Communication Professors

At California State University, Sacramento, like other colleges and universities around the country, the spring term is about to begin. Instruction at Sac State begins one week from today, although we do not officially go back “on the clock” until the 20th. I learned long ago that what the university designates as “work” time and the actual time I have to allocate for doing my job are often vastly different. Since midway through Spring 2020, all of Fall 2020 and this coming Spring 2021, most classes at Sac State and throughout the entire 23-campus California State University system have been and will be online, distance, virtual, instruction.

know what,” but the genre of New Year’s Eve writing is pretty standard, in general terms at least. Although no year is, in isolation, “normal,” this past year falls so far outside normal that reflecting upon it, as well as looking ahead from it, is not so routine. However, devastating is one of those words that, when applied in individual cases, one’s circumstances could be described as such whereas another’s similar circumstances might not be. Lessons to be learned are everywhere, lessons in courage, lessons in perseverance, lessons in empathy, in patience, in humanity and compassion, lessons in understanding one another.

I remember quite a few for other decidedly non-celebratory reasons, but except for one strange, but nice “surprise party” 10 years ago, I remember the celebrations for others, many of them, but not my own. It's not as though I ever passed up a chance to party, but my 21st birthday did not present such a chance; a pitcher of beer and a couple of enchiladas with a friend at the local Mexican food place was my big shin-dig. Turning "The Big 5-O," for instance, is supposed to be kind of a big deal, but as it turned out, it kind of wasn't. And although my earliest memories, sketchy as they are, predate that 5th birthday, I distinctly remember that day 53 years ago when I got a brand new red Sears bicycle for my birthday.

But I have hashed and rehashed that and much else of my “new life” that began with the violent beginning of the end of my old life twenty years ago many times, most recently on the 20th anniversary of that specific date. That part of my life literally crashed in on me a little more than 20 years ago and the life I lead today took hold for good a little more than 16 years ago. The questions about that “drive,” the energy to pursue a longer-term goal, to be see things past “good enough” to absolute perfection – in most cases, I can’t see it. Well, first, regarding the danger signs of addiction, take them seriously, get help early and have 35 or 40 years clean and sober by the time I turn 58.

While we either celebrate the win or lament the loss of yet another old white guy for the highest office in the land, let's remember something that occurred the last (and only) time an old white guy did not win. Of course, systemic racism combined with a hidden undertone of personal covert racism was still lurking beneath the surface, every so often peaking its head out with seemingly innocuous enough questions like, “ Kamala Harris has made history not only by being the first female to be elected to be Vice President of the United States, but she, like Obama is also happens to have darker skin. Whether you like her or not, whether you support her policies or not, whether you are liberal, conservative, Democrat or Republican or something else, if you are American and embrace the ideals and values enshrined in our Constitution, you should be happy that women and those who are not white are being taken seriously for our highest offices.

Depending on which [old white] guy they voted for, around 70,000,000 (give or take a couple million) of your fellow Americans voted for the guy you despise, the one you think is any number of the worst qualities ever to be exhibited in one human being. A good percentage of you truly believe that anyone who would support such a person does not represent America, American ideals, American principles or American values (as though the good ole US-of-A invented virtues such as liberty, equality, opportunity and such - please...). Indeed, I have seen many of you, hiding behind a veil of quasi-anonymity from the safe distance of the Internet, armed with your trusty keyboard accusing your fellow Americans - and, indirectly your own friends and family - of being un-American for daring to vocalize support for anything that ventures outside of your own tiny world view. You might not like Trump or Biden - you might even despise them, and you might not understand how anyone could vote for one or the other, and you might not think much of those who do - you might even despise them, but if you do, you have cast the same judgement on HALF of the electorate, around 70,000,000 Americans.

To say my perspective on how old "old" is has shifted is a monumental understatement, but besides my body showing some wear and tear and some difficulty recalling some things (names seem to be becoming an issue - that might be a blessing in disguise), I don't think about myself in terms of being “old. It’s not “love” or “companionship” or “someone to grow old with” or a “life-long partner” or any of that other fairytale, pie-in-the-sky romantic bullshit. I have made numerous decisions, consciously, since then with the same simply criteria in mind – does this potentially or likely introduce drama and conflict into my life? I have lived enough years of conflict and drama, as much as is within my power, my remaining years will be peaceful and as drama-free as is within my power.

The logging truck driver suffered minor injuries, my then 13 year-old son suffered less minor, but also minor injuries; my injuries were life-threatening, maybe life-ending. Sometime in December of 2003, after I had nine months of complete abstinence from all mind and mood altering substances, during the semester break after my best semester in school ever, I was riding high on life, I had a little bit of money, some freedom and a whole lot of time. I was sentence to 60 days in Nevada county, I would have to serve 40, followed by 90 days in Calaveras county, of which I would have to serve 60 days. I went home to my two younger sons in my little two bedroom duplex in Sacramento sometime in late September with about 60 days clean and sober, pissed off, and not too thrilled about the future – any future.

I know the acronym that has been assigned to the letters: F I N E – fucked-up, insecure, neurotic, and emotional. I know what it means contextually, kind of like I’m pretty sure most others do. Neurotic means you're afflicted by neurosis, a word that has been in use since the 1700s to describe mental, emotional, or physical reactions that are drastic and irrational. There is no question that plenty of my friends – real friends who really do know me – don’t believe I am, in fact, fine.

It has been so since my earliest memories way back to kindergarten – new shoes, packed lunch-box and wearing my favorite (or, at that age, my mom’s favorite) new school clothes; I was off into the great unknown. Maybe we all don’t go out and get brand new haircuts or a new pair of shoes or wear our best clothes to make the absolute best first impression, but we are all keenly aware that a first impression is being made and it will affect the entire semester. From 2008 to 2015, I enjoyed the dual role as grad student and student instructor, half at CSUS while working on my MA and half at Louisiana State University in Baton Rouge, LA while working on my PhD (also a story for another time). However, where we agree that the classroom is a physical space that cannot be replicated in virtual space and that physical space is inherently better than virtual space, we will get along fine.