Psst...

Sometimes, when someone really wants you to know something, they don't tell you. They let you discover it.

In the freshman comp class I'm TAing, a student turned to me today and asked, "Want to read my paper?”

I said, "Sure." I'm not going to turn down a student, especially one who's even mildly excited about the admittedly dry subject of essay writing. Plus I'd been curious about the quality of the students' final drafts (as a TA, I don't grade). And beyond all that, I love reading.

The paper was about his experience being an ethnic minority gay man in the military who'd been raised Catholic and is currently in a relationship with another gay serviceman. It discusses the possible consequences Proposition 8 could have on him, if upheld.

The paper was not only well organized and demonstrated a depth of critical thinking, but was also impassioned, measured, and extremely affecting. I read it and thought, I hope he gets a God damn A. (I may be biased, though; Prop 8 still pisses me off.) The other thing I thought was how generous it was of him to share this with me. I've liked this student from day one--funny, engaged, earnest, polite--and I take it as a compliment that he chose to divulge this to me.

The students anonymously workshopped their papers in class this evening, and when this student got his back, the only comment written on it was "gay." I am choosing to think of it as a topic assessment rather than a disparaging remark. I am also choosing to think that the reason no one commented on the paper wasn't that they didn't know how to approach the topic, but that they were so affected by the writing, that they didn't have any criticism.

Sustenance

Veronika and I went antiquing today, got brunch, and rounded out the morning at San Diego's Prop 8 rally. It just seems so simple to that love, wherever it's found, should be honored and validated.

After last night's concert, Jack in the Box taco-fortune cookies were handed out at the exit. I thought, "Cool! Maybe the fortune will help me finish my burrito story." It's about a guy who wins fame and adoration after eating a four-pound burrito. And you know, a fortune cookie shaped like a taco, a story about a burrito, it seemed symbiotic to me. So I opened the fortune taco today, and here's what I got:


I felt like Ralphie in "A Christmas Story," where Little Orphan Annie's secret message turns out to be "a crummy commerical" for Ovaltine. Back to Starbucks I go tomorrow, in search of a story ending.

Got Weekend Plans?

http://jointheimpact.com/