“Dr. Rust, your ability to sustain optimism in a class with this degree of senioritis on display is nothing short of inspiring.”
-A senior in my English class in April . . . with definite senioritus.
It’s been a minute since I’ve had an update on “Teaching while Julie Rust.” It’s time.
The date is April 17th. I just sent no fewer than FIVE separate “you have a C- or lower in my class” emails to students and parents. I have a tiny class of 13 so this is even worse than what your first impression might be. My handy dandy calculator says this is 39% of my entire class.
I remember raising my hand in a 12th grade faculty meeting early fall and asking for advice from the group: “Help me!” I said. “It’s been a minute since I’ve taught high school,” I said. “What should I be aware of ahead of time?” I asked.
Someone snorted. “The spring.” they said helpfully.
And here it is.
The spring and my 13 rapscallions have fully won me over and they know it.
They have one TOE in high school and an entire head and shoulder and body in the what is to come.
I caught two of my students huddling during a group activity over a laptop, shopping for dorm furniture together.
“Sorry Dr. Rust,” they said in the voice of not-sorry, “We are actually dorm roommates next year and we have to buy this right now. It’s on sale.”
This is spring semester of senior year.
We know the dance moves, but the music has been turned off.
Or perhaps it’s truer to say we are asking them to dance to an old, five-songs-ago song when a new and faster one is drumming in their ears.
I’ve never been able to muster up righteous anger when kids don’t do the work and I kind of wish I could, because it seems to motivate some.
I’m more a “dude you are failing my class right and doing this to yourself but DANG you are so smart when you say things in class and I just really like you as a human” kind of person.
Perhaps that’s why I just cc’ed Hollie and Blake on five emails with the following iron-clad formula:
Dear people that love this kid + the kid + scary upper school admin,
Here are all the ways I love said kid. This kid, though, is not living to their potential because look at this shocking number that shouldn’t be a shock since grade books are transparent both on Google Classroom and MySA. Here are obvious things you should do: like turn in the things. I am nice and accessible so how can I help? (I can’t help! Just do the things! You will be deducted points for lateness but not ALL the points and late is better than never so hurry!)
Love and warmth, and light,
Pushover English Teacher
Sometimes I think grades just measure compliance (and there is all sorts of good debate around that in terms of equity) and sometimes I think: I REALLY LIKE WORKING WITH PEOPLE WHO DO THINGS WHEN THEY ARE DUE. LIKE I WANT TO TRUST THE PEOPLE I WORK WITH.
I love you five, but my trust in your reliability is low at the moment.
You will turn it around. You always do.
Sigh.
But also this. The morning after I scribed this litany, I walked into class. A student sat there doing 1000 things that weren’t about my class on his laptop, and he looked up briefly. He’s the kind of student that just isn’t an English class kind of guy. He doesn’t immediately hear words and get goosebumps like me. He often takes a quote and misinterprets it. He’s been clear about his ambitions and career goals and they are in a different planet altogether than the humanities. But he is also honest about this, and goodnatured about this, and I really really like the kid.
Today, though, he caught me by surprise.
“You know that assignment for in class today? I went ahead and already did it.”
“Huh?” I squeaked out, morning coffee fully not in effect, “you mean the one where you pick which character you most relate to? I’m sorry- was I not clear in the instructions you would do it during class?”
“Nah,” he shrugged. “I was just kind of in the mood to do it. Actually, when I did it, I cried. Like good tears. So thanks for that.”
I do not really know what makes good teaching, not even after all of these years in schools and that PhD and planning PD and going to countless conferences and doing presentations/publications and research and being awed in classrooms watching all of you teach. I’ve graded a billion papers and interviewed a ton of kids and teachers and I’ve sat in a jillion meetings about teaching and learning and it turns out it’s about the same amount of mystery to me it has always been.
I know there are better and worse ways to do this thing. But also, just as often, there are just different ways to do this thing, and each different way sets off a distinct ripple. . . initiated by a force via decisions you make but then, one thing impacts the other and the resulting fallout feels inevitable and out of your control in a way. Perhaps then teaching is a game of dominos, and sometimes the dominos going down are about how well youth can do literary analysis and other times they are about what is felt, the acquisition of particular habits, and what is learned about the self and the community and others.
From this year back in the classroom with 17-18 year olds I reminded myself of the ripples that I care most about. I don’t mean to say they are the ripples you should care most about, just that I hadn’t taught English to high school students in awhile and in that way it was a self (re)discovery of sorts. (I also had never taught humans so close to the age of one of my own kids. This, too, shifts things.) The greatest gift is I get to do this again next year, still learning alongside the incredibly wise Paul Smith.
Notes for Next Year:
- Read together. Write together. Share writing regularly.
- Make space for joy and play and competition.
- Open up the modes students can use to demonstrate understanding.
- Cultivate more one-on-one conversations/conferences about writing.
- Practice a culture together of following deadlines.
- Enforce quality work and attention to detail at every turn.
- Be human together.