Yes, Child, I Know You’re Lying to Me
But it’s okay
This spring, I ventured into a new endeavor — a genuinely new chapter in my professional life—I started teaching a college writing class.
It has been a truly rewarding, truly humbling experience. Very quickly, I figured out what kind of teacher I wanted to be — understanding, forgiving, and egalitarian. I also did not want to have to keep track of them, and frankly, I don’t think it’s my responsibility to do so.
See, even though I’m in my fifties now, I remember what college was like. The university will tell you again and again that you’re an adult and you need to act like one — until they decide to treat you like a child.
So when they’re sick, my students forward me doctors’ notes because their other professors require them to do so. When they have a funeral to go to, sometimes they’ll offer to send me an obituary, and I always tell them they don’t need to.
Sometimes they lie to me, too. There have been many fevers and funerals this year. Some have been real, some have not. I have a feeling some of the doctors' notes they’ve emailed me are fake. How hard would it be to fake a doctor’s note in this age of Photoshop? (Answer: not.)
I’m not their mother. I’m not going to tell them not to lie to me. I also don’t tell them to put…
