Katie From Kalamazoo Has Got a Real Life Friend. (It's Her BFF.) She Wanted Us Grumpy Farts To Know, And We Wanted You To Know, Too.

I haven't been by to check out you old grumpy farts for a while, so I logged in over the weekend and just read the terrible bullshit you've been complaining about. I don't know exactly how many people write for you, but you're all such downers.

While I admit that students can sometimes be a trial, none of you seem capable of really enjoying the jobs you have, or celebrating the really great students who come into all of our lives.

Last weekend I spent some time with one of my former students, one who I've written about before (and whose relationship who shit on), and one whose progress and success I take a lot of pride in and some credit for.

Anyway, she and I had dinner together at a local eatery, and all of her close friends were there. It was such a kick meeting them because I felt like I knew them already. We sat around and talked for hours, and got a little tipsy in the process.

Once, when she and I were alone, we both confided that we were so happy that after class was over how deep our friendship had grown. I swear we both cried and hugged and she told her other friends that I was her newest and best BFF. It was so crazy. I felt like such a complete success, because I taught the hell out of her when she was my student, and now we're best of friends.

This is what you people are missing out on. You close yourselves off to these wonderful people who study in our classes, and you're simply aloof prigs for not leaving yourself open to these fantastic relationships.

Anyway, we were all blind drunk at the end of the night and when I woke up the next morning I had the warmest feeling. I had a new BFF, and all of her great friends are my friends, too. What did you accomplish this weekend? Did you bitch about how stupid students are? Well, maybe you're missing the whole point.

Late,
Katie

Some Final Cookie Perspectives. Seriously.

Val, your recent post gives me reason to believe that you genuinely care about the feelings and self-esteem of students; indeed, the concern that you express about students feeling "safe enough" to join class discussions indicates a deep commitment to creating a warm, loving environment in which students can participate.

In other words, you're a goddamn snowflake coddler.

It's not that I disagree that different styles of teaching are better suited to different students; that's a perfectly valid point to make. Or rather, it would be, if the discussion was about teaching methods. The topic in question involves bringing in "special treats" for students, and if that's actually a good practice. Whether or not you pass out fattening sweets to an already abundantly corpulent study body in no way affects the manner in which you deliver information, assess learning, or provide feedback. What it does affect is the way in which you (and, significantly, other teachers) are perceived by the class.

I don't care how you parse it - giving out cookies in class is something that is correctly associated with elementary education. When you distribute baked goods to your class, you signal to the students that this is not a mature exploration of knowledge conducted by rational adults; rather, you indicate that the college classroom is no different than Ms. Thistletwat's kindergarten classroom. It's one of the those little things that speaks great volumes to students, just like the way you dress and the way you speak. I know that tie-dyed mouth breathers like you can't bear the thought of putting on a nice skirt or a clean pair of pants, but surprisingly, young adults act more like adults if you act like one (instead of acting like a "cool aunt," which is what morons like you ultimately aspire to).

What is particularly offensive about your post is your namby-pamby call for "tolerance" or some such bullshit: "[I]t's their classroom, so should anyone really be judging them for using the method that they think is appropriate?"

Actually, yes, we should be judging you, because the expectations that you create in your classroom are often carried by students into the classrooms of other professors... you know, the ones that act like professionals? Your self-centered approach to teaching, in which you put the well-being of students (and the university at large) behind your own pathetic need to be "cool" and "liked" by your students is even worse than the egotism of the snowflakes- you should know better.

College classrooms can be a scary place, but so can the real world. The IRS isn't going to give these kids cookies to encourage them to ask for help on their income tax return, and no boss is going to give them stupid rewards to encourage them to pull their weight at the office. Your job as an educator isn't to provide them with courage or self-esteem; it's to give them a reason to feel confident about themselves... by showing them how to act and teaching them how to think.

Doing anything else isn't teaching- it's trying to be their friend.

[+]

Did anyone bother reading the comments on the Chronicle piece?

Most of the cookie-bringers openly confess they do it because they have a "refreshments" budget or some-such.

Gee, how many of them actually tell their precious cherubs the money's not theirs?

How many of them ever pipe up at faculty meetings and say, "Hey, you know, we really should just divvy up this windfall among the plebes working for us so they can get the kudos too"?

How many of these tenured or tenure-track faculty members ever actually suggest they use that money to, you know, pay their adjuncts a livable wage instead of spending obscene amounts of money on Taco bars and movie nights that everyone knows have spurious pedagogical value?

Cuz, here's the thing: I really don't care if Professor Tenured uses her personal money to bake cookies or buy doughnuts or throw pizza parties. It's her money, her time in class, whatever.

But I do get my knickers in a knot when I am being judged more harshly because I lack the economic resources to buy the snowflakes' affection as well. If I am barely making enough to pay my rent and feed myself, where am I supposed to find the money to bribe the cherubs with Dunkins and Snickers? Cuz we all know I, as an adjunct, am not getting all that special refreshment money being tossed hither and yon to the "real" faculty (you know, the ones actually invited to faculty meetings and such).

In grad school, I encountered my first colleague who was a briber-with-treats: Treaty Trish. TT wasn't on an assistantship, but she managed to wrangle a TA position because the department was desperate. In order to ensure her future teaching opportunities via good evals, Treaty Trish proceeded to coddle and bribe and kiss the ass of every student in her section. Then I found out TT was bringing donuts every morning she taught. Treaty Trish's daddy paid her rent and her tuition and her car payments, so she had all this extra pin money to use to bribe her students. And let's be serious, that's what she was doing. And it worked: Treaty Trish became the beloved, understanding, easy-going (if incompetent...ssshhh...don't tell anyone...especially all her new undergrad friends) TA and I became the mean, villainous cretin who never brought donuts or candy or printed their e-mailed papers or anything else that required me using my personal money for them. I didn't have it to waste on adults who were supposed to be responsible for themselves. I was already learning the shake-the-inkjet-cartridge trick to get my own papers printed! And if I bought a donut, it was as a bribe for myself to get through reading and grading the snowflakes' illiterate scrawl.

As far as I know, Treaty Trish is still whoring herself out to any department desperate enough to hire her. I, on the other hand, stopped getting rehired. Is it because I'm incompetent, or is it just because I didn't have the money to bribe the students into doing their work or giving me great evaluations?

If only I had that cookie budget, I too could have baked (or bought) for my snowflakes. Nestle Toll House for everyone!

[+]

What the hell is wrong with you people? Step back for a second. You're arguing the pedagogical implication of...cookies. I can think of four cases involving food in the classroom right now that ought to end this discussion right now.

1. Ms. Super-Adjunct. Used to bring candy to class fairly regularly. Led a lively and informal class, did a thorough job of teaching her material and communicating her enthusiasm about the subject matter. I learned a lot in that class.
   
   
2. Ms. Cupcake. Had a cupcake party during a class session once. Nice enough class, but the subject matter was painfully obvious to anyone with two brain cells to rub together. I learned absolutely nothing in the class, but her general demeanor made showing up somewhat more pleasant than it would have been otherwise.
   
   
3. Ms. SuperProf-Extraordinaire. Hands out candy after halloween and during finals. Absolutely the most incredible teacher I have ever been taught by. Usually comes off kind of bitchy, takes no shit from anyone, and Knows Her Shit. Despite the thoughtful candy-handouts, she is almost universally hated.
   
   
4. Ms. Bumblefuck. Handed out food a couple of times in class. This was her first year teaching, and she blundered her way through it. Universally despised for sheer incompetence.

Whether or not you hand out food doesn't fucking matter. (Sample size: 4. Totally statistically significant.)

You know what matters? Knowing your shit and knowing how to teach it in a coherent way. If you choose to hand out food, great. That was nice of you. If you don't, no worries. Your Costco-candy is not what we come to class for.

That Cookie Thing May One Day Be Seen As Our Defining Issue. Some Flava From the RYS Mailbag.

There's been a steady stream of "cookie" emails. Here are some short notes, and then on Monday we have some longer pieces we'll post.

• When will you all realize that bringing donuts or candy or baked goods to class isn't just about the students? It's my version of bringing a flask to class--they aren't the only ones who get to eat the stuff. I tend to bring snacks to class when I've had a particularly bad week, and I've baked something sugary and fattening to destress. The class that was the one bright spot in the dismal mess--or contributed the least to the badness--gets a treat, and I get someone to help me eat a tray of brownies so I don't end up eating them all myself.
  
  
• While I was teaching, not bringing munchies to class could have resulted in disciplinary action for not creating a "safe" learning environment. On the other hand, when I started on my first master's degree 30 years ago, the only way the department could get the grad students to attend the weekly seminars was to bribe them with food. If it didn't, we would have stayed away in droves because most of the sessions were brain-numbingly dull.
  
  
• I didn't think I'd do this, but the first time the debate went around, for some reason, it made me LESS self conscious. I bring my HS students juice every test day. I bring my college kids juice for the final because I figure after they've already done their evals, it can't look that suspicious. I'd bring in coffee for the college kids, but I'm too cheap.
  
  
• I love bringing little baked treats to my students. I have a really powerful relationship with my students, and since I'm great in the kitchen, I like to share that special part of myself with my students.
  
  
• I don't know how anyone can not see the bringing of food or "treats" to college students as anything other than pandering. How desperate and lonely are these people?
  
  
• I'm a senior at a big football school in the Pac-10. I've had a couple of professors bring brownies to our class. They were the worst instructors I ever had, and all they were doing was trying to soften us up for evaluations. It didn't work. I ate 2 brownies each day and slammed them anyway. How'd that work out?
  
  
• Maybe I'm missing some pedagogical implication, but I don't see anything in the bringing of cookies to class that has anything to do with the teaching of said class. There's the distinct stench of desperation in the act, and those who don't see it must be a little cockeyed.
  
  
• I think one of your earlier posts said it all about those who bring cookies: I would bet you're not liked very much by your students. That's a shame, because the relationship between teacher and student can be so rewarding. My students call me "Mom." We get along and we do great work together. I have the very highest standards, just as if they were my own children, and even though people in my own department jealously make fun of me, my students are behind me and support our shared learning environment. Maybe you like to be an unfeeling information conduit, but many of us TEACH in the classroom, and make lifelong relationships with the most treasured people we'll ever meet - OUR STUDENTS.
  
  
• Sometimes a cookie is just a cookie.
  
  

Ruby from Richmond On Locked Doors.

Dear University,

Please stop locking my classroom. I mean it. I assure you that I teach in there, and I teach in there the same time every day, several days a week, and in fact on the same days every week. I realize you believe that I am Gumby and can pass through the locked door at my leisure, but alas, I am not Gumby.

When the door is locked, and I call the number I've been instructed to call in such situations, please actually answer the phone. If you cannot, please at least change the ironic voicemail that asks me to call back between certain hours--when the current time is between those hours. When you fail me, I end up calling Campus Security instead, and trust me, in this city, they have more important things to deal with.

I'm a relatively punctual person, but when I'm on the Interstate jammed in traffic, I know I won't arrive at class until the moment it's scheduled to begin, and I won't have time to deal with a locked door. I know that my students will see the locked door, and while some of them will sit in the hallway, others will wander off and later tell me that "the door didn't work" and that this should count as an excused absence. I know that when I do arrive, the students sitting in the hallway will invariably line up behind me like baby chicks as I approach the door, as though I have a key and will instantly let them in. I have no key. I am not allowed to have a key. I am an adjunct.

They will then watch, baffled, as I take out my cell phone and start angrily calling numbers to try to get the room unlocked. I lose authority in their eyes. Several weeks into the semester, with this happening at least weekly, they may stop lining up, or they may stop showing up. And the same annoying kid always tries to help in the most unhelpful ways: "Can I try picking the lock? Can we try the key to my dorm room? It looks the same! Can we have class outside? Can we cancel class? Why don't they give you a key? Why do they always lock this room? My friend drives a campus shuttle. Maybe he can help!"

Oh! Would that I were Gumby!

Sincerely,

Ruby