Dreary Tuesday

Today was not the day to have bad classes.

It seems hardly a debatable proposition whether or not any day is best for a bad class. However, sometimes we have a certain leeway. Towards the beginning of the academic term, after the syllabus has been explained and introductions have been made and both professors as well as students are feeling each other out, it is possible to envision having a bad episode and not suffering enduring negative consequences. We are all in a period of adjustment, after all, and a new system requires new procedures and new attitudes as the students try to adapt to the requirements of their professor (and we try to adapt to the needs and the interests of our students). Not during the last week of classes, however.

By this point we have reached the end of the academic term and are all desperately looking forward to concluding this relationship. I admit that I certainly am, and however much I have appreciated the good experiences and felt anxiety about the students who are struggling or who have chosen not to take the class seriously, I am ready to move on. I feel dread over the upcoming workload, represented by tests that I will have to administer and essays I will have to grade at a feverish pace. I am also typically dealing with a myriad of issues that couldn't have been brought up in a more timely fashion by my students until they saw their professor overloaded with tasks. In this case, department matters intrude, and I am now made aware that I will be subject to a departmental review. I would have appreciated an earlier notice, but having seen how departments operate and how things are arranged at the last minute, I suppose I should be grateful that I was given a few weeks at least to gather my materials for my portfolio. All while I am administering tests, preparing grades and preparing syllabi for my upcoming classes.

During the last week of class I have come to notice a curious phenomena. I am reintroduced to students who had become ghosts or the memory of ghosts during the preceeding few weeks. Attendance had been so regular during the first two weeks but then there are students who pull a great disappearing act, and I only see them from time to time. In the best of circumstances they all seem to know friends who will take notes for them, so I suppose I shouldn't be alarmed if I see them skateboarding on the plaza or strumming their guitars under the trees as I head to class. Their needs will be taken care of them, and such is youth, after all: perpetual adolescence means that someone will watch over them. In the worst of cases they seem not to care, and I stop receiving materials or any notice of their continued interest in my class. My grade book will reflect this absence of scores, and a long line of zeros will attest to students who have unofficially withdrawn, at least until the final week of the class in an Easter ritual that is repeated several times a year.  Is it any wonder that this is frustrating for me?

Today was not a bad day because of these prodigal students. It was bad because there seemed to be no way to hold the attention of my students, even the regulars who have stuck with me throughout the academic term. I felt myself glancing at the clock often, wishing I could fast forward to the end.

As much as I plan out each session, we are all prisoners of our inertia. I try desperately to move forward because, quite frankly, if I don't try to propel the class and apply pressure, nothing will get done. However, at times I find myself forging ahead, only to find that I have met an immovable object.

I try to backtrack and to find my footing anew, seeking to see if I can make a breakthrough in another fashion. Can I present this topic a little more creatively? Should I be more of a traditionalist and confine myself to lecturing? Should I engage them relentless a la Socrates until they are flustered and wish to foist hemlock on me? It is difficult to gauge how much they are understanding because, as is the case with so many students, they are reluctant to speak up. It is only when I see them with their heads resting on their desks or furiously texting with their devices placed on their laps that I see the true scope of the train wreck that is my class.

Today was a particularly bad day. I tried to inject some dynamism, modeling elements of grammar, but this was met with indifference. It seems as if I shouldn't even bother, even though I leave myself open to taking risks by becoming a performer. I suppose I have been an admirer of the portrayal of the dynamic teacher immortalized by Robin Williams in the 80s movie "Dead Poet's Society", He inspired fanatical devotion on the part of his students, to the point that one student chose death rather than give up the vista of new choices that had been opened for him. However, it always did seem that this movie was just a little too idealized, at least until I had a chance to observe certain other real-life examples of inspired teaching, most notably in the form of Alex Fillippenko. I certainly haven't met with nearly the same degree of success.

Today I had to chide a few of my nursing students for giggling in class and not paying attention to my presentation. They were choosing instead to chatter while I was talking, distracting me as well as other students. The unfortunate fact is that they are two of my brighter and more mature students, and this was not in character for them. It was pleasant for me to have to remonstrate with them, but it was something I had to do publicly, to my internal despair. And they weren't the only culprits. Many of the others were walking in and out of class, unable to sit still for more than five minutes.

In the end, I was desperate to conclude and wait for another opportunity on Thursday. It will be my last chance to reach them, and I hope that I can impress on them the need to earnestly prepare for the final exam.

I was more optimistic about my evening class, but it turned out to be almost as bad. It devolved into myself talking constantly and trying to get them to respond. They were also walking in and out of the room, as if they were trapped at a turnstile at an amusement park, trying to decide whether to stay in or make a break for freedom and bolt for the outside. Some of them indeed chose the latter.

It didn't help that I forgot a crucial reference book that I needed for my presentation. It was lying in my office, where I left it when I was distracted by my office mate who chose to make an appearance just as I was gathering my materials. It only served to reinforce the notion that I should never, ever depend on outside material, whether it be a book I wished to use, a movie I was planning to show, or a speaker I arranged for my class. If I can't give the presentation on my own then I should be prepared to pay the consequences. Today, I had to rely on my own wits, and barely made it through.

The problem is, my students have to prepare evaluations for me during the last week of class. If things had ended more successfully, I would have distributed the forms today and hoped for the best. It shames me at times to confess that I still rely on these evaluations, given that other faculty evince absolutely no care about what is written about them. But of course, they don't have to. The facts of life are that, if you have tenure, it doesn't matter how well or poorly you teach. You have tenure.

And I have the small comfort of a double-double, animal-style, to comfort me at the end of the day. (This is not a sexual reference.)