Something to Remember

I just Stumbled across "My Favorite Liar," a blog post in which a student discusses his favorite and most memorable teacher, a man who used lying as a strategy to make students pay attention and study. He got their attention. He aroused their curiosity. He intrigued them. I asked myself, "What will students remember me for?" But I didn't have to think too hard. 

Earlier today, during a conference with one of my students in which I was supposed to be giving him advice on his research paper, my student proceeded to give me advice about my teaching. "I'll never forget the first day of your class," he told me. "You got everyone's attention and set the tone for the entire semester. Don't ever change that." He went on to discuss several assignments and class periods that had left an impression on him. "When I listen to you in class, I think, 'You teach the way I write,'" he said. 

There's a reason for that. I've researched extensively composition theory, writing processes, revision strategies, and a wide range of other writing-related topics. I ditched the formulaic writing instruction that guided me through my own education in favor of more genuine approaches to writing. I teach my students to write like writers. I refer to them as writers, as authors, and I force them to take ownership of their own work. I know that is what another student this semester will remember me for. His writing process, before my class, included writing a draft the night before a paper was due and turning it in the next day. This semester, he has been required to write three or four drafts for every essay assignment. "I'm discovering my writing process!" he exclaimed to me one day earlier this semester. This young man is not someone who has ever considered himself a writer. I don't really know if he would identify with that word today. But he got excited about discovering a process of writing. Why? Because through that process he discovered he can write a hell of lot better than he ever thought possible. He is one of my favorite success stories. 

My all-time favorite success story is a woman who signed up for my class a couple years ago. "I can't write." she told me at the beginning of the semester. Many people would have looked at the writing she submitted at the beginning of that semester and written her off as hopeless. She was the only student that semester to earn an A from me, no easy task as anyone who has ever earned an A in one of my courses can confirm. What does she remember? She remembers that I didn't give up on her, that I fought for her, and... that I "scared the shit out of" her on the first day of class with my disorientation.

Some of you who read this blog are familiar with my "Disorientation" on the first day of my freshman writing courses. Some of you are not. I don't walk into class and greet my students. In fact, I ignore them. I don't ask them to introduce themselves (that comes later). I don't launch into a public reading of my syllabus. (What a dreadful way to start a class period, to start a semester. My students are literate. They can read the syllabus on their own. )

So what do I do? 

I shut off the lights, log into the computer, and pull up a fast-paced video on YouTube about the power of social media. I crank up the volume, and the techno dance music that accompanies the video pumps through the classroom. "WELCOME TO THE REVOLUTION!" it ends. Immediately following this, I flip on the lights and launch into a five- to ten-minute mini lecture about how the power of language and the power of the internet combined "places unlimited power in the hands of everyday people just like you." It's pretty intense. This semester it garnered applause. Students respond in various ways. Some freak out, thinking they're in the wrong class like the woman I mentioned earlier. Some get obviously excited like the young man who found his writing process. He was the first to applaud. Some get nervous because I subverted all their expectations of what a writing class is supposed to be. I understand. Abandoning one's expectations is no easy task, but having them unexpectedly yanked out from under you can be quite jarring, even scary. Most aren't sure what to think. 

But they remember. And that's the point.

I am not arrogant enough to think that my students will leave my class and remember everything they learned. In fact, most will probably lose much of the knowledge and skills they build over the course of the semester. But my disorientation sticks with them. I weave references to the content of that disorientation throughout the semester, through other radically disorienting activities in class and assignments like "shitty first drafts" and "cut and paste" with actual scissors and glue. They might think I'm just some crazy teacher with a weird and unexplainable passion for language. But they'll never forget that I told them that language is the greatest power that exists in the world, and one day life will prove to them that I wasn't crazy after all, I was right. 

I work tirelessly to make my courses engaging and memorable. When I reflect over my own education, however, I am disheartened by how few courses, how few teachers left any memorable impression. Some classes were so boring I skipped at least once a week. What's the point of going to class when the teacher just recites the textbook? Some classes failed to stir my curiosity. (It is not the students' job to rouse their own curiosities. It is the teacher's.) Some classes were so easy, I didn't even have to try. These were the biggest disappointments. The teacher didn't even care enough to challenge me.

I would like to ask these teachers, "Why didn't you give me something to remember?" I would like to ask today's teachers, "What will your students remember you for?" Ten years from now, what will you have taught them that is still relevant and meaningful to their lives?

I remember Mrs. Wood who was always shoving a new book in my hands. I remember Mr. Likes who let us jump rope with pig intestines in sophomore bio. I remember senior year when I complained that it wasn't fair that Rochester was dissecting cats in Anatomy and we weren't, not only did he go to the school board and get us cats, he taught an extra, new class for interested students in his free time. I remember Prof. Wheeler, whom I'm lucky enough to now call a colleague, who believed in me when I needed it most, who, in many ways, saved my life. I remember Drs. Ottery, Cordell, Carpenter, and Helton, who inspired me every hour I have spent with them.

The teachers I remember demonstrated empathy for their students everyday. They approached every class period with unbridled passion for the subject and students they taught.  They were a little crazy and a whole lot inspiration. They were energetic and creative. They saw my potential and made me see it. More than that, they made me believe in it. That's the kind of teacher I strive to be. Is it so wrong that I think that's the kind of teacher every teacher should strive to be?

Some think my expectations are too high.