First Day of School Never Gets Old

This year marked my 29th first day of school as a professor at Mount Mercy, and my 37th as a teacher. If you count my student years, it was my 55th first day of school!

That fresh fall start never gets old.

Sure, there is sadness about leaving summer behind and having less time to write. There are my first-day jitters. But I’ve always seen them as excitement, as evidence that I care deeply about the year ahead.

Many of my good vibes this year stem from the fact that Ben and I had an idyllic summer complete with Wordsworthian hikes in England’s Lake District.

But many of the good vibes also came from Mount Mercy itself. For the first time ever–at least that I can recall–we had a professional development day with the faculty and staff together. It was fun meeting new people and spending time with folks I seldom see. And as always, it was lovely reuniting with longtime colleagues.

(There was also a picnic with huge hot dogs AND hamburgers. For dessert, there were brownies AND cookies.)

At the end of the day Molly Ward risked life and limb on a tall ladder to take this group shot:

Ben and I are at the far left of the front row. I love that he and I are both part of this group. And I love that it is just one of many all over the world–groups dedicated to educating and empowering young people, groups devoted to the future.

The next day at our faculty retreat, our new Provost (and longtime colleague) Tom Castle followed up on a plenary from the PD day. The speaker Jenny Silva from Xavier University gave a refreshing take on the Catholic Intellectual Tradition, and she emphasized the importance of wonder, fascination, and beauty. Then she asked where each of us find such gifts, where we find our centers. Tom followed up at the retreat by asking where we find such gifts at Mount Mercy.

His answer was exactly the same as mine: walking up the hill to campus.

Even laden with my heavy L.L Bean book bag, I find the trek inspiring. After I’ve braved I-380, walking the path to Warde Hall slows me down. It makes me look up. I see the sky, and I remember that the day is filled with possibility.

And then it’s Mount Mercy’s students who keep that sense of possibility alive. Here are three examples of how they buoy me up.

For the past few years, the Faculty Staff GSA (Gender and Sexuality Alliance) has been trying to get a Pride flag visibly displayed in the University Center Commons. We’ve done lots of other cool things (see my post about our 2021-2022 year, and stay tuned for a post about last academic year), but it was the Student Government Association that triumphed with the Pride flag. It’s prominently displayed in their office window, and you can see it near the back of this photo from the Student Involvement Fair. You can also see the LGBTQ+Alliance table near the front right : ) As faculty advisor, I’m looking forward to the their first meeting this Tuesday.

photo by Joe Sheller

The second example occurred at an ice breaker with this year’s new Honors students. I brought a copy of our literary magazine, The Paha Review, and waited for a lull in the get-to-to-know-each-other questions (If you had to eat one of the following, which would you choose: a live 3/4-inch long ant, cooked monkey brains, or a live squid? Just so you know, I did not author that question.) I pulled a copy of the magazine out of my backpack and urged these brand new students to read it–maybe even join the staff and submit their work.

cover art and design by Grace Byers

There was a sophomore in my group, a biology major who had three poems in last year’s edition, and I said as much to the first-years. One young man, a math major who happened to be holding the magazine, looked at the poet with the sort of awe that many people his age reserve for Taylor Swift. “You’re the author of ‘Think,'” he said. He knew the titles of all her poems. After receiving the magazine from Admissions, he had read it cover to cover. “I love to write,” he said, “and I think it’s so cool that this magazine exists at Mount Mercy.”

Now, the launch for last year’s PAHA was a full house, and I’m a strong believer in showcasing student writing and art. But if my belief wavers, I’m going to remember that math major pouring over PAHA eager to meet some of its writers.

The third example happened when I was reviewing the Day 1 writings from my first-year composition class, Writing and Social Issues. On her opening survey, in bold black ink, a student had drawn flowers. Her squiggly, curving lines vibrated with energy and joy.

She included more flowers on her in-class writing about the role of curiosity in her life. I was curious about why she’d drawn the flowers (they were clearly not the product of mere boredom or restlessness). I was even more curious about why I was so taken with them. I wrote her a note, saying I loved her flowers. I used my patented purple pen, and I printed because some students can no longer read cursive.

Her flowers stayed with me until the next day when I was discussing images with my creative writing class. I gave them Heather Sellers’ definition: “pictures that inspire thoughts and feelings.”

What had those flowers inspired in me? Delight? Yes, but also nostalgia. An intense longing for an earlier, simpler time in my teaching career when I spent way less time with computer screens and Brightspace–and way more time with my purple pen and student papers.

I missed my students’ handwriting: fat loopy cursive with hearts dotting the i’s, sharp no-nonsense right-tilted script. Tiny wobbly letters or sentences pressed so hard onto the page that you can feel them on the other side.

This nostalgia makes me feel old, so I’m going to focus instead on my student and the coming year. On why she drew the flowers. I can’t know for sure, but this is what I’m telling myself: even after being bombarded with the syllabus and innumerable course policies, that student felt an irrepressible desire to create beauty. If such energy can thrive amidst day-one logistics, what might happen on more interesting days? What might each student hold inside themselves? Flowers. Flowers waiting to burst open.