On December 29, 1982, there had been a big party in the boardroom, and it was attended by many of the old-timers like Ives himself--Crane, Silverman, Schamberg--and Mr. Mannis, having survived his third open-heart operation, made a speech. They had given Ives a watch--a gold Swiss pocket watch from the 1920s, engraved with his name on the back (to go into a drawer along with the watch he had intended to give his son long ago at Christmas)--and a plaque.
Ives is a respected advertising executive. Over the years, he has fostered the work of younger artists and Spanish-speaking employees. By the time he retires, Ives' hair has turned white, and he feels outdated. Tired. Ives knows that he isn't Norman Rockwell or Andy Warhol. Yet, in his own small way, he has changed the world. For that, he is proud.
This morning, a full-time professor came to my Good Books class to observe me. I have been teaching at the university for 23 years now. That's a lot of hours standing in front of classrooms over the past two decades. I shouldn't get nervous. Yet, I didn't sleep well last night, and I could barely think straight when I finally climbed out of bed at 4 a.m. for work.
That being said, the classroom observation went really well. My students participated, asked questions, pretended to be interested. The full-timer who observed me seemed impressed. As he was leaving, he said that he was going to use one of my teaching techniques in his own class next semester. I think that bodes well for my written evaluation.
So, I am thankful this evening that my classroom observation is over. I am thankful that it went well, and that my evaluator responded to my lesson plan.
Saint Marty is also exhausted. Too little sleep. Too much worry.
Napped half the day;
The toad! It looks like
it could belch
Off the Top of My Head