My senior citizen classes have started up again. They’re run by the city university on a shoestring budget, and there’s an interesting diversity of offerings: Mysteries of Judaism. Funeral Planning. Vinyasa Yoga. L’Affaire Dreyfus.

In some ways, the program is very like ordinary school. We meet in anonymous-looking rooms in the university’s downtown building, rooms filled with chairs that have built-in writing surfaces, or else chairs shoved under rows of tables. A Smart Board takes up most of one wall in every room, a computer sits on a high table, and a clock, which invariably does not work, chugs away on the wall. Students sign in on the attendance sheet, and the instructor begins. Some of the class trickles in late; sometimes they miss class, and they talk back to the instructors and don’t always do the assignments. The attendance rate is consistently about 60%.

In a lot of other ways, it’s not like school at all. For instance, I’m taking the same two classes I took last semester, Intermediate French and Capturing Philadelphia (an urban outdoor sketching class), and most of the students in both classes are also repeat attendees. Most people know most other people in the room. A lot of the enrollees in the program are signed up for all kinds of things, not just courses but interest groups, one-time lectures, and clubs. And the attendance rate is low because the students are busy. They’re getting hernia operations, traveling to Rome, recovering from a fall in the back yard, or hosting large family gatherings. They fit the classes in between everything else, whenever they can.

There is no degree. No goal. You don’t get a certificate. You just pay your membership and take as many classes as you can handle.

The teachers, as I learned when I signed up for a Zoom session for prospective instructors last week, are basically not getting paid. They get a free membership to the program for themselves. They are there for the same reasons as their students, which is basically to keep themselves alive and interested.

This would explain a lot. For instance, why my French instructor, who is cranky, opinionated, hard of hearing, and old enough to be fragile, didn’t miss a class all last term, even when he had to have a hernia repair in between classes. And why my art instructor, whose husband has Alzheimer’s, puts so much effort into preparing for class. When you’re not actually getting paid for what you do, that tends to winnow out people like me who were working in order to have a pension plan and health insurance. What’s left are people who love teaching.

Okay, I taught for thirty years because I did love teaching. But I got into teaching because I needed a job I could stand. My husband tended to quit jobs, and I wanted savings and benefits. I don’t deal well with boredom, so I had to do something besides office work.

So last week, I didn’t sign up to teach a course after all. Maybe in the fall. I’ll see how I feel.

Meanwhile, we’re starting the subjunctive in French class, and anyone who signed up for the first time is just going to have to catch up. With any luck, we’ll finish getting through the textbook before the French instructor dies or has to go into a nursing home. Or before the rest of us have to.