Classroom blessings.
Something I am loving about TA’ing (no big surprise: same thing I loved about teaching my own classes): all the amazing humans—young and not so—and their complete awesomeness. Seeing them supported (at least in this city and in these space) as the brilliantly unique individuals they are. MC cultivates a classroom where they are unquestioningly celebrated where they are at.
The young person with magnificent fashion, wearing tartans with petticoats and military boots one day, and carrying a hand carved walking stick (sheleighly?); and baggy jeans, a vintage oversized denim jacket with fat 70’s pockets, and a black trilby the next day. They take the class so seriously, and ask good questions, and raise their hand often to participate.
The young woman who explained to me, in writing, that she has selective mutism, and beams with excitement every class that she gets to communicate non-verbally with everyone. She can’t wait to learn new terms, and keeps a running tally of all the signs she has learned in class and on her own. She is now staying after for tutoring every class, adding to her list. Her enthusiasm is infectious, and she is so damn smart.
The only person in the room older than MC and I, who is beaming and eager every day to be there. She is clearly doing independent study, and makes a point to always ask how WE are when she gets a chance to chat with us. She is gracious and thoughtful, and always keenly, respectfully paying attention in the way adult learners do.
The young person who typed to me the second week, thanking me for teaching them, because they are painfully shy and ASL has already given them a lot more confidence. And I can truly tell. They are volunteering to answer questions, and last week apparently did a look-up of a term they wanted to use in morning greetings. “How are you?” they were asked. “I’m a silly goose!!” they answered. And they laughed self-satisfied at making US laugh as we typed on the projector screen what they had signed.
The married couple about my age who decided they wanted to learn ASL together, and are always looking to each other to collectively decipher new concepts (I think of the species that spoke in binary in ST:TNG—always putting their heads together). She is a visual artist and was excited to show me her work when I asked. He is a geek, and I clocked him from the first day because he wears geeky shirts to class every single day.
The gentle, sweet gal with curly locks who brings me her little black notebook of signs she wants to learn after each class. One day she rolled her eyes and said “this list is so me”. It was filled with words like kindness, consciously, peaceful, safety, imagination. I assured her it was an excellent list she will get a lot of use out of.
The eccentric peeps, the proudly trans folks, the peace-loving hippies, the “excited to be here” answer-ers every day when asked how they are, the kids flirting with their new crush, the high schoolers who pile in their car to commute to and from the campus every day to learn ASL, learners from all across the age spectrum coming together to practice and stretch their minds and hearts. It’s glorious. I’m feeling really lucky to get to help in their journey in any way.
The young person with magnificent fashion, wearing tartans with petticoats and military boots one day, and carrying a hand carved walking stick (sheleighly?); and baggy jeans, a vintage oversized denim jacket with fat 70’s pockets, and a black trilby the next day. They take the class so seriously, and ask good questions, and raise their hand often to participate.
The young woman who explained to me, in writing, that she has selective mutism, and beams with excitement every class that she gets to communicate non-verbally with everyone. She can’t wait to learn new terms, and keeps a running tally of all the signs she has learned in class and on her own. She is now staying after for tutoring every class, adding to her list. Her enthusiasm is infectious, and she is so damn smart.
The only person in the room older than MC and I, who is beaming and eager every day to be there. She is clearly doing independent study, and makes a point to always ask how WE are when she gets a chance to chat with us. She is gracious and thoughtful, and always keenly, respectfully paying attention in the way adult learners do.
The young person who typed to me the second week, thanking me for teaching them, because they are painfully shy and ASL has already given them a lot more confidence. And I can truly tell. They are volunteering to answer questions, and last week apparently did a look-up of a term they wanted to use in morning greetings. “How are you?” they were asked. “I’m a silly goose!!” they answered. And they laughed self-satisfied at making US laugh as we typed on the projector screen what they had signed.
The married couple about my age who decided they wanted to learn ASL together, and are always looking to each other to collectively decipher new concepts (I think of the species that spoke in binary in ST:TNG—always putting their heads together). She is a visual artist and was excited to show me her work when I asked. He is a geek, and I clocked him from the first day because he wears geeky shirts to class every single day.
The gentle, sweet gal with curly locks who brings me her little black notebook of signs she wants to learn after each class. One day she rolled her eyes and said “this list is so me”. It was filled with words like kindness, consciously, peaceful, safety, imagination. I assured her it was an excellent list she will get a lot of use out of.
The eccentric peeps, the proudly trans folks, the peace-loving hippies, the “excited to be here” answer-ers every day when asked how they are, the kids flirting with their new crush, the high schoolers who pile in their car to commute to and from the campus every day to learn ASL, learners from all across the age spectrum coming together to practice and stretch their minds and hearts. It’s glorious. I’m feeling really lucky to get to help in their journey in any way.
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