Here's Your Sign, Dad. And It's Shaped Like A "D".

Recently, on top of everything else academically going on for me this week, I got an email from a concerned parent about the recent midterm grade report he got in the mail for his dear son. Students who get D's or F's get a report back to their primary address. It's supposed to be a wake up call to the person footing the bill. Midterm grades aren't factored into the final grade; they're more like markers to give you some idea of how you're doing. I've probably sent a total of at most 34 D/F reports home since I've been teaching. This is the first parent response I've personally received.

The gist of the email went something like this:

I am emailing concerning my son, Slacker. I spoke with his Advisor this morning by
phone and have found that his current grade in this class is a "D". Of course, this concerns me. I would appreciate any suggestions or advice you can offer in regard to Slacker's current status that may help him in bringing up this grade, and getting more on track. I realize there is an adjustment period starting College, but I just want to make sure he is making an honest effort, attending classes, etc.

I have attached the FERPA form which Slacker signed.

Thanking you in advance,

Parent "Dad" of Slacker

Normally, I don't have to respond to parents, because I can't violate the privacy of their children's records. Because they're -- gasp!-- adults whose lives are none of their parents' business anymore. But you'll noticed he made Slacker sign off on a FERPA form, which gives him the right to find out the details. So be it. While my first section of kiddies were busy with a group activity in Thursday's class, I drafted up an explanation for Mr. Dad--one that Slacker himself should've asked me for. In the second section, of which Slacker is a part, I noticed that Slacker didn't show up that day. Well, Dad, that changes the ballgame, as it puts Slacker on his 5th absence. Since six absences fails the course, at this point, we encourage students to drop. The odds are incredibly stacked against them that they won't miss one more day of class. Don't bet on that pony, you'll lose the farm.

I ended up composing and sending what was approximately a 1 1/2 page response, outlining what Slacker should do now, and how Slacker got to that point. It is very, very briefly paraphrased here:

Dear Father "Dad" of Slacker,

Expression of appreciation that he, as a parent, is willing to support his son at a difficult transitional time in his life, parents play a crucial role in the success of their children, blah, blah. Softened him up to hear the news that his kid is likely getting a D for "real" this time.

Explanation of absence policy, overview of Slacker's violations of it, list of short writing assignments Slacker failed to turn in, which would compound the problem and end up giving him a D anyway, recommendation to drop, explanation on how to do that along with relevant deadlines.

Turning the corner and outlining the even greater cause for concern, which was what put Slacker in this position in the first place. Slacker didn't turn in portfolio at midterm, which is an automatic D, but didn't appear to even bother doing the second essay in the first place. Detailing my extensive methods of student support, including, but not limited to, personal conferences, flexible office hours, speedy email reply, after class help, and many more. Simple but direct note that Slacker did not avail himself of any of these methods he has had ample opportunity to observe his classmates taking advantage of. Note saying with utmost delicacy that Slacker has crept out of class before I could ask him to stay and talk about what was going on. Cautionary warning that if Slacker doesn't figure out how to use the tools in place, history will probably repeat itself.

Concluding paragraph again thanking him for giving a shit, carefully placed sentence declaring this email was being cc'd to the Coordinator, who was a wonderful resource for both "Dad" and Slacker, and a lying ending about how I'd be happy to help with any other info.

Gasps for air.

The careful attention I had to place on my prose rankled my normally no-bullshit way of discussing things. So, here's the email I wish I could've sent:

Dear "Dad",

This is pretty simple. I noticed you said you'd talked to the Advisor. Did you bother talking to your son, or did you just shove the FERPA paper under his nose and demand he sign in? Since you went all "legal" on me, here's the bad news. I'm sure he could've told you why he got a D. He didn't turn in the damned portfolio. No worky, no passy. It's just that simple. He didn't even bother coming to class and doing the work for half of the portfolio.

You probably could've saved yourself the embarrassment of hearing what a slacker your boy is by simply asking him directly; he knows he's in the wrong, because the last two times he has made it to class, he's slunk out of the room the second I took my eye off of him. I stay after class helping those few who do actually want to learn work out the kinks they have with their projects. I respond to emails usually within 3 or 4 hours when the university says I have 48 hours to take my sweet time in getting back to them. Your boy gets the advantage of personal one on one conferences with me at least four times in the semester. None of his other classes offer him that. Additionally, I have flexible office hours, in case the ones I keep don't meet his special needs.

By only requiring him to put his signature down and letting "Daddy" take care of the rest, I see now why your son is a massive Slacker. You've taught him not to use the tools at his disposal, but rather to take advantage of an overly and unduly prolonged adolescence, chalking up his failures to a difficult "transition" period. Here's a piece of advice. You can't sign his FERPA form all of his life. But you certainly got what you paid for.

Oh, and by the way, I've cc'd this to the Coordinator, just in case you feel like making some bullshit excuses about why your little snowflake deserves to make up five weeks worth of work. In these cases, I love jumping behind the Ivory Tower Wall.

Sigh. Can't I just hit "send"?

-- Virgil