The student becomes the teacher.

I often talk about the humorous shortcomings of my students. And why not? They're such an easy target and they say the darndest thing (although in a much more irritating and not in the cute funny way in which a 3 year old does). I don't usually give enough credit to the ones who inspire me and who want to learn...which is the reason I do my job. I would have to love it for how much time I spend commuting to and fro.

One of the classes I teach is Interpersonal communication where a chapter is devoted to the sense of self and the development of the self. Some people think that this sounds like cheese whiz and is an easy feat, but self-discovery is one of the hardest tasks known to persons. Why do you think our self-help aisle is filled to the brim? Or that there are professions geared completely toward helping people figure themselves out?

In an activity we did the other day, students had to identify their self-concept (who they think they are) along with identifying stereotypes that they believe or have experienced people placing on them. And what an intense and enlightening time for me as the teacher.

Some of these stereotypes were as follows:

From a Muslim student: Terrorist.

From a Hispanic student: Illegal Immigrant with a coinciding picture of handcuffs.

From a tattooed Caucasian student: Scary, intimidating.

From an African-American student: Only in college by way of Athletic scholarship.

From an overweight student: Pig.

How quick we are to judge another based solely on what it is they appear to be to us on this outside shell without so much as even opening their mouth. When they talked about these stereotypes placed upon them based on these characteristics (some innate), they identified feeling pain and being discriminated against. In diverse groups this was even more interesting as you could see color run away from people's faces as they may have (may still) hold that stereotype. But being faced with the testimony of a person on the other side of such a hurtful assumption is a tough liquid gel tab to swallow (I have trouble with these all the time. And they make me queasy). It was not an easy activity on either side by any means and I found myself almost getting choked up listening to their stories.

We are all but a collection of blood, bone, muscle, fat, skin, and all that other gross stuff that I turn away from on TLC. We are compiled of the same material. All human. How dare we let television shows and biased media shape our perspective on what all people of a certain group are without ever getting the chance to know them.

Tyler Perry-I have no Madea character in my family. And our family isn't as corny and unoriginal as 'House of Payne.' Watching that show is even worse than taking a gel tab.

Oh and that Muslim girl? 17 year old college freshman, not a terrorist.

The Hispanic guy? First generation college student.

The African-American guy? He got into college on his own merit and is trying out for the basketball team.

How have we misjudged you?

Oh, and just so you don't think I've lost my sense of good-natured humor, I "learned" a new vocabulary word today from one of my students: Symblify.

Pity Party? Not on Oprah's watch.

I am starting to become frustrated with how easily our society complains. About everything. Collectively-I'm not just pointing my little finger at you, because we all know how that pointing thing works. Three are looking right back at me.

As I'm looking forward to starting work here in a week, I am overcome with what I consider to be severe anxiety. I tend to always fill my plate to the brim at a buffet and manage to never be able to finish it all. I do the same thing in life.

This Fall term, I now have both my full-time teaching position at a university that won't be named due to public forum and my fear of stalkers, but I also took on a part-time teaching position at a community college. Teaching 6 classes is apparently much more than the 4 I was teaching before. Especially when they were all the same time duration and all the same subject at the same location. No big. I've added a different subject, 2 different textbooks (not by choice) and my classes range from 1 hour sessions to 3 hour sessions. Currently, my Monday has me teaching from 8:30AM and ending at 9:00PM at night...in a town that still fords me a delightful hour and a half commute home.

The thought alone makes me want to curl up in a ball and turn on Oprah. So that's just what I did.

Apparently Oprah's show was not inundated by the jovial demeanor of her premiere this past Monday where she'd selflessly surprised her entire studio audience with a free trip to AuuussTRAAAALLLiiiiaaaaaa!!!! And her favorite white guy John TraVOOOOlllttaaaaa, was also not there piloting the plane as we was on Monday.

Instead, 4 segments featured families/people who were suffering from the most traumatic of situations that they'd ever been in their lives:

1) 2 men held hostage just 2 weeks ago at Discovery and how they made it out alive.

2) The family of a woman who had strangled her 2 baby boys, placed them in car seats and then drove them into a river. Of course she's still alive.

3) A man who's 2 little girls and wife were murdered in front of him and he was the only who was able to escape and make it out alive.

4) The story that hits closest to home, because it's happening in my home, Kyron Horman's poor parents going on their third month of having no idea where their sweet little boy is.

These are real problems.

I turned off the set, looked next to me at my pile of textbooks and daunting computer screen with the ever-so-annoying blinking cursor. Ain't lookin so bad after all...

Really?? I have absolutely nothing to complain about. Here I am sitting in this beautiful condo with everything I could want and much more than what is necessary, stressed with the pressure of 2 jobs in an economy that has most people without employment at all. Not okay.

It's all about reframing what we might think is initially problematic or what triggers our stress-o-meter and then thinking, is this really cause for complaint? Or am I just a lucky bastard to be breathing? Sometimes it is...and I get that. But let's not let the Debbie in us get us down about things that are actually our fortunes.

Who knew I'd turn into an optimist....

Thanks Oprah.

(I was at the Academy Awards when this picture of O was taken. Another reason I can't complain. I've been to the Oscars.)