This is
my third semester teaching at the college level. One of my classes this
semester is doing everything possible to challenge my cherished ideal that we
are all “lifelong learners.”
Countless
essays and articles have been written about the subject, but I am here to offer
one from my perspective as a young adjunct instructor teaching at a community college in a low-income
area.
First,
let me say that I do not attach the stigma to community college that so many of
my colleagues do. I went to community
college, then on to university for my B.A., and returned for my M.S.Ed. I’d
like to think that having attended community college in an ever-shifting,
uncertain economic landscape has enabled me to empathize with my own students.
A
number of incidents in my class this semester have challenged not only the idea
that we are all lifelong learners but also that empathy.
I have
noticed this since I began teaching at this particular college, but these
students, ranging from early twenties to mid-fifties, are not equipped with the
basics that a K-12 education should
have granted them. Reading their papers is abysmal, thankless work; I have to
attempt to decipher essays written exactly
as if they were spoken, all ‘likes’ and ‘wells’ included, and work that
includes text shorthand and emojis. Posing simple questions for discussion are
met with blank stares – not because my students are shy and afraid to answer,
but because there is a disconnect in understanding the question and making a
considered response.
I am
not blaming their K-12 educators for the result I see in my classroom; I hold a
K-8 teaching credential and know exactly
what those hard-working teachers are up against. I watched one passionate
educator trying to teach a mathematical concept only to be told that she
shouldn’t bother with teaching an essential part of that concept as it wasn’t
going to appear on a state test. Forgive me if I disagree – when teaching
students how to reduce fractions, how can you leave out teaching them to find
the greatest common factor? And yet that is what administrators were telling
her to do – teach them to reduce fractions but not to give the students all of
the tools.
It’s no
wonder, then, that 38 out of 40 college students in one of my classes couldn’t
answer a test question asking, “What is the function of the theatre critic?”
The
answers to choose from were
a) to ruin the careers of theatre
professionals b) to be
completely judgmental
c) to understand and appraise the
work d)
none of the above
If one understands what the word “appraise”
means, ‘c’ stands out as the clear answer. Thirty-eight students could not
answer the question because they did not know what “appraise” meant.
Finding the meaning of an
unfamiliar word using the information around said word is called using context clues. This is a skill taught in
the first and second grades and honed
throughout the later grades. I asked my adult students to consider the context
clues in the question and possible answers, and I asked them where else they
might have seen the word “appraise.” A number of them volunteered that they’d
seen the word in connection with selling property. I asked them to continue to
connect what they already knew about the word (background knowledge) with what
they had learned about the function of a theatre critic. It was then that there
were groans of belated understanding; I was left slightly perturbed with the
concept that I’d had to lead grown adults that far into making connections. It
made me wonder how these students interacted with the world around them – their
local society, government forms, even the process of navigating the college
system.
I’ve noticed the number of free
programs extended to these students – assistance with books and tuition, career
advice, help with learning a second or third language, free workshops on
college writing and researching effectively. No matter how well-meaning these
programs are, they are based on the notion that students want to learn and will seek
out these programs.
You see, administrators, staff, and
other faculty generally think like me: students are learners, and if they are
pursuing higher education past grade 12, surely they will take advantage of
these opportunities for advancement!
No.
Some will, of course; most won’t. They
aren’t “paying” for these programs, and there is no grade, so why waste time?
Why should they have to figure out bus schedules and childcare in order to get
a 15/15 on a history paper that doesn’t, in the big picture, mean anything?
Are you seeing the thread I’m raveling?
When hired at the college, I was
warned to give abundant examples of what I expected from my students. You can
read that as giving the basic examples and spoon-feeding the rest. I try to
treat my adult students as the adults they are, but an alarming number are
resistant to this and would rather that I simply dictate what it is I want: “Give
me the example and then read it to me.”
A student came to me at the
beginning of this semester and asked me if he really needed the required textbook to get by in my class. I didn’t
misunderstand the question: the text was a college-required text and expensive
at that. I told him that yes, he was going to need the book for the class.
Over five weeks later, my class was
taking a 15-question quiz (having previously been given a study guide with the
exact questions, just worded slightly differently). After most students had
completed the quiz and left, one student grabbed her phone and ran out of the
classroom. She returned moments later and said that a family member had been
arrested and that she was going to have to leave. When I offered her the option
of taking a different version of the quiz during our next class meeting to make
up, she was clearly disappointed that I was not offering the same quiz. When I
patiently explained that it was unfair to other students that she had seen the
quiz and would now have two extra days to prepare for a make-up, she declined
the offer of taking the Form B of the quiz and turned in the 4 out of 15
questions she’d completed. No sooner was she out of the door that a student
approached my desk and asked to make-up the quiz at a later date because his “mind
was blank.”
Again, patient, but a little
annoyed, I explained that his classmate’s family member being arrested was a
more substantial reason for a quiz make-up, not his poor study habits. He
admitted that he had not looked at the study guide and had been recording all
of my lectures, without my
permission, and was finding himself completely lost.
“I remember that you asked me about
whether or not the textbook was necessary,” I replied. “How is that working out
for you now?”
“Really shitty,” he answered.
“Don’t you think you should
consider ordering the book now?”
“I ordered it three weeks ago. I
don’t know what’s going on.”
“Why don’t you call the place you
ordered it from and find out?”
“Because I didn’t order it; a
family member did.”
“Why don’t you call her and get the
order information?”
“It’s hard for me to call her.”
“Where does she live?”
“Down the street.”
I told him to try again with his
quiz and to take some responsibility for his study habits and his lack of a textbook…But again, here we are with another
situation in which an adult has to be led through problem-solving and being
resourceful. I teach theatre, in which those essential life skills are learned
early and hard; and yet, I’m met with interesting reactions ranging from
derision to surprise when I mention I teach theatre. Because, as you know,
theatre is the “soft art” where all we do is play pretend all day.
(I happen to think that EVERYONE
should take a theatre class at some point in their lives…but that’s another
essay.)
After reading another round of
truly terrible essays, and grading all of these quizzes, I asked my class to
consider what it means to pursue higher education. I explained that I
understood that 100% of them were not taking my class for fun, but to satisfy a
general education requirement:
“That’s fine,” I said. “It’s not my
intention to turn all of you into artists or theatre historians. What I do hope
you’ll gain from this class, though, is a love of learning for its own sake.”
Blank stares. And I knew what they
were thinking: Just pass me so I can move
on and graduate and get that dream job. It saddened me to see that in their
faces.
Then today – the incident that was
just the cherry on top: after frontloading essential information about realism,
and drawing upon my students’ prior knowledge of realism in modern theatre and
TV/film, I had them watch the Anthony Hopkins/Claire Bloom version of Ibsen’s
essential A Doll’s House. We watched
about 25 minutes; I handed out a four-question half-sheet to reinforce
conceptual understanding in addition to keeping students actively engaged in
the film.
After dismissing the class, a
student came up to my desk with three of the four questions filled out.
“Professor,
how much detail do you want for number four?” he asked.
I looked at his sheet. “It’s
impossible for you to have gotten this far – we are not even at these parts
yet.”
“Oh, I just Googled it.”
No shame, no care, nothing. I just Googled it.
My patience and empathy evaporated
and when I looked at him, not only did I see this student, but I saw the whole
systemic infection: the commodification of education. Education as a thing to buy, a piece of paper to get,
all to lead to that dream job and a better life.
It brings to mind the idea of ‘new
money’: all the wealth and newly-gotten accoutrements,
but lacking grace and class.
Here’s the thing that most of my
students, and many Americans in the pursuit of high education seem to forget or
simply not realize: education without understanding is meaningless.
Flame me, troll me, whatever, but
if you’ve got a fancy degree with nothing
behind it, how can you reasonably expect to be hired for any job? How will you get past the recruiter, the interviewer, the
panel? Watch it, your ignorance is hanging out all over the place!
Students are, as stated so
eloquently by Roy Schwartzman in his 2013 essay, “The Consequences of
Commodifying Education,” being treated as consumers
instead of learners; as such, they are purchasing a product rather than
actually pursuing an education. It makes me sick.
“I’m gonna watch the movie!” the
student insists. “I just wanted to get this outta the way.”
I’m sure my body language spoke to
my frustration; I said, “You couldn’t just wait and watch the movie? You seem
to be misunderstanding the way I have scaffolded the learning in this
classroom. Every assignment, every play, every film is meant to build upon what
has come before. If you undercut this process by ‘just Googling it,’ then why
bother coming to class? You might as well go to the University of Google.”
He simply looked at me and said
nothing.
“I’d like you to take some time
this weekend and reflect on where you stand as a learner, and what getting an
education actually means to you. I am not impressed right now.”
He understood he was dismissed; he
left as members of the next class came in – and they had all heard what I’d
said to him.
“Oooh!” was their response.
I looked at them. “Education is not
a commodity,” I told them. “If you don’t plan on investing in your learning
experience, what is the point of coming to school? It’s a slap in the face to
those of us who care about your education, and pursued higher education
ourselves. If all that study and hard work boils down to ‘just Googling it,’
why are any of us here?”
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