I feel the itch to write. It overwhelms me sometimes and can’t be ignored, so here I am. I’m in one of those places filled with a lot to say but struggling with the words. I like being in this place, as it grounds me in what it must be like for many of my students. They’ll start answering a question in class and then stop themselves before they can really get going. It’s obvious they have something to contribute. It’s right there, longing to make its way into our hodgepodge dialogue about hip-hop and apple watches, misguided ideas about commitment and our overreliance upon all things media. (Sometimes we even go off script, and the real conversation begins.) I couldn’t even being to guess the number of times I’ve heard a student say, “I know what I mean, but I don’t know how to say it.” I usually respond with “yes you do; trust yourself.” Sometimes it works, and sometimes they retreat, hopefully daring to try again.
Last semester, I had such a student in one of my developmental courses. Every time I called on her, no matter what I asked her, she replied “I don’t know.” I lobbed her some easy questions equivalent to “what color are carrots” and “name an animal that barks” but she still wouldn’t bite. I mistakenly attributed this to unwillingness laced with attitude. She certainly didn’t struggle when it came time to talk to her friend who was also taking the class. She squeaked by with a “C,” but we failed to connect with one another the entire semester. Even her conferences were filled with a lot of shoulder shrugging, and my insatiable urge to shake her. Therefore, you can imagine my shock and mild case of dread when she signed up for my class again (the next in the sequence.)
I saw her sitting alone one afternoon not long after I realized she was on my roster. I couldn’t resist the urge to try and “talk” it over with her. I asked her if she realized she had signed up for another class with me. I said it lightheartedly but with a serious edge. She shook her head up and down, which I took to be a “yes.” Then I told her, “You know, I’m not going to stop asking you questions. In fact, next semester, there may even be more of them.” I wasn’t trying to scare her, okay maybe a little, but I wanted her to be prepared. She replied, “I know. I’m going to do better next semester.” I was not expecting that response, but I was intrigued.
I realize that it’s too late to make a long story short, but I am getting to my point. She did do better this semester. Every time I asked her a question, she had an answer. She demonstrated her understanding of the material and even offered the occasional opinion or two. I wouldn’t say she was completely transformed, but she was definitely trying. She still didn’t raise her hand in class, but she talked when called upon. She actually spoke to me during her conferences. She rarely missed class. She made eye contact. Her writing progressed substantially, and I actually enjoyed working with her on her final essay project that made up a substantial part of her grade. She even scheduled extra conferences to discuss her work. And then, she passed the course with an A+….Hooray!!! Or not. Instead, there was just nothing. She didn’t come to the last class, and she didn’t turn in her final portfolio. This shot her hard earned A- to a C-. She still passed the course, but I have no idea what happened. I e-mailed her, but she didn’t respond. Before, that wouldn’t have surprised me, but things had changed. She seemed changed. Her essay was almost finished; I saw it. I saw it! Why didn’t you turn it in? Why?...Why-oh-why-oh-why?
I wish this story was the exception, but incidents like these happen all the time where I teach. (And a lot of places I suppose.) It’s confusing as it’s contrary to what I know in my own life. (I couldn’t go to sleep knowing an assignment wasn’t finished let alone just not turning in a major course defining body of work.) Often emergencies and inescapable personal tragedies get in the way. Students fail because feeding and clothing their children is more important. And yes, there are the students that don’t even know why they are in school beyond staying on their parents’ insurance for a few years and playing “magic the gathering” in the cafeteria. (Or whatever it is that kids play these days.) We all have stories about slackers and ingrates. But with this young woman, I don’t think it was any of those. I know that I don’t know what I don’t know, but I imagine it to be some sort of self-sabotage. Things were going too well, and she was too close to moving ahead another step to where she has always dreamed that she could be. I wonder if she’ll even check her grades. She may just assume she failed, which means she won’t have to try anymore. She can just go on just shrugging her shoulders and saying “I don’t know.” If she was here right now, I’d tell her “yes you do; just trust yourself.” I honestly have no idea if she’d listen. While many of my colleagues find our students predictable, many of them continue to baffle me.
Is anybody listening to me? I have so many of those moments…
(To be clear, I was addressing my students and not the ubiquitous or ambiguous “you” or the people in my life. I swear! No, I’m not protesting too much. Please don’t quote Shakespeare.)
Thursday was commencement, and the way it ended with several of my students, I definitely needed it. It’s my favorite day of the academic year. Yeah yeah…it marks the start of the summer. It’s more than that for me though. It reminds me of why I do what I do. It takes all the bafflement away as I watch student after student walk the equivalent of a graduation catwalk, complete with crazy fashionista insanely high heels. As I listened to the stories, and heard the names called, my eyes welled up over and over. There were many memorable students, as always. Hollers and shouted names from children and grandchildren, husbands and wives, cousins and friends, always keep it from being a distinguished affair much to the chagrin of some. I wouldn’t have it any other way though. It’s a celebration and should be loud. It goes so far beyond passing courses and getting enough credits. For many, it’s marathonic in length. (Yes, I just made up that word.) Monumental. Epic. Colossal. Inaugural. Impossible…and yet, they are here. (Or there, if we are talking in the past tense.)
Out of the nine hundred some that walked, there is the image of one gentleman that I will keep locked away in that place I run to when things get too difficult and the bafflement too big. I feel blessed to be able to recall this man’s face. (I just wish I could shrink him down and carry him in my pocket. I know that’s weird.) He was well into his sixties, if not older, and walked with the aid of a cane. He shoulders were a little slumped, and he took his time making his way. It was clear that it had been a long road to get there, filled with the unimaginable and impossible. The potholes, detours, traffic stops, broken taillights, five car pileups, and any other automobile/travel metaphor you can think of. About halfway through, he stopped, looked up, and then off into the distance. His shoulders straightened, and he grew taller. A small smile appeared on his lips, and in his eyes I could hear it. “I made it.” I witnessed that moment. I was a witness, and it’s why I’m “all in” as a teacher. Yes, I realize I just made two Cavaliers references, and while I really want them to win the championship, at Tri-C we experience a winning championship every year. I feel so blessed to be a part of it. I’m sorry if it got a little cheesy at the end, but I’ve had a beer. Also, Phil Collins is singing “And I can feel it coming in the air tonight, oh Lord. Well I've been waiting for this moment for all my life, oh Lord.” While the rest of the song doesn’t fit, I will always hear these two lines when I picture this man and his triumph. The end.
Last semester, I had such a student in one of my developmental courses. Every time I called on her, no matter what I asked her, she replied “I don’t know.” I lobbed her some easy questions equivalent to “what color are carrots” and “name an animal that barks” but she still wouldn’t bite. I mistakenly attributed this to unwillingness laced with attitude. She certainly didn’t struggle when it came time to talk to her friend who was also taking the class. She squeaked by with a “C,” but we failed to connect with one another the entire semester. Even her conferences were filled with a lot of shoulder shrugging, and my insatiable urge to shake her. Therefore, you can imagine my shock and mild case of dread when she signed up for my class again (the next in the sequence.)
I saw her sitting alone one afternoon not long after I realized she was on my roster. I couldn’t resist the urge to try and “talk” it over with her. I asked her if she realized she had signed up for another class with me. I said it lightheartedly but with a serious edge. She shook her head up and down, which I took to be a “yes.” Then I told her, “You know, I’m not going to stop asking you questions. In fact, next semester, there may even be more of them.” I wasn’t trying to scare her, okay maybe a little, but I wanted her to be prepared. She replied, “I know. I’m going to do better next semester.” I was not expecting that response, but I was intrigued.
I realize that it’s too late to make a long story short, but I am getting to my point. She did do better this semester. Every time I asked her a question, she had an answer. She demonstrated her understanding of the material and even offered the occasional opinion or two. I wouldn’t say she was completely transformed, but she was definitely trying. She still didn’t raise her hand in class, but she talked when called upon. She actually spoke to me during her conferences. She rarely missed class. She made eye contact. Her writing progressed substantially, and I actually enjoyed working with her on her final essay project that made up a substantial part of her grade. She even scheduled extra conferences to discuss her work. And then, she passed the course with an A+….Hooray!!! Or not. Instead, there was just nothing. She didn’t come to the last class, and she didn’t turn in her final portfolio. This shot her hard earned A- to a C-. She still passed the course, but I have no idea what happened. I e-mailed her, but she didn’t respond. Before, that wouldn’t have surprised me, but things had changed. She seemed changed. Her essay was almost finished; I saw it. I saw it! Why didn’t you turn it in? Why?...Why-oh-why-oh-why?
I wish this story was the exception, but incidents like these happen all the time where I teach. (And a lot of places I suppose.) It’s confusing as it’s contrary to what I know in my own life. (I couldn’t go to sleep knowing an assignment wasn’t finished let alone just not turning in a major course defining body of work.) Often emergencies and inescapable personal tragedies get in the way. Students fail because feeding and clothing their children is more important. And yes, there are the students that don’t even know why they are in school beyond staying on their parents’ insurance for a few years and playing “magic the gathering” in the cafeteria. (Or whatever it is that kids play these days.) We all have stories about slackers and ingrates. But with this young woman, I don’t think it was any of those. I know that I don’t know what I don’t know, but I imagine it to be some sort of self-sabotage. Things were going too well, and she was too close to moving ahead another step to where she has always dreamed that she could be. I wonder if she’ll even check her grades. She may just assume she failed, which means she won’t have to try anymore. She can just go on just shrugging her shoulders and saying “I don’t know.” If she was here right now, I’d tell her “yes you do; just trust yourself.” I honestly have no idea if she’d listen. While many of my colleagues find our students predictable, many of them continue to baffle me.
Is anybody listening to me? I have so many of those moments…
(To be clear, I was addressing my students and not the ubiquitous or ambiguous “you” or the people in my life. I swear! No, I’m not protesting too much. Please don’t quote Shakespeare.)
Thursday was commencement, and the way it ended with several of my students, I definitely needed it. It’s my favorite day of the academic year. Yeah yeah…it marks the start of the summer. It’s more than that for me though. It reminds me of why I do what I do. It takes all the bafflement away as I watch student after student walk the equivalent of a graduation catwalk, complete with crazy fashionista insanely high heels. As I listened to the stories, and heard the names called, my eyes welled up over and over. There were many memorable students, as always. Hollers and shouted names from children and grandchildren, husbands and wives, cousins and friends, always keep it from being a distinguished affair much to the chagrin of some. I wouldn’t have it any other way though. It’s a celebration and should be loud. It goes so far beyond passing courses and getting enough credits. For many, it’s marathonic in length. (Yes, I just made up that word.) Monumental. Epic. Colossal. Inaugural. Impossible…and yet, they are here. (Or there, if we are talking in the past tense.)
Out of the nine hundred some that walked, there is the image of one gentleman that I will keep locked away in that place I run to when things get too difficult and the bafflement too big. I feel blessed to be able to recall this man’s face. (I just wish I could shrink him down and carry him in my pocket. I know that’s weird.) He was well into his sixties, if not older, and walked with the aid of a cane. He shoulders were a little slumped, and he took his time making his way. It was clear that it had been a long road to get there, filled with the unimaginable and impossible. The potholes, detours, traffic stops, broken taillights, five car pileups, and any other automobile/travel metaphor you can think of. About halfway through, he stopped, looked up, and then off into the distance. His shoulders straightened, and he grew taller. A small smile appeared on his lips, and in his eyes I could hear it. “I made it.” I witnessed that moment. I was a witness, and it’s why I’m “all in” as a teacher. Yes, I realize I just made two Cavaliers references, and while I really want them to win the championship, at Tri-C we experience a winning championship every year. I feel so blessed to be a part of it. I’m sorry if it got a little cheesy at the end, but I’ve had a beer. Also, Phil Collins is singing “And I can feel it coming in the air tonight, oh Lord. Well I've been waiting for this moment for all my life, oh Lord.” While the rest of the song doesn’t fit, I will always hear these two lines when I picture this man and his triumph. The end.