Learning from my students
Oh my dearest student.
Today, I had to teach you how to count. I literally had to show you how to count the number of paragraphs on a page so that you could indicate the paragraph that had the information you wanted to use. The fact that when you asked what a paragraph number was, another student laughed out loud should have shown you that when we said "there are no stupid questions", we didn't account for you. You might have had that point reinforced when you asked if the paragraph number was this copyright date resembling this very year, but I told the other students to stop laughing at you. You never cease to amaze. When I told you it was the number of the paragraph which held the information you wished to use, you said to me: "but I'm only using one". This taught me a good deal. It is said that teachers learn from their students as much as those students learn from their teachers. I could not agree more. I have learned a lot from you, and I'm grateful.
When you ask me to repeat myself four times and then still fail to show that you learned anything, you taught me that you were not paying attention. When you failed to show up on time for your class fourteen classes in a row, you taught me that you didn't care. When you ran out of class so that you could "work in the library" then ran in the opposing direction to the library, you taught me that you were a liar, and that you were too cowardly to tell me you were going to go screw off rather than work. This was a double lesson! When you missed all of your appointments during office hours, you taught me that you didn't think my time was valuable. Finally, when you said that you hadn't even started your draft even after the due date was announced in each class, each day for the last three weeks, you taught me that my class wasn't worth your time. When you taught me this last lesson, you taught me something grater. I owe you a great deal.
You taught me that you won't have a future in this school. You taught me that you were a waste of my time, and that you were a time thief. You taught me that each moment spent with you was a moment I could not spend helping someone pass. You taught me that you won't be one of those who do pass, not because you can't pass, but because you don't care to pass. You taught me that indeed I have been wasting my time. You taught me clearly that you don't care. It's a good thing to know, because I'm leaving my job. Oh, I'm still working for the school to which you decided to donate a semester's worth of tuition. Oh, you didn't know it was a donation? Well, you will probably get that, and a bill shortly. As I was saying, I still teach the class you wander into from time to time, but I no longer work for you. I'm going to work with the students who can pass. The students whose time you've been wasting by distracting me actually are still part of my job. You see, I've already written in your grade. You failed. It's great really; your colleagues will have to work for the remainder of the term in order to learn their grades, but you are just special enough to have it all worked out at midterms!
This is the moment when the martial arts instructor starts sparing at close to full power, and full speed. This lesson is designed to show a student what an actual conflict is, and what must be done, or avoided in the case of missteps in order to survive. This is the moment when a good instructor proceeds to beat the living daylights out of anyone who can not hold his or her own through stamina, skill, trickery, or wisdom. This is the moment when a student like you finds himself covered in blood and tears on the floor reconsidering his choices and deeply fearing the future. This is the part of martial arts instruction which I find the most difficult. I know instructors who can do this easily. They maintain a serious demeanor, eliciting as much fear as respect. This is not easy for me. I've always been poor at driving home the "get serious, or get out" message. I have learned my weaknesses, and this is one. However, like I said, you are special.
You could change my mind, you know. I suggested that I have a soft heart, and you could make me reconsider your established grade. It will take work, and I honestly don't believe that you have that ability in your tool box. I'd like to help you, but you will have to make me believe that you are worth my time. You were a good teacher, but I'm perhaps a poor student, so you may not have proven quite yet that working with you is a total wast of my time. Right now, I think working with you is much like sewing with clam chowder. You could, however, change that. It's in your hands, my former and potential student. The question is: what will you do with it?
When you do sort this out, you know where to find me. Until you do, I will use your example to inspire other students who do have a chance of passing. You will serve as the great symbol of what not to do and why the world is the way it is. The school will most certainly keep taking your money, and I'm betting you will end up in debt, and without prospects. The only question on that point is whether you will get anything for that expense, or whether it will be a continuing donation to the school's finances, and to my real students' experience.
Yours truly;
Professor Martin.
Today, I had to teach you how to count. I literally had to show you how to count the number of paragraphs on a page so that you could indicate the paragraph that had the information you wanted to use. The fact that when you asked what a paragraph number was, another student laughed out loud should have shown you that when we said "there are no stupid questions", we didn't account for you. You might have had that point reinforced when you asked if the paragraph number was this copyright date resembling this very year, but I told the other students to stop laughing at you. You never cease to amaze. When I told you it was the number of the paragraph which held the information you wished to use, you said to me: "but I'm only using one". This taught me a good deal. It is said that teachers learn from their students as much as those students learn from their teachers. I could not agree more. I have learned a lot from you, and I'm grateful.
When you ask me to repeat myself four times and then still fail to show that you learned anything, you taught me that you were not paying attention. When you failed to show up on time for your class fourteen classes in a row, you taught me that you didn't care. When you ran out of class so that you could "work in the library" then ran in the opposing direction to the library, you taught me that you were a liar, and that you were too cowardly to tell me you were going to go screw off rather than work. This was a double lesson! When you missed all of your appointments during office hours, you taught me that you didn't think my time was valuable. Finally, when you said that you hadn't even started your draft even after the due date was announced in each class, each day for the last three weeks, you taught me that my class wasn't worth your time. When you taught me this last lesson, you taught me something grater. I owe you a great deal.
You taught me that you won't have a future in this school. You taught me that you were a waste of my time, and that you were a time thief. You taught me that each moment spent with you was a moment I could not spend helping someone pass. You taught me that you won't be one of those who do pass, not because you can't pass, but because you don't care to pass. You taught me that indeed I have been wasting my time. You taught me clearly that you don't care. It's a good thing to know, because I'm leaving my job. Oh, I'm still working for the school to which you decided to donate a semester's worth of tuition. Oh, you didn't know it was a donation? Well, you will probably get that, and a bill shortly. As I was saying, I still teach the class you wander into from time to time, but I no longer work for you. I'm going to work with the students who can pass. The students whose time you've been wasting by distracting me actually are still part of my job. You see, I've already written in your grade. You failed. It's great really; your colleagues will have to work for the remainder of the term in order to learn their grades, but you are just special enough to have it all worked out at midterms!
This is the moment when the martial arts instructor starts sparing at close to full power, and full speed. This lesson is designed to show a student what an actual conflict is, and what must be done, or avoided in the case of missteps in order to survive. This is the moment when a good instructor proceeds to beat the living daylights out of anyone who can not hold his or her own through stamina, skill, trickery, or wisdom. This is the moment when a student like you finds himself covered in blood and tears on the floor reconsidering his choices and deeply fearing the future. This is the part of martial arts instruction which I find the most difficult. I know instructors who can do this easily. They maintain a serious demeanor, eliciting as much fear as respect. This is not easy for me. I've always been poor at driving home the "get serious, or get out" message. I have learned my weaknesses, and this is one. However, like I said, you are special.
You could change my mind, you know. I suggested that I have a soft heart, and you could make me reconsider your established grade. It will take work, and I honestly don't believe that you have that ability in your tool box. I'd like to help you, but you will have to make me believe that you are worth my time. You were a good teacher, but I'm perhaps a poor student, so you may not have proven quite yet that working with you is a total wast of my time. Right now, I think working with you is much like sewing with clam chowder. You could, however, change that. It's in your hands, my former and potential student. The question is: what will you do with it?
When you do sort this out, you know where to find me. Until you do, I will use your example to inspire other students who do have a chance of passing. You will serve as the great symbol of what not to do and why the world is the way it is. The school will most certainly keep taking your money, and I'm betting you will end up in debt, and without prospects. The only question on that point is whether you will get anything for that expense, or whether it will be a continuing donation to the school's finances, and to my real students' experience.
Yours truly;
Professor Martin.