No, my first name ain’t baby.
This past week saw the start of MOD 1 at CCSD, meaning I was introduced to a new batch of students for my ENG99 class. I always enjoy the start of each term, because it’s fun to see how afraid of the subject matter new students are, and I enjoy watching them grow and progress over the next four weeks that follow. A lot of them have stories to tell about their journey back to school, and I enjoy those too. A lot of students comment on how young I seem, and some even ask me if I’m actually a student at the school. I’ve never, though, had someone outright hit on me before…
Now, lemme say this: Most women (myself included) love, love, LOVE to be complimented. I enjoy when people flatteringly take notice of my style, my face, my hair, and yes, even my body. I’m not dead. I like to be liked, plain and simple. I don’t, however, enjoy being menacingly ogled over. There’s just something disgustingly intrusive about it.
Something worth noting is that these events seem to come at a most coincidental time, as I’ve been musing on the concept of feminism through this blog over the last month.
I teach about communication as being rule-guided, meaning that socialization dictates the type of messages we send at certain times, and these are based on what is acceptable. It’s expected and acceptable that friends and family will offer congratulatory regards when a woman announces her pregnancy, even if she is only 17 years old. It’s expected that if a person has negative feelings about the pregnancy, they will keep those feelings to themselves. It’s similar with weddings, too. Likewise, it’s expected that a person will not be shouting in a theatre during a silent movie, or laughing hysterically at a funeral. Communication, verbal and non-verbal, is rule-guided. People don’t always follow those rules, though.
Aside from simple communication constructs, there are also rules for professionalism and courtesy. My undesirable suitor has obviously never become privy to these rules, or perhaps he has and just doesn’t care. Thus far, he has said:
“Four weeks with you will be like four weeks in heaven.”
“Your husband’s a lucky man, and I think I’m gonna take his job.”
“You sexy as hell, and I wanna sit in front to soak it ALLLLL in.”
“I like my coffee black. Catch my drift, baby?”
He makes me feel dirty. He makes me speechless. And worst of all, he’s throwing me off balance when I teach.
To make matters worse, he’s made other students in my class feel uncomfortable.
He made a comment about how I was his black princess in class on Thursday, and I told him that his comments are unwarranted and unnecessary and that since he couldn’t keep his mouth shut, he’d need to get the fuck out of my class. He stormed off in a huff, and I just pray that he won’t come back.
I really hate that this one student is essentially pulling me out of the comfortable arena that I’ve worked hard to establish in every class I teach. As an educator, I strive hard to believe that all minds can be taught. This idiot, however, is utterly unteachable, by me.
Alas, another first.