Skip to main content

Mercy me.

No not the group, Mercy Me, who did the incredible "I Can Only Imagine" (fabulous song, btw, do listen if you get the chance), but more of "Mercy! Mercy me!" in a wistful Southern exclamatory manner.

I've just graded my students' first tests.

Now, I've matured quite a bit as a professor. As a fledgling prof, I took a fiendish delight in grading, wielding my red pencil like a scalpel, slashing through ignorant answers and incomplete essays with all the finnesse and fervor of a Crusader.

"wrong, wrong, Wrong!", I'd mutter and shake my head.

Now, I've swung the other way. And I ask myself the tough questions as a teacher. Why are they wrong? Did they not study? Did they not listen? or, and most haunting of all, Did I not teach?

Communication, I instruct my students, is a two way street. Each party is responsible for their portion of giving or receiving a message.

My students did not do well. Not horrible, not a bloodbath, but I know that I'll face widened eyes and pale faces when I hand these tests back. Some of these people are hanging on by a scholarship, or financial aid that depends on their grades. Some protect their GPA's with the viciousness of a mother bear defending her only 4.0 cub.

And, somehow, I'll convince them that all is not lost. It is one grade, one test among several. In covering the next session of material, we'll work harder, we'll work smarter and the tests to come will reflect that.

Looks like I have some communicating to do. And, just to be on the safe side, I'm wearing bear repellant.

Wish me luck.

Comments

Jenny said…
Good luck! I learned one thing in my very very brief tenure teaching. The level of complaining has no relationship to the level of the student or the level of the work. I had a student who got a 92 (that he didn't deserve) complain to the university that I was too harsh. You have more stamina than I.
10:47 AM
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

People are basically kind.

So, I have/had a goldfish.  He's currently living out his life in an aquarium in the basement of my home. But, he longs for wider areas to roam.  I don't KNOW this as he has not burbled his preference to me, but my son, the fish expert assures me this is so. And, thus, I took to Nextdoor: Below is my entry. TLDR, need pond for goldfish to live. Healthy fish. If you can help, comment or PM me. Y'all. Y'all....I can't make this stuff up. The Goldfish, that you may remember from my previous post is now referred to in capital letters and an honorific, bestowed upon him by me. Sir Fin, of the House Goldfish, is seeking an abode that far, far transcends his practically new 10-gallon aquarium. Do you know of a pond where he may reign? Or, in the way of the circle of life, live out his destiny? He's a good fish, quiet. Very quiet, in a goldfish way. He would not disturb, I would not think. Healthy. Bright, snappy fins. Clear, if vacant eyes. ...
Post a Comment
Read more
  Well, THAT was humbling. I adore it when the Lord puts me in my place. Really.  Like my favorite thing EVER. Because, you know, I just never stray very far from how I know He wants me to act and be.  Right. When the Lord puts me in line, it's more of an "attitude adjustment" along the lines of Extreme Makeover Edition.  I'll be karping along, muttering sullenly and sacrastically about this, that or the other and.... WHOOPS.... **************************************************** The Almighty gifts me with a hard smack right across the back of the head. Yes.  I remember when, a long time ago, I likened wanting to be in the will of God so feverently that I would pray that God would just pick me up if I was on the wrong path, like an errant turtle, put me on the right way and if necessary, place me on my back so the only direction I could look was up to heaven.  Turtle on it's back.  Yes indeed, Lord.  Flip me like a tutle on it's back. I...
1 comment
Read more

Oh, the gently chiding plurality of it all....Jewels visits the doctor.

He's such a sweet man. Really. It's a shame I dislike him. He's done nothing to deserve it, really. All he's done is tell me the truth. And the truth is: I'm fat. He's tall and thin, with brown hair and I think he has eyes. I'm not sure, because I cannot look this man in the eyes. Never have. Probably never will. There are reasons for this: there's so much ELSE to look at in his office, scales, blood pressure equipment and the endlessly facinating poster of "Lifeline - your blood's biological journey". I've stared at it so many times that I can practically tell you...nothing. Because I'm sitting in his office, with hands and knees tightly clenched as he delivers the news about my weight gain in a somber, gently chiding tone. "You were HERE in Feb. 2005, and now, you are HERE", he points to an appalling number. "Uh-huh." this is from me. "And we need to get you down here", he points again, the...
2 comments
Read more