The Gift of Well-Earned Praise

My favorite thing about teaching is when I can tell a student that he or she has done something wonderful.

Three recent opportunities:

*Running into a student (whom I've had in lots of classes, and who's graduating soon) outside the library. I said hi and kept going, but then turned back--to tell her that she's doing terrific work in my seminar and that her writing and thinking have improved tremendously this year. What was even nicer was hearing back from the student, a few weeks later, about how she told her dad that afternoon that she'd had a good day because I'd said that to her. Best two minutes I spent all week.

*Congratulating a student who won first place in the all-College writing competition this year (for a paper that he'd written in my class!). This is a very bright student who's struggled a bit with his writing, and it was so good to see that work pay off.

*Honestly being able to tell the Honors students, when they've finished presenting their senior theses to a big crowd of friends and faculty, that they've done a beautiful job. Because they always do a beautiful job, no matter how rough the road to getting there has been. I'm really going to miss some of these people.

It's so easy to complain, complain, complain. Lord knows I do enough of it. And sometimes students--including the ones I just mentioned!--can drive me nuts. But it's wonderful to notice the good that they do, and to recognize them for it. College can be rough: commas are spliced, papers are late, students struggle with one thing or another. But every year I actually get to see a few of them settle into the mature scholars--and people--that they're capable of being, and it's beautiful.

When I get to tell a student that she's done something magnificent, I feel that I've given her a gift--and the pleasure I see reflected in her, the pride, is an even better gift that she's giving to me.

I'm such a sap. I feel teary just thinking about it.

"I'm not going to lie"

Do you get this? "I'm not going to lie, I haven't started the paper yet." "I won't lie, I've been procrastinating a lot." In emails, I mean--I can't recall having a student say this to me in person (though it may have happened). Why point out that they're telling the truth? I generally assume that they're telling the truth (although I'm not so naive as to believe that students always tell me the truth; rather, in most individual cases, I assume that a student isn't lying unless I have a good reason to believe that he or she is. It doesn't make a difference, in most cases: You do the work or you don't, whatever the excuse). In fact, in these cases, pointing out the truth-status of one's claim immediately makes it--or preceding claims--suspect.

So again: Why inform me of the fact that you're not going to lie? Because here's what that does: It leads me to assume that, in other cases, you have lied. Furthermore, "I'm not going to lie: I didn't do the homework" doesn't get you out of doing the homework. There are no points for honesty here. Am I supposed to feel somehow privileged that I'm the one professor whom you choose not to deceive? Are you to be congratulated for your supposedly exceptional ethical sense, which somehow mitigates your laziness?

I know, I know: "I'm not gonna lie" has become a Phrase, a Thing, People Say It. (I find it irritating, to be honest. In my curmudgeonliest moments, I mentally compile a list of New Things People Say that annoy me. "Remodel" as a noun is right up there; at least I normally don't encounter it in my work. So is "speaking to" an issue. Oh, there are so many; a parenthetical can't contain them all.) So it probably doesn't mean much, in itself, except as a sort of awkward transition into an admission that they're somewhat hesitant to make. But in the last six months or so I seem to be getting it a LOT (further confirming its status as a Thing), and I never know how to respond.

So I don't respond--to that phrase, anyway; to the emails, it depends--and I'm using this venue to say the things that I'd like to say. And if you'd like the more concise version, below are three slightly pithier rejoinders from which to choose.

a) I'm not going to lie: calling attention to the truth-status of your claims is a weak rhetorical move.
b) I'm not going to lie: you're failing the class.
c) I'm not going to lie: I still think you're lying.

One down

Just finished with the first of (a record-breaking) eight honors thesis presentations. I don't actually have to do much at the presentations--introduce the presenting student, start off the questions, mingle at the reception--but leading up to each one is an endless parade of scheduling meetings and presentation rehearsals and presentations, attending meetings and presentation rehearsals, reading drafts, creating and hanging posters, sending out email announcements, organizing catering and room set-up. Each of these steps seems to involve an average of about 17 emails. It's exhausting.

Afterwards, the president of the College told me that it's great to have so many honors students this year and to keep doing what I'm doing. That's nice to hear.

(But if I keep doing what I'm doing, I'm headed for an early grave--or at least some very deep sleep. I am so earning my course release this semester. One down, one down, one down.)

It's all very peculiar

I've been quiet for a long time, I know. Things are pretty nuts around here. And I decided not to post my last entry, which was a pointless (but impassioned! Ever so impassioned) screed re. my salary.

Anyway, I thought I'd break the silence by telling you about something peculiar and a little ridiculous.

A while back, I was asked to provide a quote for this economic assessment magazine thing for the Greater Ordinary City Area about the important role that higher education plays in economic development. Actually, I wasn't asked to provide a quote. I was provided with a quote, and asked if they could put my name on it.

I found this, in a word, strange.

The organization was legitimate, but I wasn't thrilled with what they had me saying. So I revised the quote a bit, added in something about citizenship! and critical thinking! (i.e. higher ed is about more than making good employees, though yes, sure, it teaches job skills too), and sent it back. (This all went through the college's PR person, by the way, so I wasn't just operating on my own.)

Now they want me to be on a panel about economic development in the Greater Ordinary City Area. On television.

On television!

Local PBS, that is, so it's not like I'll be popping up on CNN or whatever. But I am to appear as a Community Leader who Knows Something about These Things. Which I don't, clearly. And I'm totally nervous about this whole production. Even though it's not a terrifically big deal and there will be 8 people on the panel, so, I mean, how much will I actually have to say, anyway? Still--television! Should I wear make-up? Is it weird that I'll be massively pregnant? What if I say something stupid or get in a fight or something?

Well, I agreed to do it, with the vague idea of insinuating my CRITICAL THINKING! HUMANITIES!!!! agenda seamlessly into the discussion, thereby changing the mainstream discourse about higher education forever.

See? Isn't this just a weird thing to have come up? I think it's completely absurd--and that's probably the main reason that I agreed to do it at all.

Defenestrative impulses

I've had a perfectly acceptable 3 hours of teaching and an Ancient Greek class, and am home until I need to go screen a movie in 4 hours. In the middle of it all, my lunch meeting was acceptable (though I was annoyed that they started on the dot, because "on the dot" was "the minute my class let out," which meant that even though I rushed over there I was five minutes late, and then I still had to get my lunch. But whatever [yet how is it that the other people with the same teaching schedule were halfway through their lunches by the time I arrived? Hm--self-righteousness is kicking in]). And then I just got a perfectly polite email from a colleague responding to a question I had, but adding--in a perfectly respectful way--that he thinks that my proposed curricular revision might be overly complicated, but that he gets what I'm trying to do and is willing to support it once we've addressed the thing I asked him about.

So why, given all of the perfect acceptability of everything, do I want to throw my computer out the window?

You know what I mean, right? There are just those moments when anything feels like too much to deal with and everything is blown entirely out of perspective?

Maybe a little break would help. Email, I shall deal with you later.

Well, that's...terrifying

Lo these many months ago (August?), I submitted a solicited abstract for a proposed edited collection. I then sort of 65% forgot about it. I mean, it would cross my mind occasionally, but it was pretty far off the radar most of the time.

Well, I just found out that the collection has been accepted for publication. Good news! It has a final deadline about 6-7 months out. Um...okay! (This is the final deadline, you know, so it's not the date by which I need to submit a draft. That will be much sooner.)

So what did I say that I would write about again?

You know that kind of mid-way freak-out/happy feeling? Because this is good news, and will spur me to actually do something scholarship-wise (I've been tragically since summer, except for the colloquium talk and the MLA paper and some book reviews), but it's also a little alarming to have, you know, a deadline again, especially on a project that I only 35% remembered and haven't started writing yet. Oh, and I have a book review to write by late April. And right, the annual bibliographic essay. And nine thesis committees that'll be wrapping up in--hey, April! And those three classes that I'm teaching, two of which are writing intensive.

Oh! And right! Having a baby in June!

So there's that. A little more pile-on of the stress. It's okay; I'll manage. I'll whine, but I'll manage. (And I'll be on maternity leave all fall, so there's a light at the end of the work-tunnel, even if those 4 months will only be spent breastfeeding and doing laundry.)

And then I clicked on the "show details" of the "to" list from the email announcing the acceptance of the book proposal. I'll level with you here: I thought that, given that the editors were soliciting an abstract from me, this would likely be a middling collection. (Yes, Impostor Syndrome lingers, despite the publication of a monograph and recent promotion to associate [which comes a year before tenure at Field, so I'm not through every hoop just yet].)

But--well--there are some pretty damn impressive names in that list. Some that I don't know, of course, but some that everybody knows.

So.

There's that.

Terrifying.

AP Credit

I just read Dr. Crazy's thought-provoking post about women "forgetting" to have children (go read it, if you haven't yet; it's good). I haven't articulated much of a response, but a good bit of it resonated with me--I've often thought that, yes, I'd like to have a baby, but I like the way my life is without a baby, and there are other things that I want to do, so.... In fact, it seems a little startling that we did decide to have a baby. It was sort of like, Well, we want one, so why not now? And once we started thinking in terms of "trying," it became a priority. So it wasn't actually a priority before we committed to the attempt (if that makes sense), but the attempt itself made it one. Or something.

But that's not at all what I was going to write about (as evinced by my inchoate thoughts). Instead, I'm thinking about the phrase "Advanced Maternal Age," which Crazy uses and which is all over my paperwork (as I'll complain to anyone who listens).

Dude, I'm 35. I'm no spring chicken, but I'm not geriatric, for Pete's sake. Seeing that "Advanced Maternal Age" label was one of the first things that's actually made me feel old. And also a little...I dunno, behind? In need of remediation? I started feeling like, How did I make it this long, to this outrageously old age, without having a baby?? Obviously that's freakish and strange; I should have at least been pregnant before now. What, therefore, is the matter with me? People must be staring at this ancient, wizened crone who doesn't even know how to change a diaper. Good Lord. Freak!

It was a weird feeling.

So I decided that I ought to reclaim the term, to make it a badge of honor somehow. And as soon as I entertained the wish to do so, it was so easy! The label invites reclamation. For lo--I am Advanced! Yes! Without ever having even tried to be Maternal before, I've skipped the Beginner and the Intermediate stages. Advanced Pregnancy Credit, man. That's what I've got. It makes sense, really. I've always been a quick study.

The fact that my blood type is A+ just makes it all the more compelling.