“Dear Miss: I could have simply paid someone 45$ to write my essay for me but decided not to. I think on that bases I should at least be given a chance to pass.”
Anjali’s earliest work was dramatically incompetent, but as the semester has worn on, it has steadily improved. That said, most of her “improved” work has been done at home, and I haven’t ruled out the possibility that someone else is “helping” her a little more than is strictly acceptable. She’s also been chronically absent – for the last month of classes I saw her only once – and at the moment has a failing grade, due mostly to missing in-class work.
Last week, I held office hours to answer last-minute questions on their final assignments. To my surprise, Anjali showed up. She had a draft of her paper with her. It wasn’t a terrible paper, but it had some serious issues: her absences meant that she hadn’t understood a number of the requirements for the assignment. We went over some of the most important problems. Then I leaned back in my chair.
“Anjali,” I said, “It’s good that you’re coming to see me, but it would have been much more useful if you’d come ten weeks ago. You’ve been failing all semester, and there’s not a lot we can do about it now. It’s highly unlikely you’re going to pass this course.”
“But miss,” she said, “I’m on probation.”
“I see,” I said. “That’s another excellent reason that you should have started coming to see me ten weeks ago. And an excellent reason to get lots of extra help, and attend all classes, and otherwise fulfill all your responsibilities.”
“But miss, I had a very good reason for missing so much class. But I know I should have come to talk to you about that.”
“Not necessarily,” I replied. “If you had a medical reason, you should go request a medical delete. If it’s not a medical reason, then it isn’t really relevant: passing a course means you’ve learned the skills the course requires, and you haven’t been in class to learn any skills.” I handed her back her draft. “Do your best, and we’ll see what happens, but you need to be prepared for the possibility that you will fail.”
She got to her feet. “Miss, do you give any kind of make-up work? To improve my grade?”
I shook my head. “Do your best on this last assignment, but I don’t think you’re going to make it.”
So today I corrected Anjali’s final paper. It has many of the same problems that her draft had, and all the strengths. If I grade it according to my rubric, it earns between 65 and a 70 percent, depending on how flexible I am about certain criteria. This isn’t enough; she will fail the course by two or three points.
However, if I look at this paper more holistically – if I ask myself, “Is this an acceptably organized and expressed paper that shows a good understanding of the texts, a paper that might earn a good grade in another course where the assignment requirements are different?”, then the answer is “Yes.” It’s not a bad paper at all. It’s just that it has some major weaknesses, and those weaknesses lie in areas that were emphasized in the guidelines and that were dealt with at length in class, when Anjali wasn’t there.
If I fudge her assignment grade to a 75%, she’ll pass the course. Now, let me be clear: given her lack of overall effort, I don’t think she’s earned a pass, and I’m never comfortable “fudging” anything. But based on this paper alone – and assuming that it is indeed her own work, and I have no clear evidence that it’s not, especially seeing that she came to see me with it – she has the basic skills she needs to manage fine in her future courses. I could probably examine my rubric again and make a few generous tweaks so that everything adds up to the grade she needs. And when a student fails a course by two points, everyone involved is much more upset than if she failed by ten.
What’s a teacher to do?
Image by Miriam Wickett
I’m always delighted to read about college teachers who are are taking unusual approaches to pedagogy. Jailson Farias de Lima is one such teacher. In an article published on ProfWeb yesterday, he describes an innovative project he has designed for his chemistry students, challenging them to express their understanding of scientific concepts through art-making. Science teachers may be particularly interested in this article, but I think anyone who is a little skeptical of the divisions between what we call “disciplines” will appreciate the efforts Lima is making to integrate skills and knowledge from various arenas.
What do you think? Does Lima’s project appeal to you? Do you make efforts to make links between your course content and other subjects, or do you have memories of teachers who did so? What are the advantages and disadvantages of such an approach?
Image by Dez Pain
Dear Composition 101 students:
“YOLO” is not a topic sentence.
After a long and infuriating day of grading final papers, here’s a random quote from my favourite writer that makes me feel oddly, ambivalently better.
‘You act,’ said one of her Senior Seminar students at a scheduled conference, ‘like your opinion is worth more than everybody else’s in the class.’
Zoe’s eyes widened. ‘I AM the teacher,’ she said. ‘I DO get paid to act like that.’ She narrowed her gaze at the student, who was wearing a big leather bow in her hair, like a cowgirl in a TV ranch show. ‘I mean, otherwise EVERYBODY in the class would have little offices and office hours.’ … She stared at the student some more, then added, ‘I bet you’d like that.’
‘Maybe I sound whiny to you,’ said the girl, ‘but I simply want my history major to mean something.’
‘Well, there’s your problem,’ said Zoe, and with a smile, she showed the student to the door. ‘I like your bow,’ she added.
Lorrie Moore, from “You’re Ugly, Too”
Siobhan: Colleagues and others, I need help. A student has clumsily copied a definition from Wikipedia into his introduction without attribution. His essay is otherwise his own work. My inclination is to let him off with a 0 in “expression” and a stern warning. However, I have already given one of his classmates (and a friend of his) a 0% for copying a couple of lines into his essay from the novel publisher’s website. That seems like a more egregious offense to me, but I’m having trouble explaining this to myself. Thoughts?
Ms. A.: I think it’s equally egregious. Both were unattributed quotations from websites, no?
Siobhan: I think my hesitation is because it’s so common for students to do this with definitions. They seem not to understand that a definition is a set of carefully chosen words, as opposed to a Platonic form that belongs to everyone.
Ms. B.: If you can’t explain it to yourself, you can’t justify it to them, either. Copying and pasting from a different source without attribution is plagiarism. Also, isn’t it questionable to be quoting Wikipedia anyway?
Siobhan: Wikipedia wasn’t used as a “source” per se – the student needed a grabber in his introduction, and we talked about definitions as weak but acceptable grabbers, so I suspect he took it from there. His essay-writing skills are poor, and I’m pretty sure this was an essay-writing error and not a deliberate attempt to pull something over on me. In the other student’s case, copying from the website added nothing to the essay except to fill out the word count. Thus my dilemma.
Here’s the relevant passage in the college Cheating and Plagiarism policy: “Plagiarism versus incorrect or incomplete documentation of sources: Many… college students have not yet developed the academic skills necessary to correctly and completely document sources used in an assignment….Teachers should endeavour to distinguish between students who incorrectly or incompletely document source material and students who attempt to cheat, through plagiarism, by copying source material and presenting this material as their own original work.”
Ms. C.: In similar cases, I have let the student fix the error but told them that I would grade them on 80 instead of 100. It looks like you are accomplishing the same thing by grading a portion of the essay at 0%. I do this in cases where I really do think it was a question of simply not understanding that what they did was wrong.
Siobhan: Ms. C., would you do the same for the student who copied from the publisher’s website?
Ms. C.: If it was their first essay, and it was the only instance of plagiarism in the paper, I would let them fix it for a reduced grade.
Siobhan: I’m tempted to write to the student and say, “Give me a reason not to give you a zero, taking into account the fact that someone in your class got a zero for a similar offense. My feeling is that your offense is less serious, but I can’t figure out why, so convince me.”
Ms. C.: Sometimes what I do when I am uncertain is I set up a face to face meeting with them. I let that interaction help me decide whether to let then redo for a reduced grade or assign a 0.
Siobhan: I think that’s what I’ll do. In the meantime, I’m giving him a zero and will see what he says.
Ms. D.: I like the end of this exchange: I think I too would start by assigning a zero (or no mark at all) and then arrange a meeting. I try to explain things unemotionally and objectively, and also I don’t make any final decision on the spot, while the student is there with me. The passage you cite from the policy leads me to believe that there is plenty of wiggle room here for you, and I completely understand your desire to find that ‘wiggle room’ and use it, but on the other hand, really, students often learn very little from the ‘stern warning’ if there are no actual consequences to their actions. I have certainly had occasion to give a student a 0 knowing that they are fully capable of passing the course with the rest of the work, but what remains with them is that they could have had a significantly better grade, had they made better decisions. Now, if this is a 1st semester student, I would tend to be more lenient; but for a post-intro student, less so.
Siobhan: Yes, one of the considerations here is that this is a post-intro student. To his classmate who earned the zero I said, “You didn’t just arrive in college this minute. You know what plagiarism is. If you don’t, you haven’t been paying attention.”
Ms. E.: At my school (I teach international students who want to go to university, and plagiarism is a huge issue), after the first instance of plagiarism, the student can rewrite the plagiarized parts and resubmit with no penalty. But their name (and details of the offence) goes into a database, which teachers can check. Each subsequent offence (in any class) carries a heavier penalty. They’re let off easily for the first offence because they often don’t connect the ‘theory’ of what plagiarism is to their own practice until they’ve actually screwed up.
Ms. F.: Well, Siobhan, since you said the essay was the student’s work with the exception of the definition, it seems that his intentions were not to plagiarize. How old is this kid? As the mother of a teenaged boy, sometimes all they need is for things to be pointed out to them. I’d give the student the option of fixing it up which I hope he would gladly do. Tell him that you do not expect this repeated action again. I would allow him to redo that part, then mark him. Like I said, I have no idea how old these students are but I’m all about helping them learn and grow from their errors. If this continues, of course, the consequence would be different.
Siobhan: These are college students, and they’ve all been in college for at least a year. They’ve had plagiarism explained to them many, many times by many different teachers. My approach to a first-semester student is always considerably more lenient, but at this point, they’re expected to know these things.
Ms. F.: College student – totally different ball game. Thought they were younger. Yup, I’d have no tolerance for plagiarism at that level.
Ms. G.: I think I might dispute that they all fully understand plagiarism by second semester. Some students in some classes are encouraged to do just what these two students have done and documentation isn’t stressed or even covered. I think with a definition students assume a second party, as you mentioned. Unless the student blatantly says my definition of this is… I don’t know that I would fully penalize either student for just a couple of lines, though reducing their possible grade seems fair.
Siobhan: I would never suggest that they all fully understand it – I would only suggest that they SHOULD, and are responsible if they don’t, especially as it’s already been discussed in our class. Also, this is not second semester but second year for most of these guys. If a student were able to demonstrate to me that he/she had been misguided in another class as to what proper documentation is, I’d certainly take that into account, but if we don’t penalize students for a “couple of lines,” then the concept of plagiarism is not very meaningful. There are of course exceptions and blurry areas, but a student in his second year of college who copies sentences from an online plot summary into his essay needs to feel the full force of the consequences as far as I’m concerned. The fact that some others are not enforcing these consequences is part of the overall problem.
Ms. G.: I’m not advocating being soft on plagiarism; I’d just go with your gut on this one.
Readers, what should I do?
Image by John Nyberg
A few of my college students (note, not the class as a whole) have told me they’re having a really hard time with the book we’re studying in class because it’s too sad. It’s The Book of Negroes by Lawrence Hill. The principal person in this small group suggested that at her age, she’s too sensitive to read a book like this. She’s studied slavery before, but finds this book– which follows a slave woman’s life– too graphic, too emotionally difficult. How would you handle this?
I’m not sure. Dear readers, what do you think? Should college students be obligated to read texts that challenge them emotionally in ways they might not be prepared for? Please leave your thoughts below.
Image by Sanja Gjenero
Yesterday’s adventures in college (really?) teaching:
- A student who changed an answer on a returned quiz and tried to convince me that it was his original answer.
- A student who asked me if it’s ok that she will have to leave class half an hour early at least once a week, even though I told her on the first day that if this is the case, she should not take a course at this hour.
- A student who walks on chairs to get to his assigned partner, who doesn’t seem able to communicate below a yell and who speaks French with his classmates with a sort of sneaky, pulling-one-over-on-the-teacher amusement (because…he doesn’t think speaking French is allowed in English class?)
The semester, like childhood, goes through defined developmental stages. We seem to be at the “testing the teacher” stage.
One of my courses includes a list of eight novels about adolescence. Four or five students will read each novel and will work together to present it to the class. I speak to them briefly about each book at the beginning of the semester. They browse the books (I provide them with front and back covers and first chapters), and give me a list of their top three choices; I do my best to accommodate their preferences.
Each year, when ordering books for the coming semester, I look at the list from last time and adapt it, based on how the novels from the previous year went over. This year, I’m jettisoning three novels from last time and replacing them with new ones.
As I carry out this process, I have a foolish habit. In the scramble to put together a list of eight books (or, in a recent scenario, forty-five books) on a particular subject or of a particular genre, I sometimes throw in something that I haven’t actually read. And for “sometimes,” read “often.” Every time, I regret this decision. And the next time, I do it again. This semester I HAD to get my book orders in at a moment when I had NO TIME to do any extra reading. And so I decided to once again throw caution to the winds, and ordered Scott Spencer’s Endless Love for my course on novels about adolescence.
I’d been meaning for years to read Endless Love, based on recommendations from a number of book critics I respect. I’d even downloaded and read an excerpt on my e-reader, and was blown away by it, and had been intending to buy and read the whole thing ever since. I hadn’t gotten around to it, but I figured that my impulse to keep reading, and the general critical acclaim the book has received, and its focus on adolescent love, made it suitable. So I placed my order, and got myself a copy, and started reading.
Thirty-five pages in, I was greeted with a graphic, dripping, pulsating depiction of teenage, heterosexual anal sex.
The scene is not gratuitous. It’s fundamental to the fabric of the novel. It is beautifully, if shockingly (at least to me) rendered. It is absolutely appropriate to the book.
The questions is, is it appropriate for a college classroom?
Some of my students will be under eighteen; some will be deeply and narrowly religious; some will be really immature. Others will be able to handle explicit sex scenes and appreciate them for what they are: an integral part of the story. When I briefly present the book to the class and mention that some of them may wish to avoid it if they’re uncomfortable with graphic sex, many of them will be titillated and will choose the book for that reason. (This is what happens with Alice Sebold’s Lucky in my memoir course, when I tell them they should avoid it if they are worried about the opening rape scene; the vast majority of students choose it as one of their readings.) Others will be absent that day, will be assigned the book or choose it themselves, and will be outraged.
Is it worth the hassle? I’m three-quarters of the way through now; for the last 250 pages, there has been no sex, although I can see some on its way. (Yes, another concern is that this novel is LONG.) It’s a really good book, and some of them are going to love it. If I want to pull it from the course, I need to let the bookstore know, like, now.
What’s a teacher to do? Trust that they will choose wisely and handle the consequences? Take the chance that there will be fallout? Find another book? What would you do?
Image by matchstick
I’ve described some of the trials already: a new course that didn’t work very well, an unsuccessful experiment with blogs, a number of unpleasant end-of-semester exchanges. More than a month after the end of classes, I’m still dealing with a challenge to one of my plagiarism rulings, and still awaiting a decision on what to do about a very rude email.
I’m also trying to work out a solution to a bigger problem, and the solution I like best is the one that probably reflects worst on me.
This semester I had an unusually high number of failures in one of my sections. Actually, “unusually high” is hedging it – eleven out of forty failed. For me, this is unheard of: I was consistently astonished by how weak the majority of the students in this section were, how resistant they were to following instructions, how unpleasant the atmosphere in the classroom was.
I interrogated myself about it. Yes, the course was more challenging than it should have been, but I’d made adjustments, and the other section of the same course was doing fine. (Four students in the other section had failed, three because they disappeared from the course and/or stopped handing in their work early on.) With only one or two exceptions, those who were making a good effort on all assignments were squeaking by. It just seemed that there were a lot of students who weren’t invested, weren’t skilled enough to skate through, and weren’t really getting along with each other or with me. The whole experience was nasty, and it was borne out in the course evaluations: while the other section was very positive, this section returned the worst evaluations I’ve ever received.
Generally speaking, once the semester is over, the grades are submitted, and some straggling complaints are dealt with, it’s time to move on. Out with the old! Learn from your mistakes! etc. However, there’s a wrench in this scenario.
This course is a requirement for a major. I’m currently the only teacher who teaches it. This means that all these students – as many as FIFTEEN REPEATERS, not including students who have failed the course in previous semesters – will end up back in my class next winter. This includes the student who has filed the plagiarism challenge, the author of the rude email, and the other students I mentioned in the post about requests for makeup work. It also includes other plagiarists, other students who got angry at me about something or other, other students who have ALREADY failed the course before, and all sorts of other problematic situations.
Perhaps you can imagine how I feel.
So here’s the question. My “good teacher” instinct is to say: Here’s a learning experience for you! What are you going to do with this mess? It will involve, obviously, a close examination of everything that went wrong with the course, and everything that I didn’t do to address issues as they came up. It will involve up-front discussions with all the failing students right at the beginning of the semester. It will involve careful “handling” of students who will be resentful and will believe that their failures are all my fault. What a challenge! What an opportunity for growth!
My “self-preservation” instinct is to ask someone else to teach this course next year.
I finished this semester exhausted and overwhelmed. In addition to the struggles outlined above, I’ve been juggling other work, home renovations, MEd studies and, less and less, attempts to work on my own writing. (As you may have noticed, my blog fell mostly by the wayside.) The idea of not only trying to fix this broken course but doing it in the face of a pile of students who are coming in with a grudge feels like way, way too much. What I really need is a sabbatical, but I can’t afford one. So maybe what I need is a sabbatical from this course.
This feels like a massive, cowardly cop-out. It’s also what I really, really want to do. Is there a way to justify it?
Image by Moi Cody