This summer, I was weirdly excited to teach composition. I had visions of wearing tweed jackets, smoking a pipe, and putting my feet on my desk (in my own office) while writing lesson plans in a leather bound notebook. In reality, I discovered much of teaching was resisting the urge to be snarky or passive aggressive when responding to student emails begging for an excused absence because:
- Grandma died
- Their car was stolen
- Their dog was in a coma
- They celebrated the Feast of the Flying Spaghetti Monster
… the list goes on.
And oddly enough, the gig doesn’t come with an office, or even a tweed jacket. Mostly I devised lesson plans the night before class while wearing my favorite penguin pajamas. But I learned a few things along the way.
- Fake enthusiasm. If I’m not interested in what we’re doing, the students definitely won’t be. I learned to either muster some sincere excitement, fake my enthusiasm, or sympathize with my students. Sarcasm sometimes works here.
- Students have no idea how unprepared we are. Much like grades, students seem to believe that lesson plans are handed down from the Composition Gods that Be. I realized I didn’t have to defend my lesson plans or force students to work. Well sometimes I had to coerce them. But mostly, they did what I asked them to in class. It shouldn’t have surprised me that they went along with my plans so readily, but I learned to take ownership of my authority as a teacher.
- You can’t force a student to care. I half-assed a few classes during my undergraduate career. I didn’t care at all about college algebra or my introductory psychology studies class. So I shouldn’t have been surprised that so many of my students did not care for writing, and I learned not to take this personally. Some students just want to get through the class, and as teachers we can’t do much to change that.
I could list a few more teaching revelations, but in general I learned to prepare, relax, and be sincere as a teacher. And to find a tweed jacket.