Re-Writing the Classics

I teach a class entitled, "American Literature: 1850-Present." Such broad parameters; the white whale, the birth of modernism, then post-modernism, stories of war and women. With such greats at our fingertips the class has come to be defined not by the mighty pen but rather by the motley seven who make up my faithful students. Maxi, AJ, Bhu, Mustafah, Off, Mae and Ufuk.

The hour and a half long class usually goes something like this. Bhu, the adorable and punctual, enters the room before me. Setting the room accordingly, turning on the air conditioner, arranging the chairs, taking out his pen and sitting quality in preparation. Next come Ufuk and Mustafah, Turkish students earning their bachelors in Thailand. They come in chatting in Turkish and continue to fill the room with noise in a multitude of languages for the duration of the class. Then Mae, quiet and sweet. Maxi, my ladyboy, is always clad with excuse. About 15 minutes into class Mae calls Maxi, and Maxi is inevitably "at home with a sore throat," "talking to her landlord."

Off has come one time. When I asked about his absences to the other students they casually explained, "Oh, he has brain damage." I will say that I don't believe them.

Finally AJ. AJ is a dwarf which could excuse her for being 45 minutes late to class every day were it not for the fact that I have walked with AJ and she can move about twice as fast as I can. After AJ arrives late she excuses herself to "the toilet" for about 30 minutes.

Together we read Dickinson, Whitman, Fitzgerald and Faulkner. Wish you were here.