At the end of every term at Seton Hill, I survey my students via e-mail and ask them what they liked, what they didn't like, and how I could improve the class the next time around.
It is heartening to receive the responses. The vast majority of the students take it seriously and answer honestly. It is a compliment to me and the culture that I have crafted in my classroom that they tell me not only the good but also what they think could change and why.
As of late, I've been pondering the whole notion of teacher-student interaction and relationships -- mainly between adults students and their teachers.
I'm not your mother, is a favorite refrain of mine, said at the beginning of each term. I'm not, haven't been, and won't be is more accurate. It's not said in a nasty, sarcastic fashion. It's not said to be flip. It's said because few employers out there are interested in playing mommy to their employees.
You are training to go into specific careers. I'm here to help you improve your communication skills and re-enforce what skills you already possess. Think of this as practice for the professional world. It loses a lot in blog translation, but trust me when I say that it comes across well and the reaction is always positive. Business college students are not in school for theory. They are in school for specific skills and for a career. Period.
My approach is simple: I'll teach you what we need to cover and focus on how you'll apply it in your career. When I promise to teach them what they will use and not teach them lofty and never-used theory, there is nearly an audible sigh of relief. (Remember, readers, I'm the English grammar and intro to psych teacher. I'm the "required for graduation course" teacher. Believe me, when students hear that the "required" stuff has a point, my job becomes infinitely easier ... and the students become infinitely more interested.)
BUT...
There's always a catch.
That's my end of the deal. I need you to do something for me. I need you to come in and act like the professionals you are going to be. I can't do this without your help. In the end, I create a partnership. It's not a friendship. We're not buddies. My goal isn't to get them to like me, and I'm not out to be some hero at the end of the day. I run my classroom like a business: come in, do you work, and -- when possible -- have a little fun.
Then, I do something really crazy. At the end of the term, I survey them.
Two observations have made me think more deeply about the teacher-student relationship.
- Too many students have remarked that they've never had a teacher ask their opinion so regularly or so formally.
- I've run into a number of professionals out there who view teaching as a me-against-them approach rather than a me-with-them, guiding approach.
Where the "versus" notion comes from, I can only guess -- though I suspect that part of it is a defense mechanism on the part of the teacher.
The challenge, as always, is finding that balance. It's not as simple as handing out a training manual and telling the teacher to read it and find his or her "inner teacher." We can't simply order the teacher to model another. Training the teacher is an on-going process, one that I'm in the process of learning hands-on, first-hand, and face-first.
In May, I moved into the world of teacher observations -- this time from the observer's chair. It's going to be interesting, and I've set the bar rather high for myself. My goal? To be approachable, to be objective, and to not turn into administrators from my past.
I finally picked up and started reading Parker J. Palmer's The Courage to Teach, which I purchased last summer. It's from there that the idea of an "inner teacher" comes.
More to come...
