Compassion is...teaching and being taught.

Tonight I sent students their grades (it's midterms, plus tomorrow is the last day to drop without affecting your permanent record...that sounds so scary, and my undergraduate permanent record was, ah hem, definitely affected...heh). One student's response was so caring that I have to share.
Here's my message to the student:
...I can't send your total grade report. And I apologize profusely for this frustration and promise you that I share any anger you may feel toward me because of ambiguity about your grade. :)
Nonetheless, you have everything I have graded, and you can figure out your grade at any time. According to my records, you have currently earned a B (89.6). If it were final grade time, you would get an A...so why don't you just write what you need to write to earn that A, huh? :) You are, after all, an outstanding writer. Really.
Please, ask questions about your grade tomorrow if you need help!

Regards,
Wendy

And the student's response:

No frustration, only love. As frustrating as it may be for you, I personally rather have a down to earth professor who challenges me than a cookie cutter educator who gives me my stuff back within a certain time frame. I love your class!

Who needs a paycheck, huh? Bring on the love, students! Bring it on in double handfuls. Geez and peets do I need it now...I'm grading at 12:12 a.m. after all.

Why I teach...

Because it is not for the money (no sound-minded humanities professor teaches for money), lately I have thought a lot about my reasons for teaching. A student's e-mail last night helps answer the question a little: My teaching, when it is good at least, is the most compassionate thing I can think of doing.

Here's the students' message:
As I read the assignment for this week I realized something. You said we could write this in whatever style we wanted. You did not give us a specific guideline saying, "write like this, answer these questions, etc." Even though I love the idea of freedom to write how I please, it also freaked me out a little bit. We are not taught to think in school anymore. We are given a page of instructions that tell us to do everything a certain way and to not even think about what you're doing. Everything is done one way, and we are no longer taught to think outside the box. I think that is why students get overwhelmed in class and start to freak out. Because our minds aren't used to being stretched. And it is scary. Sometimes I get overwhelmed and feel like I don't know what I'm doing, but I like it. I love feeling like I'm finally learning something. It's a breath of fresh air to have someone who doesn't teach in the same traditional way. I don't care what anyone says or thinks, I love your teaching methods. And regardless of whatever grades I get, I am going to keep plowing on. Because where has giving up ever gotten anyone? 


Here's the assignment:
Assignment due Sept. 27
25-point essay
1: Paraphrasing exercise
*Read the article about "the story" by Craig Gingrich-Philbrook that is posted on Vista
*Read the article about e-mail and the office by Joe Robinson that is posted on Vista
*Read a third piece of your choosing. The piece can be a news story, a press release or an organizational communication document. THIS PIECE MUST TAKE YOU OUT OF YOUR COMFORT ZONE. If you have never read Essence or Star or Creative Loafing or a press release from KSU, etc. etc., try it and learn.
Write a 1-page paper responding to what you have learned about telling stories. Use citations from the three sources you read to support your argument about how public communicators tell stories. These citations should demonstrate what you learned in class today about quotations and paraphrasing.
Whether your essay is written in AP or APA style, you must provide me with a correctly-styled APA bibliography. This list of the works you cite in your essay can be at the end of the single page (saving you paper and your planet some trees) or on a second page.
Extra credit: Identify five AP and/or APA style errors located in the three pieces you studied.

Yeah, I have a poetic license. I just forget to use it sometimes...

An Open Letter To My Butterfly Bush

Dear Butterfly Bush,

            I am so sorry that I left you untended in the six weeks that have passed since you became mine, and I became yours. You nearly collapsed under the weight of all those wilted flowers that expired in service to the good and kind butterfly community that inhabits our neighborhood. Although I knew it was happening, and I winced with regret each day I looked out the kitchen window and saw fewer and fewer butterflies fluttering to visit you, I was too stuck in my muck to help you survive yours.

            But that is over now, Butterfly Bush. That is done. And so, it is with gentle hands that I will try to move through and around and with you, trimming the slack and releasing you from your burdens. It will be such a joy to watch you spring back to life, stretch tall to meet the sun, and thrive once more.

            You see, Butterfly Bush, a little boy taught me something yesterday, and it is my pleasure to share this lesson with you: We are all breads and knives. I am sorry I have been heavy with my knife-ness lately. I promise to work harder to be better, and I hope together we will celebrate our growth and mutual sustenance.

In friendship and with love,

Wendy

PS: Of course, sometimes I will fail at this life, Butterfly Bush. So I ask you, no I beg you, to forgive me. 

I love our butterfly bush. I want a butterfly book so i can i... on Twitpic

My feelings July 23, 2010...

I love our butterfly bush. I want a butterfly book so i can i... on Twitpic