Not Making the Grade

Yesterday was one of the most difficult days of my teaching career.  I have vented and raged about the ethical standards of my students but I truly believe that if they genuinely faced the dilemma of having a meth-addicted, bodega-robbing, serial-killing roommate, they would actually call the number listed at the bottom of the screen on America’s Most Wanted. 

I really like these kids (except for Jackass Kareless and he’s gone now – la, la, la!).  They participate, they’re enthusiastic, and most of them work very hard.  They often stop by during office hours to talk about what’s going on in their lives and ask for advice on everything from how to improve their writing to how to balance work, school, and life because, apparently, I soooo have it together on that.  Oh, how that misconception would change if they could see the stack of dishes in my kitchen and the floors that are only swept when all the windows are open and there’s a strong cross-breeze. 

While they were off last week wearing beer helmets and competing in Best Buns on the Beach contests, I graded their papers.  I could tell that they put a lot of effort into these papers.  Despite clunkers like the ones I talked about on Monday, most of the papers showed a slight improvement from the ones they turned in several weeks ago.  One of the papers showed incredible improvement.  And that was the problem: the improvement just wasn’t credible.  So I showed some of the questionable phrases to my friend Google, and Google told me that the paper was plagiarized.  Google is smart that way. 

When Google rendered its verdict, my stomach dropped and my breakfast felt as if it had overstayed its welcome.  On the first day of class, we had discussed plagiarism: what it is, what it isn’t, and what happens if they plagiarize.  While my class is relaxed and I am lenient regarding some issues like eating in class (apparently verboten in some classrooms), I am inflexible about others.  I have repeatedly made it very clear that if you are ten minutes late to class, you are marked absent.  All paper deadlines are strictly enforced.  And there is zero tolerance for plagiarism.  Zero.  Zilch.  None.  The only thing worse than plagiarism is calling me during Grey’s Anatomy.  Do not call me during Grey’s Anatomy. 

I felt sick to my stomach.  I broke into a sweat.  I wanted to cry.  I felt guilty.  What had I done to make this student feel he couldn’t come to me to discuss whatever problems he was having writing this paper?  There are certain students who know they have issues with writing and staying focused (because I have told them repeatedly), and we have weekly appointments at Starbucks to discuss their progress and any problems they are having.  Why not this student?  Didn’t he think I could help?  Doesn’t he like coffee?  I felt like a failure. 

I met with the student.  I heard his side of it.  And yes, I cried.  Not that the student’s story was particularly moving, but because I knew that failing this student was going to have an impact in his life.  Not the impact I envisioned when I became a teacher.  I do not imagine myself as Michelle Pfieffer in Dangerous Minds or Joe Clark in Lean on Me.  I am not Hillary Swank trying to have my students write the trauma of their lives and turn it into life changing realizations, and besides I don’t have a freakishly square jaw.  My school is more of a cross between the school in Clueless and Mark Harmon’s Summer School.  (Yes, I’m old.  I think we established that several posts ago.  Get over it).  I’m just me.  I’m just trying to teach them how to read and think critically. 

I suppose I should’ve given the student props for critically reading the piece he plagiarized and realizing it was much better than anything he could’ve written.  Then again, this was one of the students that justified taking the twenty dollars from a lost wallet.  Is it any wonder that stealing someone else’s words was acceptable?

Even though I felt that sticking to my guns was the best thing for the student by not allowing him to use certain issues in his life as an excuse to just give up, I felt like the worst human being and teacher in New York City.  It was with this attitude that I went to see my mentor.  And yes, I cried.  She listened sympathetically and then told me to grow some balls and get a grip.  And I did.  Until the student sent me an email thanking me for being such a wonderful teacher and for caring enough about him to do the right thing. 

So yeah, I still feel like crap.  But I’m going to see a doctor.  Tomorrow is Thursday and the goings on at Seattle Grace will make everything okay when I get my weekly fix of my favorite hunk-o-rama duo McSteamy and McDreamy.  So if you want to tell me I did the right thing or berate me for being a heartless bitch, have at it.  Just don’t call me during therapy Grey’s Anatomy.

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Delete, Backspace, Repeat

When I return my students’ papers to them today via email, most of them will quickly scroll to the bottom of the screen to find their grade.  What they won’t find are the comments and exclamations of disbelief that ricocheted around my apartment this week.  They will see my suggestions on how to improve grammar, sentence structure, and organization but they will not see the battered surface of my Delete and Backspace keys, worn smooth with repetitive tapping.  While my bitching made Mr. Dingo laugh, I’m sure that sharing those unrefined first impressions with my students would not be conducive to a positive and enriching learning environment. 

But really, how would you have responded to statements like these?

Loneliness makes you feel as if you are all alone by yourself.
This is very insightful!  I had never thought of this before.  But aren’t you overlooking group loneliness?  I know that it’s group loneliness that brings me down.  And my friends, too.

When ww 1 was fought in the United States….
Yes, after the Archduke Franz Ferdinand, heir to the Austro-Hungarian throne, tried to seize the throne of King of Prussia, PA he was repelled at the border of Staten Island.  The abolitionists celebrated their victory at the Boston Tea Party with fireworks and that, my dear, was the shot heard around the world.

When it comes to the structure and operation of family life the author hit the nail on the head of a dysfunctional family.
OUCH!!  Sounds to me like the author might have issues of his own.

So, how did I respond?  Diplomatically, delicately, Delete, Backspace. There were, however, diamonds among the coals and, overall, the quality of the papers has improved over the course of the semester.  I wish I could say as much about their email communication:

Remind me never to look at a poem again...analyzing poems are hard.....=( (sorry, just my personal opinion hope you’re not offended)
Of course I’m not offended.  What was I thinking?  College should be easy!  Thank you, by the way, for the poor grammar and punctuation.  Thank you also for the stunning self-portrait.  As I always say… a picture are worth a thousands word…………

I am sorry I was out of class for the past few classes.  I have allergies.  Did I miss anything important?
Yes, you missed the commercials telling you that Zyrtec is now available over the counter.

My fiancee as you know is fighting in Iraq and we were blessed to receive hes redeployment letter, meaning he was coming home.  I have to go to Kansas to pick him up.  I won’t be in class for a while.
Um, redeployed means that he’s going back to Iraq.  Sorry Dorothy, I don’t think he’s in Kansas anymore.  You won’t be in class for a while?  Are you mailing yourself to Kansas?

My favorite email communication of the semester came from a student who was a pain in the ass from the day he sauntered into class with his Jack Kerouac paperback sticking out of his backpack with the Nietzsche bumper sticker.  He would sigh, roll his eyes, and shake his head in condescension whenever anyone in the class would speak.  This put a damper on the good times.  One thing you do not do in my class is put a damper on the good times.  I mean, what is a good horror fiction class about if not terror, fear, blood, and good times? 

Jackass Kareless brought his arrogant attitude to his writing.  Prior to turning in his paper he informed me that he is an excellent thinker and philosopher and he felt that proper grammar and adherence to the rules of writing are unnecessary.  Apparently his grade wasn’t to his liking because I received the following email from him within twenty minutes of sending his paper to him:

Thanks for the bad grade and wasting my time.

When I got over my shock at the audacity of such a response (which, by the way, didn’t happen until I made Mr. Dingo look at my computer screen about twenty times as I asked, “Did he really just send a ‘fuck you’ email?” Each time Mr. Dingo confirmed that yes, I had in fact received a “fuck you” email) I typed a scathing rebuke.  And then hit Delete.

Funny, he hasn’t been back to class since then.  I suppose he’s off philosophizing somewhere.  The class dynamic has changed for the better since he dropped the course.  It was with glee that I placed the cursor over his name in my attendance chart and hit Delete, Delete, Delete.

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Spring Jail Break

Spring Break!  Woohoo!  As much as I love my students I’ve been looking forward to shooing them out of the classroom and onto the beaches into the arms of Girls Gone Wild.  That our Spring Break is a full month after almost every other university’s bacchanal means that their only competition in those lovely rites of Spring called the “drink until you puke” and the “Mom, can you send some money? I’m in a Tijuana jail” (not that I speak from first-hand experience) are retirees, nursing home residents, and fugitives fighting extradition. 

I’m a little worried about them though.  Not in the world is a dangerous place type of worried, but more along the lines of what-the-hell-are-you-thinking?!? type worried.  I worry about their judgment and their ability to make decisions tougher than paper or plastic.  It’s not due to mental capability — these are some smart kids — but from their moral compass.  Their directional needles pointing to right and wrong are broken, or at the very least bear a strong resemblance to a corkscrew. 

Throughout the semester we have used various characters to discuss questions of accountability, justice, and morality.  Is Jack from The Shining accountable for his behavior when he’s drunk?  Is Robert Neville’s brand of justice in I Am Legend acceptable?  What is our obligation to ourselves and society when faced with a zombie invasion?  You didn’t think horror literature could be so ethically entrenched did you?  So we can clear the air and move on go ahead and admit that, when I told you that I taught horror literature, you thought it was a fluff course.  Anyway, in discussing our class readings, I always give my students scenarios somehow related to the ones faced by the characters in our readings. I try to make them circumstances that they might actually encounter and ask how they would handle the situation.  In doing so, I have learned waaay too much about my students.  Namely, that they are thieves, but loyal.  You don’t want to give them the key to your house but you definitely want them on your side should you decide to go on a mass murder spree.  Let me explain.

In one of the scenarios we discussed this week, I asked them what they would do if they found a wallet containing a drivers license, credit cards, and twenty dollars.  They all said they would return the wallet.  Awww!  My heart felt good.  But then most of them — MOST — said that they would take the twenty dollars before returning the wallet.  What?  Is there a service charge on being a good Samaritan these days?  Now, I try not to pass judgment on my students but this called for a carefully crafted question and answer session that would gently lead them to the conclusion that taking the twenty dollars is WRONG!  This is how it went:

Me:  The wallet contains a drivers license and even a work ID.  You know where the person lives and works.  You can Google their contact information.  Do you still take the twenty dollars?

Thieves #1-25:  Yes.  Of course!

Me (sputtering uselessly):  But that’s, that’s stealing!!

Thief #1:  They shouldn’t have lost their wallet.

Thief #2:  If I go through the trouble of returning their wallet, I should get a reward.

Me:  Shouldn’t that be up to the person whose money you just stole?

Thief #1:  They should be glad they’re getting their wallet back.

Me:  And you wouldn’t be all red-faced to hand them their wallet with twenty dollars missing.

Thieves #1-25:  No!  No way!

Angelic student:  I would return the wallet and the money, Prof. Dingo.

Me (making sure my wallet is securely in my purse and strapped to my wrist):  Thank you, Angelic Student.  I’m glad someone here has a conscience.

Thieves #1-25:  Booo!  Booo! 

We went on to discuss when and where they drew the line at stealing and it simply got more disheartening.  I will save you having to read the transcript but I do advise that you not keep any money in your wallets.  Your bank and credit cards are safe.  Your cash is not.  Oh, if you have a Starbucks Card, kiss that good-bye.  It’s as good as cash.  See!  It even says so on the back.

If that’s not bad enough, apparently you stand by your friends through thick, thin, and anti-social behavior.  As we concluded our discussion of Jekyll and Hyde yesterday and analyzed Hyde’s uncontrollable forays into evil and depravity, we talked about accountability.  Sigh.  I don’t even know where to begin.  Maybe I should avoid all explanations and just issue warnings like this:  Run for your lives!!  Apparently this generation (OMG, I’m channeling my Mom) lacks a sense of accountability.  Blame it on drugs or a hangnail; whatever you do from drunk driving to robbing the corner bodega, it’s not your fault.  You don’t even have to assert the devil-made-me-do-it defense.  Just proudly proclaim, “I did it!” making sure to add, “but it wasn’t my fault!” That’s your get-out-of-jail-free card, baby.  And you will probably have a book deal to boot. 

I then drew a very extreme hypothesis in an attempt to start out broad and gradually work our way to something more specific in order to lead them to some sort of balance about their views on accountability. 

Me:  Okay, so you don’t turn your best friend in for stealing even though every weekend she’s robbing 7-11’s at gun point in order to support her meth habit.  What about murder?

Accessory After the Fact (AATF) #1:  No!  You stand by your friend.

Me:  Even for murder?

AATF #1:  Yes, no matter what.

Me:  What if she kills someone every weekend? (yes, sometimes this class goes to very dark and disturbing places).

AATF #2:  Well, if she was doing it all the time then I might go to the police if I couldn’t get her to stop.

Me:  Where do you draw the line?  One?  Two?

AATF #3:  Five.

Me:  Wh--?!  Pglshhk!  FBklish!  (recovering).  Five!  So murders one through four were just gimmees but you draw the line at five.

AATF #4:  Well, by then, you know she’s not going to stop.

AATF #2:  But it’s not her fault because she’s on meth.

Angelic Student:  Prof. Dingo, I would turn her in at one murder!

AATF #1-25:  Booo! Booo!

So these are the people I’m releasing into the wild for Spring Break.  Very little sense of personal accountability and an almost nonexistent sense of social accountability.  Lock your doors.  Carry your mace.  And have a great weekend!

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I CNT RITE - 4 REALZ

I’m amazed, just amazed, at what passes for writing at the university level these days. I am so sick of reading bad papers.  I think my eyes are bleeding.  I can understand that, as freshmen, my students have not yet developed critical reading and writing skills.  To not have mastered basic sentence construction, however, is unforgivable. How, how, how did these kids get into college?  Is my Institution of Higher Learning so desperate for tuition that we take anyone who can string together, “The dog ran after the ball,” in her writing sample?  Because, really, so many of my students have not advanced past that level.  Although it may just be my age showing, please tell me when it became acceptable to write an entire paper in LolCats?  Should I look the other way when I receive an email like the following?

Hi Prof.,

HRU?*
WH5 U HV HRS?

OOH,

Student

There is only one response to such an inquiry,

WTF?


Who is at fault for this crapola?  According the faculty member who gave me my review today (it went splendidly, thank you), most of our students are from New York City public schools.  Really.  That’s what he said.  Most of our students are from New York City public schools.  End.  Stop.  Period.  This, to him, was a wholly satisfactory explanation for their crappy papers.  When pressed, he did give me a more detailed explanation.  The finality and resignation with which he made this announcement prepared me for a rationalization involving some sort of Emerald Nuts shenanigans.  You know, something like the Swiss Family Robinson or the Addicted to Love Girls descending at 3:00pm to steal the young, vital brains of NYC youth.  But no, his explanation was far more bizarre. 

He claims that the reason I receive incoherent papers that make Dr. Seuss look like Dr. Zhivago is because NYC schools are overwhelmed, overworked, and understaffed.  There isn’t enough feedback on writing assignments and English homework to teach students the correct way to write a sentence, form a thesis statement, or write a conclusion.  So, the students are passed along to the next level without mastering basic skills.  To this, I say, Bullshit.  To the teachers who don’t do their jobs. Bullshit.  To parents that are not involved in their child’s learning.  Bullshit.  To the students who accept mediocrity, hell, less than mediocrity, when it comes to their education.  Bullshit.  To the schools that are letting us down.  Bullshit.  To all this, I say, “Here’s a big, steaming pile of doo-doo!”

IMO,

WOMBAT.

Oh well.  IGTR.

L8R,

Dingo


Translation:

HRU? = How are you?
WH5 U HV HRS? = When are your office hours?
OOH = Out of here
WTF? = Oh, come on, you know what this means.
IMO = In my opinion
WOMBAT = Waste of money, brains, and time
IGTR = I got to run
L8R = Later

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The Difference Between Undead and Un-Dead

I loved law school.  I loved words and reading and problem solving.  I loved all the things about law school that have nothing to do with the reality of practicing law at major New York City law firms.  The legal industry is like a whole-body root canal: it leaves your carcass and brain intact while extracting your soul.  Without anesthetic!  It’s zombification without the awkward amble.  If you’ve ever been in the conference room of an expensive, oh-so-purposefully intimidating conference room staring down opposing counsel across the wide expanse of a shiny mahogany table during a deposition, you know what I mean.  You can’t hear your own heart beat over the clickety-clack of the court reporter.  The floor-to-ceiling glass windows reveal an incredible view of a New York City that you never get to see during daylight hours, while the light filtering film prevents real sunlight from reaching your face.  And you realize, and you wonder how you didn’t realize this before: if it weren’t for the mold growing under your refrigerator you would have no life at all.

So I left the law.  I decided that I would rather teach about the undead than be one.  Now I teach horror fiction to undergraduates.  Every day is different.  Every class is different; each student with her own unique perspective on the issues we discuss and how it relates to her life.  And unlike being in court where everything you say has been scripted and planned in advance, I sometimes find myself at a loss for words.  This morning was one of those times:

Prof. Dingo:  Okay, team number 5, what five things — and five things only — would your team want if you were suddenly thrust into the middle of a horror movie?  And why?

Team leader:  Water.

Prof. Dingo:  Water?  Um, holy water?

Team leader:  No, just water.  We thought we’d get all dirty and smelly running from the monsters.

Prof. Dingo:  Okaaaay…..what else would you want?

Team leader:  Soap.

Prof. Dingo:  What would you do with —

Team Leader:  So we could wash up with the water.

Prof. Dingo:  Um, I don’t think you quite understood the point of this exercise —

Team leader (she’s really getting excited):  An electric car, matches, and a CHAINSAW!!

Prof. Dingo:  A chainsaw!  That’s good! But you already have five things what about gas for the chainsaw?

Team leader:  It needs gas?

Note to self:  You do not want to depend on these people in an emergency! 

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