I arrive at Palomar—ten minutes after my class started. I yank open the door and race down the hallway, narrowly avoiding hitting a rather amused man. Although I have gone to class three times already, my sense of direction has never been very keen, and I'm lost for several minutes. Finally I manege to reach the right room, number 105. (But then again, the building is very small; I was bound to hit it sometime.) I slowly, guiltily, approach the door. Do I dare enter? What if my teacher hates me? Cautiously peeking around the corner before entering, I see that my teacher hasn't even come yet. With assurance that I won't be caught this time, I walk to my desk.
My desk is rather standard, must like those from movies and books. However, to a homeschool student like me who has never sat behind one before, any desk is a curiosity. In the front is a tray-like piece of wood connected to the chair by a armrest on the right side. I have supposed this armrest is for resting one's arm while taking notes, although this function is lost on me, a left-hander. Below my chair is a strange metal cage, presumably for putting books, but which looks more like a prison cell than anything. Unlike in some movies, I don't have any place for storing my pencils and what-not. I'm not sure I would really want to anyway; I don't really trust any of the people who attend Palomar.
I pull out my textbook and notebook from my backpack and then take out a mechanical pencil. No, this one is out of lead. I try another. This one will do. I then open my textbook and read a few paragraphs. It's too noisy in the room for studying so I shove my textbook back into my backpack. Around me the other students are getting impatient; some are even planning on leaving before the teacher comes in. “Ya know, if a teacher doesn't come after fifteen minutes,” Joe, who was sitting one seat behind me, said hopefully, “it's a decided-on rule that class is dismissed.”
“Yeah, well, I once had a teacher who did that, and we all left, and so he marked us all absent.” Lauren, sitting directly behind me, loudly informed Joe.
“Ooh, harsh!” Joe replied sympathetically.
In front of me sits the friend trio: Jodi, Hannah (not me), and Karen. Jodi, who is directly in front of me, has long, flowing black hair, clear skin, a sweet voice, and a nasty lagging cough. She is truly the image of beauty; that is, until she coughs in her gurgling way. Contrasting with Jodi is Hannah, with knotty blond hair, a face full of freckles, and a constant pout from her many woes. “My roommate's cat is such a—I just want to kill it! She goes and scratches and scratches at the carpet, and I say, “No!” but she doesn't listen. And whenever I open the fridge—boom! She's there! I shove her ugly head out, but she keeps coming back. I just hate cats. I inherited it from my mother, her hatred of cats, you know.” Throughout this dialogue Jodi encouragingly “oohs” and “aahs” and at the right moments. Occasionally Karen will enter the conversation to say something loudly like, “Oh, I KNOW!” or “That happens to me ALL the time!”
Directly to my right sits A.J., a very muscular man of about twenty. I admit that I never sit still. Whether at home or in public, at peace or deeply disturbed, I always fidget and wiggle my legs. However, A.J. takes this to a new level. He doesn't just wiggle his legs; he jumps them up and down like he was having epileptic seizures. Also, he spends nearly the entire class period with his head down and his hands hiding his face. This behavior confused me at first. I soon learned why he did this, however. During class he texts on his phone, sometimes breaking into spontaneous giggles (yes, it was funny seeing him giggle), other times raptly absorbed in his little device. Today A.J. came in after me, and as he walked by I noticed that he smelled of cigarette smoke. It was not really so much to bother me, but I was surprised that someone could have such a strong smell on them.
After nearly ten minutes, my teacher bubbles in, completely oblivious to the grumbling, and begins happily informing the class of the exciting deal she had just gotten on some textbooks (a very teacher-like thing to get excited about). She then starts right in with the lesson. “Alright, today we are going to talk about life in the Spanish colonies.” I jot down, “Spanish colonies.”
She continued.“Now, the Spanish colonists were basically only men. And you know when guys are all alone... So they needed wives. But Spanish women didn't want to come. So then what? They went for the native women of course! Hey, it's the only game around! They would prefer Spanish women, but you know... So there were lots and lots of mixed marriages going on. And it was good for the native women as well. You see, the native American women had a custom of marrying members of conquering tribes, so it was only natural for them to go along with it. What else could they do, you know? And now countries like Brazil where the Spanish used to colonize have so many different types of races. We only have four: white, black, yellow, and—what was that last one?—oh, red! But they have so many, like burnt yellow, and coffee with milk, and pale with pink edges. They just have so many different kinds! It's ridiculous!” I wrote down, “interracial problems.”
“And now, the most important thing to remember is—” “—and you know my husband, he's always just, “Blah, blah, blah!” And I'm like, “Dude, what the heck?” And he's all like...” Lauren practically yells to Joe, making it impossible for me to hear what the teacher is saying.
“OK, let's take our break now. If anyone came in late and didn't get on the attendance list, come see me.” My teacher says, sitting down at her desk. Half the class and I start coming to the front.
“Huh, all of you?” My teacher asks, confusion all over her face.
“You didn't take role call today, remember!” Lauren loudly reminds her.
“Oh yeah, that's right. I came in late. Alright, I'll do it after the break!” My teacher bubblingly informs us before walking out of the classroom. We follow. The friend trio head for the restroom while Lauren and Joe walk out the door together, to get lunch I assume. A.J. stays where he is, absorbed in his conversation. I leave, happy to get away from the tobacco smell, and wander out the door and down to the front desk. I look at the brochures. There are some openings in the ESL class. I don't think I need that. There will be a blood drive at Palomar next month. I'll have to remember to avoid that. Uninterested, I start walking back. Only, as I have said, my sense of direction has never been very keen, and I end up wandering around in circles. I find the library that will be opening up. I can just barely see the empty bookcases through the small, taped-up window. I walk on. Up ahead is the admissions building. I was wondering where they kept that. And now here's the library again. It's still not open yet. And so I go on like this for the entire break until I finally stumble on number 105, my classroom. At the door the friend trio stands around. Hannah (still not me) angrily pounds on her cellphone, nearly breaking it in half, and grumbles to the other two, “ARG! I can't stand it! This stupid thing, it keeps getting jammed. It just won't open!”
“It's awful, isn't it? Mine does that too sometimes,” Jodi soothingly says. “Let me try.” She then works at it, twisting and fiddling with the rebellious phone. I would like to stay and see if Jodi is successful, but I feel I should be heading in. A.J. is still texting, oblivious to his surroundings. After I have sat down, Lauren and Joe come back. As Joe walks past me to get to his desk, I am overwhelmed with tobacco smell. I'm not sure who smelled more like tobacco: Joe or A.J.
Pretty soon (for her) my teacher comes back and starts the role call. Now, to be perfectly honest, I didn't know that college teachers did role call. I know they did with elementary-school students, but I always thought attendance wasn't required at a college lecture. But oh well. “Jennifer?”
“Here,” was the reply.
“Jodi?”
Without speaking Jodi raised her hand. That seemed acceptable enough and my teacher went on.
Now, to be perfectly honest, every time my teacher does role call I'm scared I won't realize I've been called or I won't say “here” loud enough and she'll pass over me. Things like this have happened before, and I want to make sure I get a good grade in my class. So I listen to each name very intently, ready to raise my hand at any moment.
“Hannah—”
“Here!” I say at my loudest (really not that loud) while raising my hand.
“—Baker?” My teacher finishes, looking up. The real Hannah in question (not me) raises her hand. I shamefully slump in my chair. Finally role call is over, and my teacher begins the lesson again.
“Alright, now let's talk about the early English colonists. When I ask students what the first colony in Virginia was, they usually answer, 'Jamestown.' Well, they're wrong. It's actually Roanoke. Now, do any of you know about Roanoke?”
“Oh yeah, that's where John Smith—no, that's where the Pilgrims came, and they had thanksgiving, right?” Lauren loudly blurts out.
“Well actually...” My teacher begins.
“No, no, that's where there was no one. Like they all died! Yeah, they were all dead!” Lauren tries to correct herself.
“Yes, Roanoke is the first colony in Virginia. At first it seemed to do well. However, Raleigh, their leader, went back to England for supplies but was delayed for ten years by war. And when he came back, everyone was gone without a trace. Creepy. There were no signs of struggle, only the word, 'Cherokee,' written on a tree. So what do you think supply ships thought when they came there and everyone was gone? Indian raids of course! They were scared of Indian attacks! So when they made Jamestown, they chose a place in the middle of a swamp to keep out Indians. That's the only reason they chose such an awful place to put a city. Jamestown is the first successful English settlement, but they had a whole lot of trouble. First there was the...”
While my teacher is talking, I try to take notes on all she is saying. However, while I'm doing this, Jodi leans back, and her hair falls on my desk. I move my notebook back a little to avoid accidentally pulling her hair. She leans back farther. I pull my notebook towards me. She leans back farther. My notebook is practically on my lap. She leans back farther. I am forced to move my notebook on the armrest to escape the invading hair. She finally sits up straight again. I have my desk to myself again.
My teacher usually talks slow and enhances her speech with interesting stories and the like. However, near the end we were running out of time and she still had a lot to cover. “TheEnglishdon'twantanythingtodowiththeIndiansbuttheFrenchandtheDutchweredifferenttheyintermarriedandtradedandtookontheirwaysanddidtheirpeacesmokingthingstheywereallhappytheIndianslikedtheFrenchandtheDutchtheyhadgoodsettlementseveryonewashappytheend.”
I couldn't keep up. I wrote, “The English Indian French Dutch happiness.”
“Alright, class is over. See you on Thursday!” Even before she had finished talking, everyone had packed up their books and headed out the door. It is the end of another day of class—with many more to follow. I pack up too and walk to the front door to wait for Mommy to pick me up.
I was originally planning on recording myself doing some menial task such as walking or stretching. I decided to ask Nathaniel (age 6) if he wanted to help. He agreed to, so I turned on both cameras and recorded his "dance". Enjoy!
I was originally planning on recording myself doing some menial task such as walking or stretching. I decided to ask Nathaniel (age 6) if he wanted to help. He agreed to, so I turned on both cameras and recorded his "dance". Enjoy!
