The last class this semester was like the first one. When I showed up to the big round writing table in Luther 213, all 15 students were seated in their usual spots (wearing parkas, though, instead of shorts). We ate butter tarts and muffins and cookies.
I handed out copies of the anthology to which we'd all contributed.
Sam gave me a photo taken in class about month ago, when I am claiming I was the first to have written this new word, buycott, on the blackboard.
My pitch at the time, as always, was that the more we're aware of small language moves like this one, boycott to buycott, the better we can use language ourselves and thus, I need hardly add, the better we can resist the tyrants, advertisers, bullies of the world.
Shyla asked, "Is this the last class you'll ever teach?" I said I didn't know. But right now I'm feeling a little sad.