When I started teaching, I imagined myself taking a kind of pleasure in failing students. It wasn't that I took a witchy delight in students' difficulties, but more that I took pride in what I considered high standards, a sense of satisfaction that I was not letting students slide, I was not inflating grades, I was actually teaching.
In the years since then, I've learned that I am not the only one who imagines that grading papers F gives teachers a sense of pride. Professional development books I've read frequently include anecdotes of teachers who report failing a third of their class, or awarding no As - evidence, they believe, of their high standards as teachers.
Think of the teacher in Peanuts, or in Calvin & Hobbes, or in Foxtrot: Each of these teachers is distant from her students, ineffective, continually frustrated by her students' low performance. Do we not assume that Peppermint Patty's teacher finds a kind of vindication in giving her a D-? That Calvin's teacher feels vindicated, a good teacher plagued by poor students, when she fails the test he copied from Susie, or the bug collection which included a squashed fly and a bit of lint?
All this is evidence of the prevailing assumption in our culture today: Teachers don't care about students' success.
But this is not true, or at least not quite.
Bad teachers do not care about their students' successes.
Good teachers do.
Five minutes ago, I read one of the best literary analysis papers I've read in years of teaching Intro to Literature. It was thoughtful and clear, elegantly worded and supported with ample quotations from the text. Marking an A on it makes me happier than marking an F ever has.
Marilynne Robinson is fond of pointing out that there are more cells in the human brain than in the entire Milky Way. This makes us the most precious, the most miraculous thing in the universe. When my students earn an A, I get to see a little bit of that miracle.
This is not to say, of course, that the students who earn Fs are not equally precious. They are. But the tragedy of a poor work, and the joy of excellent work, is that students who struggle are struggling to use the wondrous powers of thought and reasoning which God has given to us; students who succeed are learning to use those powers in a new, astonishing way. They are like eaglets, taking that first, soaring flight from the eyrie above the mountains, rejoicing in the power of their wings.
To the American public, I want this to be a reminder: Do not believe the stereotypes of teachers in the media, whether that be Calvin & Hobbes or God's Not Dead.
To my students, I want this to be reassuring. It's been a long time since I've been a student, so I could be wrong about this: But I wonder, do you sometimes hesitate to ask a question, or seek help, because you think I do not care about your success? Do you think I am hard grader, simply because I like being hard, or because I think you're a "hopeless" case, or because I simply have fun handing out low grades? I don't, I promise. Your other teachers don't, either.
We are not rooting for you to fail. We are rooting for you to fly.
But this is not true, or at least not quite.
Bad teachers do not care about their students' successes.
Good teachers do.
Five minutes ago, I read one of the best literary analysis papers I've read in years of teaching Intro to Literature. It was thoughtful and clear, elegantly worded and supported with ample quotations from the text. Marking an A on it makes me happier than marking an F ever has.
Marilynne Robinson is fond of pointing out that there are more cells in the human brain than in the entire Milky Way. This makes us the most precious, the most miraculous thing in the universe. When my students earn an A, I get to see a little bit of that miracle.
This is not to say, of course, that the students who earn Fs are not equally precious. They are. But the tragedy of a poor work, and the joy of excellent work, is that students who struggle are struggling to use the wondrous powers of thought and reasoning which God has given to us; students who succeed are learning to use those powers in a new, astonishing way. They are like eaglets, taking that first, soaring flight from the eyrie above the mountains, rejoicing in the power of their wings.
To the American public, I want this to be a reminder: Do not believe the stereotypes of teachers in the media, whether that be Calvin & Hobbes or God's Not Dead.
To my students, I want this to be reassuring. It's been a long time since I've been a student, so I could be wrong about this: But I wonder, do you sometimes hesitate to ask a question, or seek help, because you think I do not care about your success? Do you think I am hard grader, simply because I like being hard, or because I think you're a "hopeless" case, or because I simply have fun handing out low grades? I don't, I promise. Your other teachers don't, either.
We are not rooting for you to fail. We are rooting for you to fly.
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