Problem: Excessive absenteeism.
Jennifer showed up in my office after having missed several weeks of classes, saying,
"I had to go home for my cousin's wedding. Did I miss
anything?"
My Response Technique: Offer to go the extra mile.
"I appreciate your concern for your academic progress, so I'm not going to shortchange you by providing a mere summary of the lectures you missed. In fact, I insist on delivering them to you word for word. Let's block out some time--say, from six to eight each morning for the next few weeks--so we can cover everything in detail."
Impressed by my willingness to go out of my way for her, this young lady courteously declined my offer, saying she could borrow a classmate's notes instead. Today's college students are incredibly considerate, if you'll just meet them halfway.
Problem: Frequent tardiness.
Kirstin consistently arrived a half-hour late for her morning class still in pajamas, cheeks imprinted with pillow marks. When queried about her difficulty in getting to class on time, she responded,
"I'm tired; eleven o'clock is so early."
My Response Technique: Sympathy.
"You're so right. Last night I was up until midnight grading papers, and still had to get up at five-thirty this morning because I had an eight o'clock meeting, and it takes me an hour and a half to drive to campus. Then I led a nine o'clock seminar, spent an hour meeting with students and rushed to this class. So I know just what you mean; by eleven, I'm brain-dead. Hey, that gives me a great idea. I'm going to start taking attendance at the beginning of the class rather than the end, so I won't forget."
I'm not sure how effective my sympathetic response was in this particular case, since the student dropped the class shortly after this discussion. But I like to think I made a difference.
Problem: Lack of interest in academics.
Matt explained the reason he was failing his Sixteenth-century Music History class:
"I don't like sixteenth-century music."
My Response Technique: Point out the silver lining.
"Have you ever considered how fortunate you are that you're not required to like what you study? What if it were a prerequisite for American History that you like John Quincy Adams? Imagine a system in which you aren't allowed to pass Biology unless you like the esophagus. Count your lucky stars. You are engaged in an educational experience in which your opinion, no matter how immature or ill-formed, is irrelevant!"
Believe me, college students are grateful to be reminded how easy they have it. When Matt finally walked out of my office, he was still thanking me under his breath.
Problem: Poor grades.
Jonathan needed to raise his grade-point average in order to continue participating in athletics. He came to me and asked,
"Could you raise my grade to a 'C' so I can stay on the equestrian team?"
My Response Technique: Empowerment.
Note: A prize that is too easily won is not valued. Observe how I subtly prodded Jonathan through the process of self-realization. He wasn't handed a sense of empowerment; he earned it.
"You're an equestrian?"
"That's right."
"And you're wondering, could I change a 'D' to a 'C' so whenever people hear the thunder of hoofbeats, the cheerleaders will form a pyramid and yell, 'Hi-yo, Silver, Jonathan's coming!'?"
"Uh, yeah."
"What you're asking is, could I simply walk over to the registrar's office and say, 'Whoops, I just reached in my pocket and found seventeen assignments that I thought Jonathan didn't turn in. And, silly me, I just found out that he wasn't absent for the first month of classes; he was standing right behind me the whole time, writing key terms and definitions on the chalkboard for the benefit of the slower students'?"
"Okay, I'm sorry I--"
"Of course I could raise your grade!"
"What?"
"I said that I could raise your grade."
"You will?"
"No."
"What? You said you would."
"No, I said I could.
"What's the difference?"
"Could is a conditional term, indicating that the performance of an associated action depends on the performance of some other action."
"I don't get it."
"Righto!"
"You mean you won't raise my grade?"
"For me to raise your grade would require you to perform a specific action."
"What? I'll do anything."
"Are you familiar with the concept of time travel?"
"Uh, yeah."
"Well, there you have it. All you have to do is travel back through time to January and take the course again. Only this time, turn in your homework, show up for classes and pass a few tests."
"But that's impossible."
"Impossible? You sleep through required courses until you dwell in the environs of academic probation, and then boldly beg for passing grades so you can play horsey? My friend, for you, nothing is impossible. You stand boldly at the vanguard of a new generation that asks to be celebrated for its sloth, rewarded for its selfish hedonism. The celebrated fine line between genius and lunacy is now enfleshed and stands before me in glory. Giddyap! Ride into the sunset, lest I fall to the ground and weep in adoration of such self-esteem run riot."
An admission: a few students have been slow to realize the value of my fatherly concern. This defect in reasoning is the cause of the greatest of student troubles:
Problem: Lack of gratitude for all I have offered.
Jonathan, for example, felt somehow demeaned by my attempts to empower him with the responsibility for controlling his destiny. Nevertheless, I was prepared when, back against the wall, he played his predictable trump card:
"I'm going to report you to the Dean."
My Response Technique: Calm, gracious acceptance.
"Thank you for your kind offer. Dean Sorenson will certainly want to talk with me about this, which is a blessing in disguise, since he and I don't get to spend much time together anymore, outside of church, lodge meetings and country club functions. I'd better start getting ready. After all, Jimmy--er, I mean, the Dean--always wants me to bring accurate documentation to this sort of meeting--homework grades, test scores, attendance records, that sort of thing. I've been getting lazy lately, forgetting to enter "F"s for incomplete assignments and missed classes. What's that? You've changed your mind? Don't be silly, it's no imposition."
So there you have it; the sum total of the compassionate wisdom I tried to pass on to America's youth during my academic career.
Brief as it was.
Copyright 2005 Frank Mullen III
Originally published at Suite101.com.
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