Found the following recently. It's a small piece composed sometime aught-six. I'm willing to concede that's it plush with classtrophobic bravado; that sense of self-awesomeness I used to have when I lived in room 218:
Nine years. Of Hamlet. Every semester. Three blocks a semester. That's a lot of Hamlet. I'm a Hamlet genius. I can recite passage after passage. Ask me a question, I'll answer it. Even better, I'll ask my students a question, and I'll answer it. But that makes me unhappy and crestfallen.I Q&A'ed to no avail. Study-guided into the abyss.
Nine year of Hamlet, asking questions, providing the answers.
I'm full of melancholy. Something needs to change. At first, I thought my students needed to change. They need to answer my questions, quickly and accurately. I want them to know what I know right away. On first read.
Along came an idea born out of collaboration with a colleague. Blogs! A funny, trendy little word half a decade ago, but in '06, a relatively new idea. Instructions followed. Blogs followed.
I know you know. You know how this ends.
I could take the blame. Seek forgiveness for nine years of struggle and disappointment.
You didn't inspire them, Ken. You let nine years worth of seniors down.However, I tried a lot. A full complement of educator gymnastics.