A few months ago, my cousin Sharon asked Su Sokol and I to speak to her classes about writing in general and science fiction specifically. Fortunately, we both write science fiction, so there was no repeat of the incident where my cousin Aaron asked me to come and speak to his class about Latin American interpretive dance (the good news is that the lawyers are fairly certain that it can be settled out of court).
My day started in confusion. The alarm clock woke me up on time, but when I turned off the radio that had been turned to the end of the dial (the white noise helps me sleep), I could still hear static. I turned the clock radio (yes, I have two noise-making devices by my bed - how decadent!) off and on again, but the noise persisted. It took me over a minute to realize that my alarm must have drifted from the radio station I usually have it tuned to and ended up on static.
Boy, if anybody realized how confused I was, it would be embarrassing!
On the trip to Montreal, I was reminded that trains are the perfect venue for bad physical comedy. I was trying to rehearse my notes for the class, but, owing to the motion of the train, pages kept slipping out of the file folder and onto the floor. Then, when I decided to put the folder back in the suitcase that was lying on the floor, I knocked the remaining sheets off the tray.
And, I don't even like the three stooges!
Sharon teaches at a school for the children of Europeans who, probably through a fault of their own, lived in Montreal. Many of the students were German. Naturally, they (not to mention most of the teachers) spoke German to each other. Not being a big fan of the language, I pretended they were speaking Klingon to make the experience more comfortable for myself.
The first class started at 8:20. In the morning. More proof, as if more proof was needed, that you should read the fine print before you agree to anything.
When we arrived at the school, we had to sign in and were given badges: Su was given "Visitor 10," I was given "Visitor 3." I thought that that was harsh: I should have been given a "Visitor 6" or "Visitor 7" just for showing up at that ungobliny hour! I mean, honestly, she's great, but was Su really three times the Visitor that I was? I don't think so!
Probably. Maybe. Okay, okay, I'm obviously going to have to work on my Visitoring skills so that maybe, one day, I, too, will merit a Visitor 10. As I didn't tell the students, in life, it's good to have a goal.
Between classes, we were ushered into the teachers' lounge. Sharon gave me some water in a chipped light blue mug with a message that read: "Do what you like. Like what you do," on the front. I must admit that even though I taught part-time at a university for five years, I never felt more like a teacher than I did drinking from that mug in that place!
On the train ride back to Toronto, a kid who couldn't have been more than five or six poked his head up over the seat in front of me and started shooting at me with his finger. "What did I ever do to you?" I asked. "I love guns," he told me. "Guns are cool!" And, I thought, Really? Only a couple of days after Orlando? Some day, you're gonna make a great Republican politician!
<Obligatory Sincere Paragraph (OSP)>: The first class we addressed was 90 minutes long, so after Sue and I read and talked a little bit about ourselves, the students were given a writing prompt and asked to write a short story, which many of them then read to the class. One of the students had obviously been taken with my passage, because she used a comic device that I had employed in her story. It was quite charming. In fact, the whole day was quite charming. Looking back on the experience, it occurs to me that one thing that can connect young and old is imagination. </OSP>
If nothing else, my trip to Montreal taught me a valuable lesson: never pee standing up on a train. It's not a challenge to your masculinity, it's a sanitary nightmare!
