Once I started talking about SF generally, and a little bit about Frankenstein, students were asking questions, contributing ideas (and only one fell asleep). There were three students who were new to class today. One seems particularly bright and with it, but all seemed like they have the right attitude at the very least. And one of those new students was one of the two who stayed even after I finished the Cliffs Notes version of what's in all the handouts. He knows himself well enough to know that if he doesn't break things down into small, precise chunks, he'll lose focus and get lost. So, we talked through exactly what he needed to focus on--and he took notes, making sure he understood each step.
Interestingly enough, he brought up a syntactical problem that hadn't occurred to me: when I talked about reading notes, he asked, "Are we supposed to read notes? Or read?" Of course, he hasn't had a chance to review the handout about reading notes--which specifically explains how to construct notes on what one has read--but it was interesting to me to realize that this is part of the process that might not be immediately clear. However, I'm pretty sure (not 100% sanguine, but fairly certain) that between my handout and the reading in their little handbook that the process will become more clear.
The other student who stayed after class was a lot less forthright about what he needed; in fact, it wasn't initially clear that he was hanging out in order to talk to me, as he was hovering outside the door. He asked a question about what needed to be done that revealed not only that he couldn't absorb the specifics of the written material but also that he hadn't absorbed anything I'd just gone over in class. I answered part of his question, and he said, "OK..." and started to leave. I could tell he was still confused, so I called him back--I'd let the students go early, so we had time to talk--and went over it all more carefully. I'm still pretty sure he is utterly lost--and he's one of the students I pegged in the first class as being unlikely to make it to the end. It speaks well of him that he summoned up the courage to ask the question, and I hope he does email if he has further questions, but I'm concerned about how little seems to be soaking in.
Interestingly enough, I just reread one of the articles I'm assigning to the 101 students, and it addresses student fears. The article is "The High School to College Transition: Minding the Gap," by Deborah Hirsch, and it was originally published in The New England Journal of Education (June 4, 2010). I quote from it at rather great length:
Beyond [lack of] academic preparation, one explanation for the high school-to-college achievement gap is
what Seton Hall professor Rebecca Cox calls "the college fear factor." The students she studied
know that a college degree is essential to their future success in life and careers but bring
tremendous anxiety to the experience. Many bring past experiences with failure in an academic
context. And typically, this gets reinforced on their first day of college where they have to "pass or
fail" a placement test to see if they are deemed ready for college-level work. They come to college
acutely aware of their past failures and lack of readiness and this feeds their self-doubts about
whether they will be able to succeed.
So why don't students reach out to professors who say that "their office doors are open" and they
are "always available to meet with students"? Cox believes that students are afraid professors will
confirm their academic inadequacy. Because of these fears, students end up not employing the very
strategies that will help them such as meeting with professors outside of class, asking for help or
asking questions in class for fear of being exposed as stupid. They don't ask questions, seek outside
help from faculty or their peers and may even skip class rather than risk seeming ignorant or slow.
Unfortunately, these behaviors only exacerbate the problem. Students may be afraid to even admit
this to themselves and usually have no one to turn to who can help them sort through these feelings.
I think I had precisely that experience today with that confused student hovering outside the door. I suspect he was unwilling to come back into the room because he didn't want to ask his question in front of another student for fear of looking stupid, and he didn't want to ask any follow-up questions of me for the same reason. I hope it helped him to see that another student was doing precisely what he was afraid to do: getting detailed help from me. But that fear factor may well be so great that this poor confused young man can't get the help he so clearly needs.
However, returning to the notion of pegging students as likely or unlikely to succeed based on those first day impressions: my impression of one student was clearly shown to be completely wrong today. I had him down as possible but unlikely--and he asked some of the more astute questions, made some of the more interesting observations in class today. And one of the new students (really new: hadn't registered until yesterday) slept through a lot of class, but when I talked to the three students after class, he was alert, quick--and not only has read Frankenstein before, he recommended to the other students that they should read the parts I glossed for them (the "letters" that provide the narrative frame and the first two chapters, all about the background of the Frankenstein family and about Victor Frankenstein's early education). I'm glad he's advocating for the value of the parts of the book students in the past have found too "boring" to get through. And I'll be interested to see whether he stays awake in future classes.
After class, I spent a little while in my office, during the time that will usually be one of my office hours. Then I went down to the main office to sort of cover for both Cathy and one of the members of our office staff, who is out recovering from surgery. I wish Cathy would take a page from Bruce's book and make a point of closing the office when we are short of staff (including putting a note on the door that anyone who comes looking for help and finds the office closed should contact the dean or the college president for assistance). But I know Cathy doesn't really expect me to act as "office staff." She wants someone there who can be sort of "in charge"--and I am the evening supervisor after all.
And I did talk at some length with the woman who really runs the place--and found out that her official title is "clerk," even though she's doing significant administrative work for the department. And she's getting paid a clerk's salary--which, at this institution, is lower than she would get if she worked in any school in the K-12 system. (The office staff are all county employees and have to pass a civil service test to get paid less than someone flipping burgers would make.) I am beyond appalled. I knew her salary was insultingly low, but I had no idea just how low. She revealed a few other inside pieces of information about the department, too, that are equally infuriating. I could get deeply incensed about this--but I continue to metaphorically put my fingers in my ears and sort of willfully "forget" a lot of the worst of the shit that I hear about this place. I'm trying to preserve as much of my equilibrium as possible, and to reduce my personal stress levels wherever I can, so there's only so much of the insanity here I can absorb before I shut down.
But I will say, one of the rooms we were forced to use (after one of the buildings that used to house a lot of our classes was "closed" for renovations) has no blackboard, white board, or anything else to write on. And when Cathy pointed that out, she was told our department should buy one--even though our department is not the only department to use the room. That's on top of the fact that handicapped ramps have been removed from one of the buildings that's still open to us, and that one classroom was double-booked, so one of our faculty members held class sitting on the hall floor with her students....
Cleansing breath. Cleansing breath.
The work part of my day ended with a fascinating conversation with one of our student aides. She's from South Africa (and was in a long conversation with another student aide who is from a different country in Africa, though I never heard which one); she came to the U.S. as an au pair and is now working on a degree in early childhood education. I loved the depth of political knowledge she and the other young man possessed (few U.S. students would be able to talk about the politics of their country with as much basic factual information never mind understanding of motivations and implications), and it was great fun to talk with her about her educational experience thus far. This is one reason for me to look forward to having to be downstairs in the main office on Thursdays for at least a few more weeks, while the evening secretary recovers.
Now, I "should" pack up the wheelie-pack so it's ready to roll (literally) on Monday; I realize that--although it was nice to get way over my quota of steps on Fitbit yesterday--it's probably not a good idea to plan on getting from Advisement, back to the office, and then to class in 30 minutes. It's easy enough to do if nothing keeps me late anywhere and if I don't need to gobble down a quick lunch in the break, but I don't want to find myself suddenly in a scramble. Better to take all the things I need to teach my 2:00 class to Advisement with me. Then I can make a much more leisurely (if less physically active) transition from one to the other. And having everything packed up tonight before I leave will make the transition from car to Advisement a little smoother Monday morning. But you know what? I'm just not gonna. I am going to go home and engage in the parts of my life that have nothing to do with "work."
No comments:
Post a Comment