A few days ago I stumbled across this article aimed at new college students, and I couldn't figure out what to make of it. Part of it is good information, and part of it is snark meant to make college students feel a little better. Now, I know about snark. It wasn't that long ago that I was a college student, and I know the kind of snark students engage in, and that others play off. Heck, I even engaged in some of it back then. Everybody does. (I still do.) It's a new environment, and you're trying to figure out how to survive in it. Some folks take to it readily and understand it. Some folks never get it. And some folks, though they're basically good, get frustrated by it.
When I got into academia, it took me a few years to find my style as a teacher. In the back of my mind the whole time, though, were the lessons I've learned from the great teachers I've had and the lessons from the bad teachers I've had. I will never forget, for example, the high school geometry teacher who never missed a chance to tell us all how stupid we were (in words not far from that, believe it or not), or my miserable two weeks of college-level French with an instructor whose in-class haughtiness put me off ever trying to learn the language, or the professor I had in graduate school who just outright did not like me, never missed a chance to ridicule me, and was the only teacher I've ever had who made me cry. At the same time, though, I'll never forget the gentle geometry teacher into whose class I was transferred mid-year, or the very kind philosophy teacher I had in college; I may have made a C in his class, but the lessons I learned in that course have lasted ever since. Every teacher I've ever had has been an influence, and I've tried to take from the best of them and learn from the worst.
That said, I never knew just how much of teaching was really hard work. Not the grading, not the creation of assignments, not the record-keeping. Nope, I'm talking about the performance end of it. People in other jobs, who don't have to give presentations for a living, sometimes underestimate this. Imagine you're in front of 20 to 30 people you've never met. Now imagine they're half your age. Throw in that they're a captive audience, and most of them don't want to be there and are bored. Just for giggles, let's imagine that you're teaching a course that deals in proper use of language, and that the course doesn't lend itself well to the use of fancy gadgets in class. Add that they have little interest in what you're saying, and some of them think what you're telling them is pointless and they wish you'd shut up and go away. (Oh, and just for kicks, imagine that at your core, you're a very shy person whose idea of bliss is being left alone with a good book in a quiet room on a rainy afternoon.) That, dear reader, is why on certain days I leave the classroom feeling like I've been through the wringer. And that's after years of doing this, too. Early on, it would flatten me. Now I can get through an entire week before being wiped out, but back in the day...oy.
So that's why the snark that students throw our way -- through the online articles, through the rating websites, and all the other stuff -- doesn't sit well with me. To an extent, I understand the value of it, but sometimes it gets ridiculous. It's like passengers saying that an airline pilot's no good because the landing was bumpy, but those passengers have no way of understanding what it's like to land a 757 in a 20-knot crosswind.
There's so much emphasis on making sure we understand what our students need. But I wish students could understand a few things in return:
How you treat us has a direct influence on what you get from us. Many of you play on sports teams. Can you imagine what it would be like if you were out on the field giving your all, but the people in the stands were sitting there bored, constantly looking at their watches, yawning and generally acting like they didn't want to be there? How would that make you feel? Now imagine you're doing my job, and even when I'm trying my best to be lively and interesting, you're still sitting there bored. Whether you realize it, you get from me what you give to me. You can sit there and be bored and impatient, and drag me down with you, or you can cooperate and give back, and thus encourage me. It's like the line from "The Loadout" by Jackson Browne: you've got the power over what we do -- you can sit there and wait, or you can pull us through.
This ain't as easy as it looks. It took me years to get to this level, and it took me years to cram all this information into my head. It also took me years to get my teaching to this point. You can sit back there and wisecrack all you want, but five will get you ten that if I put you up here and had you lecture to the class about this very topic, you'd freeze. So let's not shoot the piano player, okay? I'm doing the best I can.
You may consider my class an inconvenience, but I'm just trying to do my job. This is what I do for a living. To do my job, and to fulfill the expectations my supervisors have, I need your cooperation.
The world is run by those who show up. It's like the old story of the tortoise and the hare: the hare had all the abilities, but the wrong attitude. The turtle kept plugging along and won. All the knowledge and ability in the world doesn't matter if you don't show up to do the work. That's why we have attendance policies. That's why we have penalties if you're late. We're trying to show you that actions have consequences. Besides, part of being a professional means showing up on time, even when you don't particularly want to. I can't begin to count the number of times I've come to work sad or tired or generally feeling like crap, but I've come in because I had a job to do, and because I had obligations to other people. Besides, I can't stop what I'm doing for the other 20 students just so you can come traipsing in whenever you wish.
You have demands on your life, but so do I. I know you're busy with umpteen organizations and teams and all your other classes, and for that reason you want me to do X or Y. But maybe the reason some of us can't meet with you at some weird time at your convenience may be that we have other obligations. Maybe some of us have to be in meetings. (You have extracurricular activities. The word we use in the professional world for those is "committees." The difference is that "extracurricular activities" tend to be a lot more fun than "committees.") Others of us have to pick up our kids from school. Some of us work second jobs because we need the extra income (that's right, we don't make as much as you think we do). Some of us got sucker-punched by the recession and are the sole providers in our households.
We try to cut you slack, so cut us some. Sometimes we have bad days too, and despite our best efforts to be professional, things happen. Did you ever think that the reason why your professor's bleary-eyed and a little grumpy is because she was up all night with a sick baby?
Someday, you'll understand. You may think the reason why we're teaching you something now is dumb, and that most of what you learn in college will never again be used. But, as the saying goes, the object of karate is not learning how to chop boards in two. College is as much about expanding your mind, and improving your ways of thinking and reasoning, as anything else. And, in my case, I'm training you to be a careful, responsible professional. You may think it's stupid for me to drill you on some of the things we do in class, but someday, when you're in a real newsroom, you will be thankful. I can't tell you the number of times a graduate has come back, or written, and told me "Now I understand why you did what you did." (They also realize that I'm nowhere near as demanding as a real-life news director or editor.)
Your greatest satisfactions in life won't come from the things you were given, but from the things you earned. If I just up and give you an A in my course because you threaten a tantrum, what have you learned? Nothing. But if you work hard and do your best, you'll get the whole world. And if you do get an A after all that hard work, there's nothing that can match the satisfaction of a good job done honestly -- or the lessons you take away from it. Not only can you remember the material, but you can actually use what you've learned. Aside from that, it's a great lesson about delayed gratification. The things in life you work for are the things that build your character. There's a reason people who get everything they want, when they want it, are called "spoiled."
Besides that, the idea of "spoiled" really grates on some of us. My parents were influenced by the Great Depression because their parents had lived through it. My parents worked like crazy to provide our family with a home, to put groceries on the table and clothes on our backs. At one point my father worked two jobs during the week and another on weekends. Early on, we learned about the value of hard work, of showing up and doing your job the best you can. We learned to save up our allowances, or wait for Christmas, if we wanted something big. Sure, it frustrated us when we were kids. But, oh, the day we finally had enough saved up to buy want we wanted, nothing could match that.
You can think professors are tweedy people who attend wine tastings and talk for hours about topics of little general purpose. There are enough out there to give life to the stereotype. But a lot of us are just trying to do our jobs. Most of us know what it's like to work for a wage, and we're not as out-of-touch as perception would have us. And some of us know what we're doing. So, come on, folks. Let us do our jobs.
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