This is just a little note, because it might be good to put a reminder out there that good things still happen.
One of my students stopped by my office yesterday to give me this:
Inside, the student had written half a novel about why they appreciated me and my work. I didn't read it until after the student had left for their next class.
Then I read it, shut my office door, and cried.
I mean. I don't do this job for the sake of student appreciation -- if I needed that, I'd have thrown up my hands and left long ago. Most students approach courses as transactional, which, fair enough. A few genuinely care, even come to care for what I teach because they like me and how much I care about it. I get a fair few repeaters -- students who take a second class from me because they got so much from the first one.
A few students genuinely hate me and all my works, which for me is hard because I am easily hurt by that kind of thing for reasons too quotidian to talk about. (I'm too old a hand to let it show, of course. It still hurts.)
But every once in a while? There's a student like this. And I cry for joy.
