Nov 29 2003
Respect for the Teacher
[ This is the second of two posts regarding my views on the role of respect in educational settings. --MCJ]
I began my first comment on respect by saying that “respect is foundational to all of my thinking about the classroom.” To be fair to Aurthur W. Chickering and Zelda F. Gamson were, I believe that their Seven Principles for Good Practice in Undergraduate Education are all foundational, and can apply equally well to all levels of the educational system:
Good practice in undergraduate education:
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A noble list, which is almost never encountered in toto. My motivation for re-examining Chickering and Gamson is that we’re coming up on the class session where I feel that, as an teaching assistant, there is very little respect for me or my abilities in the classroom. A session where I can’t even begin to find how any of Chickering and Gamson’s principles were in mind when the material was being developed. While the rest of the year won’t be stellar, this particular session is below and beyond the quality of other material I’m expected to deliver to my students.
Last year, I walked in on my Monday class, and tried to get them psyched about the material; there was no hope. I lost my cool with them when they didn’t take the material seriously. As soon as I lost it (a first for me in the classroom) I realized I had made a mistake. By Friday, with my second session of the week, I came in with a new line:
| This material is so bad, I don’t know what to do with it. You’re expected to cover it in terminal sessions, but that doesn’t make it good. I’ve had no input, and furthermore, I’m not sure why this matters to you as a first year student; few, if any of you, will ever need this material. So, here’s the answers, and here’s the questions–try and do the latter without the former, but don’t be ashamed if you can’t. The questions are so poorly written, I don’t understand what half of them are asking. Work in groups, ask me questions, and I have nothing to say other than good luck. |
When I was running A290: Introduction to LEGO Robotics at Indiana University, I worked hard to make every class the best I could. I came in prepared, and often had a lot of prep to do: as a hands-on course guided by a [very constructivist-leaning theory of instruction
], I had to prep doubly hard to have a semi-structured environment where, for one-and-a-half hours twice weekly, students would explore a concept as opposed to me lecturing on it.
If someone is going to produce material for eight or ten instructors to take out to several hundred students, I expect it to be good. I expect them to either spend time on it themselves, or to ask for help preparing good materials. I don’t expect to be fed a pile of poo, have zero time for input (it’s handed out on a Friday, and we’re teaching it on Monday), and all the while be judged (unofficially) by my attendance numbers and (officially) by the reviews students give me at the end of the year.
It’s this kind of resentment that leads me to believe that I couldn’t hack it in K-12 settings. The teachers who soldier on every day against small-minded regulations and politically-mandated standardized tests are saints and heros. Five days a week they’re in the classroom for countless hours on end, and they’re spending their evenings and weekends preparing for the next day. They’re forced to suffer an uninformed public’s opinion that small classrooms aren’t necessarily better, or that music and art are not critical to their child’s intellectual development.
The list goes on-and-on; fundamentally, there’s a lack of respect that lands on the teachers like a huge, steaming turd. And the administrators, teachers, and support staff who are amongst the best are those who take that turd and turn it into a rich compost that can be used to grow a better generation of students. I don’t know how they do it, but they rise above the politics, the infighting, the fixed curricula and mandatory tests, and create a classroom experience that students will recall for the rest of their lives.
So what did I do for next week? I told my students about my mistakes last year, and what I’d do this year: I don’t even believe the material is worth their coming to class for. They won’t be tested on it (they weren’t last year, or the year before, or the year before… I’ve taught the prep course for the final exam in this course, and know at least that much), and it is unlikely they’ll use that information from this one session again in their degree. So I told them I’d be there, and if they want help on any of their coursework, come in. I’ll be waiting, and we’ll work through anything in my course, other courses… anything. But I refuse to pass on that turd.
Respect for the student is easy: it involves individuals. Respect for the teacher is hard: it involves systems. Very few social systems that I am familiar with evolved around principles of mutual reciprocity, cooperation, and respect. My hat is off to the educators around the world who struggle daily against a system that fails to acknowledge their strengths, their uniqueness, and the gifts they bring to the classroom day in, and day out.
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