Keeping my temper

I was so tired getting home late last night, after the push of the last few days (and consequent lack of sleep) that I canceled the short-story class this morning so I could have a shot at getting a decent amount of sleep. I did, and I had a nice, relaxed morning--and still managed to get the reading journals for today's 101 class marked before class (with a little time to spare). So I went in to teach feeling relaxed and chipper.

And ended up losing my temper a bit. I didn't mind so much when someone said, "I read on Rate My Professor that you haven't given a grade since 2004. Is that true?" So first, no, it isn't true. (I gave a couple of A's last semester, in fact.) We talked about the value of an A, why they are hard to get, and I gave them my rap about that web venue (until people have to sign in with a photo ID and evidence of their final grade in the class, who would take it very seriously?). All OK, though I might have gotten a little wound up about the anonymity of "ratings" in Bash My Professor. But I positively hate when students say, "I read this like five times and I don't get it at all"--and then ask questions that are clearly answered in the text, answers that would be obvious if they'd been paying any kind of attention. I resorted to the "pushing the car" example: no matter how hard you push, standing behind your car and leaning against the back bumper, you're not going to get anywhere in a hurry. Doing the wrong thing over and over again, or doing it "harder," isn't going to get you where you need to go.

So I was annoyed enough about the walls the students were building against understanding--the essay isn't that hard! But then some of them started giving smart-ass replies to their own questions. "Are there any fish there?" they asked. "The author talks about that, specifically: what does he say?" Some of them said they couldn't find it--fair enough--but what pissed me off were the ones who were saying, "They swim? They have gills? They're alive?" And they knew I was getting annoyed. I got pretty testy, reined it in, got testy again, reined it in, and at the end of class was patiently trying to say something along the lines of, "If you are willing to make the effort, to ask the legitimate questions and work to find the answers, you'll learn something"--but they were too busy trying to out-do each other in making fun of everything to even hear me. So I stopped mid-sentence and said, "Never mind. Turn in your homework, put the desks back in rows, and I'll see you on Monday." I heard one of the bigger smart-asses say, "OK, she got me." I doubt I actually did, but truly, if they don't want to listen to what I have to say, why should I keep fighting to make myself heard?

It did me good, however, at the end of class, that one student--who has been very clear about her frustration all along--came up and said, "What were you going to say at the end? I was listening, and I want to know." Of course, by then I'd spoken to several other students about problems with homework or other issues, so I'd forgotten what I'd been about to say--but she prompted me with a verbatim repeat of what I'd said before I stopped. So I did finish the sentence for her, and reassured her that the work wouldn't always seem so hard, that she'd get better at it, and her process of asking the questions, struggling with the text, was in fact the right thing to do, the right way to try. She may still be pushing the car a little, but at least she cares about trying to learn. The only thing I wish is that she'd sit down with me so we could go over readings together, with more time than I can devote in class.

Another nice note: the other student who was hanging about at the end of class, and who also made a point of letting me know he'd been listening, was the student I've written about earlier, who had tried to switch classes only to end up back in mine. He's doing great in terms of staying on top of the work and contributing to class discussion. I'm a little worried about his writing, from what I see in his self-evaluation, but I'm quite happy to have him in the class. It's lovely when a student turns around like that.

But for the others--and even for some of the ones who were really trying, working hard, doing things the right way--I'm asking them to think, and they've never had to before. It's sad sad sad what happens to their minds in their education prior to this point. Or more to the point, what doesn't happen. They want to learn, most of them; they want to be able to do what we ask, but they shut down at the first frustration. The yokking around is a response to fear and frustration. I need to talk with them more about that....

But I do hope the discussion goes better tomorrow. The essay they're reading, Barry Lopez's "Gone Back into the Earth," talks about a raft trip down the Grand Canyon with the musician Paul Winter. So I brought in a recording of Winter playing his saxophone in the Grand (not on the trip Lopez is talking about, but the same idea) and photos I took when I rafted the foot of Glen Canyon, from the dam to Lee's Ferry (the put-in spot for the rafts trips down the Grand). Ours was a float, no rapids at all, and the canyon walls are nowhere near what they are in the Grand, but the scenery could give the students at least a vague idea of what Lopez was talking about. They scoffed at the music (I understand why they don't like the music, but it's such a juvenile response, it gets my hackles up); I have no clue how they felt about the photos. All in all, the class just wasn't much fun--and I had gone into the class feeling very upbeat about it. Ah well. I'll try to keep a better hold on my temper tomorrow and see if I can work with the students better as a consequence.

Because I didn't blog yesterday, I didn't mention that yesterday, when I staggered in at 8:30 a.m., steamrollered from having been marking assignments late and getting up early to do more of the same, I was met in the mailroom by one of the office staff, who was in the process of copying the formal grade grievance being filed by the student who came in with her mother the other week. My job: to respond in writing. No big deal in a way: the student doesn't have a case except "I tried hard" and "she's too strict for a community college." But that didn't keep me from feeling a surge of adrenaline, as if I were being confronted all over again. Last night and earlier today, every time I thought about having to write the response, I'd be blasted by another wave of tension. So after class today (and after a brief meeting with a charming student), I wrote up my response, added my textual evidence (copy of the syllabus, copy of the essay assignments), and turned it over to continue through the official channels. Paul has been through this, and he said it will very likely end there. Certainly there is no violation of my syllabus or of the "contract" in the paper assignments that would lead to any further steps--and those are the only criteria for a grievance. So, that should now be well and firmly in the past. Jesus, I hope so.

And now, I'm going home. It's wildly early, comparatively speaking, but I'm not taking even the tiniest shred of work home with me. I'm going to go to the library, get two books on my pleasure-reading list, and then curl up on the sofa and indulge myself. After the push of the past few days, I think I deserve it. Since I don't have a meeting again tomorrow (miracle! twice in one week!), I have plenty of time before class to at least get the students' reading journals done and back to them, then the usual weekend grading/marking to be ready for next week. And maybe I can even get a full night's sleep again tonight, which should--I hope--help me keep my temper tomorrow, should anything come up that might tend to push my (rather large) buttons.

And yes, I still love what I do, and am grateful beyond measure that I get to do this for a living.