Justin - Part 8
My short story classes this semester had some of the best students I had ever taught, and it wasn't only because of Justin. Many of these students had taken a freshman writing class with me, and some of them had taken my technical writing course. While some of them were writing majors, most were from various majors and disciplines, including business, the natural and social sciences, and education. They participated in classroom discussions and, in many ways, the course taught itself. All I had to do was give assignments, grade short stories, and, on occasion, lead discussions.
I looked forward to reading Justin's short stories, but I also looked forward to learning more about my other students through their writing and portfolios. The writing majors explored fictional topics in their stories. One of them was developing a portfolio that was a series of stories about a homeless man she always saw near campus, providing insights into who she thought he was and how he came to be homeless. At times, I had tears in my eyes as I would read her stories because it brought home how easily any of us could end up in his situation. On the other hand, I was thrilled that she was able to develop such a rich story about someone she did not know.
Justin's portfolio included a story about a young man who was searching for his life's passion. The young man had graduated from high school and did not know what he wanted to do, so he decided to let life take him where it would. While parts of it needed better development, he did a very good job of crafting a character that the reader would want to know more about. But was it based on him? I couldn't tell.
On a Thursday afternoon about a few weeks before the end of the semester, the university had its annual awards ceremony. I did not usually go to these things, but there were some students I had taught during my first year at the university who were seniors now, and I wanted to see them honored for their accomplishments. There were also awards for the top professors in each department, and I had been told that I should attend because I might win for the English and Writing Department. Sure enough, I did. It was a big honor because it was chosen by a committee of professors in my department and outside of it. It was also validation for changing careers in my mid-40s. My former employer did not go out of business during the financial crisis, but I had found what I was meant to do, and I loved it.
The next day, only about half of the students in my morning class attended. I asked what was happening, and apparently the fraternities, sororities, and other student organizations on campus were having a big event that afternoon and evening. Why had I never noticed this? Maybe I had canceled classes on this Friday in past years and had forgotten about it this year? Whatever the case, I had class with the students who did show up. Between classes, I walked around campus and saw this event really was a big deal. I bumped into a few students from my afternoon class who asked if it was OK to miss class. At that point, what was I going to say? I didn't have an attendance policy: I tried to create a learning environment that students wanted to be a part of. They attended class because they wanted to attend it, not because of any policy that required attendance.
Before my 2 p.m. class, my wife called to let me know she had just picked up our younger son at school and they were driving to her parents' place for the weekend. "If you'd like to go with us, we can wait until after your class." I assured her it was OK to leave, and I had plenty of things to keep me busy. I told her to drive safely and give my best to her parents.
As expected, attendance in my afternoon class was sparse. At 2 p.m. there were only three students: two coeds who were writing majors and another one who was not. I figured that since I had powered through the morning class, I should do the same with the afternoon class. As I started discussing a short story I had assigned to them, one I had written and had published, Justin walked in. "Thanks for joining us, Justin," I said, kind of sarcastically.
"I'm sorry I'm late," he said, clearly out of breath and about to explain his reason for being late.
Before he could say anything else, I jokingly said, "I'm kidding!" I pointed to the nearly empty room and said, "It's not like you had any trouble finding an empty seat." That brought a laugh from the other three students and a smile from Justin.
The classroom discussion was not very focused. It was not because the students had not read the story I had assigned to them; they clearly had. It was just difficult to have a meaningful discussion with only four students in the classroom, especially because I had planned to have the students discuss different outcomes in groups of three, as I had that morning. Somehow we managed, and as the end of class approached, one of the students suggested they should get bonus points for attending. I laughed and reminded them that there were no bonus points in our class, and, besides, those who attended didn't really need them. Then one of the others said, "Well, take us out for a beer!"
I had enjoyed beers with colleagues, but drinking with students was a different matter. The more obvious issue was that these were underclassmen, so I said, "You're not 21. You can't drink beer." They laughed, and I added, "OK, not legally."
Justin piped up: "I'm 22!" and with that the three girls suggested we go someplace where I could buy them a soda and Justin a beer.
I wasn't really sure about this, but the idea seemed interesting, but I said, "Wait a minute, Justin, don't you have to work after class?"
"Not today, I'm off until Monday," he said with a broad smile.
"OK, I guess I don't have a choice, but we're going to do this on a few conditions. First, we're going to discuss class-related topics, either your assigned readings or your portfolios. Second, those of you who are under 21 have to stick to soda or something else non-alcoholic. And third," as I turned to Justin, "only one beer for you, young man." It felt kind of empowering to call Justin "young man," but he and the other students agreed to my conditions, and we walked to a bar and grill just off campus.
We placed our orders: beer, a Diet Coke, an iced tea, a water, and a beer for me. Justin got carded, and, for some reason, so did I. As I handed my drivers license to Justin to hand it to the waiter, he scrutinized it and said, "Are you sure this is you?" Then he looked at the waiter and said, "I'm not sure, boss, what do you think?" Everyone had a good laugh at my expense. The picture was about five years old from back when I was working in business. I was wearing a coat and tie, something none of them had ever seen me in, and I didn't have the beard that was obligatory for a writing professor. The waiter smiled and nodded and gave it back to Justin who then handed it back to me.
We made small talk until the beverages came. It was good to talk to my students in a non-academic environment. I had talked to Justin and worked with him in the fitness center, but being able to talk to the four of them outside of the classroom made me feel like they were being more open. They were discussing what they had been writing and their portfolios, what inspired their writing, and the messages they were trying to include in their stories. It was a great discussion, and the time flew by so quickly that I did not even realize it was after 4 until one of the girls excused herself to head back to campus, and the other two followed quickly, leaving only Justin and me at the table.
I was about to summon the waiter for the check when Justin said, "Wait a minute, I should buy you a beer."
"Why?" I asked.
He replied, "When I looked at your driver's license I noticed you just had a birthday last week, so Happy Birthday!"
Hmmm, he looked at my driver's license. Then I realized that, unless he was really bad at math, he knew I had just turned 49. It's not like I had hidden my age or was under any crazy delusions that he didn't realize how old I must be, but it did put everything into perspective. Still, the opportunity to spend some time talking to Justin alone, over a beer, was something I couldn't resist, so I said, "OK, and thank you."
The waiter came over, I settled our tab, and then Justin ordered a beer for me and a coffee for himself. I was impressed that he honored my condition of only one beer for himself. Before the waiter left, Justin looked at him and said, "I don't think you need to see this young man's ID again. He's been 21 for a few years," and they both chuckled. Two laughs at my expense.
The beer and coffee came, and I said, "So Justin, you were pretty quiet earlier when everyone was talking about what they had been writing."
Justin started at the coffee mug and then looked up at me with a serious expression, "Yeah, I don't really like to talk about that with other people."
"Why not?" I asked.
"It's pretty personal," he said. "It's easier to write about it than it is to discuss it."
I nodded and said, "I can understand that, and I can tell that your writing is personal." He nodded back. "So do you have any idea what your life's passion is?" This seemed to catch him off guard. I didn't know if he was surprised that I connected the stories to him or if he was not prepared to discuss it with anyone. When he didn't reply, I said, "I'm sorry I sprung that on you, but I've found that not only does writing about things makes it easier to talk about them, but the opposite is also true."
He still didn't say anything, and I was afraid I might have started picking at a scab or something, so I said, "I'm really sorry I asked that."
Justin looked at me and then looked down again and said, "No, it's OK. It's a fair question, and I'm still trying to figure it out."
I felt a huge sense of relief and said, "Of course you are, and it might take years to figure it out. Some people never figure it out. I never would have found mine if I had not left my job four years ago and started teaching. The really sad thing is that I never would have known what my life's passion was if I had not done that."
Justin looked up at me and said, "I'm glad you did. Otherwise we never would have met."
Did he just say that? What did he mean by it?
He continued, "I mean, I barely scraped through during my first semester, all C's, and I got down on myself. Things didn't get any easier during my second semester, all C's again, except for your class. My folks expected more than a 2.1 GPA my freshman year and I let them down."
"You didn't let anyone down," I told him. "It's tough being away from home as an 18-year-old with all that freedom, nobody to tell you to study or go to class, all those distractions. Look where you are now. You have your priorities straight, you understand what you need to do and you're doing it. You're balancing a full load of classes and a job, and a little more than a year from now, you're going to become the first member of your family to get a college degree. That's quite an accomplishment. I would be very proud of you if you were my son."
Jesus, the dad in me was coming out. Now I felt really weird for having all those fantasies about him and then talking to him as if he were my own son.
"Thank you. That's the nicest thing anybody has ever said to me," he said.
Just then the waiter came back over and asked if we wanted to order some food. Until then, I didn't realize it was after 5, and, as a free-agent for the evening and rest of the weekend, I said, "Sure, how about you, Justin?"
"I've actually gotta hit the road. I am spending the weekend with my parents; dad turns 50 tomorrow and mom's throwing a big party for him," he said with a smile.
Sheesh, I am almost as old as Justin's father. I need to drop this fantasy before I get too deep.
Justin paid for my beer and his coffee, and got up to leave. I got up too, and we walked out. As we walked back toward campus, I said, "Are you sure you're OK to drive?" He said he was, and, just as I had with my wife earlier, I told him to drive safely and give my best to his parents.
He offered his hand and as we shook, he said, "I will, dad," and laughed. Man, this was just getting more and more weird. And, as he walked away, he turned around and said, "Thanks. For everything." I waved back. I was as confused as ever about this situation and what I should do.