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Besides books, teachers, and bored students there’s another element to every college class in the country. Rarely discussed by those outside of college, the syllabus is the most fundamental important document in college. Its value ranks far above any textbook or term paper. The syllabus sets the rules of the classroom. It tells the students what to expect. It outlines the instructor’s plan for education. It’s a contract between student and teacher (at least that’s what my professors say at the beginning of every semester).
That being said, a professor can do pretty much whatever they want (thank goodness for tenure!). Quite often teachers unilaterally make changes to syllabus. Most of the time it occurs when a teacher falls behind and decides to 86 an assignment (which gets zero complaints from students). On the rare occasion a teacher decides to add something to a syllabus, it can be a sticky mess (after all it’s a contract).
My teacher decided he wanted to add something to our syllabus. Apparently his carefully created plan for the semester failed to have an assignment that assessed our learning for the first third of the semester (question: how does one assess something that doesn’t exist?). . . . . .
There’s only one class that stands between me and student teaching: Technology in the Classroom. Its purpose is to make sure teachers know how to use MS Office, the internet, and (if somehow still available) overhead projectors. The state of California gives prospective teachers the option of testing out of the course, and I considered this option during the course of my academic career, but for a multitude of reasons I opted to take the class. Not that I couldn’t pass the test (I took a look at some study guides and have a fair idea of what’s on the test–heck, being a self-proclaimed computer geek, it’d be an embarrassment if I couldn’t pass the test). But because of whacky regulations, policies, and laws, it’s in my best interest to take the course instead.
Heading into the semester, I figured the class would be a piece of cake. My computer skills probably fall well short of anything Bill Gates can do–but I certainly can run circles around most English students. After all, I have my own website, run a home network that’s so complex it could double as a mainframe for a small country, and spend about 27 hours a . . . . .
This semester I decided to take a soccer class at the university. My foray into kinesiology was motivated by two factors: 1) I couldn’t get into the classes I wanted and 2) I got nothing better to do. I skipped softball because I’m already a master of the sport. Basketball wasn’t going to fly because short white men can’t dunk. I knew if I took yoga I’d probably break something (most likely my back). Soccer felt like the right choice because it’s a game I love and I had nothing to lose.
I haven’t played soccer in about 15 years. Despite its absence, I love soccer–played it throughout the majority of my youth (my father was Italian so it was only natural I learn the family tradition). Many kids played soccer when they’re four or five years old; very few continue playing after the age of 12. Hardly anybody plays in high school. Not only did I play soccer in my late teens, I did so at the expense of other traditional high school activities (such as football, girls, or summer vacation). The last time I played soccer was in high school and I was looking forward to getting on . . . . .
With my full-time return to school, I feel older and wiser than all my classmates (that’s probably because I am older and wiser). I bring about one third more life experience to the classroom–not to mention a BA in creative writing. I’m not afraid to speak my mind or do my homework because I know I can do so without thoroughly embarrassing myself (except when it comes to analyzing poetry). My wisdom really shines in Groupwork. I think because in Groupwork students are left entirely on their own with little teacher interaction. Since I am the oldest, I become the pseudo teacher of the group and often its leader.
When unaccustomed students are thrust together for the first time there’s a brief, “getting to know you” phase with an exchange of information. How old are you? What kind of music do you like? What’s your major? Since I refuse to answer the first question and name bands they never heard of (is 1995 really that far in the past?), my academic history proves to be the most topical. The majority of classmates are impressed when I tell them I already have a BA and I’m currently a graduate student. Usually . . . . .
One of the downsides of returning to school is the forced socialization amongst classmates. Not that I hate my classmates–it’s the group work that drives me nuts. Getting three or four driven college students to agree on something when a grade is at stake takes the negotiation skills of Jessie Jackson, Jimmy Carter, and John McEnroe all rolled up into one.
Group work brings strange people together. There’s a gal I have in two of my classes–we’ll call her Nestle (’cause her real name reminds me of a Crunchbar). Even though we didn’t sit next to each other, Nestle and I have been randomly assigned to work together in groups for each class. The odds of that happening are probably as slim as finding non-Octomom coverage on television–but that’s not the point of this tale. Because we’re working on two separate projects together for two separate classes, I’ve gotten kinda friendly with Nestle over the past couple weeks. Nothing personal–just course work-friendly. I know nothing about Nestle the person. She could be a communistic, polka-listening, clown-fearing, cat-juggling member of the Nazi party for all I know…and it wouldn’t concern me the slightest. The only thing I need to know about . . . . .
The economy is bad (or so the experts say) and my employer felt that my position had to be eliminated.* Faced with the option of paying off my student loans with no income, I decided to delay the inevitable and return to school full time. It doesn’t seem that long since I was a full-time student, but considering “Who Wants To Be a Millionaire” was popular and “Dawson’s Creek” was still on the air, I guess it has. The year was 2003 and I was finishing up my final college semester by sleeping through boring, pointless classes.
The biggest thing that has changed is the technology. I wrote about this a few months back, but it’s even greater than I realized. Back in 2003, I was a major email-user; unfortunately, the majority of my teachers were not. Very few were willing to communicate by email; now I have teachers insisting that all papers are emailed so we can save trees.
The computer has made everything different. At my school, everything gets done online. You can register for classes, check grades, even pay tuition. None of this was available in 2003. It might not seem like much, but it’s a whole . . . . .
I graduated from college in 2003 and my last two or three years were pretty easy. Once I decided to major in English, the only homework I ever had to do was read. The only questions I had to answer were in essay form. This might sound like a nightmare to some people but not me. I love to read and saw nothing wrong with spending my evening perusing the greatest works of American literature (even though the majority of it sucked). As for essays, I loved essays. I’m a bullshitter–I could easily squeeze four or five hundred words out of nothing (which any of my readers could testify to). Hell, I’m much rather answer one question in essay form than take a 100-question, multiple-choice test. With a multiple-choice test, I have a one-in-four chance of getting it right–that’s a 75 percent failure rate. Multiply that by a hundred questions and it’s a no-brainer: I’ll take my chances on conning someone into believe I knew what I was talking about with an essay question.
That being said, I haven’t had to answer many fill-in-the-blank homework assignments since probably around the year 2000. Like I said–English majors only dealt with essay . . . . .
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