A post from a community college instructor:
Last week I held one-on-one conferences with my students in our school library. The rest of the class did library research while I went through my class rosters, meeting with each student to go over a writing assignment. It’s a great way to get to know students at the beginning of the semester and provide a quick assessment with each student of grammatical writing skills--before they have to turn in a full-fledged essay. The personal conversation gives us a moment to connect and helps impress upon them the importance of eliminating all those comma splices and run-ons, and that writing only one hundred words isn’t going to cut it.
After class, I went back to my office to work on some upcoming lessons. My door was slightly ajar. A soft knock interrupted my how-to-write-a-compare-and-contrast-paper presentation prep.
“Come in,” I said, looking up from my desk.
The door opened slowly and there stood a young man--who was not one of my students. He looked a little flushed. “Could I talk to you a minute? Privately?”
I got up from my desk and walked to the door, definitely leaving it open. I smiled. “What can I do for you?”
“Could we shut the door?”
“No, of course we can’t.” Not to be mean or anything, but it’s very bad idea being alone with a student in an office behind closed doors.
He took a deep breath.
I smiled again. “It’s for both our protection. Now, how can I help you?”
He drew in another deep breath, and released it slowly. “I saw you in the library, well, with your students, and I wondered if maybe, well, we could meet for coffee sometime.”
I smiled again. “Well thank you, very much. Thank you for the compliment. I so appreciate it. I’m married, though.” I didn’t say and I am old enough to be your mother.
“I’m only going here for one class, one semester. I’m already at the (he named the big university on the other side of town). So it wouldn’t really be a conflict of interest.”
The sweet boy. He must be sticking to his plan because he apparently didn’t hear the comment about my hubby.
“I’m already thirty,” he continued. “And it really isn’t a conflict of interest,” he said again.
I didn’t tell him I was twenty years older than he is. “Thank you. I’m honored. But really, it might be a conflict with my husband. So tell me what you’re majoring in.”
We chatted just enough so that he could save face.
After he left, I went to the restroom feeling quite pleased. I’m a harried teacher with so much running around and so many papers to grade that my dolling myself up doesn’t last long.
I looked in the mirror. I couldn’t help but feel a bit proud. The young man must have heard me working with my students. He must have thought I did a good job balancing encouragement with threats of failure.
And he must think I’m still at least pretty enough to be seen in public with him at a coffee shop.
“You go, girl!” I smiled at myself in the mirror.
And there smiling back at me was my lunch. During that whole conversation, I had my bean soup sitting in my teeth. I had gone through two classes, an earlier meeting with two of my colleagues and a quick visit from an adoring fan….all with food in my teeth.
And not one person had told me.
After I got over the total embarrassment--not feeling too proud then--I realized that one thing about being teachers is that we’re just plain human with our students. We are with each other day in and day out, through thick and thin. They get us looking snazzy some days, and other days, not so much.
I thought back to my conversation with the young man. He must have been too nervous to notice the bean skins. At least I hoped so.
And all those other students who had sat by me in the library? No one would tell me I looked like a ridiculous cartoon with black in my teeth? I’m thinking about them, thinking that there's got to be some way to give college students detention.
