breach of contract
Last night we wrapped up the first day of the semester with our annual Dr. King celebration. This gig sometimes takes place in the chapel and sometimes in my concert hall. This year, concert hall. We had a big name guest speaker, so I suppose the organizers anticipated a large audience. But there were only 137, which meant that the space looked pretty empty, as it seats 500. It's hard to anticipate audience size, true. And there are political motivations and machinations behind the scenes that dictate where an event will take place.
At any rate, the event on the whole was better than previous ones I've worked; I have more than once been a little confused about who we are trying to reach and what we are celebrating. Despite the evolving nature of this celebration, over the years I have learned that there is one thing I can count on: that the printed program will only give a vague impression of what will actually happen, and that it will tell you, precisely, what will not happen. Maybe the audience is cool with that. And, shoot. Far be it from me to squash creativity and improvisation and going with the moment and all that. And! Since it is so dark in the space even with lights at 100% who can even really read these things unless they whip out their cell phone flashlights? But it is a little harrowing for the folks working the lights and microphones to not know what is happening when.
Before the event began last night my work-study student and I were chatting about his classes. First day excitement. He told me that one of his professors had said "straight up" that students would be expected to master the material in the reading, even when the material was not discussed in class, and that the students should expect that material to show up on tests. She emphasized that our students in particular are often blindsided by this expectation, and that even though it this is covered in the syllabus, she feels compelled to remind the students.
This is interesting.
The idea that a professor would have to actually say out loud that students were responsible for the readings shocks me. A little.
When I was in college our syllabi were one page, and pretty much could be summarized as, "Read these books and write these papers due on these dates." (Now a college class syllabus is often five or ten or more pages long, with reading assignments broken down by *day*. Writing assignments are pages long instead of one sentence.) Back in the olden days when I was a student it seemed like there was a kind of unspoken contract, an agreement, about everyone's responsibilities, the students' and the professors'. It was assumed that we would master the material in the readings. And we were embarrassed when we came to class unprepared.
I'm not complaining about kids these days, but I do notice a shift. Students appear to need constant reminders about what is expected of them. And they are quick to feel imposed upon if a workload seems unfair or hard.
For instance, I audited a 400-level business class last fall, and the "final exam" was held at a pub. (I know: AWESOME!) The professor asked the students to fill out a one-page questionnaire about the readings and lectures, what was helpful what was not. You would think that having the opportunity to offer input would feel empowering. But when I smilingly asked a couple of the young men how their "final" went as they were looking over their pages, one complained, "...but he asked about the readings at the beginning of the semester. I can't remember that stuff!"
And the other guy agreed, "I have no idea what we read back in September!"
I gave a sympathetic look and suggested, "Yeah. I guess you kind of have to review periodically throughout the semester. We covered a lot of material."
One fella got a little defensive and mumbled, and I'm not kidding, "We can't be expected to study all the time! That's no way to live. We have to have some down time, too."
Okay. I should say up front that I do not think that our students are any more or less stupid or lazy than students in general. And I'm all about work-life balance. But I do not think it's unreasonable to expect that students have a general idea of the scope and trajectory of the material covered throughout a single semester.
So last night as we were listening to our speaker talk about the dignity and freedom and equality, waiting always for a wild card move in the running order of the evening program, I pondered the idea of expectations and performance.
When we were tidying up after the event last night I ran into the business professor who had taught the class I audited. I mentioned my frustration about the program never being accurate, and only half-jokingly complained about not getting to sing "We Shall Overcome" at the end. (The band went with another tune, one I hadn't even heard in rehearsal. Spontaneity for the win!) "What's the point of even having a program if we aren't going to follow it?" I grumbled. With a twinkle in his eye, and a half-smile, he made an interesting observation: "It's about the ritual. You walk in, you greet the ushers, they hand you a program, and it's what you expect."
Now, I appreciate ritual. I do. But if there is no *meaning* in the object presented, well... it's an empty ritual, is it not? If we accept that the words are just a vague idea, negotiable, and that they can't be counted on to be accurate, that seems like a problem.
I constantly hear my professor friends complain about students not reading the syllabus. There are whole websites hilariously celebrating faculty woes about syllabi. And I've read earnest faculty blog posts, entreaties — for the love of God, please read the damn syllabus! Could it be that students don't read their syllabi because they've grown up in an edit-able world, like Wiki, where meaning is negotiable? Is this why they need constant reminders about what is expected of them? Is this why, or partly why, they don't automatically assume that they need to do the readings and master the material?
I don't know for sure. I am perfectly willing to be completely wrong about this. But I would like to think I would have less gray hair if I could anticipate when to change the lights and turn the microphones on and off.
At any rate, the event on the whole was better than previous ones I've worked; I have more than once been a little confused about who we are trying to reach and what we are celebrating. Despite the evolving nature of this celebration, over the years I have learned that there is one thing I can count on: that the printed program will only give a vague impression of what will actually happen, and that it will tell you, precisely, what will not happen. Maybe the audience is cool with that. And, shoot. Far be it from me to squash creativity and improvisation and going with the moment and all that. And! Since it is so dark in the space even with lights at 100% who can even really read these things unless they whip out their cell phone flashlights? But it is a little harrowing for the folks working the lights and microphones to not know what is happening when.
Before the event began last night my work-study student and I were chatting about his classes. First day excitement. He told me that one of his professors had said "straight up" that students would be expected to master the material in the reading, even when the material was not discussed in class, and that the students should expect that material to show up on tests. She emphasized that our students in particular are often blindsided by this expectation, and that even though it this is covered in the syllabus, she feels compelled to remind the students.
This is interesting.
The idea that a professor would have to actually say out loud that students were responsible for the readings shocks me. A little.
When I was in college our syllabi were one page, and pretty much could be summarized as, "Read these books and write these papers due on these dates." (Now a college class syllabus is often five or ten or more pages long, with reading assignments broken down by *day*. Writing assignments are pages long instead of one sentence.) Back in the olden days when I was a student it seemed like there was a kind of unspoken contract, an agreement, about everyone's responsibilities, the students' and the professors'. It was assumed that we would master the material in the readings. And we were embarrassed when we came to class unprepared.
I'm not complaining about kids these days, but I do notice a shift. Students appear to need constant reminders about what is expected of them. And they are quick to feel imposed upon if a workload seems unfair or hard.
For instance, I audited a 400-level business class last fall, and the "final exam" was held at a pub. (I know: AWESOME!) The professor asked the students to fill out a one-page questionnaire about the readings and lectures, what was helpful what was not. You would think that having the opportunity to offer input would feel empowering. But when I smilingly asked a couple of the young men how their "final" went as they were looking over their pages, one complained, "...but he asked about the readings at the beginning of the semester. I can't remember that stuff!"
And the other guy agreed, "I have no idea what we read back in September!"
I gave a sympathetic look and suggested, "Yeah. I guess you kind of have to review periodically throughout the semester. We covered a lot of material."
One fella got a little defensive and mumbled, and I'm not kidding, "We can't be expected to study all the time! That's no way to live. We have to have some down time, too."
Okay. I should say up front that I do not think that our students are any more or less stupid or lazy than students in general. And I'm all about work-life balance. But I do not think it's unreasonable to expect that students have a general idea of the scope and trajectory of the material covered throughout a single semester.
So last night as we were listening to our speaker talk about the dignity and freedom and equality, waiting always for a wild card move in the running order of the evening program, I pondered the idea of expectations and performance.
When we were tidying up after the event last night I ran into the business professor who had taught the class I audited. I mentioned my frustration about the program never being accurate, and only half-jokingly complained about not getting to sing "We Shall Overcome" at the end. (The band went with another tune, one I hadn't even heard in rehearsal. Spontaneity for the win!) "What's the point of even having a program if we aren't going to follow it?" I grumbled. With a twinkle in his eye, and a half-smile, he made an interesting observation: "It's about the ritual. You walk in, you greet the ushers, they hand you a program, and it's what you expect."
Now, I appreciate ritual. I do. But if there is no *meaning* in the object presented, well... it's an empty ritual, is it not? If we accept that the words are just a vague idea, negotiable, and that they can't be counted on to be accurate, that seems like a problem.
I constantly hear my professor friends complain about students not reading the syllabus. There are whole websites hilariously celebrating faculty woes about syllabi. And I've read earnest faculty blog posts, entreaties — for the love of God, please read the damn syllabus! Could it be that students don't read their syllabi because they've grown up in an edit-able world, like Wiki, where meaning is negotiable? Is this why they need constant reminders about what is expected of them? Is this why, or partly why, they don't automatically assume that they need to do the readings and master the material?
I don't know for sure. I am perfectly willing to be completely wrong about this. But I would like to think I would have less gray hair if I could anticipate when to change the lights and turn the microphones on and off.
I do so hate it when my cheese gets moved. (Or my port and walnuts for that matter.) And, speaking of ritual: sometime, Nicole, perhaps over one of those rather delicious burrito things I met for the first time on Sunday, I will share with you the story of how my Great-grandmother Kate Bertha, cooked her roast and how it caused a problem for the next two generations.
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