Something Bit Me…Maybe

I had to write down my experience “tutoring” some of my fellow classmates, so that’s why this post is so late in the day. I had to write it down because something really interesting happened a few hours ago…more interesting even that what Jazz did, which I’ll tell you in a minute.

They really didn’t have a clue how to write an essay. So I explain that these little ones for class are as easy as 5 paragraphs. Introduction with thesis statement, 3 paragraphs as the body proving your thesis, and conclusion reiterating your thesis now that you’ve proven it. Ta-da! And you can pretty much use the same method for longer essays because you can use the rule of 3 over and over again. We also talked about outlining to help keep track of where you’re going and where you want to end up. And I gave them homework!

And then I had a sudden thought when their faces all lit up as they understood: This is teaching. I like it. Could I possibly want to teach? OMG I think I might’ve gotten bitten by the teaching bug!

But then, an openly gay man teaching kids… Uh-oh. How accepted is that now? Only in colleges? I have no clue if any of my high school or earlier teachers were gay. I have trouble recognizing it in some people my age let alone older than me, so unless they flame or blatantly come onto me, I’m unsure. I know where it’s OK and where it’s better to be cautious on campus and in town, but standing up there in front of a class? Having parents and other teachers keeping an eye on you? {shiver} I guess there’s some research required on this. Oh and there’s no hurry to figure it out, I know, so I’m not stressing. It’s something to think about.

Now on to my darling husband…

I said this morning that my classmates and I were going to meet in the library for this little session. It’s quieter than the student union and has better places to sit as a group, but I made sure we were way over here and Jazz was way over there. I have absolutely no problem with these people knowing I’m definitely gay, but I don’t need to pop wood while zoning out and staring at my man, thanks.

So we make it through the whole session and it’s winding down with chit-chat and getting close to 6 o’clock, which is Jazz’s usual time to go home. One of the girls suddenly does some pearl-clutching while looking over my shoulder and then a big guy’s got an arm slung across my chest from behind and a fuzzy face is nuzzling my neck while Jazz says “Hey, kiddo. You ready to go home?”

I, of course, blush hot and fast because everyone’s staring. A couple of the guys and girls look like they’re completely confused, one girl’s grinning like Christmas was here all over again, and two other guys are looking pretty excited too. Jazz hunkers down behind my chair with his arms still around me and his head near mine, and I can see him out of the corner of my eye just grinning like a fiend. Man loves his shock value, apparently. So I tell them all he’s my husband and he works here in the library.

Like twenty minutes later, we finally walked out, having educated a whole new group of people about our marriage and how it’s not “legal” here but we don’t need permission to live how we want even though we’d love to have the rights and recognition everybody else gets.

I think we’ve now got the pro-gay marriage campus vote locked down and I’m maybe going to be a teacher.