change his dream. He returned to the edge of the woods.
Edger was waiting for Phil. Seeing his friend sad, Edger tried to reassure Phil and offered him his favorite candy, skittles. Together, the two made their way to Edger’s house, had dinner with his family, played video games, and went to bed.
The next morning, Phil’s hands were twigs.
***
Tabby’s eyes grew wide at seeing Phil’s twig hands. Thoughts raced through her head, but she tried to keep her composure. To Phil’s credit, he seemed beyond elated that he was turning into a tree. When Tabby picked him up from Edger’s house the same morning his hands turned, he ran to her truck, hopped in, and waved the twigs at her. Edger’s parents came out, both apologized profusely and claimed no knowledge of how or why Phil’s hands had changed.
“It’s baffling,” Edger’s father said, stroking his gray beard. “He was twig free before he went to bed, I assure you.”
Edger’s mom shuffled her feet. “However, given the situation…” She glanced at her husband for support. He put an arm around her shoulders. “We think its best if Phil and Edger never played together again… You understand, right? They’re too different. Perhaps find other boys that are trees? I’m sure there’s a support group or something for that.”
“Baffling.” Edger’s father repeated, shaking his head.
Tabby thanked Edger’s parents and drove away. She remained quiet for most of the car ride. Phil couldn’t stop talking. He was oblivious to his mother’s worries and to the fact they barred him from seeing his friend.
“I think I might turn into an oak! I could live behind Edger’s house… Plant myself there! We could play together every day. Or… Doesn’t grandma have oaks behind her house? I could go there! You’d be able to visit me all the time!”
On and on he went. Tabby tapped her finger on the side of the steering wheel. As they pulled into their driveway, Doug was standing on the porch, arms crossed. Once parked, Phil had trouble opening the door, Tabby leaned over him and pushed it open. He hopped out and ran to his dad, waving his twigs at him.
“Look!” Phil said, smiling. “I’m turning into a tree!”
Doug smiled back. “I see that! I guess we have to buckle down and figure out where we can plant you.”
“I was thinking behind Edgers or grandma!”
“Excellent choices. I’ll reach out to grandma and see what she thinks.” Doug glanced at Tabby, who was sitting in the car, hands tapping away at the steering wheel.
That afternoon, Phil’s arms were branches.
***
“I’d say… By the end of the week, He’ll be a proper tree.” The Doctor said with a shrug. “Not much else we can do. The boy is turning into a bona fide tree.”
That wasn’t the news Tabby wanted to hear. Phil was all smiles.
***
Phil’s grandma agreed to have him in her backyard. The house and land had belonged to Doug’s side of the family for generations, it was only fitting that Phil would become a staple of the land. Doug drove Phil out there, as Tabby said she had work to do, which Phil found odd. His mother didn’t have a job. But he didn’t think much of it–his chest and shoulders were becoming wood.
On arriving to the house, Phil surveyed the area around the house. Doug pointed out a few spots, but Phil found a spot next to a pond he loved. There were seven other trees in the area, enough to keep him company. He went up to each of them, said hello and introduced himself. He waited for a response and could have sworn each tree shifted in greeting.
Happy with the chosen spot, Doug dug a hole. Phil put his feet in.
***
The transformation was painless. In a week Phil went from a normal ten-year-old to a small oak tree. He never winced or screamed. The entire time he had a smile on his face. His grandma gave him water from time to time as his body slowly turned into wood. She’d talk about how proud she was that one of her grandsons would protect the land for years to come.
Doug had stayed at his mother’s home while he watched Phil transform. It was an odd sensation losing his only child, but that was the way of life, he figured. Tabby refused to come visit. She wasn’t ready to lose her little boy.
When Phil’s transformation completed, Doug returned home. Tabby was in Phil’s old room, a pillow in her lap. Her eyes were red and puffy.
“It’s done?”
Doug nodded and sat down and put an arm around her.
She leaned into him. “What are we going to do now?”
“We’ll figure it out. We always do.”
***
Tree Phil enjoyed his new life. As he suspected, his neighbors were a friendly bunch. They questioned the reality of a human turning into a tree, but they came around. Trees had to stick together, they said. Yes, life by the pond was fantastic. His grandma came out to talk to him every morning and before night fell. It was nice seeing her. The only thing he wished was to see his mother. Doug would visit from time to time, he’d sit under Phil for hours on end, reading a book or write in a journal.
As the days went on, Tree Phil lost track of time. As a tree, time didn’t seem to have any real meaning. There was nowhere to go. Nothing to do. The sun came up, only for the moon to replace it sometime later. Seasons changed. There was little to worry about. Except his mother. Why hadn’t she visited? He tried asking Doug, but Doug couldn’t speak tree. That was the hardest part of being a tree–not communicating with loved ones.
And, so, time continued on. Tree Phil tried to keep track of the cycles but quickly abandoned the notion. He sought advice from his neighbors, all of them told him this was the life they lived. Then, one day, his grandma stopped showing up. Not long after that, Doug appeared in a black suit. Tabby stood by the house but didn’t come down.
“Grandma’s passed.” Doug said. “But, the good news, you’ll get to see more of us… We’re moving in. And… Your mom… You’re going to have a baby sister.”
A wave of emotions hit Tree Phil. He was sad by the loss of his grandma, but his family would be near! Plus, a little sister? Would they tell her that Tree Phil was her big brother? He shook his branches, a trick he learned from his neighbors, and watched as leaves fell and gathered around his father. Doug seemed to understand and tears rolled down his cheeks. He placed a hand on Tree Phil.
“I love you, son. I’m proud of you.”
His father walked away.
That night Tree Phil wished he could be with Tabby again. He could see her poking her head out of the window. A few nights later, or maybe it had been months, he noticed a baby in Tabby’s arms as she stared out at him. He longed to be that baby. More months and years went by. A little girl ran around the outside of the house. She came down to him and play. He liked to imagine he was playing tag with her. The little girl grew into an adult, while gray lined Doug’s hair. Tabby, however, never came down to talk to him.
Then, one day, the now adult girl was in a black dress. She stared up at him, eyes red with streaks down her cheeks. “I don’t know how true it is…” She said. Her voice sounded so much like their mother. “They always said you were my big brother… I wanted to believe them as a kid, ya know? But… Anyway. Umm…”
Tree Phil wanted to hug her.
“Mom’s passed away and… Well, dad’s not doing too well. I guess I’m not doing too well either.” She let out a laugh and sat down, back pressed against him. “I figured I’d come tell you. I know we’ve never talked before… But we all need someone. Right?”
Tree Phil shook a branch. Leaves fell.
“I’m Stacey… I don’t know if dad ever told you.”
Stacey stayed with Phil until night came. She talked about her life growing up, her college days, her coming out to their parents, introducing them to her girlfriend, and her desire to one day have a child of her own. She told him everything she could think of before she walked back up to the house.
As she left, Tree Phil wanted to cry.
“Is there a way to become human?” Tree Phil asked his neighbors.