It is final exam week. No, that's not why I call this term a success. I am not that insane to even remotely consider grading essays as a cause for celebration!
After a long, long time, there was stuff in my campus mailbox. Rarely ever this happens anymore. Nothing from publishers--they figured out years ago that I do not generate any business for them. Nothing from faculty because, well--oh, come on, don't you know by now that their "disdain" messages are only via emails? ;)
So, why am I jumping up and down claiming that the term is a success?
Yes, I had wonderful students who turned in wonderful papers. A couple of essays that I even shared with few others. But, they wrote those quality essays because those students are capable of writing quality essays. There is nothing special about me. Yes, this blog is always about me, only me, and nothing but me!
Kidding aside, if you recall my past posts on why some terms were more memorable and successful than others, you might recall the posts about cookies or chocolates or cards. Right? And then there is that uber-special one. Which is what happened today.
There was a card in my mailbox.
A card that had arrived via USPS. The "from" address had a name that I recalled as a former student. A wonderfully polite, soft-spoken, earnest, hardworking, and sharp student. She always smiled at my jokes. People talk about the Midwestern values; they ain't seen nothin' till they have seen some of the students I have had the pleasure of working with. She was one of them. She was from a small town south of here. If the world were full of young people like her, there will never be any war, any hatred, anything negative at all in the future.
She graduated three years ago. And a card from her now.
As I walked back to my office, I wondered, "could it be?" Could it really be?
I opened the office door and partially closed it behind me. Now for the envelope, please.
Turns out that I was Karnak the Magician.
The card was what I thought it could be.
A wedding invitation.
I have been invited to that former student's wedding.
Readers in the old country might not appreciate the importance of this--there, a gazillion people get invited to weddings. Not here. It is a small group that gets invited. To be a part of that select few, when all I have done is worked with the bride, means that I made that much a contribution to her life? Isn't that enough and more for me to conclude that this term is a success?