Food for Thought

After the second class today, I ended up in a long discussion with the student who loves the novel. The conversation started with us going over what he needs to do to improve his logs, then shifted to how he can go about submitting his own writing for publication, then moved to his college experience. Nassau is the fourth college he's been to in the past three years: two four-year colleges, another community college, and now NCC. In my quest to find out if my standards are too high, I asked him how he thought my grades would measure up in the four-year schools he went to. He said that what I give C's and D's to would get B's and C's at the four-year schools--but, he said, primarily because the teachers there don't give a crap about the students actually learning anything. He also said they don't teach: they assume students already know--so when he'd get papers back with C's on them, he'd never know why. Mine is the first English class he's ever taken in which he learned something, he says.

He very much wanted to praise me as a teacher--not to brown-nose but because he's genuinely enjoying the class (even though, of course, he wishes his grades were higher). As a curious side note, he's a music major, and my experience is that the music students are not only intelligent but also enjoy my classes; I don't know quite what accounts for that, but it is a definite trend. In any event, when I said his appraisal of how my grading would compare was interesting, he said, "In a good way or in a bad way?" Well, just interesting: I do want my students to learn, and I'm dedicated to making sure they know why they get the grades they do--but perhaps the actual grades are too harsh.

And that is, of course, the concern, but I was thinking about that as I walked back to the office. Can I truly bring myself to give A's to work that I think is substandard? Something in my gut rebels at the thought--which is all the more reason why I want to look very carefully at my almost reflexive rejection of the notion. Why can't I see grades as more relative? Is there truly some Platonic ideal of the A paper that students must approach in order to get an A? Or are A's contextual, relative? I've always held firmly to the Platonic ideal notion--and I may continue to do so, but I don't want to adhere to it just because I've sunk my little bulldog teeth into it and don't want to let go. If I truly do think that maintaining an extremely high bar is crucial, I'd better understand why.

I did show Mr. Music the log done by one of my students in the Native American Lit class--one who is getting a genuine and highly deserved A--and it blew his socks off. What I loved was that he wants to do work like hers. He said he wished he had enough time to do that kind of work (and I admit that it is enormously time consuming), but he also said that he felt he could get close; "I can do that," he said. Yes, you can, I assured him. I also reminded him that the other student can, if she chooses, cut and paste responses from her logs directly into her papers. Logs don't have to be that formally written and elegant, but at least the full exploration of the ideas needs to be there. And if they are that formal and elegant, then most of the work of the paper is already done, before one even starts writing.

Clearly, one thing I need to go over--repeatedly--at the beginning of the semester is what an "idea" is. And I need to provide examples that are not, in fact, ideas. "I have an idea: Susan went to the store." (Not an idea.) "I have an idea: I agree with this statement." (Not an idea.) "I have an idea: this uses imagery." (Not an idea.) What the fuck is an "idea"? Anyone? Anyone?

A moment from class that I liked: a student who has struggled all semester (and will be lucky to pass) missed Monday's class but was there today, very confused--and also carrying on a perpetual sotto voce conversation with a classmate. (I need to make them stop that; it's disruptive.) But at one point I reiterated that 90% of the novel is just English. OK, yes, it takes place on a strange planet and the people have weird names, but other than that, it's just a story. She said, "That helps me, if I think it's just a strange planet and the people have strange names." She said then she could simply take that strangeness as a given and get on with it: yes. Exactly. The young woman that Ms. Confused is continually chatting with had been one of the lost souls most of the semester, but now she's suddenly getting it: she understands the novel better than most--and consequently is doing much better with her logs. It's fun to watch her blossom. She has a friend in my other 102, and the two of them are studying together. I'm delighted; the buddy system is always a good idea. They also bitch about me together, but they're both hanging in there, so fair enough. Bitching is sometimes necessary as a survival tactic.

Shifting gears, the Shitstorm meeting this morning was not as painful as I was braced for: in fact, it was entirely civilized--and I didn't need to be pissy and cranky about the whole thing. It also was a much shorter meeting than we'd been prepared for. We were in and out in 45 minutes, so I didn't have to miss much Advisement time, which means I have less to make up than I feared might be the case, so relief all around.

And now, it's time to fold my tents and head off to a working dinner with Paul. Booze, steak--way too much food in general, in fact--and work on our project. Fun. And I'm looking forward to the work as much as I am to the good food and excellent company. Things to be grateful for.