The Pissed Off Professor

Sometimes, a class discussion goes so well, it’s magical. It doesn’t happen often, and it has never happened for me at the times I anticipate.

Yesterday, as I began my first class, I was repeating a mental-mantra while taking roll. This exercise was designed to help me combat the upcoming, inevitable disappointment I was anticipating would set in as my class discussed a series of poems they had been assigned to read.

Two of the three poems are not particularly hard, but the third is a challenge, and given this particular class’ penchant to avoid readings, I was bracing myself for the fallout over every poem being difficult to understand when left unread.

We began with William Shakespeare’s sonnet 130 (“My mistresses eyes are nothing like the sun”), and while no one pulled the Petrarch rabbit out of her hat, several students did express a general consensus that the poem mocked convention.

Yes, several people in class used the words mocked and convention. It gave me chills!

With a sense of accomplishment, we moved on to Edwin Arlington Robinson’s “Richard Cory,” and the themes of emptiness and completeness were discussed with nary a nudge from me.

They even got my Willie Wonka reference in regard to this poem, and they found it funny.

When we had finished with Mr. Cory and his bullet, we took up the real test: Wallace Stevens’ “The Emperor of Ice Cream.” It also went exceptionally well: they saw the poem’s division on the page, identified its representational elements (life and death), and while much of the old history regarding the ways bodies used to be prepared was lost on them, it still worked.

I believe I floated out of the room.

I was having one of those rare teaching days, and it couldn’t have come at a better time.

The best part was that I had had this experience in my early class: the group that almost always lets me down. I was floating my way to my last class: the group that wows me on a regular basis.

I don’t know who I was with in that other room: my regularly solid students had been replaced by malformed pod-people.

They didn’t even get Shakespeare’s piece.

My mantra was gone, and in it’s place I heard Peter, Paul, and Mary singing “Puff the Magic Dragon.” I was the dragon, and all of my “little Jackie Paper[s]” had left the building.

Sigh.

For a few minutes, though, it was magic.

This debate is part of what’s wrong with the educational system (and the real world): no critical thinking skills are required.

A chunk of America is in an uproar over the on-air comments Don Imus made about the women’s basketball team at Rutgers University, and while I stand with the crowd, my voice carries a different cry, and I am confused.

My confusion stems from the issue(s) being brought up: that Imus’ comments have been deemed racist and sexist.

I don’t think these are valid issues at all: I think the focal point needs to be that is Don Imus is a bully, and he bullied his way across an unforgivable line pleading the humor defense.

Don Imus did not level his hair comments at Barack Obama, nor did he take a shot at Hillary Rodham Clinton’s womanhood. This genius of comedy didn’t take his words and toss them at Oprah Winfrey, and he completely missed the boat by not including Dennis Rodman instead of the Toronto Raptors in his joke.

I’ll tell you why he didn’t do these things: he’s a bully and a coward not a comic. Instead of picking on anyone who might have had the power and the authority to fight back, he picked on a group of college women who had just suffered one of the greatest defeats in women’s basketball history.

And he kicked them when they were down. Nice: insert laugh-track here.

I watched the game, and I saw what happened: Rutgers was gutted by Tennessee. It was hard to observe, not only because I wanted Rutgers to win, but also because the way they lost made my ex-athlete’s heart ache for these women who had—up to that loss—seemingly solved the problem of Sisyphus by moving that damn rock up that impossibly steep hill.

Along with his remarks about the Rutgers women, Don Imus made it clear that he wants to date the Tennessee team: he thinks they’re pretty and cute. That’s disgusting, and severely not funny.

Here’s my lesson in critical thinking:

If Don Imus actually watched the game, I think that proves he isn’t a sexist: if you doubt me, you aren’t paying attention to any of the hateful comments being made about women’s sports in general and women’s basketball in particular.

Given Imus’ remarks about wanting to date the Tennessee team, he’s likely not racist either: Candace Parker is about as pretty as a woman can be, and unless I am mistaken, she is African-American. At 5’2’, Shannon Bobbitt drilled so many three-pointers, Rutgers had no chance, so Imus must have noticed her, and she’s also African-American. Nicky Anosike was a rebounding monster, and given the number of second- (third and forth) chance shots she provided Tennessee, it’s no wonder they steamrolled Rutgers. Oh, she’s African-American, too.

I want to know something: did Al Sharpton watch the game, or did he ring in after the media frenzy began? I’d be willing to bet he knew nothing about any of the Rutgers players prior to all of this blowing up. I’ll bet he still isn’t clear about who Candace Parker is, and I’ll bet he didn’t wonder why the commentators kept referring to Vivian Stringer as “C. Vivian Stringer” all afternoon.

Al Sharpton is a racist, but no one cares because he’s a black racist.

I don’t care whether or not Don Imus is a racist or a sexist, but I do care that he is a cowardly bully who attacked a group of college women.

I care because his attack has placed each of them in the position of having to think about everything they say and do until this whole thing is resolved.

I care because his words have diminished what the team accomplished on the court.

I care because I know what it’s like to be bullied.

More than anything else, I care because I would be honored to have any of these student athletes in my classes: they are as skilled academically as they are athletically.

Don Imus should lose his job and be permanently banned from broadcasting, but not because he is a racist or a sexist: Don Imus should be fired and banned because he is a bully and a coward and he used his authority to belittle and intimidate college students.

I may have figured out what I am doing wrong in teacher-land: I try to act like an adult, and I presume the people with whom I am interacting are adults.

stupid-stupid-stupid

Last night, after dismissing my final class, I experienced one of those moments when professionalism and simply being human clashed.

One of my students returned to the room (prior to my managing to escape) and said,

Define late.

This was not an attempt to learn something new, nor was it an honest plea for clarification: it was defiant.

Ironically, as clear as the term late is, I have defined it in my course syllabus because I have had prior experience with students acting in this asinine manner. Here is a portion of what my students are told:

LATE WORK:

Due dates of all essays and reading analyses, as well as dates of your midterms and final are listed on this syllabus. In addition, they are listed on the course Web site on the Major Due Dates page. PLAN YOUR SEMESTER NOW! Unless you have made prior arrangements with me, late work will be penalized. (See note regarding make-up work, below.)

1. LATE as defined by Shawn: after I begin class or take role on the due date.
2. PRIOR CONSENT as defined by Shawn: you have talked to me personally, before the due date, and we have made other arrangements. (Leaving me a note or sending an e-mail is not sufficient!)

Here’s what I replied to my student:

So, the term late confuses you. Wow—I suggest you open the dictionary that is required for this class and take a look at the definition. Then, for even more clarification, you can refer to the course syllabus, where I define the term.

I got the very adult response, “whatever” before the student left the room.

Not a minute later, back in the student walks.

“I want you to know, I think you’re mean.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“None of my other teachers gave out homework over the break.”

“Okay—let me make sure I understand you: the assignment I gave you three weeks ago—the one I collected today—you put it off until the break, and that makes me mean, right?”

“What—ever.”

Apparently, I am mean.

Fine.

But that student is a bugger-snot.

It’s Monday morning, and Spring Break is over.  I’ve enjoyed the break, and I’ve accomplished a lot of non-teaching related things.  I have felt especially alive and productive because I have been counting on me (or those close to me).  The results: no let-downs.Later this afternoon, I’ll be back in the classroom.  Generally, I return after the break a bit melancholy but ready for a new beginning of sorts.

This morning, I just have a sour taste in my mouth.  Between about 7 pm last night and a few moments ago, I’ve received eleven (11) e-mail messages all containing their unique variety of excuse-mongering regarding the assignment that is due today that these students have known about for over nine weeks.

I suppose one could say I lack a certain degree of desire to return to the classroom knowing few of my students are going to be there, and of those who are, many will have arrived to proffer their in-person excuses.  (Oh, goody-goody: won’t listening be fun.)

My current mentality is one of knowing I will serve no valid purpose in the classroom today: with almost 50% of my students unprepared, what we are supposed to cover today will fall on basically closed ears.

While I try to conduct something that resembles teaching, I’ll be thinking about all the stuff I could accomplish if I were at home.  This is the reason good teachers leave the profession or become hopelessly lazy and ineffective.

If I showed up to teach the way these students show up to learn, I’d have been fired long ago.  I hate wasting time, and I resent wasting my time for people who obviously don’t respect the fact that it is mine.

Read Part 1 | Read Part 2 | Read Part 3 | Read Part 4

#1: Pay Students to Go to School

I know what you’re thinking: someone who isn’t really me took over this blog for the day, right?

While it might seem a bit odd given much of what I say about effort and personal responsibility and college being a privilege, I do think we ought to pay students to be students.

Consider my other wishes first:

• #5: Quiz Students on the Course Syllabus—Those Who Pass Stay, Those Who Don’t Leave.
• #4: Raise the Criteria for Admission
• #3: Raise Tuition Fees
• #2: Interview the Students

Now, after all of the above, imagine the level of academic commitment and potential everyone who remained would have. Doesn’t it make sense to allow these people to focus on school and not worry about basic living expenses?

I’m not suggesting the school (or the government) cut these students checks, but I do believe each of the students who made it through my wish-list of qualifications ought to be provided a year-round dorm in which to live that included basic needs and a monthly stipend of $1,000.00.

Given the low success rate of most college students, I think upping the ante to be a student and paying those who cut it would solve the problem. It would also free the system of many of its ills and result in a greater degree of student attentiveness at all educational levels. (College would become the semi-professional sport of education.)

The conditions would be simple: the student gets four years to earn her degree, and she gets her living quarters and stipend provided she maintains a B average in her courses. If at any time during the period the student falls below a B average, she will have one semester to get her focus back. If she doesn’t get her grades up, she is no longer eligible for the program, but she will be allowed one more semester to change her academic ways. After that, if her grades don’t improve, she is no longer eligible to attend school.

Don’t talk to me about his being harsh. If a student is intelligent enough to attend college and has no outside commitments, there is virtually no reason she cannot maintain a B average. Remember, an A in one course and a C in another means a B average.

We have got to stop treating college as a joke, and right now, that’s the way it’s regarded. If you doubt me, ask yourself why so few students succeed in their pursuit of a college degree.

I admit college is hard—and it should be. One of the things I am quick to point out to my students who complain about how hard it is and the fact that they don’t know how to do an assigned task is that if was easy and they did know how to do the thing they were being taught, the whole exercise would be a waste of time and effort.

The point of college is to learn how to do things one does not know how to do, or at the very least, to push oneself to do some things even better.

Read Part 1 | Read Part 2 | Read Part 3

#2: Interview the Students

This one is near the top of my list because it’s one of my greatest wishes for educational improvement, and it’s an absolutely brilliant idea.

I willingly admit I am not the best teacher for every student, so if I had my way, I’d ensure my classes were filled with the students best suited for my courses via a simple exercise: an interview.

Instead of spending the first 2-3 class meetings dealing with students adding and dropping and other initial-days-of-class crap, I’d like to hold 15-minute interviews with anyone who wants to be enrolled in one of my classes.

The interview would be relatively simple: I’d present the student with a simple writing task and allow the student to write for 5 minutes. Then, I’d take a minute (or two) to read it, and if there’s still interest on my part, I’d ask the potential pupil a few questions about his educational goals and outside obligations.

If I decide the student is a good fit on my end, the student would than be allowed five minutes to interview me.

Once complete, if both parties are in agreement, the student is allowed to enroll.

Imagine the possibilities if every student sitting in a class was there after a mutually positive interview during which a level of respect and desire to interact had already been established!

The learning potential and classroom productivity this method would invite boggles my mind.

Read Part 1 | Read Part 2

#3: Raise Tuition Fees

Let’s be honest: most adults who see a penny on the ground don’t bother picking it up; however, those same adults will certainly stop for a dollar that’s been dropped.

Take a moment to consider the bottom-line coin value it would take to get you to bend over and pick it up. I’ll give you, say 10 seconds to think about it.

10

9

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1

On my salary, I’d be game at a nickel or better, but let’s just go with a quarter. It’s not good enough to buy a stamp anymore, but it is one-fourth of a dollar, and with a dollar, you can still do a few things.

Now, let’s talk tuition:

Annual Tuition Costs for Full-time Undergraduate Students Who Are California Residents:

• University of California: $6,141
• California State University: $2,520:
• Community College: $600

Attending a UC is about 10 times the cost of attending a community college. Attending a CSU is about 4 times the cost of attending a community college.

Now, the value we place on the quarter is relative: if we only had quarters, one-dollar bills, and 2.5-dollar bills in our society, the quarter would be the penny of the bunch.

The community college is the penny, so it’s no wonder so many people sign up for classes and just drop them.

Still not convinced? Well, let me point one more thing out: at the UC and the CSU levels, tuition fees are priced in bulk. That means any student wishing to take between 1 and 6 units pays one lump sum (over one thousand dollars), and a student wishing to take more than 6 units pays a higher lump sum. (Students who want to exceed a certain unit level must also get special permission, so it’s not like a trip to Costco folks.)

Community colleges charge by the unit, so if I sign up for a class valued at 3 units, I pay the per-unit fee times three. If I sign up for two classes valued at a total of 7 units, I pay the per-unit fee times seven. If I sign up for a class valued at 1 unit, I pay the per-unit fee times one.

Let’s look at a student who takes two classes during a semester (i.e. 6 units):

• University of California: $3,070
• California State University: $1,260
• Community College: $ 240

The financial commitment to attend a community college makes courses throw-away items: if a student signs up and doesn’t want to remain (for whatever reason), she just drops the class.

She’s out the tuition-fee equivalent of a penny, so she really doesn’t care.

Having taught at each of the levels, I can tell you the drop rates at the CSU and the UC are much lower than they are at the community college level. While there are certainly a variety of other issues that factor in, the primary difference is based on the financial commitment made by the student.

It’s just too hard to blow-off thousands of dollars, and it’s just too easy to blow off a couple hundred.

If we price a semester’s worth of education below the cost of the average cell phone, we can’t possibly expect the item to be taken care of or treated with respect.

Read Part 1

#4: Raise the Criteria for Admission

Community colleges have quickly become the dumping ground for anyone who can’t get into a more prestigious school and the babysitting venue for parents whose high-school graduates are still hanging out at home. This is not what the community college was designed for, and it is not fair to those of us who teach or to those students who are interested in learning.

Can we please stop pretending community college is the place to find oneself or to learn how to be a better student? Being unsure about one’s major is not the same as not caring about school, and community colleges are not remedial education institutions.

Exactly when are we going to insist people become responsible for themselves? Right now we don’t ask this of kids in the K-12 period. Isn’t that a bit irresponsible? We declare them adults, but we don’t make them learn how to take responsibility for themselves?

Can you imagine McDonald’s being forced to accept and retain employees who didn’t show up on time, came to work unprepared, slept on the job, etc.? Think about how insane it is to accept and excuse this behavior on a college campus. (We accept it in high school, and that’s part of the problem, but that’s an issue for a pissed off high-school teacher.)

I’m all for anyone who wants an advanced education having the opportunity to earn one, but I am over the confusion the community college’s open-door policy has created: why are so many of my students lazy, ill-prepared, and disengaged? The answer is simple: they don’t want to be in college.

I can promise you, if the system were to raise the bar to a level that treated a college education like the privilege it is, those who are capable of succeeding would meet the challenge, and those who are not would be spared the wasted time, money, and energy.

This is not about ethnicity or economics—it’s about commitment and will, and given so few students attend my classes to learn anymore, I think we are obligated to give them what they expect: job training. (My students stopped citing wanting to learn as their reason for being in college in about 2001; today, they are in school to get a better-paying job.)

I realize there are businesses out there that welcome the lazy; however, the six-figure salaries my students think are waiting for them at the end of their penance in college courses are generally going to elude them.

As an educator, I can help change that: I want to raise the criteria for admission, enforce the standards of education, and get rid of students who can’t keep up.

The last time I looked, the six-figure salaries were not being doled out to people who show up late, don’t do what is asked of them, and act as if their time in the office is a waste.

Let’s make college what the students want: a training ground for the upper echelon of the job market.

Frankly, if I am going to do the work of a babysitter, I want a refund on my educational time, effort, and expenses. I also want the right to bend my students over my knees and give them the spankings they deserve.

Having a week off during the semester is both a blessing and a curse: it’s a nice break, but it’s tough to go back.

I often use the break to begin planning my upcoming summer class(es), and besides getting ahead on my tasks, the excitement of planning a course is always a positive shot in the arm. Well, almost always.

I’ve mentioned I’m teaching a literature course this summer, but I haven’t really gone into what a boon this is: part-timers rarely get the chance to teach the literature classes. The only reason I’m getting this shot is because it’s summer school: full-timers need neither the money nor the hassle of cramming an 18-week semester into a 6-week plan, so we adjuncts get plenty of teaching opportunities—if we’re willing to take on the challenges.

The joy of having this chance is tainted by the possibility the class won’t make; in other words, if there aren’t enough students who sign up and show up, my class will be canceled. This happened to me last summer: I spent a good deal of my time planning a course, but when I showed up to teach it, almost half of the students who had enrolled failed to show. Poof—class canceled: no compensation for my time, and no make-up course for my bank account.

The thing about planning the literature course is if it doesn’t make, I’ll really have wasted my time: I won’t have planned a course I can recycle later because later will likely never come. (In the eight years I’ve taught, this is my first shot at a lit class.)

While planning with crossed fingers, my mind began wandering around in the playground of things I wish I could change about teaching, and so, in honor of Spring Break, here begins a short series: Change a Little: Gain a Lot.

#5: Quiz Students on the Course Syllabus—Those Who Pass Stay, Those Who Don’t Leave.

The course syllabus is the contract a teacher sets between her students and herself, so knowing what it contains is rather important. Classroom policies, office location and hours, passing requirements, and assignment deadlines are often a part of a course syllabus. Many of the problems encountered by students could be avoided if only the syllabus were referenced.

I know a number of instructors who give their students a short syllabus quiz at the beginning of the second class period, and I’ve even tried this myself. I stopped doing it because lately, so many students simply don’t show up on the first day it’s pointless; failing a quiz simply doesn’t have the impact it used to; and giving a quiz means grading a quiz—which makes more work for me.

But what if the quiz were the final deciding factor in a student’s staying or leaving? While many teachers might face empty classrooms at first, I think the idea would catch on quickly if applied without mercy. It is certainly one method to weed out the idiots; after all, if four pages of straight-forward information are too tough for a student to handle, that student has no chance of succeeding in one of my classes.