Knockin' 'em down

OK, I didn't get anything graded for the short story class, but I still feel like it was a productive day. I decided I couldn't stand having the left-over bits from the 102s tangling around my ankles any more, so I put them on top of the triage stack. It ended up being a wise choice, as I was very much in Professor-as-Mommy mode all day, and I wouldn't have had large enough chunks of uninterrupted time to focus on longer papers--but it was easy to flip through old homework in the interstices between bouts of student hand-holding.

Poor Dear Thing showed up at 11, and I worked with her for an hour, but at the end, she felt infinitely more confident about her ability to read and about her revision of her paper. She didn't show up to class today, however; I hope the novel didn't scare her off, after all that. Still, it felt very good to work with her. I told her she'd made my day--and she, along with two other students, did. Of course my ego was gratified because she recognized the gift I was giving: my time, my help, my support and encouragement. She was very complimentary, which is always nice, but more, I could see in her face and hear in her voice that she is learning, actually learning. God damn, that's great to observe.

She left, and not long after, another student showed up: very bright young woman whose writing sucks out loud--and yet she's always been told how good it is. She writes effusive and highly embroidered sentences that contain no clear, concise thought--and I've told her it's my mission in life this semester to beat that out of her, to get her to present her analyses precisely and logically. I know she has it in her, but she's going to have to let go of something she's been proud of, believing it to be exquisite, and instead don the straight-jacket of academic analysis and argument. I hope I got the message across; I'll know when I see her next revision. (On the final version of her first paper, I found myself writing, "Oh, for God's sake!" over some burbling bit of garble. Enough with the Valentines and lace, dammit, give me a heart made of meat on the plate.)

As I was working with Ms. Embroidery, yet another student showed up--and I had an experience with her very similar to the experience with Poor Dear Thing. She was one of two students I mentioned earlier in the semester who were bitching about the work, and she's the one who was grudgingly acknowledging that I had a point when I said that gutting through frustration was a vital life skill to learn. Her compadre has dropped off the radar--apparently still complaining while not doing the work--but this young woman has turned around her attitude and is putting in the effort. Not to my surprise, but somewhat to hers, it's paying off. She specifically said that she decided to try out my advice about gutting through frustration--and she was beaming with the results. Yes, Ma'am. She may get her work from the D's she was earning at the start of the term up to B's; she's certainly capable of it.

In the first class most of the students were doing well, but by unfortunate chance, one group was made up of three young women who were completely baffled by the first chapter of the novel--and two of them decided that the best way to handle that was not to listen to the class discussion and to mutter-murmur when the rest of us were talking. I may have to pull them aside and suggest that they pay attention, for fuck's sake, especially as they're confused. I'm not sure what to do about those three, but I will try not to put them in a group together again. However, Ms. Embroidery, Ms. Changed Attitude, and a third young woman were in a group together today, and they were sailing. I may let them continue to work together as often as possible (maybe with the addition of a fourth young woman who is also pretty danged smart), following Paul's philosophy that the good students deserve a good experience, not to be tortured by being put in groups with the attitudinous.

By the way, in our individual meeting Ms. Changed Attitude informed me that the novel "wasn't so bad." Apparently she resisted it like mad, didn't even want to open the wretched thing, but once she started, she got very interested. A student in the later class said essentially the same thing. (Hah! says I.)

The later class was, as always, a step above. The students wanted to work in a circle (we'll probably stick with that for the rest of the term, as they like it and do well with that format)--and we got into some subtleties about the text that the first class didn't get close to. One young man, who registered late and has been doing sub-par work since, clearly understands the novel beautifully, is picking up on details and their significance.(Interestingly, he's the one who said he hated the novel at first but now thinks it isn't so bad.) Nice. I just hope his writing steps up a notch or three. He has A potential--but he's not this semester's Wonder Boy because to date he's been half-hearted at best. If he kicks into gear, he could give Wonder Boy a run for the money.

I think I mentioned my decision to refrain from imposing the penalties on their first papers, as a one-time-only "Get Out of Jail Free" card. I returned the papers today; the red pen showing what the penalties would have been was left in place, but I circled in blue the grade from which the deductions were taken and recorded that. The sighs of relief probably will affect the strength of Hurricane Sandy. I did emphasize that next time, the axe will fall--but they were so grateful to get the reprieve, I think it will motivate them to keep going. I hope so anyway.

On the committee front, I've corralled some P&B business: I've determined when I will do the three observations I'm responsible for (two new adjuncts and one full-time faculty member who is under dire warning for being utterly stupid about his job). I'll read the two tenure promo folders on Monday. I have the stuff for the short story class in my bag to bring home, and I feel confident I can get through it all without having a hellish weekend--and certainly without it hanging like the sword of Damocles over me for my natal anniversary. Which--even though it is tomorrow--I intend to start celebrating in five, four, three....