A glimmer of hope...

I realize that I spend a great deal of time complaining about my interactions with what author Jean Twenge has dubbed "Generation Me". Sometimes it seems like jaded and bitter is my default position, but something happened the other night that gave me hope that my efforts may not have been in vain.

Every year our department sponsors a week-long series of lectures, workshops and presentations, given by alumni and directed toward students that are interested in careers in the field. Some students attend out of sheer interest, or at least, self-interest--getting tips on what to expect when their college career is complete. There are also those that want to be seen attending by their professors. But there are many are lured to these events by the siren song of extra credit--those elusive two or three points that could mean the difference between passing and failing in the mind's eye of those who are on the bubble.

I don't like to bribe students to attend events like this, but I'm certainly not above it. My motivation, however, is not to provide a lifeboat for sinking students. Rather, I gently nudge them toward attending in hopes that they may be able to experience something different, or at the very least, get a glimpse of what is "next". Sometimes this backfires, and like many classes, the lecture hall becomes a haven for texting, naps, and attempted booty-calls. But sometimes I'm surprised at how engaged these point-seekers become, despite their best efforts at apathy. And occasionally, a student will surprise me for reasons that defy prediction.

Case in point: during our most recent round of alumni guest speakers, I once again offered a little bit of extra-credit for attending and providing a brief written summary of the event. I even truncated my planned lecture for that day to allow students the time to attend without missing class. When I arrived at the lecture, I was pleased to see that the room was full, and fully half of the faces in the room belonged to students from my various classes.

As the speaker began, I sat quietly in the back, listening and scanning the crowd. The speaker was engaging, and before long, many of the students were hooked. But after about 25 minutes or so, I noticed that some people were starting to drift. Little conversations popped up like weeds in a garden, and predictably, cell phones began to appear, their screens consipicuous in the dim light of the lecture hall. Needless to say, I was disappointed but also not surprised.

It was then that I noticed a student from one of my classes seated two rows ahead of me. I watched as he leaned over to a student on his right--a young woman who was furiously stabbing the keyboard of her Blackberry loud enough for me to hear from my vantage point. At first I thought he was going to start chatting with her. Imagine my shock when my student firmly told Ms. Blackberry that her texting was distracting and rude, and could she please either put her phone away or text somewhere else.

I couldn't believe my eyes, and it was all I could to keep from hugging my student and then doing a little happy dance. Finally, I thought, someone gets it. And not only do they get it, but they've embraced it enough to pass along to a peer. Whether it was relief or pride, or something else, I have to say, it felt damn good.

This may not sound like much to someone who's unfamiliar with the daily sorties of a college classroom, or the sheer Herculean effort it takes to keep the attention of students in an On-Demand world. But to have something you've said not only sink in, but be passed along?

Well.

I'm not ready to say my job is done. But sometimes the little victories are the sweetest.