Three simple steps...

So it's almost midterms again.

This time last year, I was lamenting over my low test scores, particularly in my Intro classes. Don't worry. I'm off that particular soapbox for now. Not that the scores have gotten better, mind you, but we're filing that one in the 'some things never change' category.

Low test scores are like the flu. They both suck and no one wants 'em. But given a few preventative measures, both can be easily avoided.

Every semester, on the first day of class, I give my students three simple tips to healthy grades. First and foremost--and this one seems like a no-brainer--don't skip class! I know, I know. It's a radical idea, but it is one that will exponentially increase your chances of success. Even those Visitors, who show up only for exams, seem to know this fact. Case in point, the conversation I overheard just today between two students, one of which is a Visitor. When asked about how he did on a recent exam, his response was that "I think would have done better if I had gone to class more." At least he learned something from not going to class.

Another easy step? Read, read, read. See my earlier rant about the necessity of buying required textbooks. But it's not enough, I've learned, to require students simply to buy the text. At the end of every semester, I always have a student brag to me how they got more money back than anyone when selling back their book because it had never been used. First off, don't tell me this. I don't want to know. Secondly...really? Doesn't that defeat the purpose? Finally, don't brag about selling back a new book in the same breath that you complain about your grade. That gives me the right to point, laugh, and walk away.

Finally, if you really want to avoid those pesky low test scores, you may want to consider sleeping at home, not in the back of my classroom. Crazy as it sounds, it's not enough to simply be a butt in the chair. Your chances of taking in the information increase exponentially if you are conscious. I am not a subliminal learning tape, and you will not learn the material through osmosis. I once had a student argue that she should have passed the test because she was in every class. And I told her I knew she was there. I could hear her snoring all the way in the front of the room every day.

By following these few basic steps, that 63.5 would nothing more than an ideal temperature on a sunny autumn day. So I tell students this on day one. I'm sure they hear me. I just don't think they listen.

Once again: Here's the water. Here's the horse. Don't even think about leading it there.

The grass is always greener...

So this past May was the 10th anniversary of my return to academia. It started with grad school and quickly morphed into a teaching gig. And if you've read this blog, you know a little about my current experiences in this field. To the untrained eye, one could even make the assumption that I was unhappy, despite my many statements to the contrary.

Nothing could be further from the truth, for as much as I tend to complain about this job, it is nothing compared to the job I left.

I've always wanted to teach, and my plan was to follow in the footsteps of a mentor or two and teach middle schoolers the finer points of the English language. To that end, I pursued and ultimately received a teaching degree--ironically from the institution at which I am now a teacher. But somewhere between my decision to teach and walking across the stage in a long black robe, I began to question this career choice.

I can't pinpoint exactly when it happened, but I've narrowed it down to sometime after my first clinical experience. This particular experience required us to observe a week of classes in our chosen age level and field at the school of our choice. This choice--for me, at least--was a no-brainer. I arranged to go back to my middle-school alma mater to sit in with my favorite former teacher, who was also the inspiration for my decision to teach. Her class was exactly as I remembered--right down to the smell of the books and her gentle way with the students. The off-hour in the teacher's lounge, however, was enough to give me pause.

Ask any kid under 14 and you're likely to find that very few have ever set foot in this inner sanctum for those who teach, and even fewer know what really goes on in there. As it turns out, there's a reason for this--one which I observed first hand on that initial day of clinicals. It's kind of like seeing a movie, or hearing a song--one that you've previously only experienced in its 'edited' for television or radio version--in its original, unaltered form. Once the doors to the teachers' lounge swing shut, the kindly science teacher is suddenly the drunken sailor, and the math teacher that greeted everyone with a smile is now railing about his students in a way that makes you wonder why they do it. And as a former student of most of these people, I had to wonder, good gods, what did they say about me? 

I would love to tell you that things improved after that. But after a disasterous and disheartening experience as a student teacher, followed by an unsuccessful job search, I found myself in a series of consulation-prize jobs before I found what I thought would be a permanent home in the corporate world. This job involved a peripherial use of my college degree, a daily train ride to the city and a laid-back atmosphere that appealed to my own casual nature. 

Throughout this foray into corporate America, I never lost the bug to teach. I knew I didn't want to teach middle school. I didn't want to be a babysitter, and middle school students aren't much more than hormones with feet. One of my friends--a college professor herself--suggested that I look into teaching at the university level, and when the crazy deadlines, clashes with management, and increasingly frequent travel to less-than-glamorous locations became too much, I began to explore my options.

Since my teaching certificate had long since expired, this same friend recommended that I think about returning to graduate school. So I applied. I even subjected myself to the torture of the Graduate Record Exam and the associated humiliation of not remembering that "pi" is more than a tasty treat after Thanksgiving dinner. But eventually, my acceptance letter came, and I tendered my resignation that day. Two weeks later, I was able to bid the corporate grind a not-so-fond farewell over many vokda-tonics with my soon-to-be-former coworkers.

If there ever was a poster child for being in the right place at the right time, I'm it. In my second year of grad school, I was given the opportunity to teach the same Introductory class I still teach today. This part time gig turned into a full time job, and one that I wouldn't trade for anything.

Teaching at the university is the best of both worlds. There's a wonderful freedom knowing that I can kick my students out, I can't deal with their parents by law, and if I accidently drop an F-bomb in class, I won't be facing the business end of a law suit. Sure, there are downsides. If you don't believe me, go back and read the rest of this blog. And I give anyone who does choose to teach those rowdy middle-schoolers all the credit in the world. But given what I hear from my friends in corporate America, what I see in their faces, and my own experiences, I'm not trading my current gig until they boot me out of my office, kicking and screaming at anyone who'll listen.

I often think back to that first clinical experience. Hell, I talk about it in my classes. It was a rude awakening, to be sure, but one from which I learned a valuable lesson. Teachers are human. We don't sleep in coffins. We get pissed off and frustrated. And while we may appear jaded and bitter--and deep down maybe we are--for many of us it's a defense mechanism. It just took me seeing life from the other side of the chalkboard to realize it. Bitching with colleagues--or venting on a blog--is the miracle cure that can save your sanity and keep your affection for the job intact.

So will I stop complaining? Probably not. Luckily we have our own version of teachers' lounges. Except we call them pubs.

Back in the saddle...

Its a new semester, full of hope and promise. The students have returned, fresh-faced and eager for knowledge, enthusiastic about participating in the phenomenon of higher education.

Oh wait. I'm sorry. I must have drifted off and been dreaming again...

While it is a new semester, and the students have indeed returned, I have yet to see the student I dream about. At least, I have yet to see more than one or two of them per class. What I'm more likely to encounter is a string of Visitors and a collection of Barbies and Kens, stumbling their way from class to class. Most of the knowledge gained is accidental, and happens despite their best efforts to the contrary.

Don't get me wrong. I am always hopeful for the students, and I do have some that stand out. But it's now six weeks into the Fall semester, and things are beginning to go downhill fast. If you've been following this humble string of rants and raves, you know what my thoughts are on the engagement level of the student population. But now what I'm seeing is a trend toward the frightening, as things are getting worse.

Take, for example, the student who came up to me after class the other day. As we are nearing the midterm, I had spent a significant amount of time in class talking about the importance of reading the textbook. After class, this student wanted to know if it was necessary to purchase the textbook. At first I thought she was kidding. When I realized she was serious, all I could do was shake my head.

Call me crazy, but when I was a student, I never questioned the word "required" when it came to things like reading, attendance, or--oh, I don't know--purchasing a textbook. Today, however, all bets are off.

I'm trying to think positive. I really am. And in my own defense, I actually made it to week six before I started to fall off the optimism wagon. But I do have hope, despite the stink of apathy in the air, because as I've stated time and again on this very blog, I really do love my job. It may be tough love at times, but I'm okay with that.


At least they're learning something...



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.