What I've Learned from Student Evaluations

Students ask the darndest questions sometimes. Like the sophomore guy—a guy!—who asked me last week how old I was when I got married and how long my husband and I waited to have kids. Hilarious.

(I answered him, by the way. No need to keep my students in the dark about my personal life.)

Another student, also a guy but not in my class, asked me recently about how I felt about student evaluations. Did I even read them? Did I learn anything from them?

I had to hesitate before I answered because I have some serious past baggage with student evaluations.

***

After taking a five-year hiatus from teaching, I returned to the classroom in August of 2011. I’ll admit, I was nervous. Throughout the entire semester I wondered what my students thought of me.

O.K., I obsessed.

I was well aware that I was five years older than the last time I had taught. Would they just see me as a mother figure? Would they think I was dumb? Out of touch? Not on top of my teaching game?

Heck, I wondered the same things about myself.

I had a whole lot of doubts that followed me around like a lost puppy that first semester.

So when evaluations came back to me after the semester had ended, I was devastated to read that a couple of students really hated me. Devastated.

O.K., I cried.

I just stared at the comments, wondering if I would ever be able to put myself in front of a group of overly-critical, picky, self-absorbed, entitled students again. If my office had a window in it, I probably would have climbed out of it and fled, never to return.

I called my husband and said, “I should never have come back.”

He very wisely asked, “Shelly, did you get any good evaluations?”

“Well, yes.”

“What did those say?” he asked.

I don’t really remember much about those evaluations any more, but I do remember one thing: my students, pretty much across the board, felt like I cared about them as individuals and that I wanted to see them succeed.

What more could I ask for?

Apparently, a lot more.

Because the next semester, I couldn’t even look at my evaluations. They came to me in an email, and I deleted it before even looking at them.

What can I say? I’m weak.

And prideful.

And seriously uninformed.

Last fall, I decided to take a new approach to student evaluations. After giving myself a mental pep talk and a virtual kick in the pants, I decided that 1) I needed to grow up, 2) that I would read the evaluations but that 3) I wouldn’t take them too seriously.

I knew by then which students loved me and would give me a glowing evaluation no matter what. And as much as I’d love to stay in Neverland and read only those remarks about me, I knew they weren’t that helpful.

I also knew which students pretty much hated me. These were the students who didn’t work hard enough to get the grade they felt they deserved (remember the entitled ones?) or who felt it really wasn’t that rude to consider class time their personal nap time or (my personal favorite) to knit while I was talking. (Oh yes she did!) I knew what would be coming from those students, and I braced myself.

That semester I read every evaluation, every comment, no matter how much they skewered my pride, and did this: I threw out the really glowing reports at the top of the scale along with the really nasty reports at the bottom. I focused on the evaluations that fell somewhere in the middle—those that had some good things to say along with some constructive criticisms.

And that’s where I really started to learn what worked and what didn’t in my class. I’ve made changes based on the evaluations that landed somewhere in the middle.

Honestly? I wish my students didn’t have to evaluate me every semester. Because I pretty much know what’s coming. I know that some days I drone on and on like Charlie Brown’s teacher and that on some days my classes seem like a never-ending glut of boring, regurgitated information. (I’m working on that.) I know I don’t always start every class with an inspiring word from the Lord (I teach at a Christian college), but I’ve come to grips with that too.

Hey, you can’t always be inspiring at 8:00 in the morning.

And I know that I’m not the best professor they’ve ever had. A lot of factors come into play here, not the least of these is the subject matter. (Who knew that some kids just don’t like writing?!) But I’m O.K. with that. I work very hard to present the information to my students in the best way I can, and I feel good about the work I do.

What I also know is that I am a teacher who cares very much about her students and who wants to see them succeed, and my evaluations consistently bear that out. If a student doesn’t ever get the importance of the Oxford comma but knows that I cared enough to meet with her outside of the classroom for thirty minutes each week, I’m good with that.

***

So my response to the student who asked me how I felt about evaluations? I told him I’ve learned that some people will love you and some people will hate you. It’s important to not waste energy obsessing over it.

I’ve learned, instead, to look at how the people in the middle evaluate me—the people who take the time to see me for who I am, to listen to what I'm really saying, to care enough to respond with thoughtful comments—those are the ones that really matter.

Good advice for life? I think so.

Homesick

A student came by to see me in my office yesterday. She poked her head inside and said, “You said I could come talk to you about anything, right?”

“Sure. Come on in.”

She sat in the empty chair next to the round table and poured her heart out about how she wasn’t sure she should be here. She talked about how she went home this weekend and had such a good time with her friends, just listening to music and dancing the way they used to. She told me she thinks about leaving school and just going home to be with her friends.

But then she said, “I know God wants me here.” And we talked about that. We talked about how she has a lot to contribute to this campus and how He has clearly led her here. We talked about how things at home wouldn’t be the same, even if she did leave and head back to her old neighborhood.

Things are just different now.

All of a sudden I realized her problem.

She’s been in school a month; the initial excitement has worn off. Classes and rehearsals and dorm life have become mundane, and it’s still a long time until Christmas. 

She’s homesick.

This weekend I attended the wake (that's Midwest for visitation) of an old friend from home--a woman almost as dear to me as my own mother. B and I drove an hour to get there, stood in line for 90 minutes to greet the family for five minutes, then drove the hour home.

It was worth every minute.

But, since then, I keep thinking about home. The town I grew up in was much too small for me; I didn’t fit in there; I knew God wanted me here. And yet, even now, I get homesick.

Homesickness, I’ve heard it described, is sometimes our longing for something we just can’t put our finger on. We know things wouldn’t be better “back there” and yet the here and now isn’t quite right either.

It’s the future we want, the future we long for.

Homesickness isn’t about going back; it’s about going forward. It’s about finding fulfillment in a place that isn’t "here and now" and that isn’t what has already been.

Homesickness is about all of our desires and wishes and wants fulfilled by something or someone who alone can fulfill them. It’s about finding love and acceptance and peace in the arms of someone who gets us completely and loves us still. It’s about longing for something we just can’t get our hands on here, no matter how far we reach.

As I talked to my student I realized, I’m homesick, too.

Are you?

"If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world." C.S. Lewis

Linking to Richella's Grace at Home party. 

Top 10 Words of Warning Advice I may or may not tell my students on the first day of class

 School starts for me next week, and believe it or not, I’m strangely excited about it. I have always, always, even when I was in middle school, loved the first day of school. What happens after the first day may be another story, but there has always been something magical about the first day for me.

That’s probably why I’m a teacher today. It's all about the first day.

So as I’ve been working on my syllabus for this semester, working through new textbooks and thinking about my past classes, I thought of some things my students might want to know ahead of time. These pieces of advice come from 21 years of teaching experience. Boy, could I tell stories!

Oh, I guess I have.

Now, understand, I hope and pray that none of my students EVER find my blog (ha!), but just in case you know a college student who would benefit from these words of advice, feel free to share.

1. I am not your mother. I do not want to know that you stayed up until 3:30 in the morning and couldn’t get out of bed for class. I will not call you to make sure you get up. I will not text you to see where you were. Just come to class. On time.

2. I like paper. Call me a murderer of trees, but I like to read your paper on, well, paper. I like to scribble and make squiggly lines on your paper. I like to write long notes at the end of your work—I think this is one of the best ways you learn how to get better at your craft. I don’t want you to send me your paper via email (although lots of great professors do), and I certainly don’t want you to hand me a disk that I’ll have to put in my own computer and which could possibly give my computer a virus of some sort. Nope. Just gimme the paper.

3. Your phone is not invited to class. If something is more important than my class, go handle it outside of class. Take an absence if you want, but just don’t bring it into my sanctuary.

4. And speaking of absences . . . yes, they do exist in college. I may not look like I’m taking attendance in front of the class, but I’m doing it in my mind. And, yes, your presence in our class matters—to me and to your classmates.

5. Sniffing. I hate sniffing. Get a tissue.

6. I’m not blind—I see stuff. I see your phone under the desk (put it away!). I see you doing homework for another class (it’s pretty obvious when you should be taking notes and when you don’t need to be writing anything). I see that smug look on your face that says, “I could be teaching this class right now.” That’s the one I really wish I could remove from the classroom.

7. I’m not as self-assured as I might seem. When you give me that smug face, it actually does hurt a little bit, even though I don’t want to give you the benefit of thinking so. Remember that your professor is a human being and treat me as such.

8. Which reminds me to tell you that I have a life outside of this classroom. Last night I probably ran my daughter to piano lessons, made dinner, vacuumed the living room, worked on a writing project, cleaned up dog puke, and graded papers until my head felt like it was going to explode. My life gets to me sometimes just like school gets to you. Grace, please.

9. You are not God’s gift to the English language. (And neither am I.) You are in my class because you have at least one thing to learn, so figure out what that is, practice it like crazy, and feel like you’ve accomplished something by the end of the semester. A big head about your abilities will get you exactly . . . nowhere.

10. I like you. I have no preconceived ideas about you based on where you’re from, what positions you take, or especially (goodness no!) how well you write. I come into the semester thinking that we’re going to have fun in class and that I’m going to learn something from you. I assume that you are a decent, interesting, likeable human being. Try not to prove me wrong.

So here we go. The semester is here. It’s going to be crazy-busy, a writing whirlwind—a typing typhoon if you will (ah, no). You’ll want to shoot me at times, and you’ll probably want to cuss me out at other times. But hopefully, in the end, you’ll see that I cared about you and wanted to help you learn something.

Let’s get to work!

How about you? What words of advice would YOU give my students? Did you like the first day of school?

Hamstrung

Hamstrung.

I saw it on a blog this week and realized that’s exactly what I am.

Hamstrung.

Do you know it? Have you been there?

Crippled?

I’ve been hamstrung this semester, and I can’t seem to get out of it. I’ll peek just over the cliff, ready to jump, be free, and then I retreat back to the safety of what I know.

Last semester I felt like I was flying. I was exactly where God wanted me to be, and I knew it. I’m still where God wants me to be, but I’m not sure I’m holding on to it like I should.

Why this fear? Why this doubt?

Student evaluations.

I know. Stupid, right? How could I let a bunch of college freshmen diminish my confidence and my calling?

It wasn’t even a bunch. It was, like, two.

I got my evaluations from last semester via an Excel spreadsheet the week before classes were to begin this semester. Stupidly, I opened them. That was my first mistake. Then I read them. Might have been my second mistake. And then I took them to heart. My third and biggest mistake.

Most of my evaluations were great. I think my students see me as a kind person who really cares about their wellbeing and success. Most of my students gave me “average” to “above average” marks.

But the one or two that were “below average” are the ones that stick with me. And the comments. Whew! As a “words of affirmation” person, the positive comments mean the world, but the negative comments cut straight through.

“The best thing about this class?” “It’s DONE!”

Ouch.

“How would you describe this class?” “Boring.”

Excuse me while I go bleed.

And now I feel hamstrung because I really can’t get rid of the negativity. I walk into class every day and think, “Who’s the one who’s going to think I’m boring this semester?”

Seriously! I’m a head case!

When I read the evaluations over break, my sweet daughter was still home from college and she gave me this advice: “Mom, delete them from your computer and don’t read them again.”

Someone else observed that the male teachers probably don’t even read the evaluations at all, but the female teachers take them much too seriously. That may be true, I have no idea, but all I know is that my heart has been broken. 

Hamstrung.

I know I need to move on. I need to heal this wound. I know I need to focus on the students God has given me this semester because I know there are needs there, just waiting to be revealed, and students who need me to care about them. And I do. Very much.

I need to remember that I’m a good teacher. I know I am. Is every class a hit-it-out-of-the-ballpark class? Um, no. Some days I’m tired. Some days the material just IS boring, but we have to get through it. Some days I have no idea how to present, so I just do the best I can. But for the most part, I know my subject, and I think I do a pretty good job.

What I really need to remember most of all is that I am exactly where God has placed me for right now. And I need to move forward, jumping over that cliff, with confidence. Because without it, I’m going to be pretty ineffective this semester.

I’m guessing that hamstrung people are just that—ineffective.

So today I’m going to do something I haven’t done yet: I’m going to delete those evaluations from my computer. I’m going to pray over them and let them go. And I’m going to ask God to give me the confidence to go into the classroom doing my best work, loving my students, and fulfilling the call He has given to me.

Why is this so hard?

Q4U: What diminishes your confidence in the call God has given you? What stands in your way of doing your best work today?

Help Wanted: Decorating Assistance

Yesterday I mentioned, for the hundredth time, my windowless office. I love having my own office, even if it is in the LOUDEST DEPARTMENT ON CAMPUS. And, no, that would not be the English Department.

The English Department is quiet and serene, a peaceful oasis in the jungle of academia. English people stay behind their office doors reading. And writing. Quietly.

But the English Department is also crowded, and being the lowest person on the totem pole I get to have an office in a different department on campus (which shall remain nameless). A department that is filled with extroverts. Who leave their office doors open. And who shout to one another across the department.

"HEY, BERT, WANT SOME COFFEE?"

"SURE, SALLY. THAT WOULD BE GREAT! AND DID I TELL YOU ABOUT THE STUDENT I WAS HAVING TROUBLE WITH LAST WEEK?"

No, Bert, you didn't, but I'm sure we'd all love to hear about her. Not.

Truly, I'm not complaining . . . even though I am. I appreciate having a place to meet with students and sometimes to just close the door and think.

This semester, one of my goals is to use my office to write more. I'm only teaching one class, so I'd love to take some extra time to use that space as long as I have it.

Of course I might have to buy shares of Pandora for all the free music I'll be playing to DROWN OUT ALL THE NOISE.

*ahem*

But the thing is . . . and here's where I have to lay myself open and be very vulnerable with you . . . my office is kinda, dare I say, ugly. If I'm going to be inspired to write, I think I should have a space that's, well, inspiring. All this space does is inspire me to grade papers--harshly--and to make comments like, "Expand this idea" or "Is this sentence necessary?"

Oy.

And have I mentioned that it doesn't have a window?

Brace yourself, I'm going to show you a picture.

This is the view from the doorway; it's what I see every morning when I arrive.

Note the stone wall--the only semi-interesting aspect of this room. Note, also, the lack of books (that comes with the lack of Ph.D).

Here's the same little room from a slightly different angle.

Several things to point out here. First, the only "decoration" is the teeny-tiny post-it note on the wall--my reminder of the computing services department phone number. I've called them a few times this year.

Second, notice the desktop computer tucked away behind the filing cabinet. My calls to computing services are usually to say, "Hey, any chance you could get this big, huge, hulk-of-a-computer out of here? I use my own laptop and have no need of your hideous desktop."

And then there's the filing cabinet. Enormous, to say the least; ugly, to say some more. The only splash of color in this entire photo is the teal-colored box sitting on top of the filing cabinet that has been there since I took possession of this office last summer. I have no idea what it's for. But have I taken the initiative to get rid of it? No, I have not.

And finally, just when you thought it couldn't get any worse, here's the view from my desk to the door.

One little table that I use when I have conferences with students. One chair that looks like it's from the 1970's. And one old telephone sitting way back on that shelf. I would bet you a million bucks that no matter who I called to come take that phone away, it will still be sitting there at the end of the semester.

So now, here's the challenge: tell me what to do to spruce up this office. It really is time to do something with it.

Obviously I need pictures on the wall. I'm thinking something like this:

Or this:

Cool, huh? Those might be a little pricey, though, for an office that is probably temporary.

I'm really not much of a decorator, so I need your input, dear readers. What do I need?

Photos of the fam? A colorful throw for the chair? Flowers for the table?

So tell me, what would you do to spruce up this windowless office?