RYS as Therapy

Prof. Earnestness asked: Why do you do it? Why are you here?

• For the same reasons as you, and then some. I love my job. I love this core group of students I have that take all my classes. I even love the majority of the rest of them. At the end of the semester when I get the notes, cards and emails telling me how great the class was, how I influenced a life, changed a major, encouraged the disheartened, I print them out and keep them in a file (a growing file I might add). Just ONE of those at the end of the semester makes it all worth it. It IS really enough. But NOTHING is quite as satisfying as pounding out my frustrations on this public forum. What I write to RYS is my occasional, but possibly lethal, frustration. It is my therapy to work out the kinks in what is otherwise the perfect profession for me. I need it. What I don't need is some mealy mouth telling me I'm naughty for needing it. So bug off.
  


• It's easier than working for a living. I used to work in industry, and the academy affords such flexibility and creativity, that I'd never go back. The students drive me batty, but the hours are great and I can spend part of every day reading and writing about what I love. But, the students really are worse than they were 10 years ago when I started. And it makes me feel much better to know I'm not alone when I'm thinking about throwing them all out of class for being rude, insensitive louts.
  


• I'm the most negative person I know in my department, and I still wouldn't change professions. I get so freaking mad at my students some time that I just want to send them packing out of a class when they aren't engaging. (And I have!) But I love the subject matter that I teach, and I love turning students on to it. There is no outlet other than this one for me to voice my frustration, and as much as my husband and friends want to understand, they work in business, and don't understand why a student emailing me at 3 am for a grade bugs me. So I come here and let fly when I'm at the end of my rope.
  


• I'm here to do math. In exchange for lots of time to do math, they make me teach. I accept that. I take my teaching responsibilities seriously; it's part of my job, and I take pride in doing my job well. But teaching is not why I got a PhD in math, nor is it why I became a professor (not a teacher) of math. I'm here to do math.
  


• I love what I do. However, teaching is my hobby-that-pays rather than my livelihood (I have a full-time job at a financial services company). I do find teaching rewarding; I created lesson plans in my head constantly in the five years I was out of academia; I enjoy watching my students succeed. I also enjoy being able to take it or leave it—it takes a lot of the stress out of evaluations, politics, and general BS—and I adore being snarky about it. Is it a rewarding job? Absolutely. Do I like to bitch about it anyway? Yup. Do I enjoy hearing others rant and realizing that I’m not alone in not being Professor Pollyanna? Yes! It’s life and sanity saving. I have no clue why others get their undies in such a bunch about it, but really—I can be cynical, snarky and still love what I do (and even, I hope, be good at what I do!).

Where's the Line Between Venting And Just Needing a "Good Rest"?

• So you bought the wrong books. Frankly, my dear student, I really don't give a damn. While I'm honored that you want to spend five minutes after the conclusion of class telling me your harrowing experience with the bookstore and how they conned you into buying the books for the wrong section, it's really not my problem. And I've got places I'd rather be. Go buy the right books. Return the old ones. And then stop your whining and start taking some responsibility.


• Okay, I see you. I see you with your snarky little eye roll every time I ask a question, mention an assignment. You've made sure I would see you, haven't you, by placing yourself right in the front row. Great. We can keep this up all semester buddy, but don't think for a second that I will ever change anything about this class because you've bothered to sneer inappropriately at every turn. If you don't like the class, quit. I would love to have fewer papers to grade.


• Wow, you seriously stayed after class to ask me if you could write your one-page response on a 3x5 index card. Wow.


• Oh, you and I are going to have such fun this semester, aren't we, overly-involved girl in the front row? I bet you think I just love how you answer every question, how you send me long and detailed emails about every reading, how you stay after class to talk to me every goddamned day I bet you think we're going to be best friends, and that the A's will flow like honey. Well guess what? I'm not impressed, and if you send me one more email or corner me one more time about nothing in particular, I'm going to have to file a restraining order. Stop being annoying. I don't buy the bullshit.
  

This Earnestness Goes to Eleven.

We get a steady stream of email like the one below. It makes us think that somehow people still don't get the point of why we're here. Complaining about a kid in pajama pants who shows up to class with a muffin but no textbook does not mean we have no enjoyment for teaching. The site exists so that like-minded folks who get vexed by the modern student can vent off a little of the steam that might otherwise be taken out on a family pet, a car door, or the gradebook. We even receive a sort of post that we call "save your souls." These are usually shot through with guidance and piety, and they usually end with something like, "I pray that you find your true calling." We actually are interested in the answers to the questions in the last paragraph below, but we're not too interested in being saved from our own - delicious - misery about the profession.

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The upcoming semester seems to have generated some discussion/stress/griping within the confines of these blog pages. I'd like to speak to the words I've read within these pages in the recent weeks. There seems to be an overwhelming sense of negativity, or more to the point, bitching about workload, miserable students, terrible schedules, stress, anxiety, and overall misery.

What happened to the enjoyment of teaching? Have we all been reduced to cynical people who despise what we do and who we do it for? Can all we do is talk about the negative aspects of our jobs?

We all work hard. I'm an Assistant Professor who is not yet tenured. I work my ass off on a daily basis all year around. I don't take summer off, I work through it, both doing work for my university based obligations and freelance work in my given field. I have a full load of classes chock full of students - some good, some not so good. Do I get stressed? Absolutely. Do I feel the need to vent? Hell yes. Do I want to murder various students at time? Lock me up now. Do I get to the point where I ask what I'm doing here? Yes. Yes. Yes.

But, I love my job. I'm part of a good Department. They're supportive and caring. We help each other out and we're there for each other. If things get tough I have people to rely on. If I encounter difficulties, I know I'll have support. If I just need an ear, someone is there to listen.

I love my students. Save for one or two bad eggs (we all have them), I have great students. They work very hard for me and I, in turn, work very hard for them. I focus on the positives in the class and try not to let the negatives get to me. They all have potential and when treated with respect, are very enthusiastic about showing that potential as best they can. They learn from me and I learn even more from them. While I give them grades, I always remember that I am not "better" than them—I just have more experience and knowledge in my field.

I love what I do. My job rewards me everyday. Watching my students succeed makes my job successful. I love to see them do well and I love to teach them what I know. I enjoy passing on the knowledge I have. If I didn't like what I did I wouldn't be here, I'd still be back working in industry instead of teaching.

So let me ask you this as we're approaching the start of fall semester in many Colleges and Universities. Why do you do it? Why are you here? Are your answers enough to help allow you to focus on the good students and the rewarding aspects of your job? Is it really enough?

We Fear It's Going to Be a Long Semester For This Longtime RYSer. Too Soon For Such Agony. Yet, We Relish the Chance to Listen In.

Despite the plethora of tuition-and-tax-dollar-sucking programs deigned to ease tomorrow’s leaders into the monolithic horror that is their first semester of college, a more economical and instructive orientation might begin with some of the following:

1. This is a state university with well over 20,000 students. No, the grownups do not in fact all know each other, so don’t buttonhole me in the quad with your crumpled schedule and ask “Where do I find Mr. X?” High school is over. FOREVER. Live with it or get to the Student Counseling Center, pronto. It’s described in that batch of flyers that you tossed out.


2. Your 11:00 am classroom was not created by celestial fiat just for you, but is, has been, and will be utilized by other students and their professors at other times. Do not wander into my course in said room at 10:30, stare open mouthed at the unfamiliar faces and cut me off in mid-lecture demanding to know what’s going on. There is a clock in the foyer—try looking at it.


3. I don’t care if Thursday has been unofficially designated the new Kegger Night. We have class at 9:00 am Friday morning, drunk or sober. If incapacitated and absent, you’ll be marked as such and it will be reflected in your grade. If present and green in the face, do try to color-coordinate with your wardrobe as best you can (wearing the shirt you’ve already barfed on doesn’t suffice).


4. You didn’t hear your name called on the roll for a reason: This is not your introductory Psych class. You’re in the wrong building. PULL YOUR HEAD OUT OF YOUR ASS.


5. For such a media-savvy bunch, you all seem oddly out of your element when it comes to the campus e-mail system, which is painstakingly installed and maintained to expedite your routine. With this in mind, the syllabus is prepared and sent out to the entire class before day one. Few of you even bothered to open your account, let alone print out the “contract” for the course introduction.


6. Guys: I agree that the texbooks are too expensive, but I cannot help you there. This also means that they are heavy, and that bookbag is thus more ungainly than you’re used to. If you must spin around and bellow greetings in public when you spy a member of your former clique, remember that other people (and their coffee) might be vulnerable to its mighty torque.


7. University libraries are white-hot centers of research for motivated students and faculty, not flophouses for somnolent lazy asses nor study halls for gabfests masquerading as detention. The next one of you who disrupts my work by snoring, farting, wolf-whistling, or cell-phone ringing gets his teeth kicked in.


8. Occasionally, we faculty feel the need to move A-V equipment from one building to another. Yes. Kindly step aside when we wheel one of our antiquated contraptions into your path instead of giving us the hairy eyeball, pushing us out of the way, or guffawing at the spectacle.


9. The dappled trees surrounding the campus are indeed beautiful, just like in the catalogue photos. That’s why we call it “fall” semester.” Bathe, put on some long pants, jettison the open-toed shoes, and cover your midriff while you have a chance. Nature can be terribly unforgiving of summer fetishists in these parts.


10. Finally, the next time you’re nodding off in your Intro to World History course and internally whining about why there’s so much more reading, problem-solving, lab hours, 8:00 am classes, and teachers spouting big words than you expected, pause long enough to consider the sentiments of a martyred world leader whom some of us took quite seriously when we heard his signature image of a torch being passed to a new generation: As per JFK’s instructions, many of us hoary academics still endeavor to make our respective contributions to the improvement of society—“not because they are easy, but because they are hard.” I for one am holding onto my torch for the time being.