Our university semester starts the Wednesday after Labor Day, which means I just finished my first week of the new term. For the past few days, I’ve been meeting new students, answering all kinds of questions, explaining assignments, and putting out various fires. I’m exhausted.
Every year at this time, I take stock of what I’m doing and how well I’m doing it, and one thing that always comes up is this thought: How surprised would my students be to know a few things about me and my teaching? Such as:
How hard I try. I’m a bit bumbling as a professor. I lose my place. My notes get out of order. I forget which page we’re on or how far we’ve gotten on an assignment. I’m not a brilliant lecturer or dynamic group facilitator, as much as I long to be. Sometimes when my classes aren’t going brilliantly, I think to myself, If my students only knew how many hours I actually prepared for this class!
I’m not complaining about the work load: I like my job and can’t imagine doing anything else. But the truth is that the amount of time I spend reading, creating assignments, grading papers, developing in-class exercises, writing lectures, commenting on student work, and preparing for class is huge.
How much I dislike giving bad grades. Sometimes it seems as if students think professors get a kick out of tripping them up, giving impossible assignments, and finding ways to undermine their grades, as if we’re just looking for a way to knock them down a notch. Nothing could be further from the truth.
I would love to give every student in every class A’s for just being there and being themselves. It would make them feel good. It would make me feel good. I wouldn’t have to deal with any uncomfortable office visits, angry emails, teary protests, or general grumpiness. The problem is that it just wouldn’t be good teaching. It wouldn’t prepare my students for a world that rewards hard work and achievement, it wouldn’t help them develop as citizens and professionals, and it would be unfair to the students who are actually earning A work. So, I grade as fairly and equitably as I possibly can, and feel a ltitle pang of remorse every time I mark a student down for a late paper or give a poor grade on weak work. It’s the one part of my job I hate.
How much I respect them. A couple years ago, I gave a reading at a bookstore. At some point in the question and answer period, I mentioned being a professor. Almost immediately someone in the audience asked what I thought of “today’s college students.” It was clear from the way the question was phrased that he was expecting me to proclaim the general decay of the youth of our nation. What came out of my mouth instead was, “They are awesome.”
I am continually amazed at what my students do, at their integrity, their hard work, and their motivation. Most of them are working while taking classes—sometimes at more than one job. Many are involved in sports, social activism, or the arts. Some are moms and some are already busy professionals. And with all that on their overloaded plates, the vast majority are working hard to do well in school. Sure, I have a few every year who are inconsiderate or unmotivated. Once in awhile, I have one who is dishonest. But those bad apples make up a tiny percentage of my students. The rest? They are enough to give a person hope for the future of the world.