Pirate Update: The Recent Headlines

Ahoy, crew members!  Remember back when I used to write things down and post them here?  I should totally start doing that again.

My lack of posting hasn't been completely my fault.  I've had stuff.  Nothing bad, just busy and incredibly important.  But I thought I'd check in give you some of the recent Didactic Pirate headlines:

End-of-Semester Grading Suspiciously Drama Free, Teacher Cautiously Rejoices

I wrapped up another semester at Oversized State University by collecting all final assignments on my designated deadline day, and then getting the Hell off campus as quickly as possible to read, review, evaluate, add points, and turn in final grades. Thanks to the wonders of technology tubes, students can see their grades as soon as we submit them to the Registrar.  Which normally means that the day after I submit my grades, I get a small tsunami of student emails asking me to go back and give them higher ones.  They don't ask me to recheck their point totals, or even present an argument about why they feel they deserve a better grade than they received.  They just... want a better one.  As in:

Dear Professor T, 
Thank you so much for a great semester!  You're definitely one of the best teachers of writing that I ever had in college.  I just saw that I got a B+ in your class, and was wondering if I might perchance have a A instead.  It would help my GPA a lot and make up for the C- I got in Econ.  If not, that's ok. As a wise man once said, it never hurts to ask!

Sincerely, Jeremy FakeName

This has actually happened in the past. Yes, students do use the word "perchance."  (It makes them feel fancy, I think.  And I support that.)

But I didn't get any such emails this time around, and I have no idea why.  It's possible I might've been meaner than I think I was this semester Spring, and students just didn't feel comfortable enough to ask me to do them a solid. I can live with that.  (I did get a couple students come in with a request for Extra Credit.  Which, you know.  Totally sounds like something I would do.)

Either that, or there's something else going on.  Something much more insidious.  Like a student plot.  Maybe they're not emailing me to ask for better grades because they have other plans for... dealing with me.  I should probably be checking underneath my car before I start it for the next few weeks.


11-Year-Old Ungrateful Daughter Files for Emancipation

Sort of.
Ok, not really.  Mini-Pirate didn't so much ask for legal separation from me as much as go on a week-long trip with her Grandparents without me.  She's currently with my parents... at Walt Disney World.  WITHOUT ME.

I know what you're thinking.  Disney World trumps Dad.  You're thinking I shouldn't expect my kid to miss me a whole lot while she's happily traipsing through the colorful, sparkly chaos of the Happiness Megalopolis on Earth.

I say you're WRONG WRONG WRONG.  She should be missing me EVERY DAY.  You know, you spend 11 YEARS raising a child to be completely dependent on you, making sure that your own sense of self-worth is completely reliant on that child's love and devotion... and what do they do?  Abandon you.  They throw you aside for a pair of mouse ears.

The wretched kid might as well just divorce me and be done with it.

I might possibly have some issues about this.  Stay tuned for a blog post about it.

Babble Blogger Takes Over Internet and World

Somewhat.

Another slight exaggeration, but I have had fun continuing to settle in over at Babble Voices, where I have a column called Dad Overboard.  (Check it out, won't you?)  Last week I wrote yet another gay-themed post, this one about gay characters in the media, particularly a few who affected me before, during and after I began my own coming out process.  Before that, I told a story I originally posted here in honor of Star Wars Day, and an editorial about college admission in response to a 17-year-old pouty girl's article in the Wall Street Journal.  That last one got picked up by Yahoo, which means it was widely read -- and I was widely trashed by anonymous Internet trolls.  Good times.


Hmm.  I actually thought I'd have more stuff to update you about.  Maybe I haven't been as busy and important as I thought I was.

No Virginia, There is No Such Thing as Extra Credit

Totally me.

This is another one of those end-of-semester posts about teaching where I'm going to end up sounding like a big mean jerk.  I know it. So can I first reiterate that I really do love teaching?  And that I love my students and want them all to have bright futures in which they achieve their dreams of being nuclear physicists or heart surgeons or professional athletes or boat show models or boutique cupcake store owners or contestants on The Bachelor, or whatever goal they hope to fulfill?  Because I do.  I love them.  I love everyone.  Everything is wonderful.

Now then.

The semester has just ended, and right now I'm in the midst of grading final papers.  Different classes had different final assignments, but everyone was required to turn in something.  Sure, a few essays seemed to exude the faintest hint of spilled bong water, but I don't care.  If it comes in before the deadline, I'll take it home and grade it.

I try to make things a little easy on students at the end of the term.  They're tired.  They're burnt out.  My final essay assignment is rarely a gigantic, make-or-break project that can obliterate a student's grade. I usually scale things down for the assignment of the semester.  In other words, if you've been working hard all semester, the last assignment won't knock you off your pedestal.

On the down side, if you've been blowing off class all semester, the final essay will not save you.  Bummer.

Here's the thing: no one ever worked their ass off in my class, and then failed.  If a student finds himself looking down the barrel of an F after a semester with me, it's probably because he chose not to turn stuff in for four months.

And here we are, at the end of the road.  Zero Hour.  Defcon 1. And I do see that I have a few students who are failing my class.  Yes, due to the aforementioned Not Turning Stuff In problem.

At the end of a semester, failing students have three options on how to handle the situation:

1)  Accept it.  Accept the consequence of your actions, recognize that your failing grade is the result of specific and consistent choices, and learn from the experience.  Take the class again, do the job right, ask the teacher for help when necessary, and take ownership of your situation. Then graduate and go make tons of money so that no one ever cares about your college transcript. Hell, become a young billionaire and tell friends how school was totally worthless to you.  Be the next Mark Zuckerberg.

Who's awesome? This guy. I guess.

2) Build a TARDIS.  Travel back in time to the start of the semester, and make different choices from the start.  Meet your deadlines, get a passing grade and emerge from the course with your head held high -- not just because you got a grade to be proud of, but because you built your very own time machine and can now go back and do things that benefit the world, like killing Hitler and persuading the Fox network not to cancel Firefly.

Handy.

Or...

3) Come in to my office and ask for "extra credit."

Take a guess.

I'm not a big fan of Extra Credit.  It just feels sort of ridiculous to me at the college level.

In general, passing students don't ask for extra credit. The ones who ask are the ones who blew off class for months, didn't turn in anything, never paid attention to their spiraling grade, and then woke up in May and realized (too late) that they're failing the class.  They come in to my office with serious, contrite expressions, and ask if I have a secret reserve of extra assignments that maybe they could complete in two days, that might just make up for four months of non-work.  Extra credit is the giant net they hope I'll throw out to catch them before they plunge into the icy cold waters of Big Fail Lake.

Three students came to my office with such requests last week.  All three missed deadlines all semester, and in fact rarely attended class.  But there in my office, all three were suddenly alert, conscientious, responsible, hand-wringing students who said that even though they knew they had, let's say, a 34% in the class, they were hoping that maybe I had some sort of extra credit essay they could write really fast, that would maybe help bump them up to a passing grade.

They had reasons for their lackluster semester, of course.  Each student told a gripping tale of heartbreak, tragedy, and intrigue.  Tales of break-ups, of exotic illnesses, and of family drama.  At least one story had orphans.

It was all very Les Miz, minus the subtlety.

Very sad.  Luckily, I am dead inside.

I listened to their stories, and when they were done, I could only say what I always say:

No.  I'm sorry, but no.

See, I had to explain, if I were to give extra credit to students who are trying to do some damage control at the last minute, it would be patently unfair to those students who, yes, did the work all the semester and earned their passing grades.

Because the fact is, no one ever worked their ass off in my class, turned everything in, and then didn't pass.  You don't fail because you worked hard and didn't see results.  You fail because you chose not to do the required stuff.  Maybe you chose not to do anything because you thought you'd instead come to my office hoping to receive a last minute failsafe, a reprieve, a bit of amnesty.  You hoped that, despite all my big fancy talk about fair and equal treatment to all students, I was only kidding.  You hoped you'd be an exception to all the rules and receive special treatment because you are, of course, special.

Here's the thing.  My students are special.  I seriously do think they're great.  Even on my crankiest days, I actually do pretty much love them.  I see my former student self in them all the time. Whether or not they do the work they're supposed to, I still think they're pretty much wonderful, in so many ways.  My students are consistently funny, dynamic, and lovable.  And smart?  Hell yes, they're smart.  They're often smarter than they think they are. I'm convinced many of my students have been told they're strictly mediocre for so long, that they were psyched out of being Amazing. So many of them could do something so important in this world if they just decided to exert the effort and do it.  And I'm sure that many of them will.  Many of my students will graduate, and soon afterwards school will fade away in the face of their many accomplishments, and my class won't even be a blip on the radar of their memory. Someday I'll read an article about how one of my former students did something stupendous like invent a car that runs on grass clippings, and I will feel very proud, whether they did well in my class or not.

But right now, at the end of this semester, in the interest of fairness and equal treatment for all, I must be the mean teacher, the bad cop.  I am the one who says: No.  No, I cannot and will not give you special treatment in the form of extra credit. If you don't want to fail this class, you should've thought about that a lot earlier.  I take no pleasure in this.  But it's part of the job.

See, I told you I was going to be a jerk in this post.

Ask the Pirate: Volume One

Ahoy, Crew Members!

Over the last year, I've received a lot of emails from folks -- some from regular readers, some from occasional visitors, and some from wandering hobos who stumbled in while doing some drunk net surfing.

Some of those emails are really supportive and are written by people who just want to say "Hey! Good on you, Captain Pirate!  I like it when you do things with words!"  Those are great!

Other emails are sort of less than supportive, and they say things like, "You're a selfish gay bastard, Pirate! Did you know that you're going to Hell now that you've come out of the closet?"

And those are great too!!! Sort of!!!!

Then there are other emails, that aren't so much telling me what they think of me and the way I'm navigating my way through life, but are actually asking for advice: mainly about gay stuff: coming out, being a gay parent, having tricky conversations with your kids, and the like.

Since I am COMPLETELY UNQUALIFIED TO GIVE ADVICE ABOUT ANYTHING, I thought I'd answer some of those emails here on the blog!  With advice!  Which, as aforementioned in the previous sentence, I'm totally unqualified to give!  It's like a whole new blog mission! To help others even though I'm the last person on the planet who should try!  YAY!!!!

*

Dear Pirate,
Reading your Coming Out post recently has helped me as I get ready to have a very similar conversation with my wife. I'm in my 40s, and we have two kids, ages 9 and 11.  I have no idea how she will handle the news, and I'm wondering how much planning I should put into it beforehand.  I'm afraid of how it will look, because I don't want it to seem like I've been thinking about it for years.  I don't think that will look good.  How did you prepare for "the big talk?"

Mark (Fake Name)

That's a great question, Mark FakeName.  First, let me mention that I am, again, not qualified to give you advice on this front.  Remotely.  At all.  So not an expert.  But:

I encourage you not to worry too much about the appearance of over-planning.  I do get why it's a concern -- you don't want it to look like you've been carefully crafting a ten-step exit strategy for months.  But of course it's wise to put some thought into how you'll have have the conversation with your wife.  If nothing else, figure out the best way to say the first and most important part (that would be the part where you tell her you're something other than completely straight).  It does seems sort of futile to try and script the whole thing out, though.  No matter how well you know your wife, you just don't know how she'll react to this news.  She might be immediately accepting and empathetic.  She might drill your face with laser beams that shoot out of her eyes.  She might even think you're wrong about your own orientation, that you're simply the victim of Mass Hypnosis via that giant radio antenna that sits on top of the Liberal Gay Mafia's secret mountain hideout in Montana.  (Oh, shit -- was I not supposed to mention that?)

I did not plan my own coming out conversation.  When I woke up that morning, I really can't say that I knew for sure that would be the day.  (Although I knew it was on the horizon: I'd texted a friend a few days earlier to ask if I might need to crash on her couch at some point soon.)  It just sort of... happened at a moment when I realized I was too miserable and depressed and anxiety-ridden not to have the talk. The conversation itself was hard, but there were no laser beams.  Nothing even close to that.  There were many rough feelings, of course -- but even when things got intense over the following months, I felt like it was my job to be as present as possible for everything Saucy was going through.  I didn't want her to deal with all those turbulent emotions (anger, confusion, resentment, etc) on her own.  It was important that I be there for a lot of it, even though it was hard to hear some of the stuff she needed to say.  It's not cool to drop a bomb like that and then just run away.

So do map out how to begin the conversation, including where to have it and when.  Beyond that, all you can do is give her space to have many reactions, and be present for them.  Before the healing process can start, she may need to say some things to you that will be difficult to hear -- but you need to be in the room for them.

Beyond that, the one thing I would suggest you do in advance is gather up the phone numbers of a few local therapists who specialize in this general area and have them ready.  Someone for you, someone for your wife, and maybe someone who can help the entire family.  You may not be a fan of therapy, and you may not relish the idea of dragging your wife and kids into a session, but trust me: it can make a big difference, especially early on.  And while you may worry that it'll look like you've done a lot of orchestrating pre-talk, it can also show that you love your family and are keeping their health and well-being as a top priority through the transition that's going to come.

*

Dear Pirate,
I don't think it's fair that just because I had one experience with a member of the same gender a year ago, people expect to me to "come out" and define myself as "gay."  Friends of mine who know about the occurrence keep bugging me about it.  The number of experiences I've had with members of the opposite sex far outnumber the one time I was with another guy.  I feel our culture in general wants to jump on a "Big Gay Bandwagon" these days, and I don't appreciate it.  I look back fondly on my one "gay" experience, but I don't necessarily want to have another one. I thought this might be a good post idea for you.

Hmm.

*looking out window to see if there's a Big Gay Bandwagon cruising up and down my street... nope*

As I've said in earlier posts, no one gets to tell you who or what you are -- only you do.  And I agree that it's sort of ridiculous how we tend to walk around with the belief that everyone needs to "define" themselves in this way.  I tend to go along with the whole Sexuality as Spectrum idea -- although for me, I can look back on my previous history with women with total fondness, and still officially say today... Yep. Gay here.  But no, you shouldn't have to march in the next Pride parade just because you hooked up with a dude once.

That said... I'm reading your email carefully, and I'm wondering why you're so agitated by the idea that people want you to say you're gay.  (I'm also interpreting your use of quotation marks every time you use the word.)  If you're comfortable with your sexuality -- be it Straight, Gay, or anything in the middle -- then it really doesn't matter what your friends (or the culture) wants you to do, right? Just because they're obsessing over labels, doesn't mean you have to. You could always simply smile in the face of their weird peer pressure, and bask in the knowledge that you're more evolved, more self-aware, and less inhibited than 99% of the culture if you were able to comfortably experiment with Gayness, and know yourself a little better in the process.

Just be you.  Everyone will figure it out in their own time.

*

Got a question?  Looking for an answer that may or may not be serious, and may or may not be even remotely helpful?  Email me at didacticpirate(at)gmail(dot)com.  (I'm not sure why I'm supposed to spell it like that -- there's some spam related reason, I think.)  Or you can click the email link above, below the Culture Brats icon.

**This should be obvious, but I won't post any reader' emails without their express permission.  Safe space.

Some Mondays Are Harder Than Others.

Hi, Mini-Pirate.

Mondays sure are hard, aren't they?  Like today, for instance.

I woke up first, as usual. Didn't sleep great last night. Also as usual.  The fact that it was still dark as midnight outside when my alarm went off (Thanks a lot, Daylight Savings) didn't help my mood.  I knew it would probably affect yours too. I got up, drank my pre-dawn cup of coffee and read for a few minutes before going into your room to roust you up, drag you out of bed by your ankle, and get breakfast going for us both.

You were grumpy. Me too.

Breakfast was eaten (Geez, how about a little more grape jelly slathered on your toast?), lunches were packed (At least eat a few of the apple slices, please), teeth were brushed (Do a good job, impress your dentist), hair was brushed (Hold still!), clothing was put on.

By the time we walked out the door, it was a bright and beautiful morning, although neither of us seemed to notice.

We drove to your school in relative silence.  I tried to start a few conversations, but you didn't want to engage:

"So what's happening in P.E. today? Think you'll have to run the mile again?"

"Probably."

You and your one-word answers.  I get it, Kid.

We drove a few more blocks.  You looked aimlessly out your window.

"Do you know what your art project is going to be this week?"

"Nope."

More driving.  More silence.  More watching the world slide past your window.

"Oh, try and remember to ask the after-school coordinator about math tutoring, ok?"

"I will."

"I'll drop off your extra stuff at Mommy's today.  Are there any extra books you want me to put in the bag, or anything?"

"Nope.  It's fine."

"Ok."

We pulled up in front of your school and you unlatched your seatbelt.  Without speaking, I craned my head back.  You leaned forward and gave it a quick kiss.  This is what we do. This is how you and I say goodbye in the mornings.  Every other Monday, this is how we say goodbye for the week.

I'll see you for dinner on Wednesday.  Then, next Monday, you'll be back for the week. You'll fill the house with laughing, and bumping, and crashing, and spilling, and grumbling.

Every Monday, you have to say Goodbye to one of your parents.  Sure, you also say Hello to the other one, who you missed for a week.  So that's a plus.

But I know it's hard.  And I'm sorry.

Happy Birthday, Sort Of.

Ahoy, Crew Members!

It's sort of a big week here on the Good Ship Didactic.  I guess you could call it a birthday of sorts.

Here's what: Two years ago this week, I came out.  Meaning, came out to people other than myself.  (That first part happened a while earlier.)  If you're a regular reader, you know the story.  I waited a year to blog about it, and the post is here.  But odds are you already read it, and don't need to see it again.

Soooo, I thought I'd check in with you and let you know how things are going, here at the Two-Year mark.

Work:  Still teaching at Oversized State University.  Still trying to get students to recognize their own potential, and sell them on the idea that written communication might actually be important to them someday.  Most of them still seem convinced that the ability to articulate themselves in writing is completely irrelevant as they pursue their Business degrees.  Huh.  The Jerk part of me wants to track them all down in five years and find out if they were right.  The Sad part of me is afraid they are.

Mini-Pirate: Remains awesome, more than ever.  That kid.  So far, she's navigating the waters of Middle School with style.  She's smart, but is still trying to convince herself that she sucks at Math.  She has a nice little group of friends -- it would seem she's gravitating towards kids who like computers, comic books, and Dr. Who.  My little nerd.  I'm completely happy with that.  Over the last year, she appears to have become completely comfortable with having a gay dad.  She makes jokes.  She recently said, "You know what? The cool thing about having a gay dad is that we can talk about boys!"  Um... No we can't, Youngling.

Saucy:  Mini-P's mom and I are giving each other space these days.  It's just the way it has to be for the moment.  We both continue to want good things for each other. We both have Mini-P at the heart of our decisions.  I think it'll be a while before we figure out how to talk to each other normally again.  But that's just how it works.

Relationship: Have I mentioned I'm in one?  I haven't written about it, but it's pretty damn beautiful and wondrous.  He's an amazing guy.  In fact, he's it.  He's The One.  We're talking The Big Love. Not a doubt in my mind.  You gotta meet him.  It's been a fascinating adventure -- I'm learning how to be in a relationship all over again, and he's... demonstrating a lot of patience with my ridiculousness and insecurity.  I wanted to wait an appropriate amount of time before writing about that side of my life, but there are some nice stories to share.  Future posts may include:  How to Slow Dance With Another Dude (Who Gets to Lead?), How To Introduce Your Precocious Daughter to Your Partner, and The Story Of How Two Grown-Sized Men Snuggle On a Couch to Watch a Movie Without Someone Falling Off The Edge.

Writing:  While I'm not doing a ton of stuff here on my own blog lately, I'm contributing to other sites to make up for it.  Still a DadCentrician, always always always.  Still a Culture Brat.  But I also have a column over at Babble Voices, which is a stable of some great writers who you should totally check out.  It's been interesting -- my little corner of that world actually has my name on it.  Plus a picture.  The time for anonymity is done, it seems.

Gay Functioning: Still gay.  Still in my early 40s and gay.  Adjusting nicely, thanks.  Not feeling shame, guilt, or regret.  At least not on levels I can identify.  I still experience the occasional self-esteem spiral, which involves looking in the mirror and feeling lame, naive, dimwitted, funny-looking, and ridiculous.  But those moments come and go more quickly than they used to.  And they don't occur nearly as often.

But beyond all that...

There are days when I walk around in the world and everything seems more vivid: Sunlight.  The scent of rain on pavement.  The rustle of trees.  Laughter.  I feel deeply grateful for little things.  The book I'm reading.  The hand I'm holding.  The coffee I'm drinking.  It's like I have newly-honed Spidey senses.  I appreciate everything more.

Not because I get to be gay now.  Because I get to...  be.

Like I said, it's a birthday.  I hope you're celebrating something similar in your own life right now.

Later, Gators.