The Prodigal Son

I've had some time to think about my return to academia while meandering across the windswept arctic tundra that is the SUNY at Buffalo campus, and I've come to a few conclusions (cursory, of course):

I am a chronological anthropologist: Much like the narc that returns to high school at 30 years old to root out the juvenile drug ring, I am equipped with the wisdom that a decade or more of insight affords. Not only can I marvel at the awkwardness of the average college student (their inability to comport themselves, speak clearly, dress themselves, etc.), but also I can marvel at the fact that I was once as awkward, unintelligible, and sartorially challenged. My re-situation within the exact same cultural milieu at a later date has provided me with a more objective look at what those years must have been like for me. In my first two days back at my alma mater (or pater, if we're to keep to the parable analogy) I feel as though I've been granted a wish to travel back in time and watch myself (or students like myself) go through the painfully embarrassing post-adolescent shapeshifting. It's fascinating, horrifying, and impossible to stop watching.

Things have changed: You will say, of course they have. Or you will say, no they haven't, you've changed. Well, I'm here to tell you that I may have changed, but some things have actually changed as well. I have the syllabi to prove it. The prerequisite courses for my move ahead into Art Conservation are pretty elementary, so I didn't expect much waxing philosophical, etc. But when I went to AHI 102 on Monday, I was shocked at how facile it was. 3 three page papers. Compare and contrast. The works of art will be discussed in class and compared and contrasted before the papers are due. Vocabulary quizzes will be multiple choice. No cumulative final exam. No dates are required for artwork recognition. The professor literally apologized for the work that was to be done, then to curry favor reminded the students that there would be no research paper. OK. I'll risk sounding like a jaded old man, but I took AHI 101 at UB, and I have the syllabus. Cumulative final, dates for recognition, compare and contrast essay quizzes to be done in class, research paper, full definition of terms on exams. So, ten years later, the second half of basic art history is fundamentally different, and fundamentally easier. Score one for the tyranny of the student majority.

Copresence is ubiquitous: I have no prejudice against technology. I love my phone. I'm on it constantly. I text like a Japanese teenager. But on Monday I couldn't see a single student in the entire 400 person lecture hall who didn't have his phone on the table or in his hand. I have nothing more to say except it must be almost impossible to teach in those fractious circumstances. The situation was better in smaller classes, but not by much.

This may have been my only option: I decided to pursue this course of study in early November. Since then I've continued my job hunt, but the employment and economic situation here (and throughout the US) has just gotten worse. I've been turned down for two jobs I was qualified for, and none of the other positions available even pay a living wage. I may have picked one of the worst times in history to quit my job, and I'm actually happy that my life path led to me to the safe haven, the grand maw that accepts all comers with a check in their hand, the forgiving mother/father, the insitution of the University.

I guess that's where the analogy ends. The prodigal son squandered his inheritance and then returned to the father penniless, only to be forgiven and celebrated. I've squandered nothing, am returning penniless, only to be treated with welcome indifference.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. I'm actually thankful for this opportunity and I know not everyone has it.