I am heading into my last week of official teaching at the university for the year. One week of teaching and then final exam week. I'm in pretty good shape. My final exam is done. My essay questions are done. I've e-mailed my students their final instructions for the coming week. All that's left is a lecture on It's a Wonderful Life, review for the final, and then class evaluations.
Of course, I have to actually grade the final exams next weekend. That will take quite a bit of time. And then there's all the math, totaling up all the points and determining final grades. It's my least favorite part of the semester. It's tedious and involves a good deal of guilt, especially when a student doesn't do well.
Yes, professors feel guilty when students fail. There's this little equation that kicks in:
Student failure = Teacher failure
Guilt is a whole part of the teaching process for me. I want my students to succeed. When they don't, I start questioning where I went wrong. Over the years, I have become less apt to take full responsibility for student failure. However, failure of a class is a two-way street. The students have failed to learn the material, and I have failed to teach it effectively.
Even though I've been a college professor for nearly 20 years, I haven't been able to develop a thicker skin about this subject. I think it's because I'm a contingent faculty member. My success isn't measured on publication and research. My success is measured on teaching. I need to be an effective teacher in order to retain my position at the university.
That's why I dream of tenure. Tenure means you can be an absolutely shitty teacher and still be employed. Not that I would do that if I had tenure. But there's a certain amount of peace a security that comes with tenure, and I, unfortunately, will probably never have that peace or security. Such is life.
Saint Marty may be a part-time professor, but he's a full-time worry wart.
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| I haven't reached the panic stage. Yet. |
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