"I can tell you all I know, the where to go, the what to do..."

You can try to run but you can't hide from what's inside of you.

One of my Facebook friends does not like “Any Major Dude” by Steely Dan.

Any major dude with half a heart surely will tell you my friend

Any minor world that breaks apart falls together again.

I put the song on a mix tape my sophomore year in college. I was having a very early midlife crisis.

In the aftermath of the David the First Disaster, I got obsessed with computers, took computer science classes over the summer at UNC and back at school in the fall, became a Computing Assistant with a fake name of Rachel that I put up on the board when I was working my shifts, and made lots of new friends. I also dated all of David’s friends, which took quite a bit of time but very little effort.

[No fish were harmed in the production of this entry.]

My radical change in interests upset my advisor, Dr. Jaroslav Pelikan, the world’s foremost church historian. I wasn’t doing as well in my history classes and I was clearly checked out. Some strange thing had taken over my mind, it seemed, and I spent time I could have been writing history papers in the dorm room of one of my boyfriends where he taught me programming. What the hell?

I didn’t do badly in my classes, I just lost interest for a while. I had retired from the Yale Political Union after holding the office of Liberal Party Chair the first semester of my sophomore year, which is young but not unheard of.

I suspect that a lot of my motivation for running away to computer land was that I was still pretty shaken up from my highly controversial run for the Chair position. A faction of the Liberal Party prefigured the woke years by putting up a black man with no prior experience in the party to run against me and making an issue out of my purported (alleged) sexual conduct. “April is too open about her sexuality,” some guy said. I dressed very conservatively even then and had only dated one guy, the former President of the Yale Political Union (who is now a justice on a state Supreme Court, because that happens) that entire year as far as anyone could prove, but people will find a way to create a scandal if they want one.

It seems like a very innocent time now, long before keffiyehs on campus, when no one forced anyone to take a stand on Israel and when people could be on the opposite side of the political spectrum and still drink Diet Dr. Pepper together.

I didn’t end up going into computers, though I had a wonderful learning experience working as a Computing Assistant and made good money that helped me support myself in college.

In 1996 I got involved in the movement supporting the union workers who were in an epic and ongoing labor struggle with Yale, and sure enough I was recruited to be a union organizer (after leading a takeover of the President’s office, getting arrested and risking expulsion but the charges were dropped after we did 25 hours of community service - painting the New Haven Courthouse!) I was born an organizer, always acted like an organizer, and my brief attempt to be something other than an organizer didn’t stick.

In the Yale Political Union we had to get people to sign in to three meetings per semester in order to qualify to vote in elections. It was called “qualling,” and it was almost identical to getting cards signed on a union campaign. Then there was “drag” on election day, when we almost literally dragged people to vote. This was the best experience one could possible get for any kind of organizing. I’m surprised that more of us didn’t go on to run campaigns, and not surprised that many of us ended up in positions of importance in law and politics.

[The kids made me this trifle and gave it to me yesterday, our last day! It was so sweet, both literally and metaphorically.]

You can take the girl out of organizing, but you can’t take the organizer out of the girl.

One of my two closest friends says I’m obsessed with finding people to run for Congress. It’s really true. I spent a lot of time thinking about which of my delightful, smart students might make a good candidate. By the end of yesterday I was illustrating vocabulary words with a tale of how I would run someone’s campaign for President in 2030.

“Will I still be alive then?” I asked the kids.

“That’s only fourteen years away,” they helpfully replied. I reminded them that I am not a math teacher.

I have a call coming up soon with my state committeeman about possible campaign work I could do. I’m not committed to anything other than my regular freelance gigs for the fall, and I’m extremely good at campaign work. I can talk to thousands of people on the phone and never get tired. Even with all the social media, phone banking is still a thing.

My last phone banking gig was actually a big turning point for me in moving the center and then right. I was talking to registered Democrats in Southern California who taught me the phrase “apocalyptic hellscape” when they described LA. Little did I know that the decline of the blue city would become a major political motivator for me. But I probably did know, on some level.

If you are someone who read The Nation, The New Republic and The National Review religiously every week in the library where your mom worked when you were in high school, you are unlikely to ever cease being a political person. I never did get a date with TNR editor and columnist Michael Kinsley, but you can read here about how I sent a letter to him with Governor John Sununu, who hand delivered it.

All the while I am teaching the kids, I am scanning the room for future leaders. Not that I can do much about it, other than plant the idea in their minds that they could become leaders. There is no need to sit on the sidelines of our democracy. Most of the kids want to be doctors or engineers, but we had a few this year who were interested in law. I try to encourage them all to think big.

A few classes back, we had the word “trifling” on a practice test, in the “a very small amount” meaning. I taught the word and also taught the other meanings of trifle:

After showing pictures of trifles, I gave out little candies. Yes, I give the SAT kids candy after big test days. I don’t feel bad about it at all. None of them are overweight and I give small amounts that pep them up tremendously. A tiny pack of Sour Patch Kids is not going to kill the young ones. On the last day of their week, they take a full SAT, then they have two hours of hard math class, then an hour lunch and then three one hour classes. The kids are exhausted and work very hard. I do whatever I can to keep them going.

So it was very sweet that they made me a trifle. I’m pretty sure one brought the ingredients from home and assembled at at the school. The others had them too. What wonderful kids. I miss them already.

But it’s time to move on to the next thing. I’m catching up on Mark Chenoweth’s New Civil Liberties Alliance podcasts, in which he and his colleagues use SAT vocabulary words very well. It would be nice to work with grownups who can use SAT words, even better to work with grownups who use SAT words and dress properly.

If anyone has a subscription to The Economist, I’d love a gift copy of this article: