Hello everyone, after a pretty uneventful holiday I'm back -- with some news.
I know my daughter is upset with me, but I officially accepted a position as associate professor of history and paranormal studies at Sims University. I was only doing it on a trial basis before, but now I've fully joined the staff, with an office, an on-campus rental house, and several classes full of eager beavers. I now have course syllabi, tests, the whole nine. I've become the history teacher I hated. How incredibly ironic -- that a girl who spent more time in the catacombs than in a classroom -- has now been entrusted to teach. Haha.
Sylvia Cahill from the school paper even did a profile story on me. Granted, I've never been interviewed by student journalists before, but I swear, the kiddie reporters were more thorough than the members of the tabloid press I'm so used to dealing with. Instead of asking me fluff questions like what color eye shadow I like to wear and stuff about my brother's love life, they asked me real substantive questions about my background and experiences, which, of course, I love to talk about.
"Wow," Sylvia exclaimed, "you really used to be a tomb raider."
"I guess you could say that," I replied. "Except, I wasn't exactly a tomb raider as such."
On occasion my kids come to my rental house to visit, talk, or whatever. The other day Sage dropped by and asked me for help with her history assignment. Even though they're grown, yes, I still help my kids with homework. Sage's teacher is another professor in my department, Dr. Garrison Fort. The Dr. and I have been talking, and he, too, was an archaeologist at some point, although his research is mostly concentrated on ancient China while mine is in Egypt.
"You know, mom," Sage began while she opened her history book, "I'm thinking about changing my major."
I sighed. "Again, Sage?" Just last fall she changed from art to environmental science. Now she wants to change again. "To what this time?"
"Creative writing."
"Really?" Sage had never expressed an actual interest in writing, although I knew she kept up her journal from when she was seeing Dr. Bill.
"You know what I always told you guys, what my dad used to tell me. Whatever makes you happy will make me happy."
My son, AJ, showed up about an hour later. "How are you doing in school now?" I asked him over Sage's autumn salad.
"I'm passing."
"AJ, I want you to do more than pass. Don't think I didn't see your SUAT test scores, you blew the cover off the damn thing. I know you're smart."
"But mom --"
"You got a girl over here, don't you?"
"How'd you know? Did Sage open her big mouth? I swear, her tongue can't hold water."
"Sage didn't tell me," I lied -- sorta. I read her diary.
He began telling me about a girl named Samantha Grey, a member of Tri-Fruhm sorority. A sorority girl? I thought. Have to wonder what her intentions are.
"I want you on the dean's list this semester, AJ," I told him, "no excuses."
After spending the rest of the evening preparing the lesson plan, I walked into my classroom the next morning and took in the surroundings. The desks had been freshly cleaned and wiped of the gum and graffiti of the previous semester, the seats had been freshly laundered, and the carpet vacuumed and shampooed. Even the walls smelled of newness.
As I walked to the podium I realized, to my students, I was now the dreaded Mrs. Cheesman. I had turned into my old history teacher, minus the gray hair and the wrinkles. If you'd have told me I'd be here, I'd have told you that you're off your rocker.
My children can tell you that I can be a very difficult taskmaster and disciplinarian. They'll also tell you I can be intimidating at times. But I will let nothing, not even my own preferences, get in the way of their happiness.
I took a deep breath. It was showtime.
As my students began filing in one by one I began my first lecture. I introduced myself as Savannah Plumb Cheesman (the first time I ever did that in public), and decided to spend my first period just talking about my background and experiences.
Some of my students were interested. Others, though, used my period as an excuse for a siesta.
I could tell I was in for a long semester as most of the students this period came in late.
One girl, who straggled in about twenty minutes late, decided to ask a question. "How many different places did you go?"
I frowned. I thought I'd told them this already.
"I never went to college," I told them, "I got my education in the tombs. When I was eighteen, fresh out of high school, I asked my father if I could go to Egypt. He didn't want me to go. Neither did my mother, who definitely had a different vision for my future. No amount of cajoling and begging worked. I ended up going anyway, basically going to find myself. I learned more life lessons having to do without the comforts I'd been used to than I could get from any textbook."
"I've had enough electricity shot through me to power this campus for an entire year, been through fire more times than you could count, and collected enough artifacts to fill a museum, some of which are older than all of us on this campus put together. My mother didn't agree with the path I chose, but eventually she had to accept that it was my life and she couldn't live it for me. You see, history is not just about dates and battles, but about people and how they lived their lives in the past, and what lessons they left behind for us today."
After class it started to hail and I got in my rental car and went back to my rental pad. It's a nice pad, 4 bedrooms (I asked for a big one in case my kids wanted to sleep over) and has a home office. The university is paying most of my expenses and I can even go on trips, provided they're research for my work.
