The Pissed Off Professor

I am not certain what valid purpose Spring Break serves:

• It comes at one of the most intense periods of a semester—a time that is make it or break it for a number of students.
• It is generally accompanied by the best weather of the year.
• It is difficult for everyone to return from.

Some instructors are loathe to collect work during the session before Spring Break as it implies to the students their work will be returned at the commencement of classes after the break. For a teacher, that means grading over the break, and many of us aren’t really up for that since we get no pay what-so-ever during that week.

Other instructors want to give their students the break to work on the assignments. Nice thought, but my experience has been Spring Break assignments are some of the worst, and they are almost always turned in late. (Can you say serious procrastination?)

A few of my colleagues think collecting work the session before the break ensures attendance, and while I used to walk that path, I found the number of deaths and similar excuses too hard to take on the eve of a short vacation, so in the interest of familial ties and overall public safety, I stopped collecting work on the day before break.

My pre- and post- break classes are basically participation-based: that way, I am more likely to have students attending; I don’t have to deal with lots of sudden deaths; and the first day back isn’t as painful as it could be.

No matter what I do, there are always casualties of the break: those who are holding on by sheer will and the remnants of gnawed-on fingernails who fall into the abyss during the recess.

This semester, my Spring Break body-count is three confirmed with a fourth unaccounted for. This is a much bigger number when put into perspective: before the break, I had a two-class total of twenty students, so I have lost 15% – 20% of my enrollment.

In terms of things schools could (and should) do to help students succeed, one of the no-brainers is to eliminate a week’s vacation in the middle of a school semester.

It would be easy to dial the break back to the Thanksgiving equivalent of time-off: instead of a full week, cancel classes the Thursday and Friday before Easter (because we’re kidding ourselves when we pretend the renamed break isn’t about a Christian holiday), and end the semester a bit earlier in the summer.

It’s a win-win situation, and it would keep a significant number of students from tumbling to their educational deaths.

The current controversy at the K-12 level is whether or not school security personnel should be trained to and then allowed to use flexible handcuffs on students.

Here’s what genius Jerry Ann Hamilton, the NAACP’s Milwaukee president, says:

[Using flexible handcuffs is] teaching [students] to adjust to being treated as criminals and we don’t want that.

We certainly don’t want to TEACH youngsters that acting in a manner that threatens the safety of other students and/or teachers IS CRIMINAL BEHAVIOR, and we absolutely don’t want to TEACH students that doing so will result in their BEING HELD ACCOUNTABLE FOR THEIR ACTIONS.

That comes too close to real education, and we need to keep that education crap out of schools.

The same article goes on to report:

Opponents also believe the handcuffs could also injure young children, hurting the people the schools are meant to protect.

Let me be clear: this story is not a joke, and most of America is in an uproar over the thought that kids might be treated in a manner equitable to their behavior.

Did I miss something here, or have violations of the law, threatening others, and/or acting in a way completely contrary to one’s setting suddenly become things that are okay?

Is this Hamilton person serious? Is America? Good grief!

No one is talking about handcuffing Johnny for missing too many questions on his math test. The Milwaukee School Board is simply doing what is necessary to protect its students, staff, and faculty—and good for them.

Where exactly does society think we should draw the line regarding safety at school? It seems everyone wants to complain about what wasn’t done at Virginia Tech, so are these the same people who are outraged over a school’s wanting to protect its students and employees from violent behavior?

If a kid shows up at school and thinks it’s okay to mouth-off, threaten, or attack another student or an employee of the school, something has gone wrong at home. The next line of defense is school.

Kids like this are not worthy of the school’s consideration or protection. They are a threat and should be removed. Immediately. Permanently.

I have seen these kids as college students: I have been threatened before, and there have been two occasions I have feared for the safety of the students in my classroom because of the erratic behavior of another student.

It really doesn’t matter what age we are talking about—or maybe it does.

I suppose I would have to consider that a 15-year-old who left his principal with a concussion and a fractured back is only going to get worse as he gets older.

Schools have an absolute obligation to protect their students and staff, but simply being a kid and/or being a certain age does not make a person worthy of protection and/or consideration.

There are a few places in the world that should never be violated, and right at the top of that list sits schools.

If a student can’t behave like a student, cuff the bastard and be done with it.

Kids are NOT being kids when their intentional behavior threatens the safety of those around them: they are being criminals.

Exactly what message are we sending when we excuse inexcusable behavior because it takes place within the confines of a schoolyard?

Like I said yesterday, the issue of equal pay for equal work in the collegiate teaching sphere is a subject that deserves a great deal of attention.

I’ll start with a few basics.

For those of you who are not aware of this—and I am willing to bet most people are not aware of this—by virtue of my being an adjunct faculty member (as opposed to a full-time faculty member), I make about 50% less per hour than an equally trained and equally experienced full-timer makes.

I say me, but you can take my case as representing the average part-timer at any college.

If I were to be hired as a full-timer today, when I walked into my classroom tomorrow, I would have the same duties to my students, the same obligations to my course, and I would spend the same amount of time teaching as I did Monday; however, when I walked into class on tomorrow, I’d earn 50% more money simply by virtue of a change in my employment status.

I know, some of you are thinking that’s the way of the working world, and to a certain extent, you are correct.

But you know how important careful analysis is to me, so let’s pull this apart a bit more.

Let’s consider a single class and how it works.

A class is opened for enrollment, and students sign up for it. When they sign up, they agree to pay a fee for the course. That fee covers a variety of things, but in essence, it offsets the cost of running the class. In return for that fee, students are given the opportunity to learn the presented course content and received credit for it if they pass.

Whether it is me or a full-timer who is assigned to teach a class, the content, the requirements, and the delivery methods are the same. The fee the students pay is the same, and the credit the students earn is the same.

It costs the school less money for me to teach the class, but the product and what they charge for it is no different.

Most students are completely unaware of whether the instructor for whom they have signed up is full-time or part-time, and while they might not care, it seems like someone who is only worth half of the pay as is someone else might be less able to perform the job task. It would seem that this difference would be a thing a school would be required to disclose to its students; after all, the students are paying for a service.

This is the it-takes-place-right-here-in-America equivalent of outsourcing and/or sweatshop labor.

Keep in mind that as an adjunct faculty member, I am required to have the same education and the same skills as is required of my full-time counterparts.

I am not supervised while I teach.

I do not have to run my ideas by a superior.

I am not on any kind of probation.

This is not at all like most of the working world.

In most of the working world, education, job experience, and overall performance make up the bulk of the determining factors in one’s pay rate. In almost any skilled profession, one’s status as a part-time employee prohibits one from performing certain tasks; however, I am doing exactly what a full-timer does in every respect when I teach.

It is what is required of me—I don’t just do more than the average part-timer because I am better at my job or because I care more about it.

I am not an intern.

I am not an understudy.

I am not a trainee.

I have my BA and my MA and 8 years of teaching experience under my belt; however, the newest full-timer in my department (BA and MA in hand) has only an internship behind him, and when he steps to the front of the room to teach, by virtue of his employment status, he makes 40% more than I do. (He’ll get that extra 10% after he teaches a bit longer.)

Now, I am not saying he isn’t as qualified as me, but I am certainly saying I deserve to earn more than 60% of his wage: I deserve to be paid the same rate as he is paid for doing the same work as he does.

If I am not worth the same amount of money as an instructor, then certainly, students should receive a discount for attending one of my classes.

It turns out there is unrest among the Adjunct Faculty Members of community colleges around California.

No!

It seems the big issues include poor pay, few (if any) benefits, and an overall lack of job security.

No!

Thank goodness this has been brought to my attention: up until now, I had no idea this was going on.

Fortunately, there is a wonderfully caring ex-part-time-now-full-time instructor somewhere in Southern California who feels someone has to step up and help—even if she isn’t being compensated for doing so.

Please.

Pay seems to be the focal point of the upcoming union negotiations, and luckily for me, my district’s union is part of the wave moving towards salary parity.

That’s right folks, while somewhere in Georgia the prom has finally been de-segregated, here in California, college teachers are still battling to earn equal pay for equal work.

If all goes well, I can expect to be earning 75% of the hourly wage of my full-time counterparts sometime in the near future.

Wow.

There’s much more to say about this, but right now, I need to make a list of things I’m going to buy with my forthcoming windfall. . .

Do you remember the game that challenged you to look at a series of objects and determine which if the objects didn’t belong?

(I’ve always thought if it as a weird twist on the cliché guilt by association. In the case of that game, it’s innocence by association. But, I digress.)

Over the past week, I’ve felt a bit as if I were immersed in a live-action version of the game as provided by the media. Everywhere I’ve turned, there’s a story about students, schools, parents, and violence—or some combination thereof. (None of it seems to belong to the world in which I want to live.)

I wrote about how tired I am of the media circus surrounding Virginia Tech, and the backlash to this has been my own boycott of sorts of the news: when a story about the VT shootings plays, I change the channel or turn off the news.

Consequently, I have a very narrow concept of things right now: I have to avoid every news show that isn’t pure fluff. My knowledge base has been reduced to three basic issues:

1. That Sanjaya guy has finally been voted off of American Idol.
2. Alec Baldwin is proving that good parents do still exist.
3. If I think I have it bad now, wait until this child has her baby and either of them ends up in one of my classrooms.

• The way I see it, the first issue is really not important.
• The second issue reveals so many things about parents and kids there isn’t time to explain.
• The third thing proves we need a society-wide rally against this child: she must be spayed before any damage can be done.

Like many of you, I am still trying to work my way through the variety of thoughts and emotions I have surrounding Monday’s shootings at Virginia Tech.

• As a teacher, I feel a certain fear for my own safety and the safety of my students: when schools become battlegrounds, who among us has answers?
• I cannot shake the anger I have over holocaust survivor Liviu Librescu dying in the manner he did.
• When I think of all the lives that were lost and add to that all of the survivors who are now forced to live with the event for every day that remains in each of their lives, it becomes a thing so big it defies description.
• I think of the relatives and friends and acquaintances of the shooter, and I wonder who will comfort them. I wonder whether or not that ever crossed his mind: those he would scar by virtue of relation to or association with him.
• I am tired of hearing this shooting touted as the biggest and/or worst shooting rampage in American history: do the number of lives lost matter, and do we really want to keep challenging people to win this thing that seems to be some kind of a death contest?
• As a (trained and responsible) gun owner, I see where part of this is going to go, and it angers me that while car bombs are being used daily to kill innocent people in Iran and Iraq, people in the United States are going to blame guns for what happened at Virginia Tech.
• I want to scream at the top of my lungs that if a person wants to kill people, the person will—that blaming guns isn’t rational.

Like many of you, I am second guessing a variety of things that are gradually coming to light as more of this story unfolds.

Here’s the thing: given the way I feel, I can only imagine what the Virginia Tech students, faculty, parents, friends, neighbors, community, etc. are feeling.

Perhaps the rest of us can deal with our issues on our own.

Perhaps the media can leave those who were directly affected by this alone.

Perhaps we can all let Virginia Tech Rest-in-Peace until (and if) they are ready to help the rest of us cope with what we feel and our need to know more about what happened.

Well, after mucking around for an hour or two, here’s what I came up with to promote my upcoming summer session course:

Admittedly, it’s little more than some shoddy clip art and a few carefully chosen words, but its a flyer, not a work of art!

If nothing else, I feel tingles of excitement and possibility running through me–unless I’m coming down with something.

Thursday is People’s Day on campus, and while I don’t know what that means, I do know I don’t know why people need a special day. It seems to me people are in charge every single day of the year. (As many of my students would say, “whatever.”)

What I do know about People’s Day is that the English Department will have a table on the quad where students can pick up fliers about courses and such. (It has also been implied that baked goods may be provided to entice pupils to stop by the department’s table—simply learning a bit about the offered English courses isn’t reason enough to stop, you see.)

Since I really want my summer session English Writing 301 class to make, I have decided to work up a flyer.

I am digging back in my past to the days I used to do this stuff. It has been years. Many, many years. Plus ten. But I think I can give it a go.

This is what it has come to: I want to teach a literature course so much I am willing to spend (more of my unpaid) personal time to make a flyer. To entice students. To take a class.

I am not a whore, but I am now willing to sell a certain part of education.

In yet another twist of the change my workload game, the recent minutes of our department’s faculty meeting contained a few interesting bits of information:

1. Students entering English Writing 302 (Advanced Composition and Critical Thinking) from English Writing 300 (College Composition) are woefully underprepared.
2. Students entering English Writing 300 (College Composition) from English Writing 100 (College Writing) are also woefully underprepared.

Ironically, this was news to a few of the faculty members: primarily because most of them avoid teaching 300 and 302 like the plague because of the workload.

Those of us who teach these courses on a regular basis (primarily adjuncts), have been trying to get this message out for the last 5 years.

What was the preliminary answer this roomful of geniuses came up with?

Change 100 to a 4-unit course and change 300 to a 5-unit course.

Thankfully, a few of the room’s occupants have not lost all touch with reality: they pointed out upping the number of units really doesn’t change the course content. All upping the units does is increase the price of a course and alter workloads for the instructors.

A short argument ensued during which the proponents of the change stated that more units would make the students feel as if they were getting credit for all the homework they are being assigned.

Again, the clear heads pointed out the flaw in the “logic” of that statement: students don’t do the work they are being assigned which is the reason they aren’t prepared for the next level.

If earning a passing grade and moving on to the next level aren’t reasons enough for completing the homework, how will increasing the units change that?

More arguing and disagreeing brought the meeting to a close with plans to discuss the issue further at the next session.

I share an office with one of the thinking full-timers, and we got to talking about the debate. She is vastly different in terms of her teaching style, and while I wouldn’t call her an easy teacher by any means, she is much more low-key about many elements of a course than am I. She, too, is troubled by the laziness of students and the way this attitude has blossomed over the last 3-5 years.

Two good teachers—two opposing teaching styles—same (overall) student assessment: this says something, and what it says isn’t good.

The conversation was both positive and negative for me: it was good because it made me feel as if my concerns and frustrations are not merely a figment of my imagination; however, it was bad because it made me realize there’s really nothing a teacher can do—this isn’t about us.

I also had an epiphany: the instructors who are pushing for this unit increase are doing so at every possible turn with almost no regard for the outcome to anyone but themselves.

It’s a bit like the student who spends all of her time coming up with the excuse instead of just doing the work.

I might be pushing the envelope here regarding how this particular image relates to teaching and the downward spiral I see education trapped in, but let me explain—after you look:

Jennifer Maestre’s “Owl”

Here’s the thing: this sculpture took serious thought and perseverance. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before: it’s an extraordinarily creative way to work as an artist.

Now, take another look at ALL OF THE INDIVIDUALLY CUT AND SHARPENED PENCILS: if I could convince my students to spend even half as much time on an assignment as I imagine it takes Jennifer Maestre to cut and sharpen her pencils—well, I’d be the Teaching Queen.

But, this is really all fluff: the real meat of this—the reason I care as a teacher is because of what this artist says about her work:

My sculptures were originally inspired by the form and function of the sea urchin. The spines of the urchin, so dangerous yet beautiful, serve as an explicit warning against contact. The alluring texture of the spines draws the touch in spite of the possible consequences. [. . .] Paradox and surprise are integral in my choice of materials. [. . .] There is true a fragility to the sometimes brutal aspect of the sculptures, vulnerability that is belied by the fearsome texture.

[. . .]

I started off in the direction of prickly things when I was in my last year at Mass College of Art. It all comes from one idea I had for a box with a secret compartment that would contain a pearl. The box would be shaped like a sea urchin, made of silver. In order to open the box and reveal the secret compartment, you’d have to pull on one of the urchin’s spines.

This is analytical thought at its best.

This is someone looking at something, seeing the surface, and digging inside to interpret that which runs below the surface.

Many students (and teachers and non-academics) would say that Jennifer Maestre only accomplishes this in her art because it is relevant to what she does and what she cares about. They would go on to say that if teachers would only make assignments relevant to real world situations, students would begin to care.

What possible real-world application do you think Jennifer Maestre was in the midst of when she observed the spines of a sea urchin and made all of these wonderful connections?

I don’t know how she got to this point, but I promise you, someone exposed her to the sea urchin, and she pursued that exposure by revisiting, by thinking, by touching, by asking, by a variety of inquisitive means because she wanted to learn more.

No teacher can provide desire.

All we can do is provide exposure.

As I tell my students: I provide the content of a course, but you supply the desire to learn.