Our poor students...

With sad regularity, I am reminded of how very difficult the lives of our students are, almost without exception. Most of them have at least one strike against them, and many have multiple factors in their lives that impede their progress.

Today one of the older adult students in the 101 class showed up late and was hovering in the doorway, clearly wanting to talk to me in the hall. I told him no: he could wait outside or join the class, but I wouldn't talk with him until class was over. The class discussion was actually kind of fun (though it ran off down a couple of pretty convoluted rabbit trails until Prof. P skillfully brought it back to the reading at hand), and after class, I handed back work--and had time to talk with that student. I started out by being a bit stern with him: his essay submission had been a disaster, completely misunderstanding what he needed to submit, and I asked him what was up. He tried to explain, but then he said that he was having a hard time--and his voice broke. His wife recently had a miscarriage, at five months. He kept tearing up but was trying to be clear and strong. He'd already met with a grief counselor, and he'd been advised to get an excused withdrawal for the semester (meaning he'd have to withdraw from all his classes but the record of the semester would be expunged, so it wouldn't affect his transcript, GPA, or academic standing in any way). I told him I thought that was the best possible plan. He wanted to talk with his other professors first, before making up his mind, so I didn't sign the form for him then and there (though I probably should have). However, I did tell him that if he decides to continue in the class, we'll have to have a serious conversation about the work he needs to do.

I won't lower the bar for him--he has to do the work if he wants to pass--but nevertheless, my heart goes out to him. Up until recently, he's been trying very hard (not doing well, but trying like crazy), and he's clearly dedicated to the self-improvement he would gain from being in college. But ... well, he's a grown up, working a full-time job, with a family, trying to go to school full-time as well, and now this great grief on top of everything.

I admire these students; I truly do. It takes great strength to do what they're doing--especially in the situations so many of them are in. I've had students tell me they were trying but were living out of their cars; I've had students tell me they were trying but their only surviving parent was hospitalized and dying; I've had students tell me that they'd just found out they were pregnant and had been kicked out of the house by their parents and had nowhere to go; deaths (even murders in two cases), homelessness, health crises, legal trouble (including possible imprisonment), substance abuse (their own or their parents), poverty, hunger...

Let's face it: a lot of them have more important things to deal with than writing a good college essay.


It feels crass to shift gears from there to the mundane, personal level, but tonight's planned steak blow-out with Kristen, Paul, and William has been postponed. Instead, Paul and I will go out for much lighter fare (and continued conversation). When will I do the big grocery shopping I need to do? Heaven knows. (I have to do an observation after class tomorrow, so that makes for a late night and means I'm unlikely to want to take the time to get to the store after.) When will I get caught up with grading stuff? Oh, end of May is a good guess. When will I stop having anxiety attacks about all this? We'll see. Theoretically the breathing practice should start to make a difference on that within the next few months, assuming I keep up with it.

Now, however, it's time for me to grab Paul and head out. Talking with a good friend is always helpful, no matter what the problem.