“But that’s not the way I do my essays” was the chorus from the class last night. I had already given a specific assignment, revision of opening paragraphs, following a full hour of using their opening paragraphs to point out the weaknesses in their own writing, using the computer as an interactive tool to make changes on the overhead screen as we discussed each of the writing samples. When the demonstration was completed, I directed the students to apply the instruction and revise those same opening paragraphs on the annotated draft I returned to them: to change the content of their opening paragraphs to improve the quality of both the writing and the communication with the reader.
“REVISE THE PARAGRAPHS YOU’VE ALREADY WRITTEN; DO NOT REWRITE THE ESSAYS” were my instructions.
As I began making my way around the class, checking for understanding and offering help, student after student had picked up a new sheet of paper and was rewriting the essay. I stopped the class, explained again that the assignment was to revise the existing draft, and told them to continue. Unfortunately, they continued with the new sheet of paper.
“NO!” I shouted. “Which part of this process do you NOT understand?”
Again, using their opening paragraphs and the extensive demonstration I had just finished using the LCD projector, the computer, and my flash drive, I showed them that I took their opening paragraphs and revised what was already written. That is the assignment; that is what you are to do; do NOT start yet another draft that includes all the problems of the current draft! You must change what you have already written, not merely rewrite it!
I started around the class again, and the students were furiously continuing to write an entirely new draft on a pristine piece of paper. I stopped them again, told them again what the assignment was, and then went one-by-one to the students, stopping them and telling them specifically: I am NOT going to read a new draft; the assignment is to revise an existing draft! I picked up their drafts, the ones covered in my ink, and demonstrated one-on-one revision of what was there; I rattled the papers, pounded on the papers, took away the lined sheets with the new drafts. I wracked my brains for a way to trigger a break-through moment, but it did not seem to matter.
No matter what I said, the students went about doing it their way. Finally, both totally frustrated and thoroughly pissed, I again directed them to stop and told them: you will NOT earn any credit for what you are doing because you are NOT DOING WHAT I HAVE ASSIGNED YOU TO DO.
That’s when one brave soul proudly informed me “that’s not the way I do my essays,” as if that explanation would earn him a medal for world peace.
Okay, I told the class, you continue to do it your way and you fail the class. I’ve taken several hours to make the point that what you are doing IS NOT WORKING, but if you cannot understand that at the college level it’s the professor’s way or the highway, literally, I give up. I have repeated the instructions, directed you to read the textbook, provided examples of your own work to demonstrate the error of your ways, individually demonstrated how to complete this assignment, but it seems that you know better than I how to accomplish this task—so have at it.
Repeating the word “fail” seemed to do the trick; one guy had a light-bulb moment, picked up the draft I had returned to them for this assignment, and said, “You want us to write on this???”
Ta-da! He got it; he really got it. Once I smiled at him, acknowledged his stunning break-through, and offered personal praise for his mental acuity, others jumped on the train and left the station: they picked up their drafts and started revising them.
The chorus of “Oh, I get it” was music to my ears. Of course, I know that they only “get it” for the time it took for me to write “okay” on that piece of paper so they could leave the classroom—which took some of them a full half-hour past the end of class to accomplish. I’ll bet dollars to donuts that what I receive next week is brand-new rough drafts with nary a revision on them … and the same content, the same errors, and the same issues that were present in the first draft!
It’s the erosion theory of education that students live with, the theory that they will wear me down by acting dumb and not doing what they are directed to do. If they do not follow a basic instruction for long enough, I give up and move on, marking an “I tried to teach them” grade in the book, the infamous “effort grade” that allows so many students to graduate from high school ill-prepared for the college classroom and/or the workplace.
For thirty years, I had to accept that reality; however, at the college level, no can do. A student who cannot or will not do the work does not move past me. Sure, (s)he can take the class again with an easier, nicer teacher and, perhaps, pass the class, but (s)he won’t move past me! It’s easier for both the students and the teachers to take the path of least resistance, to give up, give in, and move on, but I want the nurse in charge of my treatment to know what (s)he is doing, not barely earn a nursing degree. Ditto with every other facet of my dependency on skilled individuals who are a vital part of my life, such as electricians, plumbers, accountants, airplane and automobile mechanics, x-ray techs, bank tellers, customer service reps who total my bill: the list is endless.
I don’t want their positions to be a result of erosion; I want their positions to be earned by knowing how to do the job thoroughly and correctly in every single phase of it. When a supervisor/instructor provides a specific process/procedure to be followed, that’s my expectation: not a courtesy pass because the individual tries really hard!
Don’t try: do. If you cannot do, find something else that you can do! A college education may be a right for every individual, but that does not mean that a college education is right for every individual.
“REVISE THE PARAGRAPHS YOU’VE ALREADY WRITTEN; DO NOT REWRITE THE ESSAYS” were my instructions.
As I began making my way around the class, checking for understanding and offering help, student after student had picked up a new sheet of paper and was rewriting the essay. I stopped the class, explained again that the assignment was to revise the existing draft, and told them to continue. Unfortunately, they continued with the new sheet of paper.
“NO!” I shouted. “Which part of this process do you NOT understand?”
Again, using their opening paragraphs and the extensive demonstration I had just finished using the LCD projector, the computer, and my flash drive, I showed them that I took their opening paragraphs and revised what was already written. That is the assignment; that is what you are to do; do NOT start yet another draft that includes all the problems of the current draft! You must change what you have already written, not merely rewrite it!
I started around the class again, and the students were furiously continuing to write an entirely new draft on a pristine piece of paper. I stopped them again, told them again what the assignment was, and then went one-by-one to the students, stopping them and telling them specifically: I am NOT going to read a new draft; the assignment is to revise an existing draft! I picked up their drafts, the ones covered in my ink, and demonstrated one-on-one revision of what was there; I rattled the papers, pounded on the papers, took away the lined sheets with the new drafts. I wracked my brains for a way to trigger a break-through moment, but it did not seem to matter.
No matter what I said, the students went about doing it their way. Finally, both totally frustrated and thoroughly pissed, I again directed them to stop and told them: you will NOT earn any credit for what you are doing because you are NOT DOING WHAT I HAVE ASSIGNED YOU TO DO.
That’s when one brave soul proudly informed me “that’s not the way I do my essays,” as if that explanation would earn him a medal for world peace.
Okay, I told the class, you continue to do it your way and you fail the class. I’ve taken several hours to make the point that what you are doing IS NOT WORKING, but if you cannot understand that at the college level it’s the professor’s way or the highway, literally, I give up. I have repeated the instructions, directed you to read the textbook, provided examples of your own work to demonstrate the error of your ways, individually demonstrated how to complete this assignment, but it seems that you know better than I how to accomplish this task—so have at it.
Repeating the word “fail” seemed to do the trick; one guy had a light-bulb moment, picked up the draft I had returned to them for this assignment, and said, “You want us to write on this???”
Ta-da! He got it; he really got it. Once I smiled at him, acknowledged his stunning break-through, and offered personal praise for his mental acuity, others jumped on the train and left the station: they picked up their drafts and started revising them.
The chorus of “Oh, I get it” was music to my ears. Of course, I know that they only “get it” for the time it took for me to write “okay” on that piece of paper so they could leave the classroom—which took some of them a full half-hour past the end of class to accomplish. I’ll bet dollars to donuts that what I receive next week is brand-new rough drafts with nary a revision on them … and the same content, the same errors, and the same issues that were present in the first draft!
It’s the erosion theory of education that students live with, the theory that they will wear me down by acting dumb and not doing what they are directed to do. If they do not follow a basic instruction for long enough, I give up and move on, marking an “I tried to teach them” grade in the book, the infamous “effort grade” that allows so many students to graduate from high school ill-prepared for the college classroom and/or the workplace.
For thirty years, I had to accept that reality; however, at the college level, no can do. A student who cannot or will not do the work does not move past me. Sure, (s)he can take the class again with an easier, nicer teacher and, perhaps, pass the class, but (s)he won’t move past me! It’s easier for both the students and the teachers to take the path of least resistance, to give up, give in, and move on, but I want the nurse in charge of my treatment to know what (s)he is doing, not barely earn a nursing degree. Ditto with every other facet of my dependency on skilled individuals who are a vital part of my life, such as electricians, plumbers, accountants, airplane and automobile mechanics, x-ray techs, bank tellers, customer service reps who total my bill: the list is endless.
I don’t want their positions to be a result of erosion; I want their positions to be earned by knowing how to do the job thoroughly and correctly in every single phase of it. When a supervisor/instructor provides a specific process/procedure to be followed, that’s my expectation: not a courtesy pass because the individual tries really hard!
Don’t try: do. If you cannot do, find something else that you can do! A college education may be a right for every individual, but that does not mean that a college education is right for every individual.
No comments:
Post a Comment