Prof Norge

Today is my last day teaching my first English class at ODU. I wanted to wait to write about it until I knew how the semester went.
Getting the job (Adjunct English Professor) was difficult enough. I needed more graduate credits, so I took online courses through ECU. Note to self, and others who are thinking of going back to school: do it NOW. Waiting prolongs the inevitable. I've got to admit...I'm over the student thing. I'm done being the one who receives the grades. I'm too old, too set in my ways, and just too over it. Luckily, I applied to graduate with my graduate certificate last week.
Anywhoo, my superior is a character, for lack of a better word. His personal history mesmerizes me. It's the story of a man pulling himself out of a difficult situation and becoming his dream. I have to admit that he is rattlebrained. He forgot to submit my transcripts. Then forgot to petition academic affairs to have my credits count. I literally didn't know if or what I was teaching until 9 am. My class began at 11. I will give him credit - he personally contacted the Provost on my behalf. At this point, I take his antics and forgetfulness as endearing. As an aside ... I still don't know what and when I'm teaching next semester. Apparently, I've fallen through the cracks once again.
My first day went nothing as planned. They tell you to arrive before the students. I was on campus at 9:30. Plenty of time, right? Not when your taken to the wrong classroom. Like I said...he's a character. We literally ran, in the rain, across campus. I was 10 minutes late to my first class. I was soaking wet, sweating, and rattled. I hadn't prepared to teach this class...I was set to go with the freshman composition class. Sophomore not so much.
I walked into what I would call a fairly hostile environment. I can't blame them...who shows up late to their first class, WHEN THEY'RE THE ONE TEACHING??? Daggers. Daggers I say! They didn't just stare at me. And I don't know if glare quite captures the look on their faces. There were 15 girls and 4 boys. The boys sat at the two desks in the back, and pretty much hid. The girls gave me the look of death.
My superior introduced me as Professor Norge, which immediately took me off guard. We didn't do that at Tech. Apparently ODU is different. Am I old enough to be a professor? I feel like I'm my students' age. In no way am I prepared for this.
I stand at the podium, and begin to speak. O.K. maybe speak is giving myself too much credit. I more or less stumbled over words, stuttered, forgot what I was saying, and went off on tangents. I didn't know my office hours, or the room number. I didn't know my email address. And yet I'm supposed to convince these kids that this isn't my first semester teaching? That's the first rule - never let them know you're new. They'll eat you alive. I could feel the nips at my achillies.
My tendon was slowly being nipped at, a chunk falling off ever few minutes. I decided it was time for the icebreaker I'd developed. O.K. Developed is an overstatement. Let's just say stolen and tweaked. One of the questions asked the student what the stupidest thing they'd ever done was. I decided it was best for me to answer the questions first. It helped. They laughed. They relaxed. And so did I.
Their stupid moments were great. We all laughed and began to bond. My Achilles healed, and I was back in charge.
I learned through the icebreaker and short writing assessment that none of them were pleased to take the class. It was required. None of them wanted to be there. Fan-friggin-tastic. At that point, I wasn't sure if I wanted to be there, either. I read their assessments, and made a list of things to work on. It was a long list. I wondered who taught these young people who to write. It was choppy, filled with grammatical errors, and juvenile.
The semester had its ups and downs. I feel like we grew together. I learned what worked, they learned that I was, as they say, "the cool professor." They told my one day that they hated the subject, but loved the class. Their research papers were a culmination of every assignment throughout the semester. And they were wonderful. Of course there are the students that drop off at the end. But overall, the improvement in their writing surprised me. I can't believe how far they've come.
I've bonded with these students. We talk like peers. Maybe it's not the most professional teaching style, but it's mine. I tell them stories from my life, and they tell me stories from theirs. They come to me with problems. They laugh, they cry, and we all pick on each other. They challenge me. Even the boys perked up and began speaking.
Last week one of them asked me how long I'd been teaching, and I confessed. I told them I'd been teaching since the first day of class. And they were all surprised. I had seriously convinced these students I was a pro. I'd been at this for a while. I'm assuming they figured out my age a few weeks ago when they asked how old I was when I got married, and then how long I'd been married. Sneaky bastards.
Every single one of these students will forever hold a place in my heart. They learned from me. And not just about English composition. I let my ADD take over. I let the class get off topic. We talked about life. We talked about everything. The girls would stay after class to ask me my opinion. It made me evaluate my beliefs, what my experience in college was, and what I wanted out of life.
So today, I will give my students their final exam. I'm going to show them clips from television, radio and a commencement speech. Each of them talk about "everyday" life. Most of them wrote their final paper on what they wanted out of their major in terms of a career. I'm going to talk about their college bubble most of them reside in. Yes, they have their issues. But wait until life gets real. What will they do when their job is monotonous? How will they deal with the annoyances adults face each day. The commencement speaker addressed this very issue. Two years later he blew his head off.
The topic of their paper today? How will you live your life and not blow your head off. It's perfect. It's raw, emotional, and probably inappropriate language. But that's how we roll. We're open. There is no hesitation for them to speak their minds. They tell me when I make mistakes, and they tell me when they're unhappy. And I've loved every moment. I've learned to be the professor I want to be. Which isn't a role, as the book I read suggested. It's me. It's neurotic, ADD and a little nutty. It's personal. It's down-to-earth. And it works. Their writing speaks for itself. And it speaks wonderfully.