Lateness Rules

When I was growing up, my dad had a saying. To be early was to be on time. To be on time was to be late. To be late was unacceptable.

As a kid, this mantra seemed intolerable. I remember being the first car in every parking lot, usually waiting for someone to unlock the doors. You can imagine my surprise when I finally realized that now, as an adult, I find myself reluctantly adhering to this advice--at least to a degree. I'm not generally the first one in the parking lot anymore, but I'm rarely late, and when I am, the guilt is unbearable.

My penchant for punctuality is something that seems foreign to some of my students. For those that decide to show up, most seem to find their desks in time to receive my opening salvo. Nevertheless, I usually ease into the lecture. An announcement here, a funny story there...but within no more than ten minutes, I'm diving head-first into my lecture for the day. After all, I have a finite amount of time to talk, and in a world of sound-byte driven attention spans, I have to make the most of my time.

There are a few different types of tardy that we in academia experience. The most tolerable are the courteous ones that let you know at the beginning of the semester that they have to trek from the end of the earth, or work, or commute, and who also come in quietly and sit in the back. While I’m not a fan of “late”, when students make an effort, I'll take courtesy as the compromise.

Not all students are late all the time. Some fall into what I like to call the “Oh my gods there’s a paper due today!” crowd. These are the ones that realize as they’re walking out the door that they’ve forgotten their assignment. For those who’ve simply forgotten to stash it in their bags, they may not be all that late—if they’re late at all. The student I have a problem with is the one that forgets the assignment entirely, and shows up once they have slapped together something--anything--that will garner them a couple of points.

Now I will tolerate the courteous and the "forgot my paper" crowd. What I do have a problem with are the people that stroll in 30 minutes after class has started, stopping at every third desk as they come in to say hi to their friends. Or the person that chooses to sit up front and makes such a ruckus that the class comes to a grinding, screeching halt. I can't take credit for experiencing the best of the worst, though. That title belongs to a colleague of mine, who was forced to admonish a student who strolled in 15 minutes late. Not that his tardiness alone was the issue. It was more the fact that he strolled in the room and continued to talk on his cell phone--despite the fact that her lecture had already started.

I don't know when or how it happened, but somewhere along the road my father's mantra got mangled. When along the way did late become on-time, and on-time become unacceptable?

If you have an answer, I'd love to hear it. Just be sure catch me before I leave for class...

Excuses excuses...

It's that time of year again. Midterms have come and gone, and the papers are starting to roll in. And with those papers come the inevitable parade of excuses as to why those papers didn't get done on time...or didn't get done at all.

I am firm believer that college is a proving ground for the rest of your life. I tell students that once they leave these ivory towers, bosses and clients tend to be lot less understanding of why you couldn't get your presentations done on time. You can always retake a failed class. A pink slip, on the other hand, is a different story altogether.

To reinforce this believe, I do not accept late papers under any circumstances. On the surface, this policy may seem harsh, especially given that most of my classes are of the introductory variety. But I balance this by giving my students options. I accept papers via email. I accept papers early. And I do my best to give students the assignment information as close the the first day of class as I can manage. For most students, this policy is not a problem.

Regardless of my best laid plans, real life has a funny way of rearing its head. Printers fail. Hard drives crash. People get sick and relatives die. Things come up, and these types of unexpected events are the reasons why I post assignments early, preach against procrastination and remind my students often--both in class and online--of impending due dates and deadlines. And while I don't tell my students this, they're also why I will accept late papers in the most extreme of circumstances when I deem an excuse to be valid. However, if there's one thing I've learned in my brief "non-tenure" of teaching, it's that my students and I often have wildly divergent ideas on what is and what is not a valid excuse for missing a deadline.

My general rule is one of "totality of circumstances" when deciding whether to accept a paper late. I'll consider all extenuating factors involved before making my decision. And these rare exceptions always--always--require some sort of documentation. In some cases, requiring documentation works to the student's advantage. In others, it helps me weed out the legitimate excuses from the sketchy attempts to work the system. 

Sometimes the most valiant efforts to substantiate a sketchy excuse backfire in spectacular fashion. The best example of this came from a student I had in class about four years ago and a garden-variety research paper, topic to be chosen by the student. On the morning the paper was due, I received several emails from students, all outlining their excuses and begging for clemency. All but one received my standard reply of "no" with a reiteration of my assignment policy. 

This email was short and hastily written, with a time-stamp of 3:00 a.m. This particular student was up late working on the aforementioned paper. During a break, he and his roommate got in a fight. After a harsh shove from his roommate, my student had a close encounter with his desk and knocked out his front tooth. He had penned the email while waiting for the ambulance to show up.

The Cliff's Notes version of this story is that he didn't finish the paper because he was in the emergency room for the remainder of the night. And before you think me cruel and heartless, in most circumstances, being the victim of an assault and battery that results in an emergency room visit is enough to trump even my "no late papers under any circumstances" rule.

This was not one of those circumstances.

A fight and an ambulance ride are easy to verify, and even the most oblivious of students aren't likely to lie about easily-verified facts. So I sent a quick reply telling him to bring me documentation and copy of his completed paper when he returned to class and I would consider accepting it late. Had this student brought me a receipt from his ER visit, I probably would have accepted his paper and sent him on his way with a stern warning about procrastination. But this particular student decided to cover all his bases. Unfortunately, in doing so he crossed that invisible line between "just enough proof" and "way too much."

Wanting to show that wasn't making up the incident, he sent me a follow up email further explaining his sitation. This is where the wheels came off the wagon. Strike one was his admission that he had started the paper that night, despite the fact the paper had been assigned nearly four weeks prior. Strike two--his detailed explanation of the fight, which was less of an assault and more an attempt at Monday Night Raw, the Home Game. But the final nails in the coffin containing this excuse were the two pictures attached to the email. This first was a close up of the bloody tooth. The second was a wider shot of said student, pointing to both the bloody hole where the tooth had once been and the offending desk. This creative, albeit gruesome, documentation was meant to save him. Unfortunately it would have been much more effective had he moved the empty bottle of Jagermeister and collection of shot glasses off the desk before he had posed for the picture.

Game...set...match.

This student learned a powerful lesson that day--one you can't find in a textbook. Documentation isn't always your friend, and a good story for the frat house is not necessarily a good story for the professor. Totality of circumstances can work both ways.

Did I accept his paper late, you ask?

What do you think?

If all else fails, run...for office!

Last night I happened to be flipping channels and landed upon a political debate between two unlikely--and at least one reluctant--national celebrities. Chris Coons (D) and Christine O'Donnell (R/TP) were slugging it out on CNN, pleading their cases on a national stage about who would make the better Senator of the great state of Delaware.

After watching the debate from front to back, I know very little about what either candidate is actually going to do for Delawarians if he or she is elected. I do know quite a bit about their opinions of each other and just how each candidate's opponent will unleash a either a plague of Draconian reproductive restrictions or rampant tax & spend policies on the unsuspecting public. I know who's not a witch, and who's not a bearded Marxist, and my money's on Kristen Wiig for the three-peat in the SNL spot you know is just over the horizon.

None of this surprises me, mind you, given the bloodsport that is politics in my home state. But there was one part of the debate that struck a resonant chord with me, and scared me to death. Not because I expect O'Donnell to get elected. Not being a Delawarian myself, beyond the comedy-factor, this election means very little to me. But something Ms. O'Donnell said--or rather didn't say--during the course of this debate reminded me of my students.

Check out this clip, courtesy of the Huffington Post:

I'm familiar with that look. I see it on my students' faces every time I give an exam. That look that says, "Oh shit. She expects me to know something."

I'm also familiar with her initial response. "Gimme gimme gimme, so I can regurgitate it and sound like I know what I'm talking about." Kudos to Nancy Karibjanian for not giving her what she wanted. And the cop-out at the end may as well be "I'll do some extra credit."

Finally, there's the dance--an elaborate cross of grasping at straws and pulling information out of the air, akin to some arcane ritual dance. Sometimes this results in a nugget of information that could get you a pity-point or two, but the substance of the issue?

"I'll put it up on my website. I promise you."

Now anyone following this particular political case--or any political case--may not be surprised by any of these non-answers or political spin. But what I saw last night highlights a trend I'm seeing more and more in the classroom.

Christine O'Donnell could have been any one of my students on test day. I'm always alarmed when students are asked provide proof of subject mastery and demand that I "give them a hint." Not ask. Demand. And when I don't give them what they want, the resulting answers would make any politician proud.

At the risk of sounding like my grandfather after a few too many, I'm a little scared that the students I'm teaching now are the Christine O'Donnells of the future. Sure, there are some good ones, as I've said many times. But the trend toward the trifecta of dumbfounded-demanding-dancers is making retirement in Manitoba an appealing option.

Subject mastery. Right. Most days, I'd settle for complete sentences. But hey. If it doesn't work out in my class, there's always the U.S. Congress.

On the fence...

Working on a college campus is never boring, and the scenery always changes.

Sometimes this change of scene is by choice. Parking in a different space. A short cut through an unfamiliar building. Taking the road less traveled or getting off the beaten path.

Sometimes this change of scene is by chance. A crazy poster hanging on a light post. Two groups arguing on the quad. Debates scribbled in brightly colored chalk on the sidewalks underfoot.

Sometimes that change of scenery is panties on a fence. Notice I didn't say it's always pretty.