I often wonder why I stick with teaching. Well, here’s two reasons.
The other day we read “Greyhound Tragedy,” by Richard Brautigan. It’s a really short story that covers a lot of bases when you come back from summer and want to remind students what English looks like. It takes place during the Depression and has a movie theme to it. At the end, the girl in the story has some kids and names them Jean and Rudolph, after movie stars.
I didn’t figure students would know Jean Harlow, but Rudolph Valentino? Come on. Someone out of my 91 sophomores must have heard of the famous silent movie star. I told them there were pizza stores of his last name on PCH. I told them his name is synonymous with being a lover.
Their only response to whom this Rudolph could possibly be was Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. All three classes. There was that.
Today, I was reviewing poetry with seniors and wanted to know how many poets an entire class could name. They got Poe, Claude McKay, Langston Hughes, Sylvia Plath, Robert Frost. Maybe another. They nodded in agreement when I told them Emily Dickinson existed.
A student also offered up “Something Whitman.” Yep. Mr. and Mrs. Whitman named their son Something. Oh captain, my captain.
Has no one seen Dead Poets’ Society?