By Nagash Clarke, Chemistry
As the semester nears its end, I sit on the other side of the desk, recalling the days when perspiration trickled down my back as I sat behind a paper carefully responding to questions. I now watch as futures are settled right before my eyes.
You, my students, sit there hunched over a piece of paper twirling your pencil wondering about your life. Sometimes you look up at me, and I see a flicker of despair in your eyes. And in others a glimmer of hope. Or it is just resignation?
“Fifteen minutes remaining,” I call out, smiling at those who catch my eye.
To the 19 year old young man, whose bangs cover his eyes, grumpy of late because the girl he likes doesn’t like him back. He will pass, but could have done so much better if he spent more time looking at the board and not snap-chat.
To the middle-aged recently divorced woman with three kids. Squeezed in studying at basketball games and cheering competitions. Desperate for validation. Will she make it? Still picking up the pieces from her life. To top it off, she lost her father last year. “Gotta hurry, Max will be done with school in 30 minutes.”
To the young lady med school-hopeful who is taking the class the second time around. "Will they accept me with a 3.22 GPA?" "If only I hadn’t messed up on the first two exams.”
To the 21-year-old dude who had a scholarship at U of M, but drank most of the semester away. Your parents told you there is no way you are moving back home. After all, they have younger kids to think about. Now you are at WCC figuring out the next move. You twirl your “sober” wrist band trying to convince yourself that you are not a loser, even though most of your friends are graduating next year. “I just need to pass this stupid class and maybe U of M might re-admit me.”
To the gentleman who just retired from Ford. Pension is good, but what now? Still young, still healthy, why not try an actual career? You were at the plant because your dad told you to get a job since you had a baby on the way.
“Thanks for a great class,” says the 17-year-old on her way to conquer the world. Didn’t really need me to get that A. All she needed was the syllabus and her textbook.
How many of these will give up their dreams? How many will say: “Let’s try that again next semester.” How many will say: “I did this to myself.” Then there are those with razor sharp focus ready to change the world.
I wish I could tell them that a grade doesn’t define your intelligence.
I wish I could say to them that going to med school won’t give you the self-worth you are so desperately craving.
I wish I could tell them to love themselves regardless of what grade they receive.
I wish I could tell them that sometimes life will suck for no apparent reason. And sometimes it will be plain awesome.
I wish I could tell them things will get better.
I wish I could tell them that you will find your “thing.” Whatever that is.
But would they hear me over the noise in their heads?
“Time,” I call out, quite aware of the gravity of those words.