A life without class 4-27-04
Apr. 27th, 2004 10:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kilroyI blew up at my class today. They just don't care, and it makes me not care, and I despise that feeling.
I gave a test a week or so ago, and more than half the class failed it. Not just "did poorly" but actually scored below 60%. So I figured that I probably messed something up on the test and offered a retest today. One student who scored well below 50% on the first test declined to take a retest. One student who could have really used a retest opted to skip class today and is stuck with his original score. Out of the four students that did take the retest, none of them answered all the questions-- and only one scored above what they did the first time, despite the fact that the test was both easier and fairer.
I have a class size of twelve. I predict I will be passing three of them, with a possible two more if they get their acts together. Yet the remaining portion of the class--the majority--still keep showing up every day, not working, leaving early, and complaining about their grades. For the first time since I started teaching this class, I feel like I'm in public school again. Whatever it was that caused the students to be here this semester, it was not their choice.
People ask me sometimes why, after seven years of training, I'm not going to teach in the public schools. This is the reason-- because it galls me to forcibly teach anyone anything. Because I can't content myself to nurture a few growing seeds while tilling an endless plot of dead soil. And that's the job description.
I like teaching-- I like the art of cultivating understanding. I don't like being obligated to pour my energy into teaching those who do not wish it. And I do not like spending the bulk of my time trying to make them wish it.
Perhaps, if I allow myself a brief and tenuous dream, there is a college or high school somewhere where I could teach to those who want to learn. But I doubt it... even my good students are in it for the course credit, and I only rarely see that spark of joy and understanding. No. If I wish to apply my skills I should look elsewhere.
Thus the great hunt begins.
I gave a test a week or so ago, and more than half the class failed it. Not just "did poorly" but actually scored below 60%. So I figured that I probably messed something up on the test and offered a retest today. One student who scored well below 50% on the first test declined to take a retest. One student who could have really used a retest opted to skip class today and is stuck with his original score. Out of the four students that did take the retest, none of them answered all the questions-- and only one scored above what they did the first time, despite the fact that the test was both easier and fairer.
I have a class size of twelve. I predict I will be passing three of them, with a possible two more if they get their acts together. Yet the remaining portion of the class--the majority--still keep showing up every day, not working, leaving early, and complaining about their grades. For the first time since I started teaching this class, I feel like I'm in public school again. Whatever it was that caused the students to be here this semester, it was not their choice.
People ask me sometimes why, after seven years of training, I'm not going to teach in the public schools. This is the reason-- because it galls me to forcibly teach anyone anything. Because I can't content myself to nurture a few growing seeds while tilling an endless plot of dead soil. And that's the job description.
I like teaching-- I like the art of cultivating understanding. I don't like being obligated to pour my energy into teaching those who do not wish it. And I do not like spending the bulk of my time trying to make them wish it.
Perhaps, if I allow myself a brief and tenuous dream, there is a college or high school somewhere where I could teach to those who want to learn. But I doubt it... even my good students are in it for the course credit, and I only rarely see that spark of joy and understanding. No. If I wish to apply my skills I should look elsewhere.
Thus the great hunt begins.