I recently told of an unexpected admission from students. “What to do!?” I ruminated.
“Why do you have to do anything at all?” my wife asked.
Because a teacher can’t just give some assignment, take it up, reprimand the students on it, then let it float of into oblivion. In the end, I’ll probably take the easy way out for myself: say, “I understand it this time, and won’t make you redo it, nor will I give you failing grades for the work turned in.” After all, less work for me.
But the desire for blood did rise again, the next lesson.
It’s a tough class, in other words.
I’ve always had a strange relationship with “tough” classes. At some point, I usually storm back to the teachers’ room saying, “I hate that class,” and then a few days later say, “That’s not just a bad class after all. I kind of like them, in fact.” By their final year, I often find myself liking those classes, usually because we’ve fought our way to a sort of equilibrium.
But it’s important to point out that the class does not represent the students. In a weird way that I never would have understood before being a teacher, a class is without a doubt much more than the sum of the students in it.
Some of the students in the class that so angered me are among my favorite students. (Yes, yes, teachers shouldn’t have favorites, but we’re only human.) Understand: they’re not my favorite students because they’re such hardworking angels. Indeed, often some of these favorites even contribute to the problem.
Classes simply have their own dynamic, independent of any given student in it. It’s frustrating, precisely because it’s somewhat uncontrollable.
There are checks and balances, but it remains out of the control of any one teacher.
It’s not mob psychology, in other words.