In my Research class that meets on Wednesdays, I have carefully established my station in the back of the classroom. I do this in all my classes because I like to observe people and, on the rare instance when I decide to participate in class discussions, my back-of-the-class location inevitably forces people to look up as if they've just heard the voice of God...and, let's face it, when I offer up my brilliant wisdom in relation to bibliographical methods, how could it NOT sound like the voice of God? But that's divinely beside the point.
In this class, I happen to sit behind a very lovely foreign exchange student from Japan. Every day she comes in and smiles at me and the rest of her fellow classmates and then proceeds to take her seat at the desk in front of me. I am amazed at her determination to be successful in this class because Bibliography and Methods of Research is very complex even for those who speak Amurrican. But she never exhibits signs of frustration and if she doesn't understand something, she will just type it up on her electronic translator and continue the process of patiently enduring the lecture.
But, just when I thought this adorable little Japanese girl couldn't get any cuter, I noticed the guy who sits in front of her. He's an American and a Film Studies Major. On the second week of class, he decided to engage in conversation with the foreign exchange student asking her questions like "where are you from?" "what's your major?" The basics. Then, he proudly announced that he had taken a few semesters of Japanese, so I immediately decided that these two should get married and have lots of pretty Japerican babies together. It's such a treat every week to get to come to class and watch these two awkwardly interact. He follows her with his eyes, desparate to think of something to say, hoping to capture her attention with his interest in her culture. If all goes according to my plan, I'll have them translating each other's 'I love yous' by the end of the semester. La la la la...
HEROES:
Obviously, we all have a preconceived notion of what we think a hero is. When we were asked 'who is your hero?' as an essay question in fourth grade, we usually put 'my daddy' or 'my crazy Uncle Lou' or 'my dog, Milfred.' But as we get older and encounter more people, we see that heroism can take the shape of the most unlikely people. Today, my hero is one of my little brother's 13-year-old friends. He's the most awesome kid and he always has a smile and always runs up to hug me when he sees me. But what's so great about all of that is he is smiling and hugging and loving despite the fact that his father had a massive stroke a few months ago and this little boy's entire summer vacation was spent in the hospital with his family. Kids have very naturally selfish needs at this age, but his have been put on hold and I have never heard him complain, not once. He just started playing football this fall and at their very first game, his dad managed to come in his wheelchair to cheer on his son. And my brother's friend ran over to him with such enormous pride and shed tears over his father's effort to be there with him during this moment that he had managed to carve out for himself. I just love this kid so much which is why I'm thrilled that we get to take him with us on vacation this year at Christmas. He will get an opportunity to reclaim a part of his adolescence and hopefully will spend an entire week being a selfish, spoiled, 13-year-old boy.
BALLROOM DANCING:
On Thursday nights, my Heroes and Heroines of the Bible class meets at the downtown public library. For those of you who haven't been to check out the newly renovated building, you need to go see it. It's precocious and full of wonderment. They have all sorts of classes that meet there and a cafe that has menu items named after famous authors. Adorable. "I'll have the Chaucer on rye, please." So, last night as we were discussing the life of Jacob, a sudden flood of classical dance music poured into the room. I looked out the window of our classroom and noticed several couples moving and flowing in the room across from ours. They were teaching a ballroom dancing class. And, friends, there was just something terribly romantic and gratifying about knowing that while I was sitting there learning, there were people not 50 feet away twirling and gliding and spinning and smiling. It was great. And the whole time, I couldn't stop thinking about certain images that come to mind when I think of daaaaaaancing...twirly twirly dip...
Dance in the City by Renoir (this is how every lady and gentleman should look when they're dancing)
This is how every girl imagines dancing when they're 7
This is how I look when I dance...
And, finally...this is how we dance when handsome boys come and kiss us to wake us up...
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