They're Ba-ack....

So, having been through the first part of the new school week, I have some observations to make.

I never like most of my students starting out, mainly because I miss (most) of my old ones, and I want them back. But this crowd of miscreants...well, I don't think I like any of them yet, and that's a first. Maybe it was just the excitement of being in a smaller class where you can actually talk to each other; maybe it was the excitement of coming away from the night before, where the university in its infinite wisdom has a free concert and beer. If you have to teach on the Tuesday after this party, you can guarantee you'll lose more than a few to hangovers the first day. And while I probably shouldn't give away where I teach, I will say that free concerts and beer on the first day of school, provided by the administration, is probably one of the reasons why my school made #1 this year in both students who don't study and party-hardying. Sigh.

Several of them are self-proclaimed first time fails, or what we term around the water cooler: "repeat offenders." I had so much background buzz of side chatter I had to call people out multiple times--that rarely happens until later. I had one kid with a chip on his shoulder the size of Manhattan go apeshit during our opening ice breakers. I changed my explanation of my "disturbance clause" to fit the language I thought would make the most sense to them. Normally, I talk about how "aggressive behavior will be swiftly dealt with." This time I said, "If you have 'roid rage or just plain step up in my face, I'll do my level best to get you kicked out of this class and the university. Don't test." I have two that I can actually see giving it a try.

I've got a game plan in case they get too amped up, though, and while I've never personally had to pull it out, I've been assured by several who have used it that it works flawlessly. First, there is the initial 30 second soapbox about the disrespect of talking while others are talking. If it happens again, you get really quiet. Basically you just stop what you're doing until enough people figure out that something serious is up. Then you tell them to take out a piece of paper and write--nonstop--for the rest of the class period on the subject you provide. It could be "Why I Think It's OK To Waste The Money I Paid To Go To College" or "Why I Think College Is the 13th Grade." Or it could be something related to the first paper they have to do. At the end of class, you announce that life can be like this for the rest of the semester, and they'll improve by default, or life can be easier and we can do more interesting things.

The second class (I teach Tuesday and Thursday), I went in balls to the wall. I laid out all their handouts in a row on my desk, and the sheer amount shut them up. I went in with my Mistress face, I suppose. Nobody had an attack of the crazies. There was much less talking, and for the few brave souls who still ventured it, a look shut them up quickly. I think Tuesday, I came in with the wrong assumption. Normally, 101 is full of first time freshmen who are scared to death. This time, there are a lot of first year frosh, but there are also more experienced students. And the time of day makes a big difference. I teach in the middle of the day, so they're awake and usually quite active (versus 8:30 a.m. when they're good because they're groggy).

I've even started to like a couple of them. The vast majority I still don't like, though. Because Thursday couldn't be without complications, I turned to write on the board and my shoe, of thong design, snapped and broke. So I cut one of the straps off my bag and MacGuivered it around my shoe and my foot. It was either that or go barefoot. Both images don't help dispel the stereotype of Appalachians.

At the end of my first week, though, I go up to my giant cube farm office, and Batmite! tells me someone has left me a present. Something was giftwrapped on my desk. I shook it to see if it would tick and I smelled it to see if it was anthrax. Having passed both those tests, I opened the card. It was from a student from my very first semester of teaching. I had written her a glowing recommendation letter last semester so she could go to Italy all summer for study. She got to go, and she had bought me a stationary set with a pen from Florence, with that gorgeous Peacock design on the paper and pen, because she was grateful I helped her, and because she knew how many times I'd tried to get to Italy and failed.

Even with a wrapped up broken shoe, it made my whole day. There's always that one student. Thanks, Lauren.

-- Virgil