the id, the ego, & the single misfiring brain cell

Yesterday, the mid-point of the semester, I asked my students about their perceptions of my requirements and approach. (This was in the spirit of non-attribution. The point was to reflect on their performance and to help me see what they do and don't understand. They could even call me names if they felt frustrated, angry, or otherwise motivated to do so; all I asked was that they exercise their literary muscles and do so creatively.)

I asked my seniors in the “capstone” English core course (English 411: Language, Literature, Leadership) these questions:

1. Why do you think the Academy requires you to take this course?

2. Do you think it's possible to fail this course?

3. In this class, we cover three main areas: public speaking, advanced composition, and literary analysis. What did you come into this class expecting to learn/improve upon? (If you didn't expect to learn anything in any given area, just say so.)

4. Particularly in regards to writing, what demands do I make that are different from what you've been asked to do up to this point?

5. From the time you selected the poem you would research and write about to the point you turned it in, what was your writing process—with a timeline—for your most recent paper?

6. What specific areas of writing do you struggle with most?

7. Do you feel my expectations are unreasonable? If so, which expectations and why do you feel that I expect too much?

They were to write anything they felt was relevant to the conversation, and they generally wrote quite a bit. Those who were comfortable doing so shared their thoughts with the class, and I retrieved the written responses at the end.

One or two misconceptions surfaced, enabling me to pinpoint and correct them. For example, a couple of students said they didn't think it fair that I “gave vague assignments then wouldn't offer EI [extra instruction] to help them with their papers.” This was so remarkably untrue that it caught me by surprise. While I stood agape, another student quickly corrected the misconception, making it crystal clear that the miscommunication was not due to an error on my part. 

How I think their processes went: On the first day of class, I told them that one of my “quirks” is that I do not preread papers. Ever. I will, however, discuss ideas and help them brainstorm to their hearts' content, but I will read a student paper only once, to evaluate and grade it. I think they only heard the italicized bit and immediately (mis)intrepreted it as follows: “Maj Black won't help me with my paper at all. I'm completely on my own.” 

Also, a couple of seniors were clearly upset that they “could work for hours on a paper for my class and get a D while Best Friend X (BFX) wrote his in one hour and got an A from his instructor.”

Le sigh. This common complaint stems from a focus on grades instead of learning, the notion that life is (or should be) fair, and the (often mistaken) assumption that BFX is no better of a thinker or writer than Plaintiff. Often, of course, BFX's teacher does have different standards. My response, I confess, is not very empathetic. I just shrug and say, “Oh well” or “Them's the breaks.” Maybe they will wake up one day and realize that I have better prepared them for their careers and for life than their buddy's teacher did for him, or maybe they won't; I cannot hasten that moment or artificially induce it. Otherwise? Explanations to the self-righteous fall on deaf ears. 

Incidentally, this means that the only way I have to reach them is to continue to grade as I have been (i.e., “too harshly”). Not that I would do otherwise, but their being offended and angry certainly doesn't motivate me to reconsider my grading strategies (does it with anyone?). The greatest service I can provide these young men and women is to hold them to high standards so maybe, just maybe, they'll have the edge they need over BFX someday.* So yeah...I rarely bother addressing offended egos or wounded senses of justice.

* BFX may get a higher Order of Merit, which weighs heavily in job selection and promotion increments many years later. Even if I thought I could single-handedly help my students get higher Orders of Merit at this late stage of the game—which I don't**—I still feel quite passionately that knowledge and skill levels are what really matter, and to these my unwavering dedication remains.

** I figure all cadets have the same number of “hard” and “easy” graders, on average, by the time they graduate. One hard grader out of 40 some-odd courses will not make a difference.

So. Student answers, in general, were as follows:

1. Why do you think the Academy requires you to take this course? To work on our public speaking skills.

Note: Of the three skills emphasized more or less equally in the course—public speaking, composition, and analysis of war literature—very few even mentioned literature or composition.

2. Do you think it's possible to fail this course? Yes.

Note: One “no” and a couple who assert that this course should just be for experience—tacitly confirming their assumption that public speaking is the only skill this course teaches—not for a grade.

3. In this class, we cover three main areas: public speaking, advanced composition, and literary analysis. What did you come into this class expecting to learn/improve upon? (If you didn't expect to learn anything in any given area, just say so.) Public speaking.

Note: Only my Peruvian said he expected to improve his grasp of the English language through reading and composition practice (and like most of my ESL students through the years, he is one of my best writers already). Otherwise, it's telling how few students expect to learn anything more about composition or literature in an English course.

4. Particularly in regards to writing, what demands do I make that are different from what you've been asked to do up to this point and/or what your other profs require? Format, including citations and works cited entries, which—overwhelmingly, according to my small subsection of students—other teachers don't care about. Grammar, spelling, mechanics, and style. Organization.

Note: These responses mostly seemed to compare my expectations to profs from other disciplines. A couple of outliers said that I was different in that I require they have unique ideas and insights, and I require them to actually make arguments and support them.

(The answers to this question, for the most part, appalled me. More on this in a minute.)

5. From the time you selected the poem you would research and write about to the point you turned it in, what was your writing process—with a timeline—for your most recent paper? Student selected a poem “because I thought I understood it” and/or “it was about something I already know a lot about.”* Poem selected, in most cases, a day or two before the paper was due. In most cases, research done and paper written the day/night before the paper was due.

* These are generally poor reasons to select a text to write a paper about, because they offer low-hanging fruit. Students who do this usually end up arguing for the obvious; in my class, this earns a B-, at best.

These answers, sadly, did not surprise me. On the bright side, when a student writes out this “writing process” for a paper—if we can be so bold as to call it that—she is not inclined to question the fairness of the F she got on said paper. It is possible—dare I hope?—that she does the simple math and learns from the experience (something along the lines of “Maj Black was serious about putting time and thought into the papers we submit, so I'd better do it” would make me pee myself with glee, but I may be a bit optimistic).

A couple of students said they know they got the grade they deserved. Others accused me of requiring too much, of course, because they're too busy. (“Too busy” is a polite paraphrase of their extensive written explanations of how overworked they are. This from seniors who come to my class hung over. That's their choice, but at the same time, I am not moved with pity to lighten their load, either.)

6. What specific areas of writing do you struggle with most? Formatting (in my class, anyway), and “getting started.” Organizing thoughts and/or putting my ideas into words effectively. Having enough to say to make paper length without “fluffing.”

Note: It is apparently unusual to require students to strictly adhere to formatting rules. I provide copious assistance for this (cheat sheets and templates etc on my Sharepoint site, as well as detailed feedback on simple homework assignments before the major papers), but some students simply refuse to comply. This is such a strange and stupid thing to fight a teacher on. Why lose 10 to 15 points on every paper because you refuse to take the extra 3-5 minutes to comply with basic--universal--presentation requirements? I don't get it, but...there it is.

7. Do you feel my expectations are unreasonable? If so, which expectations and why do you feel that I expect too much? Most said I had reasonable expectations, but several think I require too much reading and/or the comprehension levels I seek are too high.

Note: I thought I'd get a lot of bitching about my expectations of their written work here, but—weirdly—it was the reading they complained about more. Irony: my reading loads are roughly half of what my colleagues who teach 411 require. I do require attention to detail, though. You cannot skim fiction or poetry for a literature course, and I do not let them get away with it.

I also got a few kudos—unsoliticited, which is cool:

- You do a good job of pulling us out of our comfort zone and getting us to work hard.

- You are straightforward and won't sugar-coat anything. You push people's buttons, but it's a good thing, in my opinion.

- Another student, strangely, used the same words (“You don't sugar-coat anything like everyone else in this school does”). He added that my expectations seem unreasonable sometimes, but ultimately, my assignments are “satisfyingly challenging.”

These students are outliers. I have too many “you have to remember I'm not an English major” attitudes to mistake these for the norm—as though I could walk into an algebra class, tell the prof that I can't add “because I'm not a math major,” and expect to pass the course. We all have different skills, yes. That doesn't mean we should be graded lightly in courses designed to teach or improve those skills, though. It does not follow.

observations and realizations

Students, in general, do not come to English courses expecting to improve their writing or reading comprehension skills.

At best, they seem to view these courses as “skill review/maintenance,” and at worst, a pointless archaic requirement that academic bluehairs refuse to relinquish, courses to be merely endured. I daresay that the establishment has not done much to disabuse students of this notion, either. How many literature and composition teachers push students to do their own thinking? Fail them for vague, incoherent, unorganized writing? (And for those who do, how many are backed by their schools?)

This is a strange attitude, considering that students don't go to a science class expecting to learn nothing or to a math class expecting no skill improvement. Why do we tolerate (and passively encourage) this attitude with English courses?

“Writing across the curriculum” doesn't work if profs in other disciplines treat basic writing skills—grammar, mechanics, and organization, for starters—as “English teachers' problems.” My colleagues from other disciplines who grade student papers have joked with me about “teaching those kids to write already,” but I now believe that the joke is based on a truth they aren't examining themselves: It isn't just my job to require mastery of grammar, punctuation, and such. If they overlook these things, they aren't doing their jobs.

When my colleagues first made this joke, I didn't take it seriously. I assumed they marked these things too, graded student work accordingly, and were just frustrated that our students weren't “getting it” as quickly as we'd wish. But yesterday's exercise opened my eyes: Some of them may grade these things, but based on my students' experiences from a diverse range of disciplines over the past 3+ years, most teachers from other disciplines grade only student success in reproducing looked-for information.

“This (24-hour) approach has always worked for me.” This is not just a cadet issue, of course, but our cadets do have—of any other school, including your ivy leagues—the best argument for having this attitude. They have consistent demands on their 17-hour, highly-regimented days for four years (including summers,which might allow a two-week leave period but are otherwise packed with training). Education at the Academy tends to be five miles wide and one inch deep. Most cadets, in my experience, slip into survival mode early in their freshman year and remain there until graduation.

And I cannot blame them. They're young. They need more sleep than most age groups and get less. They're trying, like all young adults, to figure out who they are in relation to the world, and good luck finding any time for such exploration or reflection in this forced-labor camp. As a friend (and recent USAFA grad) told me a couple of days ago, “If nothing else, USAFA gives everyone a degree in time management.”

When every day is packed with five or six hours of classes and labs, 2+ hours of athletics, 3 required meals and random formations, ~5 (?) hours of “quarters” time for homework, and various assemblies for distinguished visitors and professional military education and inspections and airmanship/jump classes and compulsory attendance at all home football games and cadet wing leadership responsibilities, you do not look at the bigger picture. If you do, you may have a mental breakdown. You develop tunnel vision out of self-defense. You learn to do homework and write papers within a 24-hour window based on deadline proximity.

And it works for 95-99% of the things being required of you. Even for the vast majority of papers these students are asked to write, no real idea development is required. Such papers can be successfully written in 30 minutes for an A. Why would these students take me seriously when I tell them they have to start assignments for me early?

I get that.

This means I must put more effort into explaining why my assignments are different from most they will do elsewhere. It's nice they've found a formula that works for almost everything, but they must also learn when the formula doesn't work, as it most decidedly doesn't in my classes.

To write an even moderately successful English paper, a student must, perforce, have something to say. By “something to say,” I mean that she must have read the text closely and made observations and connections that required attention and thought and which reveal greater truths which can be “broken open” for the benefit of all. “Something to say” means “a truth about the text that the student has discovered on her own,” and if I may be so bold, something that excites her (in my experience, when students suddenly see meaningful implications of a text, they do get excited).

Successful literary analysis requires intuition. All of my students have intuition, and using it isn't even difficult. The obstacle is that intuition takes time, the one commodity cadets are most loathe to part with. They must be persuaded. Only a few believe me when I tell them what is necessary to make a good grade in my class; most, though, get their mid-term grades before they begin to consider the possibility that their 24-hour approach may not work this time. (Incidentally, those students who approach the writing process as I recommend don't struggle with “making length.” It's invariably the students who put it off until the last minute who have this complaint.)

one last thing

My approach to teaching stems from my growing conviction that we few, we happy few, we English profs, are part of the reason “English major” is such a joke to our culture in general. We want to blame everyone else and everything (because “they think technical knowledge is all that really matters”; they believe “you can't do anything” with an English major; the Age of Classical Studies—and thus, the pursuit of knowledge and understanding of humanity through the study of literature as a worthy goal—is a thing of the past, etc.), but we're culpable, too. In more cases than I can count, teachers pass students who have not read the material and put no thought into their work and write gibberish, and sometimes even give them As and Bs for their “effort.” No fucking wonder so much of the world thinks English majors have degrees in “writing bullshit”: That's what we've taught them.

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