I was thinking about my metaphor survey this morning. Yes, the results are troubling. I wonder if these students are a sample of what’s out there. Unfortunately, I think they are. I think part of the problem is that if professors accept even partial validity of the results, they would have to redefine themselves. First, they would have to redefine what they do, that is, what is the function of a professor. That’s somewhat difficult, but you know I think too many of us define ourselves by what we do rather than by what we are. The exercise deals primarily with attitudes, or the “what we ares,” and that requires courage, and I don’t use that word lightly. We can’t transform the system unless we transform ourselves because we are part of the system, and we wouldn’t be on any moral ground if we asked students to do as we said rather than as we did.

I approach each student as having a unique potential worthy of receiving my attention. Instead of using the term “good student” or “bad student,” I prefer “different student.” I see each of them as a “fellow traveler” or an “equal partner,” and act accordingly both in and outside class. I guess those are my metaphors, similes and analogies.

I do know that if we do not respect the student, and if we do not see teaching as an art or a craft or a calling, and if we keep being taken with ourselves, we can hardly expect ourselves to do whatever it is we can do when we are at our best. I work hard to demolish mutual stereotypes and understand each other for the faulty human beings that we are. In class I engage students in honest, open, and at times, uncomfortable and painful conversation. I find it to be releasing, exhilarating and insightful.

As part of the exercise, then, the students exchange their sentences with each other for comment. By the way, I do one myself and throw it into the pool. Then, we openly discuss our impressions. We also talk about how and why they felt the way they did about themselves, about each other, about me, about college and getting an education, and why I feel the way I do. The gist of the conversation is “let’s see what we can do together about all this.” Sometimes the effect is dramatic. Let me give you an example. One student, Lloyd was his name, wrote that students are like lumps of clay waiting to be molded. In the course of the discussion–now this is on the first day of class, mind you–another student asked what role did the clay have in shaping itself. Another commented that the clay is totally dependent upon the artistry of the professor. Still another talked about how worthless dirt is. Lloyd, whose facial expressions betrayed his insecurity, sheepishly commented that his experience in high school in Atlanta and generally here at VSU was that his views were unimportant and he didn’t have anything of value to contribute to his own education. He and I made a commitment to each other that we would be “potter-partners” who, drawing upon the artistry within both of us, would mold that clay into a fine coffee mug together. He hesitantly agreed.

As the quarter has progressed, he has seen that I have been serious. I seized every opportunity to remind him of our pact: “We’re potter-partners Lloyd. We can’t do it without each other.” He has started trusting me. I later found out that he talked with the other members in his triad about taking a chance because he thought I really cared about him. Slowly but surely, as we have learned to trust and respect each other, he has become a major and significant contributor in the class. It has astonished another student who had known him the entire year as a “scared mouse in class.” Lloyd’s sheepish expressions have changed to a more confident expression; he holds himself better; he has displayed some leadership; he had challenged me in discussions. Some would say his performance, study habits, and insights would only earn him a “C.” But, he has put some effort into himself, and he has studied, and he has struggled, and he has come a long way, and that is worth an “A+” in my grade book!!

So many of us believe that the grade is an absolute indicator of achievement and a college degree is an absolute indicator of competency. Our idea of success is so hung up on performance. Let me try and make myself and my approach clear. First, I operate on the assumption that every one of my students is capable; they just have to dig to deeper levels within themselves to tap what’s down there and use it. Second, my motto, my approach, my philosophy is: “effort more than performance.” The students know that I value effort and incorporate it into my grading because I tell them that in the course syllabus and because I openly value it every day in and out of class. I don’t measure success by how many words they speak in a discussion or how many minutes they talk, but by their attitudes or changing attitudes. I keep an eagle eye out for their effort. My eyes are forever and sensitively roaming. I am roaming all over the class rather than being glued to the podium at the front of the class. I watch their facial expressions, their body movements, their interactions with other members of their triads and the class, and their vocal tones. I encourage, support, and value the struggle to take a risk to overcome fear of failure. I always tell them that the will to achieve is non-existent without the courage to fail. I explain to them that learning to appreciate their mistakes, what we call “being wrong,” is important to learning. I urge them to ask questions and develop a curiosity for everything instead of being a puppet dancing to the professor’s manipulating and controlling strings. In short, character development is the foundation of my class.

Now I know what you’re going to ask. Let me guess, “How can I evaluate effort? How can I put a grade on it?” My answer is simple: “Intuitively!” I ask of this student if he/she is doing all he/she can reasonably do to give it what he/she truly has? Is the student approaching his/her potential? I ask the students to evaluate themselves each week during the quarter and at the end of the quarter. I find those self-evaluations, with few exceptions, are amazingly similar to mine. The evaluation is subjective because there is no absolute scale by which to measure effort, improvement, the pursuit of excellence. Moreover, my evaluation is comparative, comparative to where the student was at the beginning of the class and where he/she is at the end of the class. That’s why I believe that I must know my students and establish a bond of trust with them, connect with them, if you will. Hard work? You bet. Time consuming? Heck, yes. Worth it? Well, let me briefly tell you of a happening during this discussion about Andrew Carnegie. There is this one girl, a very, very shy “can’t talk in front of others type” girl, who was scared to death to answer questions or enter any discussion in the class, and with whom I’ve had several conversations.

In this particular discussion, everyone was saying that Andrew Carnegie was moral because of his charitable deeds. Suddenly, I heard this voice interrupt and I turned my head. There she was. I could see her shaking, getting heat flashes, terror flashing in her eyes. I am not exaggerating. “I don’t think he was such a good person since he hurt a lot of people getting his money.” That was all she said during the class. That was enough. I knew what she had gone through to say those few words, and what she felt to have challenged herself. That she altered the tone of the class discussion was merely icing on the cake. She exerted a herculean effort to do something she had never done before and saw for an instant what potential lay within her. I gave her a rousing, “Excellent, Elizabeth! Who can add to that?” And her eyes lit up like lighthouse beacons. I turned back to her, winked my eye, and slightly nodded my head as I gave her a subtle thumbs up. I spoke to her after class to offer all the encouragement and support I could. “Don’t lose the feeling of that moment,” I told her. “Grasp it as tight as you can and build on it.” She gets a higher evaluation in my book than a senior in my class who is doing only what he has to do to get a passing grade. His effort grade sucks!! So does his attitude. He’ll be surprised at the end of the quarter because he doesn’t believe the syllabus or me.

Why is it that we seldom think in terms other than “either/or:” either we are student oriented or subject oriented; either we are involved in process or in content; either we concentrate on a student’s intellect or the student’s character; either we value an education for its vocational goals or it loftier ends of self-development; and so on? Surely, with all of our teaching experience, our concern and our learning, we could be sufficiently creative and imaginative to do in all at once. Let me tell you what I mean. One assignment I have in my freshman history class is for the students to read Andrew Carnegie’s “Gospel of Wealth,” discuss it among the triads and then come to class prepared to discuss the issue of whether Carnegie, the robber baron, was a moral person. In a one hour class, the students, with little help from me, bounced all over the place discussing, raising questions, debating, arguing, disagreeing, almost fighting each other over such matters as: a definition of morality; the subjectivity or objectivity of morality; business practices and ethics; charity; individuality; social responsibility of government; capitalism; science and society; unionism; welfare; Republicans and Democrats; government regulation vs. laissez faire; evolution; and something called “traditional American values.” True, the thoughts were partial, but that was o.k.; the ideas were incomplete, but that was o.k.; and the supporting evidence was lacking, but that was o.k. There was thinking out loud, but that was o.k. There were no clear, finished, supported thoughts, but that, too, was o.k. It only was their first step towards uttering a competed thought in a convincing manner. I think they were surprised with themselves when they left class. There was no “either/or” in this class, only “many/and.” There was knowing, thinking, doing, feeling, and asking; there was self-confidence, diminished fear, honesty, self-esteem, etc.. In other words, there was content, process, character, and value that had vocational and aesthetic applications. I don’t know what the lasting influence of this class might be. But, I do want to believe that classes such as these can serve the students in all their professional, vocational, personal and societal walks of life. If I’m right, all it takes is effort, concern, creativity, and imagination. That’s enough.

Why are so many of us educators so blasted defensive, so over-sensitive to criticism, and so inclined to deflect criticism however constructive and revealing it may be? Are we so fearful in our person and insecure in our job? Do we not have sufficient pride in our craft to know we can do a better job, that our “best” can ALWAYS be better? Such soul-searching in my book is a sign of strength and courage, not an indication of weakness and incompetency.

I ask these quick questions because one teacher contacted me and wrote the following about the metaphor results:

The problem may stem from our society’s general attitude that education, in and of itself, is not valuable. I don’t think this idea has been particularly stressed or furthered by K-12 teachers or Univ. profs, but by parents and by societal members.

Whether an education is valuable or not is not the issue. Besides, I think that is bunk. No one denies the value of an education; it is a question of the extent to which education that is presently being provided is valuable and valued. I strongly feel it is valuable, but it can be greatly, very greatly, improved. The perceptions of the students deal with the critical matter of the attitude and behavior of the teachers toward the students, the nature of the classroom spirit, the role models the teachers present, all of which seem to be destructive and denigrating. After all, why has the innate curiosity of the toddler become virtually extinct fifteen years later? To say that it is those awful parents and those ethereal, elusive “societal members,” makes as much sense as saying it is in the water. Ah, everything would be so wonderful for us educational professionals, us “experts,” if it wasn’t for “them.” It’s so very seldom “us” who is at fault and bear some responsibility for the situation; it’s always “them” who are the culprits. Give me a break. We’re in denial. Do we really think that parents and “societal members” have nothing else to do but sit down and propagandize their children against us teachers. Do we really think that strangers, those “societal members” again, are lurking behind every corner whispering into the students’ ear, that small cells of “them” are secretly gathering in homes conspiring against the teachers? Besides, you would think that with all the time spent with the students we teachers, by our actions and words, could offer the children some effective, alternative, constructive and encouraging imagery. And, isn’t it true that in this day and age of the educated baby boomers, these “societal members” and parents of whom you disparagingly talk are the people whom we have educated? And, if they do indeed possess such perceptions and pass them on to the kids, it still comes back to haunt us as the source of these attitude.

There’s no conspiracy “out there.” I think some hard honesty is in order, an honesty that will direct us to ourselves as the true source of these perceptions. We are the painters, sculptors, architects of those mind constructs. That might be scary, but it is closer to the truth. We educational “experts” must have the courage to engage in self-reflection, assume the responsibility for the situation, and change both our attitudes and our ways. Until we do, little will change.

This teacher used the following quote to end her message: “We often find stones in our way; we can stumble over them, we can climb over them, or we can build with them.” I would add, “or we can let them bar our way.”

Hi from hot and steamy South Georgia. It was strange this morning. I hardly noticed anything as I roamed the darkened streets. In fact, my walk seemed to last only a minute or two. I guess I was deeply, very deeply, engrossed in my thoughts. Lucky for me that not even the milkman is out at that wee hour of the pre-dawn morning. I can’t remember slowing up for a stop sign or red light to see what was coming.

I was thinking about the results of an exercise I had given my students at the beginning of the quarter in an effort to get a sense of their feelings and attitudes about me as a professor, about themselves as students, about the purpose of a college education, and about college itself. I think that is important since it is the too often ignored emotional side of the student which energizes or stifles a student’s effort and affects his/her performance. Going over the results once again, I was again astounded, saddened, angered–and challenged.

The exercise is fairly simple. I asked each student to complete the following sentences using metaphors, similes or analogies:

Education is/is like………
Professors are/are like……..
College is/is like……….
Learning is/is like………..
Students are/are like…………
119 students took the exercise. They were mostly freshman and sophomores. Some were juniors. None were entering freshman, and about 25% were non-traditional. They each, therefore, had some educational experience beyond high school. Let me tell you the results just related to their attitudes towards professors.
19 students unemotionally described professors in what I call “either/or” terms: “good-bad”; “allies and enemies”; “unalike” “an influence”; “role models.”

26 students described professors in positive, though inanimate, bland, and unexcited, terms: “challenges”; “stepping stones to learning”; “knowledgeable”; “intelligent”; “well-running engines”; “facilitator”; “guides.” I found it curious that none of the students completed the sentences using terms dealing specifically with human relations.

74 students tragically described professors negatively in such terms as: “unloving parents”; “ants at a picnic”; “annoying gnats”; “necessary evils”; “a boat without oars”; “a steering wheel without a car”; “locked treasure chests”; “tops that spin over our heads”; “a dark tunnel”; “yukkie cockroaches”; “holier than thou preachers”; “gods that can’t be pleased”; “ultraviolet rays”; “wormy apples”; “exploiting bosses”; “professional non-listeners”; “drill sergeants”; “bumps on a road”; “nursing mothers with dried up breasts”; “dentists pulling your teeth without novocaine”; “the opposite of learning”; “uninterested guides”; “mind-bank embezzlers”; “balloons filled with hot air”; “devouring wolves”; “tyrants”; “dictators”; “monsters”; “St. Peter at the gate”; and “a sledgehammer.”

About themselves, only 27 students used positive imagery, and, then, a few did so with obvious anger and defiance: “reason profs have a job”; “real people growing”; “THE FUTURE–DAMIT”; “first draft of a mansion”; “doctors without a degree”; “deserving respect!!!”; “budding flowers”; “young, exciting, wild, and curious”; “just as good as the profs”; “creators”; “adventurers”; and “survivors.”

The rest of the students resorted to negative imagery which could be described as passive at best and denigrating at worst: “slaves”; “sponges waiting for water to be spilled on them”; “victims”; “drones in a hive”; “an empty canvas to be painted on”; “dogs called to heel by their masters”; “lab rats”; “lumps of clay waiting to be molded”; “oxen whipped by the rider”; “cows herded together”; “pieces on a game board”; “blank pages to be written on”; “robots”; “mimics”; “production workers waiting for orders”; “parrots”; and “babies to be nursed.”

Yet when it came to completing the next sentence, “Education is/is like…….”, the results were totally reversed.

Only 6 students used negative imagery: “Saturday Night Live”; “pure memorization”; “useless in the real world”; “pure boredom”; “a Three Stooges movie”; and “a game.” The rest of students had only positive images in terms of vocational advancement and/or personal development: “giving life to a child”; “a ladder to the heavens”; “an exploration of the spirit”; “options for a car”; “the doorway to a career”; “planting of seeds”; “an endless book”; “a credit card without limits”; “a bank account”; “a foot in the door”; “keys to the kingdom”; “discovering your soul”; “a better paying job”; “a lover that sneaks up on you”; “dieting–hard at first, have to get in the habit, but worth it in the end”; “getting in top shape”; “a beginning without end”; “food”; “a rainbow”; “paving a street with gold”; “an expanding universe”; “never-ending story”; “seeking the golden fleece”; and “adventurous.”

And what they think of college? Well, 22 students wrote answers like: “a beginning of something”; “a place to meet people”; “good years”; “I’m not sure–yet”; “a place to party”; “enjoyment before the work in the real world begins”; “an opportunity”; “being free to be me.”

24 students offered positive answers with a bit more color than their comments about the professors: “a step in the right direction”; “a chance to improve”; “a place to find yourself”; a challenge to test who I am”; a place to learn”; “a nourishing water fountain”; “a playground of the mind”; “an opening world”; “a piece of candy”; “a dreamland of opportunity”; “a building block”; “the future”; and “an intellectual vo-tech school.”

76 students, however, regrettably were just as visceral, though perhaps more imaginative, in their disparagement of college as they were of the professor: “a well with no ladder to climb out”; “a rat race; “unsupervised high school”; “a tug-of-war”; “a banquet with lousy food”; “growth that’s stunted”; “a poorly mixed drink”; “a prison with a four-year sentence”; “a mental ward where you get lobotomies”; “Excedrin written all over it”; “a church where you’re told you’re a sinner”; “a hotel with uncooperative doormen”; “a ball game with pitchers trying to strike you out”; “trial by combat”; “a tour where the guides won’t let you roam”; “a confusing maze”; “seldom worth the effort”; “a boring production line”; “a job with insensitive supervisors”; “expensively over-valued”; and “an opportunity only a few help you to seize.”

I thought it was very interesting that the most colorful, creative and imaginative imagery was negative. It was as if the neutral and positive attitudes were at best lackluster and the negative ones visceral. Now, I’m no psychologist, but it doesn’t take much to figure out from where students get these ideas that professors are authoritarian, unapproachable, uncaring, insensitive, self-centered, and disconnected. My common sense and experience tells me that these students did not come out from their mothers’ wombs with these attitudes any more than I can believe they were written into their DNA code. No, these attitudes were made, not born. They reflect the experiences of the students. They largely explain the source of the “sorriness” and “apathy” about which we often complain. The students are too busy being scared or demeaned to answer that question, ask that question, question that answer, write that sentence, do that exam. It drives me up a wall that almost invariably, whether it is any kind of an assignment or an exam, they want to know from me “what do you want.” They’re coming into class intimidated, terrorized, and denigrated. They’re very reluctant to open either their mouths or their minds because, as they tell me, they’re afraid of “being wrong,” of “being made fun of,” of “looking dumb.” That’s their reality, and it’s a reality which we must confront and change.

It seems that at least these students value an education. But from their personal experiences they do not think that college or professors are up to the task to provide one, or that college or professors care to support and encourage their efforts, or treat them with respect. It is a sad, sad, situation. It’s an indictment! Now, we can deny it. We can rationalize it away. We can even argue that we had no part in shaping these restricting attitudes. “It’s the fault of the public school system,” my colleagues exclaimed. That is, indeed, part of the answer. But, all that won’t alter the fact that these perceptions exist among the students, that they influence both the attitude and effort of the students, and that the reason for such perceptions rest on personal experience. Yet, we professors generally do little to correct the situation. To the contrary, the sad truth is that at the collegiate level too many of us perpetuate and exacerbate those attitudes. Far too many professors display their own sense of aloofness, aloneness, distance, and defensiveness. They often put themselves in the foreground, forgetting that they are a channel for education, not its source. To them, the classroom is about power, and the students are the weak.

Let us, the powerful, use our power in the students’ interest. We set the tone of the classroom; we are the role models. We should take the first step to connect with them, understand their hesitancy to reciprocate, and keep trying until the connection is made. That can only be accomplished if we, at the least, stop, look and see, and listen and hear. We must have the courage to reflect, examine and admit more. We have to fear, defend, deflect, and accuse less. After all, it’s the interest of the student, not the professor’s interest, I’m talking about, and isn’t that what we are all about? Then, and only then, can both student and teacher start attacking those stifling stereotypes the students expressed in this exercise. But, we cannot connect with the students unless we come to know them, and to do that we must become a learner of the students. To do strive for that goal, we must have an eagle eye for each student’s body language, facial expressions, and voice tones. I think the real power of the teacher is knowing the student for the individual human being he/she really is.

Some of you will argue that it would be a struggle. I answer by saying that the purpose of a teacher is greater than the teacher and should be more powerful than the teacher’s ego. Teaching is a struggle, especially when you expect a lot from it.

As I pounded the asphalt streets this morning, I was thinking about grapefruits and students. My wife had gotten up early this morning. Darling as she may normally be, she is not a happy camper in the mornings, especially if she thinks my rummaging through my dresser drawers like a “clunky elephant,” (her words) groping in the dark for a pair of jogging shorts awoke her from blissful slumber. To bribe her, I made coffee, cut a grapefruit, and offered her a half. As I sat across the table eating my half, trying to use my innocent smiles to parry her stares and sneers, I dared not disagree when she asked if my grapefruit was as bad as hers. Secretly, I liked the taste of my half.

Having escaped with my life, I ran out the door for my walk. I had not gotten far in my travels when the question of what is a “good” grapefruit suddenly popped into my mind. And I started thinking as my body struggled to cut through the wall of water we called humidity down here. When I got back to the house, I said to myself, what if I took all the grapefruits out from the two small bags and put them on the kitchen counter to compare and contrast them. I could arrange them according to size. I could take out the food scale and weigh each. I could array them according to the color of the rind. I even could separate them according to the color of the meat. Having done this, I thought, what would I have accomplished. I would not have discovered the “good grapefruit.” I would not have learned very much about the quality of any one of the grapefruits. No, if I wanted to know whether I had a “good” grapefruit, I first would have to know all about the particular grapefruit I have. Then, I would have to eliminate my subjective judgements, for while my wife likes her grapefruit on the sweet side I like mine on the sour side. And finally, I would have to discover just what constitutes an absolute, “good” grapefruit. At that moment, I recalled John Locke saying something about man’s view of nature which may apply here. He might have said that such things as “good” grapefruits may not have real existence. They may be the creations of man’s mind and the quest for order rather than the work of nature itself.

Evaluating students is not much different from my problem with the grapefruit, except the evaluation problem is even more complex when it comes to human beings. We can try to know who is the student we have is in our classroom, that is, if we really care. But, like grapefruits, we only can compare and contrast them by looking at their personal experiences, their past academic performances, and maybe a battery of evaluating tests. But, I thought, after all was said and done, would we be any closer to knowing what constitutes that Platonic absolute, “good student” by which all real living and breathing students are judged? Or, as Locke said, are we creating an artificial order for the sake of convenience and other less noble reasons?

It seems to me that such constructs are far more in the interest of us teachers than in the interest of the student. Moreover, are the criteria we use in our quest for the holy grail of the “good student” legitimate? After all, didn’t we once, and regrettably still do in some perverse circles, heavily weigh physical appearance, race, cultural background, and gender in our evaluation? Didn’t these criteria color our judgements, distort our decisions, and limit our actions?

It seems to me that we have to take great care with such imageries, for they may inadvertently be no less a danger to our essential concern for the sanctity and development of the individual student than any other bias, stereotype or prejudice. If we have to have such images for the sake of convenient conversation, we can’t make them absolute truths. Remember, they are always contestable and fallible.

Anyway, like the grapefruit, we can try to know what a student was and is. I am, however, less certain intellectually, emotionally or experiencally of what the student will be or should- -just as I can never know what an absolutely “good grapefruit” is like.

Lordy, it was hot and humid out there this morning. It also was like Grand Central Station on the streets. Maybe that’s because I went out late to power-walk. Anyway, the diversity of people out there was amazing. There I was, in my early fifties–my very early fifties–chugging away on my four mile route at 8 1/2 minute/mile splits. I know. I’m bragging. With a polite “good morning,” I rushed past a young lady, maybe in her thirties, who was doing a modest regular walk. A young man, in his twenties, later whizzed past me from the opposite direction running at a marathon clip. On the opposite side of the street, a fast-jogging, middle-age woman passed me. A young college girl was doing a slow jog on a cross-street. On another cross-street, two elderly women were leisurely walking as they talked to each other. Then, there was the pair of bicyclers who passed me in a blur, and a delightful octogenarian couple lazily peddling on a tricycle-for-two. As I walked I was struck by that diversity. I began thinking how inappropriate and difficult it would be to compare those of us on the street this morning. It would be silly to talk about the fastest, slowest, longest, shortest, worst, best. After all, we did not have the same starting place; we were not on the same route; we were not traveling the same distances; we did not have the same destination; we did not have the same capacities; we did not have the same purposes; we weren’t engaged in the same form of exercise. I suppose someone could compare jogging, running, and walking, the distances we each traveled and each of our time splits, and relate them to ages and genders. I suppose that might serve some purpose, but it wouldn’t say much about each of our distinctive features and personal idiosyncrasies. We were like those proverbial apples and oranges and tangerines and bananas.

Doesn’t the same situation exist in our classrooms? We are wrong to assume that students are like one another in their potential, in their capacity for growth, and that each student should aspire to a single image of success and achievement. Students are not tin cans to be produced on some monotonous production line. They are not all square pegs to be jammed into round holes created by some depersonalizing and averaging psychological models. Our educational system supposedly values the dignity and worth of each student. Yet, we ignore the diversity of individuality and act as if the diversity in our classrooms is something brand new. Merely because some students do not have any distinctive age, physical feature, or measurable testing or performance distinction associated with the non-traditional student or the physically challenged students or the learning challenged students, we have wrongly assume they are all alike.

Yet, if we are supposed to modify our classes to accommodate these newly discovered students, why can’t we use the same approach with all other students? One of the characteristics of a good teacher is that he/she pays equal attention to the “slow walkers, marathon runners, power walkers, bicyclers, and joggers” in the class. After all, isn’t the purpose of education to help the individual become whatever he/she has the potential to be? Students are different, and education should lead to individualization, not collectivization. The diversity of potentials in a class means that there needs to be a diversity of ideas about what constitutes success and achievement for any one individual. If our goal is to educate students, then every student–every student–is worth educating.