I had a dream. In this dream, my students and I were wandering around in a subterranean world, lit by yellowy smoking torches. There were a lot of underground caverns, and even an underground marina with underground sailboats.
This dream’s plot went like that of a modern horror movie, or at least like what I’ve been told a modern horror movie’s plot is like. One by one, the victims, in this case my students, were knocked off, in increasingly gruesome fashion.
Throughout the plot, I was powerless to prevent what was happening. I was able only to watch in anguish as yet another promising life was snuffed out.
Those who know me know that my students are my life. Yes, I make them work hard, but that’s because I want them to do the very best that they can do. I hold them to a high standard, and I am proud of them when they live up to it, especially when they come back to me and tell me that I have made a difference in their lives. I cannot imagine any career other than teaching in this community college, and even if I were to win the lottery and be set for life, I could not imagine not teaching here. I would do it even if I were not paid for it. The very worst possible nightmare that I could ever dream would be for my students to be killed. And that’s the nightmare that I had.
I’m sure some psychologist somewhere can say that maybe I have a secret wish to be rid of my students. But I don’t think it’s that. More likely, something has hit my subconscious and led me to fear that my students’ futures are in danger. But I’m damned if I can think what that might be.