Students and teachers: a match made for the hellish handbasket

Mid-way through the week, feeling hammered by life, but as tired as I am, I am hopeful that my concept paper is finally emerging from the murky depths of academic... I want to say mediocrity, but that is too much to claim at this point. Yes, this is the same old concept paper, the one that I can't wax nostalgic about because it never goes away. I am struggling with the Research Design chapter, getting bogged down in justifying my choice of a phenomenological design, (I'm finally beginning to be able to type phenomenology without errors), and looking for examples of studies that use a similar design, so I can point to them (academically speaking, I think we call it citing), and say (silently) See? See? They did it, and they got published. You, you, mentorish chairperson, you.

I'm not resentful. I'm working on taking action and detaching from the outcome. After grading a stack of Access and Excel papers after dinner, and editing a stack of resumes from wannabe medical assistants, I finally spent some time writing. Thinking, writing, looking stuff up, thinking, writing some more. It's hard, but it's fun. I wish I had more time to work on this concept paper, but I know, I know, be careful what you wish for, because it might just fall on your head. I don't want to suddenly find I have lots of time and no job. I am grateful I'm employed, and I hope it lasts until I'm ready to move on to something else. In the meantime, I grit my pearlies, grade papers, edit resumes, and steal time from eating, sleeping, novel-reading, and TV-watching time to work on my own scholarly endeavor. It does no good to be resentful. Resentment just makes it harder to think.

Today a student withdrew from my class because his transfer credits came through proving he had already taken Excel. He was there one minute, gone the next, no good-bye. So long, thanks for all the fish, I could see it in his face. I wish all my students were as skilled and diligent as he was. In the same Excel class today, the tanning addict went out to answer her cell phone, came back a half hour later weeping and said she had to leave for an emergency at home. What could I say? No, you have five absences and if you leave now, you are toast? No, you took the first test late, you come to class late, you don't do your work, you haven't turned in a single assignment, and you spend your time surfing the Internet to see who has stolen your identity? It doesn't matter. She's so far behind, it is highly unlikely at this point that she will catch up.

Sometimes I just want to shake them. What are they thinking, letting their education slip away? I want to grab their upper arms where it really hurts and just shake them until their teeth get loose and fall out onto the floor. Not because I want to hurt them, but because I want to shake some sense into them. (Hmmmm. I guess it won't work, but it might help relieve some of my stress.) But then I remember my own sordid past (I try so hard to forget). I remember that I quit three different schools before I finally earned my Bachelor's degree. Oh yeah. Not everyone makes it on the first go-round. And it's not my job to make them make it. I don't have the power. All the tooth-rattling in the world won't make someone be ready when they aren't.

I'm sure my parents and a few of my teachers wanted to shake my teeth loose a few times. I'll try to be grateful for the wonderful students that do their work on time, do their best to learn, take their learning seriously, show up to class everyday... even the ones that slip away because their transfer credits give them a free pass. And I'll try to be more patient and compassionate for the wackjobs and knuckleheads that seem to have such a hard time being in the world. After all, I used to be one of them.