Speechless


My father was a man of few words. Me, not so much. But this week I have been taught a lesson in choosing my words wisely.

My wife graciously gave me her cold last weekend. Friday night we had students over, and I was fine. Sunday morning I was coughing up a storm. Monday my voice started going in and out.

I have three classes back to back on Monday, Wednesday and Friday. The first starts at 8:30 and the last ends at 11:20. I would start off fine at the beginning of the first class. By the beginning of the second class, my voice has dropped a couple of octaves and sounds pretty rough. And those students in my third class have whatever voice I have left. Twice I have ended classes early because I couldn’t speak above a whisper.

Rough Writers last night was, well, rough. After a full day, they got full exposure to my whispering. And that might have been a good thing when it came time to critiquing student manuscripts. Who knows.

I went to my doctor for a previously scheduled check-up on Wednesday. She told me that steam would help, but the best thing for me is to just stop talking. That’s hard advice for a college professor.

But the weekend is finally here, and I have an excuse to stay indoors and keep my mouth shut for the rest of the weekend. At least they didn’t tell me I couldn’t write anything. Hmm.

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