What makes it worthwhile...

I recently had an old friend comment on a Facebook status update of mine. On a particularly frustrating day, I was complaining about my students, and my friend suggested that I might hate my job.

Now I love my friend, but nothing--nothing--could be further from the truth.

In this instuctor's humble opinion, teaching is a blessing compared to being in the corporate world. Believe me...I know. I've been there. Although, in my case, my brief foray into Corpo was on the fringes, to say the least, as I worked for a particularly liberal advertising agency. But seeing what my husband goes through, I thank whatever gods exists that I lucked into this job.

It's the unfortunate truth that the so-called "problem children" make for the better stories. As I told a close friend of mine just this afternoon, if I were to fill this blog with the "I had a great day" stories, it would make for a great substitute for Unisom or Ambien. But as they say media circles, if it bleeds, it leads. The horrible is inevitably more entertaining than the mundane. But in the spirit of sharing, and to put my very good friend's mind at ease, I do have good days. I actually have more good days than bad.

Sometimes good days come when I hear from former students, just wanting to say thanks. I got a few emails to that effect last week. Other times, it when students simply share their stories. But mostly its when I look out into the room and see people just getting it. It's hard to describe, but as any good teacher will tell you, to be able to see the look on a student's face when they get it...whatever it may be...is truly a sight to see, and it makes all the crap worthwhile.

So no matter what horror story I tell, I always have one thought in the back of my mind: I am lucky to do what I do. And for me, a bad day in the classroom is better than a good day in a cubical.

Will I continue to complain? I wouldn't bet against it. But am I happy with my job, despite those complaints?

Well.

I wouldn't bet against that either.

An epiphany...of sorts.

So I look back on my last few post and think, who is that jaded and bitter blogger? She must just hate her job.

Nothing could be further from the truth. I love what I do. And I'm sorry if that makes those of you that don't love their jobs a little bit jealous. But like anyone, I do have my days. This semester, in fact, I've had quite a few. But today I realized that despite the few bad ones that stick out in my head, I have many really good students. And now, even some of the bad ones are starting to come around.

Case in point. Today was quiz day. It wasn't a pop quiz...for most students, anyway. I gave them fair notice. Hell, I sent out a mass email to all of my students telling them exactly what to study.

Lo and behold....they did. I've been grading the quizzes, and so far, people have been doing pretty good. Very good, in fact.

Maybe the exam--the exam that most of them failed--was a wake-up call. At least, that's what I hope. We'll see if this is the beginning of a trend, or a fluke.

Call it an epiphany...call it dumb luck. I call it a good day in the books.

It's just not fair...

Apparently I have a lot to learn about being a professor. At least, that seems to be the opinion of some of my students. Specifically, I guess I haven't quite mastered the protocol surrounding post-exam activities.

As I mentioned previously, it's midterm time here at the U. And while the exams themselves are done and gone (at least in my classes), the trauma for the students has yet to subside. Students continue to wander the halls in a Red-Bull induced state of semi-consciousness, mumbling theorums and dates and equations to themselves as they drag themselves from one exam to the next. I thought I would be kind this year and schedule my midterms a little before the rest. Hell, I thought this might actually resort in exam scores that would be higher than the average.

Silly me.

Don't believe me? See my last post. But I digress.

Wanting to ease back into material after the exams, I decided that I would give a light lecture and then a small, in-class assignment to my Introductory classes. I had a couple of points of logic for this move, too. First and foremost, after a particularly disastrous showing on the midterm, I wanted to give them some points to soften the blow, so to speak. But it was my other motivation that became the issue--checking up on classroom attendance, or the lack thereof, in this case.

My attendance policy is simple. Attendance is mandatory, but I generally will not take attendance. Yes, I know that may sound a little odd. But the point is very simple: if you don't come to class, you won't pass the class. And as simple as that sounds, there are still students--an alarmingly high percentage of them, in fact--that don't seem to get that concept, despite the fact that on the first day of class, I tell them--point blank--that the only way to fail my class is not to show up. As I've said before, this class is not rocket science. In fact, it's anything but. I teach about simple concepts from everyday life, presented in a manner tailored to the layperson. I know that for many of my students, this will be the first and last class they take in this field, and I teach it accordingly. But I also work under the assumption that college students (even first year college students), shouldn't have to have to be cajoled into coming to class. Maybe this makes me optimistic. Or maybe it makes me naive. And while I don't like using in-class assignments, pop-quizzes and the like as punishments for those who don't come, I'm certainly not above it.

Enter the current controversy. In a effort to get students to think critically about a new topic, I planned an in-class assignment for them, in which they would provide practical applications for and analysis of a new topic. The "problem" (at least, the problem for some of them), was that I administered this particular assignment in the class session immediately following the midterm exam. In addition, it was unannounced, and anyone who missed it, missed it, without the chance to make it up except in the case of a documented, excused absence.

For my regular attenders, this assignment provided 20 relatively easy points. For those with documented absences, this was also an opportunity for 20 relatively easy points. For the Visitors, and others who assumed that post-exam attendance was optional, this was an outrage! A travesty! And in the words of one of my students, it was "just not fair."

Not fair. Hmm.

Not ten minutes after the class ended, the first of the emails rolled in. Bad news travels fast, and I think some of the regulars took great delight in telling the Visitors what they had missed. Some of the emails had apologies, some had excuses. And a few were actually rude. But the ultimate reaction came to me in person. At the beginning of the next class session, a student approached the podium and told me--point blank--that he believed it was unfair that I give an assignment on the day after the midterm. At first, I didn't know how to respond. Never mind that he didn't quite get the concept that I ran the class, and not him, but he had the nerve to actually sound pissed off. It took all of my will power not to kick him out in a decidedly unpolite way.

I know I was not the model student as a freshman in college. And part of the reason why poor attendance drives me crazy is because I learned first hand what can happen to one's GPA when classes get skipped. But I never would have even dreamed of questioning a professor's right to teach the class in the manner he or she saw fit.

I suppose I shouldn't let it bother me so much, as I know there's nothing I can do to change it. But it doesn't mean I have to like it.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have a pop quiz to write.

63.5

Ahhhh...midterms.

Yes, it's that time of year again. The panic in the air is like a living thing. The hallways smell of Red Bull and desperation. And all I can think is that I'm glad it's them and not me.

As I mentioned, I teach introductory classes. I'd love to tell you that my classes are hard. But honestly, they are what they are--general education, meant for those who will never take another class in the field. It's not rocket science, and if my students read the book, come to class, and stay awake, they pass. Given those odds, you'd think that my midterm scores would be pretty darn good.

Well, here's a piece of friendly advice. Don't bet those odds in Vegas. Ever.

Which brings me to the title of this particular post. 63.5. This would be the average score of my latest round of midterm exams. And that's 63.5 out of 100, kids.

The scores are the same every semester. That doesn't mean I'm used to it. It certainly doesn't mean that I like it. But within one or two points in either direction, it's the same every semester.

At first I used to think it was me. My teaching, or lack thereof. But after tweaking and fine-tuning my lectures, I realize that I'm not the problem in this equation. I give them the material they need. They get a study guide. They get lecture notes. Hell, I tell them during lecture that "you may want to write this down, 'cause it may show up on the exam."

To beat a cliche with the proverbial stick, you can lead a horse to water...but you can't make them come to class.

Someday they'll listen. Then...ONLY then...maybe we'll break that threshold of 70. But honestly, I'm not holding my breath.

The Usual Suspects...

I once got an email from a friend. It was one of those random joke emails that clutter all of our inboxes. This particular chain included a collection of Barbie doll typologies that had been altered into stereotypes that were meant to be moderately offensive, and just as moderately funny. Career Barbie and Malibu Barbie had been replaced with Lesbian Barbie and HBIC Barbie (and if you're unfamiliar with this reference, you obviously don't Love New York...). 

Okay, so moderately funny was probably a gross overstatement. But it got me to thinking. There are definite typologies among my students, and they remain relatively constant. And by this time in the semester, with the Visitors gone, the regular crew in each class becomes more recognizable.

There is a definite strata to the crowd. Take the front row, for example. There's always a "Tries Too Hard" Barbie. If you teach, you know the type. First to shoot the hand in the air. Offers comments rather than questions--which are sometimes (but not always) on topic. Always sincere, but talks just for the recognition. In my classes, TTHB never quite gets that people aren't really laughing with her.

Next to her, you'll likely find "Fights for One Point" Barbie. This is the student that will not only argue with you over half a point, but is usually cleverly disguised as "Blow the Curve" Barbie. She's the close cousin of "Overachiever" Ken. When they're not dickering over one or two points, you can easily recognize them by the cool articles they've found that are related to lecture they carry in their backpacks.

Move one row back, you might catch a glimpse of "Hypochondriac" Barbie. If the Kleenex and the Purell don't give her away, it's probably because she's not there, recouperating at home from her latest ailment that has kept her from turning in her homework on time. But don't fear. If you're lucky, her seat will be kept warm by "Tool Time" Ken, who proudly proclaims on his paper that his name is John "The Shizzle" Doe. And yes, names have been changed to protect the ignorant.

The dark recess of the back row is where the real fun begins. Wedged between "Texting her Boyfriend" Barbie and "Asleep and Drooling" Ken is my personal favorite pair. This, of course, would be "Giggling" Barbie, and her companion, "Booty Call" Ken. Hiding in the back, they're unaware that their primitive and often bizarre mating rituals are being observed by virtually everyone in the room. And while he comes into the room empty handed, BCK will most likely leave with her number.

Once in a while, someone comes along who surprises me. But generally the crowd is the same. The faces may change, but they are variations on a theme that plays out every 20 weeks or so. And who am I to complain. This bunch makes my classes more interesting, and I'm happy to see them each semester. After all--they are coming to class...which is more than I can say for some of their peers.

Let the exodus begin...

The Visitors are back.

Or should I say, the Visitors are gone.

It's well into the fourth week of the semester, and the exodus has begun. It happens every term. One by one, two by two, students stop coming to class.

I know, I know. Shocking. College freshmen, not going to class at 11:00 in the morning. Call the papers.

People who knew me in college (especially those reading this) are probably thinking "are you kidding?" I'll admit, I didn't always have a perfect attendance record. I'm thinking specifically of the Southeast Asian Studies class--an add/drop special that I picked up at the last minute that happened to be scheduled at the same time as my favorite television show. But I look at my own foibles as a learning experience. I did fail that class. I know the dangers of not going to class, even though I learned them the hard way.

This is exactly the point that I try to convey to my classes each semester. At the start of each term, I tell my students that attendance is mandatory, but that I won't be taking attendance. No rosters or rolls, no ten minutes spent on calling out names at the beginning of class. This always causes some confusion...a confusion that is often compounded when I tell them to look around the room. You won't see some of these faces again until the midterm, I say. Then I tell them that if they expect they'll be one of the missing, I remind them they still have a week to drop the class.

So why do I tell them these things? Call it a warning. Call it a public service. I really do want people to succeed in my class. And the best way to do that is to...wait for it...come to class!

I know my approach may sound a bit unorthodox. But as I've mentioned, it doesn't take much to pass my class. Half the battle is showing up, and that's something that I can encourage, at the very least. But despite my warnings, there are those who choose to entertain themselves in other ways during the time they should be in class.

These people. The empty desks. The MIA. These are the Visitors.

To a certain extent, I can't say that I blame them for not coming to class. After all, I understand. I was there. And honestly, I don't really miss them, either. I have no tolerance for those that come to my class and do homework for other classes, or who read the paper. And those who try to make a booty call on the cutie to their left? I feel no guilt about kicking these should-be-Visitors out of my class.

So here at end of the fourth week, the Visitors are gone...for now. Come midterm time, they'll be back. And they'll be sorry. Not for what I am going to do to them, but for what they're doing to themselves...

its wurse than u think…

It’s been almost ten years since I started teaching general education classes. And I like to think that my expectations are fairly realistic. I expect that students should come to class. I expect that they should do the work. I expect that they should be able to write. They have been accepted to the University, after all, and the logical assumption is that they’ve completed high school. Following this logic, there are certain things that I assume are taught in high school classes that…well…aren’t.

At the risk of sounding like my grandfather, who used to love what I call the “uphill-in-the-snow-both-ways” stories about what things were like when He Was My Age, when I was in high school, we were taught some pretty important grammatical things. Like spelling. Conjugation. Punctuation. Capitalization. Hell, we were even taught how to write business letters, memos, and other forms of professional correspondence. Something that seems to be constant today, however, is the fact that neither my students nor myself were ever taught how to apply these skills to email.

Now in my own defense, when I was in high school, computers were rudimentary beasts, at best. In the land of the Apple 2C and the 80/86, a computer that was “online” was plugged into the wall and powered on. But in an era when the Post Office is being considered for the endangered species list, proper grammatical etiquette--especially electronic etiquette--is taking a pretty serious hit.

I understand that there’s going to be a certain amount of technological lag, as “what we should do” catches up with “what we can do”. But call me crazy, I think that an email between a student and a professor should be professional. Hell, at this point, I’d settle for legible. Unfortunately the norm seems to be something that leaves a bit to be desired. I receive emails on a daily basis that would make a former proofreader like myself run for the hills. While the misspellings and typos are bad enough, my personal pet peeve is when I receive emails that are written in "text-speak". Note to my students...I don't want to know that "u can't make it 2 class b/c u r sick" or that "u wont bee in cls 2mrw :)".

Take for example, the email I received toward the end of last semester. This email was from a student that wanted to know what he could do to pass my class. This is not an uncommon question at the end of the semester. In addition, the student, by his own admission, hadn't been to class in a while. Also, not unusual. Sadly, what was also not unusual was the fact that the email was written so poorly that I could barely read it. It was written in all one paragraph, in a chaotic mix of English and text-speak, with next to no punctuation. There were misspelled words, and enough typos to make any respectable educator reach for the nearest bottle. But what made this email memorable was the fact that this student--who I may remind you, my gentle readers, was trying to salvage his grade--misspelled his own first name.

Yeah. You heard me correctly. His. Own. Name.

After telling this story (over more than one drink), a friend of mine asked me "how did you know his name was spelled wrong? You said he never came to class." A fair question. However, the student email system that my university offers puts the student's first, middle, and last names in the message header. So either he spelled it wrong in his paperwork or typed it wrong in the email. In any case, the error was made.

Now in his defense, it could have been a typo. Gods know we're all capable of that. But honestly--is it really that hard to glance something over before you hit 'send'?

Oh yeah, in case you were wondering how I replied to that particular gem of an email? Well, after checking the gradebook and determining that it was, in fact, mathematically impossible for this student to pass my class, I told him to cut his losses and try again next semester. I never received a reply.

I'd love to tell you that this was an isolated incident. Believe me...I would. However, as of this post, I've already had another student misspell his first name in an email. I'm sure it won't be the last. So a note to all you students out there, whether you're my students or not...don't "b srprzd if i don't email u bk". Hell, I may even send them to my friends so we can "LOL @ U"!

16 weeks of Simon...

Remember the old game Simon? The one with the colored buttons that looked like Close Encounters, the Home Game? Everyone had it, or at least had some strange facisimile of the game. Ours was small and white and sounded a little like someone was putting a squirrel through a meat grinder. But again, I digress.

Sitting at the bar with a friend the other day, I came to the realization that a semester of my class is like a 16 week long game of Simon. You give them a tone--a concept. One concept is easy to remember, especially in a class that's not rocket science to begin with. I would love to kid myself and say, "no, this class is harder than it looks," but it would be a lie. A monkey could pass this class if they came everyday and could manage to read the text. So start with one tone--one concept--and everyone's with you. I love the first weeks of class for that reason. It's a good feeling to introduce a concept and see in people's faces that they get it.

Then comes week two, and now you have two tones to remember. Most people are still with you at this point. And that's like the game. Unless you're playing Simon the Drinking Game, most people can get through two, or three, or even four tones without too much trouble. But then the challenge begins. You start to lose people the higher you go, and for me, that starts about week five or six.

So for now, as the end of week two is on the horizon, I'm still seeing recogition in people's eyes. I'm trying to be optimistic because this seems like a good group. But I'm a realist as well, and I fear its only a matter of time before the accusatory buzzer sounds...

Sixteen weeks of Simon. We'll see how long they last...

Be careful what you wish for...

So week one is in the books, and for some reason, I'm not encouraged.

After a summer of not teaching--something I haven't done in nearly six years--I was ready for classes to start. And honestly, I'm still happy to be back. I love my cat, but it is nice to spend the day with people that will talk back to me. I think I may have actually used that line on some of you.

You've all heard that old adage, "Be careful what you wish for...", right?

First day of class. I'm explaning the rules. One of my more creative ones revolves around cell phones, which are a pet peeve of mine. More accurately, their presence in the classroom makes me want to jump from a high place. So my rule is simple...if I see a cell phone, hear one ring or buzz, see someone texting (and this includes people fiddling under the desk...I'm going to just assume they're playing with a cell phone and not playing with anything else!), the offending student has to sing, dance, or tell a joke to the class. And recently I added a new element to this rule. For students that think they can "wait me out", and stall long enough that I'll move on and let them off the hook, I instituted the "10-second" rule. The student has exactly 10 seconds to decide their method of punishment before I open it up to the class. And as I tell them on the first day, having your classmates decide the method of your punishment is a crap shoot, at best. Case in point the middle linebacker that wound up singing "I'm a Little Teapot" at the behest of a classmate.

But I digress...

As I explained this rule, I got the usual questions and chuckles. Several people looked amused, and a few looked scared. But there one one girl in the back of the room that caught my eye.

She looked pissed.

When I finally asked if anyone had any questions, as I expected, her hand shot into the air. "And what happens if you catch us and we refuse to do any of those things?" she asked.

You've never heard a classroom go so silent, so quickly. "Well," I replied. "That's your choice. But if you can't live without your cell phone for an hour and fifteen minutes, and your unwilling to abide by my rules, there's the door. Add-drop ends Friday."

I don't think students expect you to tell them things like that. This girl was certainly no exception. And as she gathered her things and left the room, I looked back to the rest of the class. Point made and taken. One girl actually looked at her friend and said, "daaaaaaaaaaaang..."

So as I said, I'm not encouraged, but I did have a full house in that particular class the second time they met. And not once did I see or hear a cell phone. Mission accomplished? Time will tell.

It's a living...

If you read this and you know me, you know what I do. After a few years wandering around the corporate world, I ended up right back where I started--college. Only this time around I'm running the show. I teach introductory level Sociology classes at a state university. If you know me, you know which one. Except for the climate--and sometimes the funding--they're all the same. What I like about this job is the variety. Despite the fact that I teach the same classes and the same material every semester, the scenery always changes. That scenery involves the students, and after eight years of stories, I decided it's only fair that I share.

I'll leave you with that, for now. But watch this space, because classes just resumed, and I can already smell the apathy...