I visited James at his home. Yes, that’s unusual for a
college professor, but I am perhaps an unusual college professor. I believe in
my students – unlike, unfortunately, so many of my colleagues. I believe that
every student has potential; every student can achieve everything they dream
for. They only need some guidance, some facilitation, some... encouragement.
Ah, but I digress. James, 18, in his first semester, was
failing my Slimy Back Student Success course, SBV101. Young James, with a few
days’ growth of stubbly beard, had attended only the first Monday of class, and
I had not seen him afterwards. I had met him, however, on a visit to his high
school, and he did not live far from me, so I stopped by his family home on the
way home from work.
The house was a small, compact affair, tiny, really, near
the center of town, in an area of 1920s bungalows and shotgun houses. The house
next door had a string of Tibetan prayer flags strung along the porch, with a
butterfly garden growing in front. The house where James lived with his
parents, a janitor and a home health aid, had a neatly trimmed yard and a
rocker on the porch. The steps were stone, worn with indentations of the
thousands of footsteps into the house.
I couldn’t see a doorbell. I opened the screen door and
knocked briskly. A few minutes later the door slowly opened and there was
James, eyes wide in surprise. “Mrs, umm, Mrs....” He couldn’t remember my name.
This is not atypical of my students. Usually I learn all of theirs before at
least some of them remember mine. “McGinty, James. Ms.” (emphasizing the Z) “McGinty.”
“Uh...Right!” He stood there blankly.
“James, could I come in?”
“Uh...Right!” He nodded and continued standing where he was.
I inched forward. Finally he got the idea and moved out of
my way.
“May I sit here, James?” I feel that it is important, oh so
important, to school my students on the art of civility. There are so many
skills that they lack, and it is my job to teach them.
“Uh... unh-hunh.” That was an affirmative. I can tell.
I sat on the couch with the orange and green fabric that
spoke to me of the 70s. Burnt orange and avocado.
“James. I’m here because I want you to return to class.
Unfortunately, you’re failing Student Success.”
For the first time his blank features became enlivened. “I
turned in that assignment!”
He was speaking of the introductory assignment, where we
shared our goals for school and life. James would like to major in video game
design. We don’t actually have that major, but I was pleased to see that he has
goals. “Yes, “ I said. “But there are many more assignments, James.”
“Oh.” He hung his head. (You see, the students simply
misunderstand sometimes. They need a helping hand.)
“James, how about if you come to class tomorrow? After class
we can talk about how you can get caught up.”
At this point James agreed enthusiastically. He asked for
clarification on the location and time of the class, and I shook his hand. “I’m
looking forward to seeing you tomorrow, James,” I said, as we parted.
James did indeed come
to class the following day. And many of the days afterwards as well. I helped
him structure a way to catch up on his assignments, and showed him where the
tutoring center is, and introduced him to Shelley, one of my favorite tutors.
Shelley is always willing to lend a helping hand to the students. I’ve had
several students who were failing who ended up passing the course with Shelley’s
able help. And James was another one of that number. He passed my course, and
I’m proud to say, is now in his second semester at SBV. He is even taking part
in our wonderful Slimy Back census (such a great experience of giving back to the community).
I sometimes wonder, when I’m returning home, achy and tired,
after my evening class, or after yet another weekend participating in college
activities and grading, is this worth it? All these hours and hours of work,
week in and week out? Would I prefer having a social life with my peers over sacrificing myself for my students?
But then I remember students like James. Just a bit of extra
effort on my part stood between him and success. How can I possibly think
that’s not worth that small sacrifice?
