Tough Love
I just read an article on the New York Times page about how a bunch of people, mostly interns, have gotten themselves fired by blogging about their jobs--telling company secrets, etc. I've never mentioned the name of the place where I teach . . . not only because I'm not totally stupid, but also because I also don't particularly want this blog turning up when somebody (like the College president?) Googles the name of the school to see what kind of press we're getting. Yikes!
I've been thinking about writing a real commencement address since we graduated our students the other day. Some of them deserved all the glowingly optimistic praise showered upon their heads--and more. Others I wonder about; I wonder what we're doing with them, and whether we're doing well enough by them the whole year through to justify what we say about them upon their departure.
I think an honest commencement address would say something like this:
Some of you are really smart, and some of you work really hard, and some of you are generous, funny, responsible, caring people. Some of you are all of those things. Some of you have made so much of your raw promise that as your teachers, we're filled with wonder and pride. You may not be A students, but you may have made at some point a movement from a C to a B that we will remember for years to come. You are what's on our mind when we say we love our jobs, and we feel lucky to have known you. And yes, we are talking about you when you see us huddled around the table at the coffee shop. We are talking about how wonderful you are, and how you have already begun to change the world.
Others of you seem to have been just getting by, and we've wondered about you. Whether you're more alive in other classes, or whether you're only really interested in the drinking that seems to consume so much of your time and energy. We know that drinking is an anaesthetic, and we wish that you'd try work and learning and joy instead, but sometimes it's hard to know what to do with you. Anyway, we hope that you've learned something, and we wish you well.
Others of you puzzle us entirely. We understand that college has become requisite for virtually all white-collar employment, and we can't see you working as hard as would be demanded by blue-collar labor. But you've made our jobs infinitely harder by your disrespect for the learning that your classmates are seeking. Though you are routinely unprepared for class, you feel entitled to the same rewards your fellow students are seeking when they choose to stay in and study instead of going out and partying, night after night. We are both happy and sad to see you go--while it's nice to think you won't be rolling your eyes at our hardworking students in class next year, it's sad that we haven't been able to do more with you.
Good luck everybody!
I've been thinking about writing a real commencement address since we graduated our students the other day. Some of them deserved all the glowingly optimistic praise showered upon their heads--and more. Others I wonder about; I wonder what we're doing with them, and whether we're doing well enough by them the whole year through to justify what we say about them upon their departure.
I think an honest commencement address would say something like this:
Some of you are really smart, and some of you work really hard, and some of you are generous, funny, responsible, caring people. Some of you are all of those things. Some of you have made so much of your raw promise that as your teachers, we're filled with wonder and pride. You may not be A students, but you may have made at some point a movement from a C to a B that we will remember for years to come. You are what's on our mind when we say we love our jobs, and we feel lucky to have known you. And yes, we are talking about you when you see us huddled around the table at the coffee shop. We are talking about how wonderful you are, and how you have already begun to change the world.
Others of you seem to have been just getting by, and we've wondered about you. Whether you're more alive in other classes, or whether you're only really interested in the drinking that seems to consume so much of your time and energy. We know that drinking is an anaesthetic, and we wish that you'd try work and learning and joy instead, but sometimes it's hard to know what to do with you. Anyway, we hope that you've learned something, and we wish you well.
Others of you puzzle us entirely. We understand that college has become requisite for virtually all white-collar employment, and we can't see you working as hard as would be demanded by blue-collar labor. But you've made our jobs infinitely harder by your disrespect for the learning that your classmates are seeking. Though you are routinely unprepared for class, you feel entitled to the same rewards your fellow students are seeking when they choose to stay in and study instead of going out and partying, night after night. We are both happy and sad to see you go--while it's nice to think you won't be rolling your eyes at our hardworking students in class next year, it's sad that we haven't been able to do more with you.
Good luck everybody!
posted by Tara | 9:45 PM
1 Comments:
It's really too bad that you won't get to give such a commencement address.
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