I probably spend too much time worrying about student behavior, that is, when I’m not crushed by my own inadequacy, which is often. I had a dream this week that I asked a student to put his phone away, and in response, he cursed me out, threw a desk, and punched me in the mouth. Even though it’ll probably never happen, I’m now putting together a strategy to dodge the desk, and the right hook.
Aside from averting violence, I want students to learn and enjoy my class. This can cause me to be a bit of a pushover. And because I’m a pushover, I sometimes rehearse the occasional, hypothetical harangue I’d deliver to my students for not completing their reading. They’re not speeches I never hope to give, but I’m learning that I’m much more likely to either give in or flip out without such a script.
Sunday’s St. Patrick’s Day Parade put me in a strange funk, and it probably contributed to my suspicion that I’d show up to a crowd of unprepared students. But to be fair, this panic wasn’t totally unfounded. Earlier this week, a student in class posed this question:
“Do we have to, like, watch Metropolis?”
“Yeah. You, like, do.”
I didn’t say that, of course, because it’s rude. But I think my eye-roll was audible, and deservedly so. Seriously, guy, we’re half way through the semester. Figure life out.
With this brief conversation in mind, I spent my time in transit to school running through a few scenarios.
Scenario the first, wherein everybody’s prepared:
Me: I hope you all had a terrific Spring Break. Lets get right into Metropolis. Everybody watched the film, right?
Students: Yes. It was really interesting.
Me: Wonderful. And you all read the criticisms?
Students: Yes. Also interesting. We’re all prepared to share insightful articulations in an organized fashion.
Me: Wonderful! Let’s light this candle!
Scenario the second, wherein half of the students are prepared:
Me: I hope you all had a terrific Spring Break. Lets get right into Metropolis. Everybody watched the film and completed the readings, right?
Students: Various sounds of hesitation.
Me: Some yes, some no?
Students: Uh...
Me: Okay, raise your hands if you watched the film and read the criticisms.
Half of the students raise their hands, and my face turns pink.
Me: Hmmm…Two things, guys. This class ain’t SparkNotes. It’s not my responsibility to summarize what you should have learned through your reading. This portion of class is designed for discussion and analysis, something we can’t do if you haven’t read. Also, it’s not fair to your classmates who are prepared, so those of you who didn’t do the reading, you’re dismissed. You have a lot of work to do.
And I’d spend the remaining 45 minutes trying to lower my heart rate, curious if anyone will show up the following Friday, and wondering how I’d live with the guilt of kicking students out of class.
Scenario the third, wherein nobody's prepared:
Me: I hope you all had a terrific Spring Break. Lets get right into Metropolis. Everybody watched the film and completed the readings, right?
Students: Pure, unadulterated silence.
Me: Anyone? Did anyone complete the reading or watch Metropolis? Raise your hand if you did.
Nobody raises their hand.
Me: Nobody did the reading. Okay, then everybody take out a piece of paper and a pen. Do it now. I want you to write a paper, a five paragraph essay, arguing why you don’t have to do your reading. Three reasons. And I’d better be convinced by the end of it, because you’ve clearly convinced yourselves. Pens move the entire 50 minutes. Turn it in to me at the end of class. Go.
And then I’d probably throw up. Also, I haven’t quite mapped out how I’d react to the mutiny that would inevitably follow this exchange.
My projection of the third and most extreme scenario wrapped up just as I walked into class where I realized (once again) that I’m not badass enough to follow through with the two latter exchanges. I hung my coat and scarf over my chair, wrote out the agenda on the chalkboard, and organized my notes. When D and L sat down, they extracted their readings, highlighted and annotated, just as readings should be. I relaxed a bit.
Though class was not without one strange hiccup—a detour into Soviet history?—it followed Scenario One closer than expected. I spent the ride home evaluating the mental stability of a woman who lived the above entry.
I got home and confessed to my roommate/good friend how I spent my commute. “I sound crazy. And not crazy like quirky, but crazy like certifiable.”
“You’re not crazy,” she replied. “You just...have an active inner-life.”
Cheers to Fridays, and to friends who tell all the right lies.
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