Call me Professor Patrice from Pennsylvania, though 2 parts of that are phony! Allow me to offer some advice for professors over the summer:- Don't read your email. In fact, compose a little vacation reply so that you'll be spared the endless questions about grades. There's no sense in you worrying over it. I know you did a good job with grades, and letting the students stew over their Cs and Ds for the summer will do them some good. Most of them will have forgotten your injustices to them by September, so why get involved in it now.
- Resist the administration's pleas for summer "help" in registration, advising, and the rest. I know this is a delicate thing. But once you become a 'go-to girl' for problems in June and July, you will be hounded forever for 'extra' duty. Disappear from campus - and from town if possible.
- Prepare a LITTLE bit for next Fall. This is probably not your FIRST summer break as an academic, so don't spend a great deal of time worrying about Fall 2006. It'll come. You'll be fine that first day. You know what to do in a class. If you have a brand new offering, then by all means do some reading for it. But a sure recipe for burnout is to worry away summer while thinking about Fall.
- Keep in contact with a few grad school friends, especially the ones who have good jobs at good schools. It's always good to see how the 'other half' lives, and it's even better to stay connected to a little network of other profs who can be useful to you for future job searches, setting up of seminars, etc.
- Do something mindless. Do a lot of things mindless, in fact. You've chosen a career of the mind for some nutty reason, but the job has a built-in 'recuperation' period. This is it, baby. Go bowling. Put on a floppy hat and go get some margaritas. Drive to the ocean and put your toes in the sand. Let your brain have a break.
As a recent Ivy League graduate, I've been reading this blog with a healthy dose of skepticism. Lately, though, I've had a sneaking suspicion that some of my professors had just about had it with some of the spoiled-rich-kid-who-will-rule-the-world-someday antics of my fellow denizens of the ivory tower. After all, why care about a lecture when your father is about to hand over the reins of a multimillion dollar company? I tried not to be that kid. I read every page of the reading for every class. I hardly ever skipped a class. I turned in every assignment on time, properly formatted, spellchecked, and executed to the best of my somewhat limited ability. I studied for all my finals and showed up to take them at the appropriate times. During my last semester I was the president of a student dance company, and during the week of our show, I was in the theater from 5 p.m. until 2 a.m. every night. Then I would go home, work on the programs, multimedia fillers, and logistics for the show, and try to do the reading for my classes. There was a paper due in my American West class that Friday afternoon, and I kept trying to start it, but I was so drained every night that I kept putting it off. I really loved the class. The professor was young, enthusiastic, and highly respected. I was lucky enough to have him for my instructor, and wished on many occasions that I could find a way to show him.But, in a desperate e-mail sent at 4 a.m. the day the paper was due, I asked for an extension on the paper. He never commented or complained, but just gave me the extension. That Saturday, after I slept for an ungodly length of time, I wrote the paper. When I got it back I'd earned an A-!I'm sure that to him I was just another one of the spoiled kids who thought they deserved a break anytime they wanted it, and I'm sure he'll never read this, but I have always wanted to thank him. Because he bent therules just a little bit, he let me keep my sanity. And our show was a hit, too!
I taught an English Literature class last semester. The class met once a week for a three hour session of lecture and discussion. One night, a little over half-way through the term, a student who I did not recognize approached me during a break in the session. She asked me if I was, indeed, Professor XXXX and then stated: "I think I'm in your class. I've been going to the class across the hall all semester by mistake. They were talking about poetry and stuff too, so I thought I was in the right class. Did I miss anything?"
I want to give my advanced seminar perfect scores, chili peppers, cookies and every other accolade I can bestow upon them.Your papers are wonderful. Your lack of grade-grubbing is refreshing. The memory of cramming three or four of you at a time into my office so that we can talk about the class (and life in general) will stay with me for a long time. The stories of your dinners, meetings and other escapades involving our class will always make me smile. The way in which you embraced the class truly moved me, and I am fortunate to have had the chance to work with you.I have only two regrets. The first is that I was blessed with a once-in-a-lifetime group of students in only my second class as an instructor. Your standard will be difficult for others to surpass. The second is that I had to teach you guys in a temporary building. It makes me very sad to know that I will not be able to come back to this place in 10 years, and just sit in that classroom for a moment and remember.
