2558. A Teacher’s Confession

It is time to admit that students don’t spend all their time thinking about my class. More to the point, they have so much going on in their lives that my class needs to be a series of encapsulated moments in their lives that relate to their lives, impact their thinking about their lives, but doesn’t put them in a position where they have to devote a significant portion of their mental energy trying to sort out what they are supposed to do.

In short, due dates and assignments need to make more sense.

The other night a student emailed me asking why there wasn’t a place to submit her presentation online. I reminded her that the presentation was an in-class experience that could not be submitted online. Unfortunately, the due date of 11:59 PM sent a very different message. It is an easy fix, but a philosophical shift as well. See, I discussed this issue with that student in class two days prior. She nodded, accepting my instruction, and then proceeded to do exactly what I said not to do. She didn’t retain anything from that conversation. She isn’t the first.

Students have multiple classes all asking different things at different times, meshing into a canvas of work they’re responsible for turning into a sensible schedule. On the other hand the teachers I know try hard to limit the number of preps they are responsible for in order to avoid that same sort of chaos.

What if I tried to bring these two worlds together in order to create a sensible and responsible set of scaffolded assignments that let a student know fromĀ day one the type of rhythm required? Every Monday you do X, every Wednesday you do Y. At the end of the month, Z. The schedule allows for it, but I’ve never thought to build things out in that fashion–fitting my essay and assignment schedule around a standard sequence vs. building around activities, events, etc.

It may make life easier for everyone invovled.

Some Thoughts:

  1. For the first time, I genuinely don’t think I will make it to post 3650. My passion for writing and all things is as blood seeping from a wound that I cannot stitch.

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