The Faces Behind the Numbers

I thought I had finished writing about teaching, but I decided that grading deserved its own post. So here goes.

With the exception of the evening of January 5 (the Fiesta Bowl), I have spent every evening since December 28 parked at my dining room table pouring over the papers that my students turned in about two months ago. Typically, I'm not a procrastinator, but this task was more than I had bargained for.

I started grading the papers the day that I received them, but I managed to grade only two that first weekend. After that meager start, it was hard to go back to them. Thankfully, my computer broke down right before Thanksgiving, so I graded 11 more during that three-week period. And then came Christmas with ten days at home with my family--a time that papers were not allowed to compete with. So the grading of the 9 remaining papers resumed in full force on Dec. 28.

As I marked the innumerable grammatical errors on each paper and attempted to arrive at a grade that would reflect what I had seen, the numbers side of me wrestled with the words side of me, as well as the feelings side of me. All of the markings meant something, but what? What should a 40-point argument look like versus a 35-point argument versus a 30-point argument? What objective criteria could I use throughout this subjective process to make sure that I was being consistent in my grading over the two-month period? And even though I had only pen names, I knew that there were actual faces behind each of those papers and that bothered me. I didn't want someone to do poorly.

After years of being a competitive student who thrived on beating others, these grading struggles surprised me. I didn't expect to have such a tender spot for those who had not followed instructions or applied the rules that they were taught. But at the same time, I did not want to reward those students to the detriment of the students who had followed the instructions and rules and far exceeded my expectations.

In the end, I read the papers through about three times each, created a chart to explain how I had arrived at the points awarded (to quell my fears about being challenged on a grade), performed the multifarious averaging calculations, and finally let go of them. Amazingly, the final grades ended up matching well with what I would have predicted had I assigned grades based solely on class performance. A few students will probably not be pleased with their grades, but I assume that is to be expected in every class. I wasn't perfect, but I did my best to be fair and am finally okay with that.

Ultimately, I know that most of the details of the past semester will fade. But the faces of my first class of students will stick with me. I'll be interested to see how they perform in their chosen career path and hope that they will apply at least something I taught them, even if it is simply a silly grammar rule.

Freedom in Completion

Thirteen classes taught.

Twenty-two oral arguments listened to and critiqued.

On August 18, the night before classes began, I couldn't imagine getting to this night. A night of freedom. The hardest parts of my job are behind me. All that remains is to grade the briefs, two of which are done.

In many ways, this time has flown by, or at least the latter part did. To think that Michael Phelps was on television winning gold medals when I started teaching helps put this in perspective. That seems like eons ago.

But I didn't get to this point on my own. Many prayers were answered. Prayers for health, protection, wisdom, words, and stamina. And I learned more than I could have imagined. Not just about teaching but about myself. Things that I'm sure I wouldn't have learned unless I went through this ordeal.

I appreciate all the encouragement you have given me and all the prayers that have been offered on my behalf. They supported me and carried me.

And now, I place my "professor" title on a shelf to collect dust, and I relax in the freedom that comes from fulfilled requirements and a job that's done.

The Provider

"How was yesterday's class?" you ask.

"Great."

"Really?"

"That's what I heard."

My lunch didn't agree with me yesterday. About an hour before class, I began to doubt my capability to carry out my planned lesson. I went to one of my co-workers and asked if he'd cover for me. At first, he declined, but then he realized that one of the teams he coaches would be presenting a demonstration and jumped at the chance to see them perform.

Thankfully, this wasn't a two-hour lecture class. My plan was to pass back their last assignment and show them clips from two arguments so that they could get a feel for what they will need to do.

But the fact that there wasn't a lengthy lecture planned didn't make what God did any less magnificent. I was in awe that God provided someone who was willing to step in at the last minute and who was more capable than me of presenting the materials. Because my co-worker coaches a team, he knows what the students should be aiming for in their own arguments. He was able to add in his own commentary for the clips and point out good and bad things that each of the speakers did.

So for class 11, the script played out a little differently and a lot better than I had planned. All because I let Someone else take charge.

If anyone serves, he should do it with the strength God provides, so that in all things God may be praised through Jesus Christ. To him be the glory and the power for ever and ever. Amen. (1 Peter 4:10)

Still Learning, Part 3a - Students' Assumptions

Had I sat down to write this on Tuesday evening, therapy writing would have poured forth. Many people with whom I came into contact that night got to hear the live version of my frustration. But thankfully, the time gap has produced some prospective.

Towards the end of Tuesday's class, something that I have been saying almost every week since class 4 finally got through to the students, probably because their major paper is due in a little over two weeks. When I reinformed them that they would have to support their arguments with citations, they reacted by informing me that they didn't write that way last year and were forbidden from such a practice. Their nonverbal reactions proclaimed, "Professor, you don't know what you are talking about."

I have only two classes left to attempt to overcome the unspoken moron label I've now "earned." I think that begins by urging them to put aside their assumptions--that this class would be a continuation of their last two writing classes. My job is to teach them to write something they've never been instructed on how to write before, and yet they are convinced that they should be able to use the same format that they used last year. Even though some have admitted that this "new way" sounds more logical and makes more sense to them, they still think I'm off base because I'm asking them to go against what they learned in the past.

Jesus faced similar attacks as He taught. I've always wondered how the people in Jesus's day could fail to believe the gospel when they had God in-the-flesh standing in front of them. But I think I've failed to account for how hard the law was drilled into them. Everything they did was guided by the law, and this grace that Jesus preached was a foreign concept. Sure, it sounded good, but it wasn't what they were used to. So they resisted.

In other words, this battle I'm facing is nothing new. Resistance is a normal response when asking people to change their ways. I just didn't expect the students to assume that old rules applied to a new type of writing assignment. But, I'm hopeful that the lure of a good grade will convince many students to put aside their old ways of writing and adopt the new ones.

Class Notes

22 = the number of students in my class

19 = the number of papers I wanted to shred this past weekend as I graded assignments that revealed my directions had not been followed

9 = the number of classes I have taught

4 = the number of classes that still remain

3 = the number of weeks until the students' big paper is due

2 = the number of substantive classes left to prep for

1 = the number of days until my birthday

Still Learning, Part 3 (Updated)

A few classes back, one of my students laughed and played on the internet without trying to hide it for the entire two-hour class. Even though I knew that I couldn't force this student to learn and that it was this student's choice to ignore me, I was frustrated, to put it mildly.

I thought I had this student all figured out. I presumed the student was bored or simply chose to chat online instead of take notes.

Even though I know better than to assume, I did so anyway. I labeled this student in a negative way in my mind. And braced myself for what would unfold in the next class. Only the student no-showed.

Fast forward to today.

I walked into my classroom a bit early, and the only person waiting in the room was the laughing, internet-obsessed student from a few weeks ago. The student approached me and explained that life was not going well. This was a particularly difficult time: it was the one-year anniversary of a younger sibling's death. A death that the family didn't grieve well. And as a result, they were struggling individually and as a family. Those earlier harsh thoughts dashed out of my head as I choked back tears, encouraged this student to take some time to grieve, and offered my condolences.

This student's personal struggles in the midst of a tough semester made me grateful that I didn't have any family tragedies while I was in grad school. It also reminded me that everyone has a story. Every student has a life outside of class. One filled with other responsibilities and relationships that produce joy, sorrows, anxiety, and any number of other emotions. And each day when I step into the classroom, I'm competing not only with the distraction of their wireless internet computers but also with all the life baggage that they bring into the classroom. If I remember that, hopefully I'll be a little more compassionate the next time a student seems disinterested in my lectures.

Brandon Heath's song "Give Me Your Eyes" echoes the tune that has been playing in my heart ever since this encounter:

Give me your eyes for just one second
Give me your eyes so I can see
Everything that I keep missing
Give me your love for humanity
Give me your arms for the broken hearted
The ones that are far beyond my reach
Give me your heart for the once forgotten
yeah
yeah
yeah
yeah

I've been there a million times
A couple of million eyes
just move and pass me by
I swear I never thought that I was wrong
Well I want a second glance
So give me a second chance
To see the way you see the people all alone

Change What Can Be Changed

This post serves as a double update for class last week and this week since I failed to blog last week.

In preparation for last Tuesday, I decided to change the things I could change. So, I scrapped the nine-page reading assignment for the week and revised the syllabus. I felt a lot of relief simply from making those two minor changes. I pulled some examples from another book that I wish was the chosen text and created a grammar and punctuation exercise that opened their eyes more than they had expected. I also gave the students a survey to find out what topics they want more emphasis on and what ways they best learn. And thankfully, we made it the full two hours.

After last week's class, I felt burned out. I wanted a break. None was in sight, so I created one. I didn't begin to work on school work until late Friday night. It made for a bit of a jam-packed prep weekend, but this was the week I was most "excited" about because there seemed to be plenty of material to cover. And though it took a long time to put all the notes and exercises together, it paid off because it was more than enough for this week's class.

So, I'm very grateful to have seven classes under my belt and to have only five more teaching classes left for which to plan. Then, I'm done. This is a one-semester gig. So the teaching updates won't go on forever!

The one thing that I still need to change is my attitude. I dread Tuesdays. Not all of Tuesday, just the part until 5:20 p.m. So, I'm working on adjusting my attitude. It's a work in progress.

Still Learning

Throughout last week as I stressed about preparing for this week's hour-and-fifty-minute class, I had a little epiphany. I remembered that all time is in God's hands. He is infinite. The Alpha and Omega. The Beginning and The End. So I realized that it makes little sense for me to stress about whether I can fill the time. It's a good thing I had this little personal lesson engrained in my brain as I went into class tonight with about fifteen pages of notes and four exercises.

At the conclusion of my printed notes, I handwrote, "Let the students work on their assignment for next week if there is extra time." A co-worker gave me that advice a few weeks ago, and he assured me that the students would appreciate that opportunity.

I guess my approval rating should be off the charts because I had thirty minutes left after going through all of my prepared materials. "How could all of that material only have taken an hour and twenty minutes?" you ask. Class participation was at an all-time low. Any of those four exercises could have taken fifteen minutes each had the students been willing to participate. Being the nice professor that I am, I refrained from calling on them by name. I figure that they are upper level students and shouldn't be abused in that way. (But there's always next week to implement that new technique.)

Although I was bothered by the timing issue, I didn't dwell on it. I figure there's not much more I could have done. I covered all of the assigned material for the week and prepared to the best of my ability. But I still feel like I'm battling a dragon week after week.

Simply put, thus far, the task of teaching hasn't been what I imagined it to be. I've written about each class's ups and downs and have tried to put these experiences into perspective. I think that my thinker and feeler got a bit confused: I hoped (maybe even assumed) that because I felt that God led me to this unexpected opportunity, it would be easy. That it wouldn't interfere with MY life and MY plans. Instead, it has been extremely challenging to balance two jobs. To feel forced to say "no" to "yes" events. To feel like I'm not very good at this teaching thing.

That's why I think Cec's keynote address about significance spoke to me. I am wrestling with feelings of insignificance because I don't feel like I'm good at this gig. A gig that I had hoped to do back at my college alma mater in my retirement years. Yet, deep down, I feel like I still might enjoy teaching, maybe just not at this level or for this class length. So I am going to forge ahead in obedience and hope that the students are getting more out of what I'm lecturing on than their class participation has revealed. And I'll be grateful that at the end of each month, I'll still get paid. No matter what.

Unexpected Blessings

Today, class (or dive) #4 went about the same as last week. My throat was hurting beforehand, but it didn't cause me any trouble. My material covered the allotted time. I caught myself saying "um" about a dozen times, but other than that nothing negative to report.

The best part about today was that when I returned their papers, which I had laboriously poured over, they actually thanked me. I don't think I've once thanked a teacher, professor, or my boss for marking up my work. Have I looked at the markings? Absolutely. I study them to see how I can improve. But for two students to come up and thank me after class for my comments on their papers, I was speechless. Unexpected blessing #1 from teaching = being thanked for marking up their hard work.

Rewind to Sunday evening.

I caught myself staring at the green-eyed monster a/k/a envy. I had just scanned the devotional that our church put together for our study of Romans. Many of my friends wrote the devotionals that appear in the spiral-bound daily devotional study guide. I had the opportunity to submit a devotional but had to turn it down due to class prep. That same night, the deadline passed for me to submit a devotional or article for the writing contest being held in conjunction with the North Texas Christian Writers' Conference that I'm headed to this weekend. Again, class prep made me forego that opportunity. As I pondered why I felt the way I did, I realized that I don't like the fact that teaching has limited the time I have available to write. Sure, I could try to forego sleep in order to write, but that wouldn't last very long in this sleep-powered body. So unexpected blessing #2 = figuring out how much I enjoy writing and how much I can't wait to get back to it when class is over.

Can Great Writing Be Taught?

I wish I had some deep insight to share about life, but about the only thing on my mind lately has been this one question: Can great writing be taught?

At my request, my students turned in copies of the papers that they wrote last year so that I could see where I need to focus my lectures. Over the past two weeks, I've struggled through reading their papers and have averaged almost an hour on each paper. The results have been disheartening. Only one student "gets it." The others have major grammar, sequencing, and citation problems. I don't expect their analyses to be stellar (yet), but not having the facts in a logical order is not acceptable. Elementary students are asked to put sentences in the proper order to make a logical paragraph, and they can do it. So, I can't expect less of my students who are much older.

After marking one problem after another in their assignments, I began to wonder if good writing is truly a gift. A talent that can be developed, rather than taught. For instance, I took piano lessons for eight years and learned how to play the instrument. After all those years of lessons can I play the piano well? Unfortunately, no. Playing the piano did not come natural to me, and I had to practice quite a bit to learn how to play the songs at a competitive level. But no matter how much I practiced, I was never going to be a contestant in the Van Cliburn competition.

Good writing seems like it might fit in that same category. These students have been taught the basics for many years now. But there's still something missing in their writing. I'm not sure whether it is a lack of practice because they spend their time preparing for their other classes or whether they don't "get it." Either way, I've got my work cut out for me over the next few months. I want their writing to improve tremendously.

So, all you fellow writers, can great writing be taught or is it a gift? If you believe it can be taught, what pointers do you have for teaching it?

Diving

All my time spent watching the Olympics in August has paid off. I now have a metaphor to convey what teaching has been like. It's a lot like the diving competition.

Each round or class has its own degree of difficulty. And, I walk to the platform, wearing my designated suit (that thankfully does not start with an "S" and end with an "O"), and attempt to complete the dive in spite of the degree of difficulty.

In round 1, the degree of difficulty was enhanced by numerous factors. For one, the 21 pages from the text had to be spread over almost two hours or fillers had to be found for the remaining time. Additionally, it was the first class, which came with all sorts of unknowns, including whether my voice would last. So, I'd rate this a 9.8 on a 10-point scale. I survived; I did not, however, add much stylistic finesse to the text. So I'm quite sure that the judges would have deducted numerous points for the latter.

In round 2, the degree of difficulty dropped tremendously (possibly as low as a 4 or a 5) because there were 21 pages of text for a fifty-minute class. Problems arose during the execution as nerves from the wait preceding the class and a malfunctioning memory caused me to trip up during the lecture. Not a pretty score.

In round 3, the degree of difficulty started to increase (possibly to a 6 or a 7) because although there were over 70 pages of text for the students to read, not much was left to discuss due to all the margin notes printed in their version of the text, which pointed out the positive and negative things about each of the writings. Thankfully, I found some points to make and filled the remaining class time by going over a persuasive exercise that they wrote during the first class. And though it probably could have been a bit more stylistic, the form felt good and hopefully came off without much splash.

The third time must be a charm because this week I felt more at ease than I have the past two weeks. I realized after last week that I didn't pray very much, and the results reflected that lack of dependence and flawed assumption that I could do the "easy" class on my own. Bad idea.

That's when I began to recognize that each class will hold its own set of challenges (a/k/a degree of difficulty), whether they be timing issues, communication issues, health issues, or any number of things that I can't control. So if I continue to teach in my own power, the results are going to continue to reflect the poor execution exhibited in round 2. I don't want that for me or my students. So I chose to go back to what worked in round 1--a total recognition that I am very incapable of doing this on my own and very dependent on God to help me.

Round 4 promises to look a bit like round 1 with 11 pages of text for a fifty-minute class, and Round 5 will return to the hour and fifty minute class length and will have a shortened prep time. I'm hoping that looking ahead a little at a time will allow me to see these differing degrees of difficulty and will keep me on the dependent path.

Exposure

Hypothesis: Repeatedly exposing one's self to the source of fear reduces the effect of the fear.* I have lived this out and know it to be true.

For instance, when I started my job about five years ago, I was afraid of the elevators. Their reputation preceded them as I had been warned of their tendency to get stuck for lengthy periods while loaded with numerous occupants. I gritted my teeth and listened to my heart race each morning, vowing to ride only to the first stop or two and then to take the stairs. The problems with this tactic were multi-fold: (1) I was usually wearing heels, which weren't conducive to stair climbing; (2) the stairwells aren't air conditioned and often smell like cigarette smoke; and (3) their isolated use gives them a creepy factor almost commensurate with the elevators. So, I looked fear in the face and took the elevators every day. Most days I did it scared, and eventually the fear subsided.

I had the same experience with visiting emergency rooms. I had only been once as a child to accompany my sister to have her stomach pumped after eating a day-old sandwich that had been made with mayonnaise. So, when I started having abdominal pain in the summer of 2003, my first trip to the ER by myself was a bit scary. But after repeated visits and a diagnosis of gall stones, that fear of ERs went by the wayside.

I'm hoping that this tactic of reducing fear by repeated exposure will work for teaching as well. Going in this afternoon, I wasn't as nervous as last week. But then I had to wait almost two hours after arriving at the school to give my lecture. I had prepared more than last week because I had the day off, but my tongue and mind didn't quite keep up with each other when I began my lecture. Moreover, it was humbling to be corrected by students when the group exercises didn't go exactly as planned. (As a side note, none of the students dropped after last week, which made my heart sing.)

So, I'll be watching to see how this plays out over the course of the semester. I probably won't post a teaching update every week, but I'll let you know if there are any highlights.


*This isn't meant in the context of abusive relationships or criminal acts.

Being Carried

"If one falls down, his friend can help him up. But pity the man who falls and has no one to help him up!" (Ecclesiastes 4:10)

Remember the feeling of being piggy-backed by a friend or parent? They did all the hard work of lifting and carrying, and you merely climbed up and hung on?

That's the closest way that I can described what I experienced today. My friends and family did the heavy lifting, carrying me along. I received emails and phone calls encouraging me, a wonderful dinner last night to ease my stress, and a ton of prayers. It humbles me that people interceded on my behalf and prayed me through today. And because of their efforts, I survived!

I have no recollection of what I said the first ten minutes of class. Words flew out of my mouth before I turned the floor over to the students to hear why they have chosen this career path. My voice survived the rest of the class by alternating between speaking and giving writing assignments; the writing assignments allowed my faltering vocal chords to recharge. And before I knew it, the dismissal time of 5:20 had arrived.

In the coming weeks, hopefully my vocal chords will gain their strength, and my ability to teach writing and speaking skills will increase as well. At least now the big first class is behind me. I rest in that tonight.

Father God, thank You for surrounding me with praying friends and family who encourage me and take time to pray for me in the midst of their busy lives.

Childhood Dream Come True

For as long as I can remember, I wanted to be a teacher. Growing up, I subjected my sister, along with every neighborhood child I could round up, to endless hours in the "classroom."

The initial classroom was the metal storage shed towards the back of our property. It was blazing hot in summer, had the potential to house bees and other critters, and thus only allowed for brief teaching sessions.

Next up was a huge spool that must have held utility cable at one point. I have no idea where it came from, but a doorway was cut out, it was painted inside and out, and it became the place where I taught school, along with occasional classes taught by my friend Misti.

After we outgrew the spool and it found a home elsewhere (a/k/a the dump), smaller, more formal classes were taught on our enclosed back porch. It was complete with a real chalkboard, an official pen-like chalk holder, and two real student desks. Unfortunately, we weren't often allowed to run the air conditioner out on the back porch, and so school days couldn't last long there either.

I guess never having had an ideal classroom kept the dream alive. At least long enough to mark down on my freshman high school English teacher's form that I wanted to be a math professor when I graduated.

And then real world numbers started speaking. At first softly whispering how one can't live on the salary that a teacher, or even a professor, makes. And then shouting louder. Loud enough to pursue other career fields.

But God has a funny way of often straightening out my path when I haven't allowed Him to use me for the purpose He wired me for. And this is the week He chose to surprise me with a path correction.

On Monday, out of nowhere, a contract employee who works full-time for an "institution of higher learning" asked me if I would be interested in teaching as an adjunct faculty member one afternoon a week in the fall. Surprisingly, I heard myself reply that I would be interested. He gave me some of the details and then asked me to set up a time to meet with the academic dean. I did that today and will begin teaching August 19. I will not be teaching math, but more along the lines of writing and speaking, which is even better since I haven't officially "done" any higher level math in years.

Though I'm really excited, I don't feel the least bit confident in this new endeavor. I haven't taught grown-ups before, and my days of teaching Sunday school to four year olds showed me that I'm not exactly one to hold people's attention very long. I'm trusting that God will equip me for this task if I continue to lean on Him and seek insight and wisdom on how to creatively teach this class. My goal is to be more interesting than Ben Stein in Ferris Bueller's Day Off. By God's grace, hopefully I will realize that goal and come out on the other side of this twelve-week adventure with some good experience and some new insights about myself as I learn through the teaching process.