Column: Notes from Home

All eight of them sat there, in their desks, as I entered the classroom, waiting for the quiz over their reading assignment and for the class to start. It was wonderful to see them there, presumably eager to learn. Well, it would have been wonderful if the whole class had been there, all 25, instead of these brave — lonely — eight students.

Why so few? There was a quiz. It was the last chapter of the textbook. There was a quiz. It was the last chance to ask questions and discuss issues (the topic for this unit is argument) before they watch the final film, write their final papers and then take the final exam. Did I mention that there was a quiz? As much as the arrogant, egotistical I might fear it was about my plans for the day, it was more about the date: the Tuesday before Thanksgiving.

Students had actually started disappearing the Friday before to places both near and far – and all of the excuses I heard were familiar: My ride’s leaving early. My parents bought me a ticket without checking my schedule. My (grandma, grandpa, boyfriend, girlfriend, lover, children, pets, gods – pick whichever one you prefer) are expecting me to be there tomorrow.

Last Tuesday, after walking in to that class, I did what I’ve gotten used to doing every Thanksgiving week; I shrugged my shoulders and went on with class, irritated at students who weren’t there, but even more irritated at the families of the students who’d left and at colleagues who had surrendered and canceled class or told students to work independently this week.

As we passed each other in the halls, the faculty who were still on campus participated in our annual celebration of Schadenfreude (a German word that means “celebrate suffering”). How many did you have today? 8, and you? 11 out of 30. It’s a warped kind of pleasure, admittedly, but what else can we do?

What can be done? We could accept defeat and cancel all classes for the whole week, like some other schools have done. It would complete the trend – not all that long ago we had class on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. But because the length of the semester is something that we can’t change, a week off at the end of November would mean classes would either have to start earlier, about the middle of August, or end later, two days before Christmas. I suspect neither of those options would appeal to students; I know they don’t appeal to me.

So what do I think should be done? Prompted by last week’s experience, I have a bold suggestion: Stop the retreat. Go back to having classes on Wednesday. And I think we should add Friday as a class day, too. Set aside only Thanksgiving Day as a holiday, with a campus-wide dinner of turkey, ham and all the trimmings. Radical, you say? Nonsense, I respond. It’s actually more traditional.

We should reorganize Thanksgiving along the lines of the legendary first one; instead of treating the day as a reason to stand in security lines at the airport, let’s celebrate a festival at which we give thanks with the people among whom we live: friends, neighbors, strangers and even the occasional enemy.

Those first thanks givers didn’t expect any extended family would show up from England and they didn’t travel back to England themselves. In fact, they ate off the charity of the Wampanoag tribe, who fed them out of their bounty since the invaders didn’t have enough.

The problems the holiday causes for higher education raised the issue for me, but I think refocusing the day on community (and away from family, travel and shopping) might make the holiday more enjoyable for more of us. Those who want a “family exclusive” holiday should take note that there’s one less than a month from now. Christmas can be primarily about family. Having more classes Thanksgiving week would also mean that the Winter/Christmas break for college students (and college employees) could be longer.

How will this kind of change happen? The power of one or two people writing columns or essays. The power of 30 or 100 or more readers looking at each other and saying, “You know, that makes sense.” The power of thousands making their own community a priority and saving travel and the family gathering for Christmas.

Pipe dreams, right? Maybe. Maybe not. Only time will tell.

Albert Lea resident David Rask Behling teaches at Waldorf College in Forest City, Iowa, and lives with his wife and children in Albert Lea. His column appears every other Tuesday.