Male bus drivers know everything. It’s scary.
American Studies has always been a mixed bag. On one hand, the teachers give out homework by the buttload, and when you’re being ass-fed for two terms, your large intestine and anus stretch to the point where a buttload is a lot. Projects are almost always late-night affairs, the tests are hard, and you’re not guaranteed a great grade.
Yet there’s plenty to balance, if not overcome, those failings. Class discussion, which is sometimes just a regurgitation of information, is always interesting and often spruced up with outside material. Projects, while tiring, are often fun to do because of their uniqueness. One project involved us assuming the roles of historical figures and creating skits with them, and another project involved us creating a children’s book that was amusing yet informative with regards to the Lower or Upper East Side of Manhattan. We’ve gone on field trips, which is something I can’t claim for any other class in my time at Stuyvesant. And the teachers are cool, if rather strict. They make jokes during class, and create a close-knit attitude in class that lets them pick on people when the time arises.
I had accidentally misspelled my name on a paper I wrote, so that I was Sven Li. I didn’t realize it until the teacher walked up to me as I was waiting for gym and said, “Hello Sven!” I was confused, and looked around for a second to make sure there wasn’t a Sven standing behind me, when she clarified, “Sven. That’s how you spelled your name on your paper. It’s nice to see that you’re Swedish.” I make a point to match whatever’s thrown at me, so I responded, “Yes, I’ve decided to come out of the closet and fully embrace my Swedish heritage.” It became a running joke that was repeatedly told to both American Studies classes, so that I was no longer Steven. I was Sven, Mr. Swedish.
Little things like that, absent from most other classes, is why I actually participate during American Studies classes. Because they’re the first English and Social Studies classes to engage me in a long time, and possibly the only one to engage me at all in my time at Stuyvesant.