How odd.
My campus is 90 miles north of the Twin Towers.
I look out the window. Our classroom is in Old Main Building, the heart of the historic campus, dedicated in 1907. This morning we are the only inhabitants on the 3rd floor, our classroom a glowing orb perched high above the grassy quad.
I look toward the south. Do I see smoke?
No, the sky is a majestic blue.
From the classroom window in the front of the building I look across the facade toward the ginkgo tree which grows just outside my office window.
She is a magnificent courtesan, her fan-shaped leaves and arching branches provide a steady, graceful presence to my afternoons as I respond to an endless queue of email messages and marshall forth the optimism needed to draft research proposals and revise manuscripts.
Where is my leafy companion? Is she still there?
Yes.
Regal. Glowing.
Her leafy mantle shimmers on this glorious September day. My students are settling back into their seats. They have different reactions.
One student, John, blurts out that he thinks it is “cool.”
“What do you mean?” asks Kathy, a student sitting next to him.
“Planes flying into buildings!”
John is about 20 years old. He likely still lives in a room with band posters on the wall.
I keep my face still, hiding my reaction. Yes, I am taken aback by his admission, but internally I sense a disquieting consilience. This shocking event has temporarily relieved me of my focus on teaching lesson planning and my deep dive into fraudulent feelings.
“I don’t think it is cool at all,” says Kathy. Her voice is sharp. “People are dying.”
HVWP COMMONPLACE 14
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