School's Not Out For Summer

Today was the first day of summer semester at Big City University. I'm teaching the same survey course that I taught during the regular semester, except now, I'm teaching it all in 11 class sessions. For those of you who are keeping track, that's all of US History in 11 classes. The classes are two and a half hours long, because the 11 class sessions weren't challenging enough. Ever try to engage a group of undergraduates for two and a half hours? Did I mention that the class starts at 11AM and ends at 1:30PM? Yes, that's lunchtime, ladies and gentlemen. Yeehaw.

To get us started, I'd planned to do an introductory song-and-dance and let them go early. I've performed the song-and-dance before, so it's well-rehearsed and undergrad-approved. I got to the classroom and immediately noticed an unmistakable error message on the in-class computer. Investigating further, I learned that despite the summer temperatures outside, the computer was in "deep freeze." Apparently, "deep freeze" means that the computer doesn't do anything - not even "Reboot in 180 seconds" as the error message promises. I know. I waited. Nothing happened.

While I was staring the frozen computer, I considered just how bad life was going to be for the next hour or so if the computer didn't thaw. "Hmm," I thought, "my entire presentation is on Power Point, and there's no way in hell to do the presentation without Power Point because it involves a significant amount of student response to - oh yeah - the stuff that's on Power Point." My heart and stomach sank. "I can just go over the syllabus and send them home," I thought. Then I realized that in my effort to simultaneously save the department's meager resources a small corner of the environment, I posted my syllabus on the school's document-sharing site. No hard copies. Well, I had one, but I could hardly share it with 22 students. "Crap, crappity, crap, crap, crap. Damn me and my frugality and environmental sensibility," I thought as students continued to file in and take their seats.

I'll be honest, I considered running away. I hadn't said anything to them. They didn't know who I was. I'd just be that crazy woman who came in, messed with the computer, looked stricken, and left. But - my professionalism and desire for food and rent money won out. I called Tech Support. So, the first words my students heard this semester were: "Hello, yes, I'm in my classroom ready to teach and the computer is in deep freeze." I'm hoping it's not a metaphor for the entire semester.

Instead of launching into my rehearsed song-and-dance, I improvised. I'm very proud to say that I did not launch into, "So, who's here from out of town? I just flew in from College Town and boy, are my arms tired!" No, I blabbered on and on and on about things related to the class in no particular order. Here's hoping my students understand garbled jibberish. I figure they speak and text it, so they should understand it [insert rimshot here].

When I ran out of things to say, I asked them to introduce themselves. I asked each of them to say his or her name, where he or she was from, and one thing that interests them about history. We got off to a rousing start when 3 of the first 4 students declared that they "really didn't like history." The entire subject written off as boring and irrelevant. Great.

We continued around the room and the chorus of History Haters grew. Surprisingly, many of the HHs were girls, while many of the non-HHs were boys. I'm not sure what that's about, but I think it's interesting. I wasn't aware that history had become a "boy's subject," like math and science used to be. Anyway, of the non-HHs, one likes world history, one likes military history ("battles, generals, and war"), and one likes ancestoral history - or the history of her own family. Great. Out of a very small percentage of the class that doesn't absolutely hate history, a significant proportion like the history that I don't teach. Fantastic.

Mr. AV finally showed up and disappeared behind the desk. I continued my ad lib. I was almost out of material when he poked his head out, declaring that he had fixed the problem. Happily, he was right. By this time, we were at least 40 minutes into class and 2 students came strolling in. I guess they decided they'd only come in if there was Power Point.

One of the late arrivals is a repeater from a previous semester. He registered late that semester, had really inconsistent attendance, and eventually disappeared - which explains why he's back. It doesn't explain why he decided to come to class 40 minutes late on the first day. I'm sure that he decided to retake the class with me because he's somewhat familiar with my teaching style. The flaw in his plan is that I am also familiar with his past performance. Showing up 40 minutes late doesn't necessarily convince me that he's ready to make a bigger commitment to the class.

So, along with the contingent of HHs, the Repeater, Col. Military, Ms. Family Tree and a couple of brown-nosers, I also found this semester's Sleepy Sleeperson and Ms. Non-Ductive Reasoning. Sleepy Sleeperson decided to introduce herself about 30 minutes into the class, right after introductions. She took out her bookbag, placed it on her desk, then placed her head on it and checked out. There are only 22 students in the entire class, so, yes, I could see her. I felt like saying, "Really? On the first day? Are you familiar with the concept of first impresssions? How about object permanence? As any 4 year-old will tell you, just because you can't see me doesn't mean that I can't see you." Instead, she woke up just in time for me to say, "If you are sleeping in class, you don't get credit for being here. Stay home and rest."

Ms. Non-Ductive Reasoning introduced herself after class. In a throng of students, she informed me that she already knew that she'd have to miss 2 consecutive classes in the midde of the term. She wanted to know if she could turn in her assignments early. "Yes," I replied, "you'll have to turn them in early. And, by the way, it's not a good idea to miss 2 of 11 classes." "Oh," she said, "I plan to take the first exam and if I understand everything, then I'll miss class. If not, I'll come to class." To my credit, I did not say, "WTF?" Instead, I encouraged her to come to class. I look forward to reading more of her logic process throughout the semester.

So, there's the summer bunch. They're not as colorful as Mark Harmon's group in "Summer School," but then I'm no Mark Harmon either. I know because I don't live on a beach and I don't have a dog.