Summer Grading

I'm grading again. I do this to myself and I accept that I am responsible for my own pain. In my sick need to try to be fair, I usually offer opportunities for students to earn 8-10 grades each semester. I mix up quizzes, short papers, exams, and participation so each student has the opportunity to succeed. Some actually take advantage of the opportunity, which is gratifying. However, this means that I grade a lot.

As I wade through the latest stack of exams, I'm considering a new strategy. I think I should be able to assign a final grade at the end of the semester. To assist me with this new strategy, I'm going to look high and low for a sorting hat like in Harry Potter. Shouldn't be too hard to find something that only exists in JK Rowling's imagination. Armed with my hat, I'll have a grading ceremony at the end of the semester. Each student will come to the front of the room, take a seat, put on the hat, and after a few moments of deliberate reflection on the student's performance, the hat will announce the student's grade. Sure, this plan violates just about every principle of student confidentiality, but weren't rules made to be broken - especially if magic is involved?

Yes, this is the way things should be. Not the other way where I have to wade through open-ended short answers that conflate numerous ideas and concepts into one big maelstrom of crap.

I'm being a bit unfair. Overall, the exams & other assignments from my summer students aren't bad. I'm just tired.

Grading Meltdown

I've hit a wall. A big brick wall. I've been grading for 3 days straight and I have many more papers before I sleep. I keep telling myself to keep going. There is an end to this grading nightmare and I'll never find it if I stop. I've even tried bribing myself with peanut butter cups(living on the edge with the recent salmonella scare). Nothing is working. I'm going to give into my lesser instincts and whine like a baby. Waaaa, waaaaaa, waaaaaaa.

My students have just about convinced me that our founding fathers were a bunch of whiny, spoiled babies. Don't believe me? You read 100+ flag-waving papers about how we really stuck it to Great Britain. After reading the evidence over and over and over again, I'm starting to see Britain's side of things. I mean, c'mon, they were just trying to collect taxes that were rightfully theirs. And those stingy colonists, who'd lived it up for quite a while, certainly had an inflated sense of entitlement.

Here's my new interpretation of the colonists' point of view: "Oh no, see, we don't have to pay taxes because we don't have any representatives in Parliament. See, we're the only people who can represent us because we're soooo unique and special, except that we're just like all the other British subjects. Confused? Must be your problem because I am making perfect sense. What's that? You're sending troops? And they're going to live in my house? Oh no you di'n't! We're declaring independence from your ass! Oh snap!"

I'm pretty sure that's what Thomas Jefferson wanted to say. See how committee wordsmithing can really ruin a perfectly good declaration? I'm considering defecting to England. The accent is much cooler and Orlando Bloom lives there. And there aren't any papers to grade. Good enough reasons for me.

Must grade more papers.

Grading papers

I'm grading papers. I should be looking forward to a nice holiday break. Instead, I'm grading papers. I have no one to blame but myself. Me and my stupid committment to good writing. When will I learn? Students, for the most part, don't care about writing. They only care if they get laid and drunk, preferably at the same time. Why do I torture myself by making them write? Maybe if I made them write about getting laid and drunk...no, even then, their papers would stink.

That's really not fair. Many of my students seemed to take this assignment seriously. They had to choose an autobiographical narrative written by someone reflecting on the 1960s - 1970s. Then, they had to relate one or two main issues in the book to the longer history that we have discussed in class. In other words, I wanted them to demonstrate that they learned something this semester. Show me that you can trace change over time. Show me that you can use specific examples and not talk in complete vaguery. Show me that you cite a source!!

And, some of them did well. Only a few have managed to state an argument in their introduction, but who needs an argument? Who doesn't want to wait until the conclusion to learn the main point of the entire essay? It's like a nice surprise. Sometimes, I play a little game. I try to guess what their argument is as I'm reading, then I see if I'm right when I get to the conclusion. Sometimes I am, and sometimes I'm not. Well, I am right, but the student heads off on a new tangent in the conclusion and doesn't articulate the obvious argument. Oh, the frivolity.

What really wears me out are the plagiarists. These students piss me off. Not a mild irritation, we're talking white-hot rage. Without fail, they're the little jackasses who have been working my last nerve all semester. I hate, hate, hate, hate having to waste my time tracking down the original source of their masterpiece, printing it out, then marking both copies to show the extent of plagiarism.

Then, I have to take time out of my day to meet with the student to explain why he or she won't be receiving any credit for the assignment, and why they can't have a "do over." I hate that I'll have to sit and listen as they explain that they just didn't know that they couldn't "copy and paste" directly from an online source and turn it in with their name on it. I hate that I'll have to show them that I clearly forbid such behavior on my syllabus. Most of all, I hate that I'll spend 20 times more time with these slackers than I will spend with the students who did the assignment correctly.

They can't say I didn't warn them. I told them on the first day of class (and printed on my syllabus) that I am a professional researcher. That's what historians do - we research. When you start using the Britsh spelling of words and citing sources written in German, I know something is up. When you stop speaking in jibberish and start making sense only to return to jibberish, I know something is up. If you can find it on Google, so can I.

My only joy will come when I tell one hapless jackass that he can't possibly pass the course now. That he will have to repeat this course that he so clearly enjoyed. That he will not be welcome in any of my classes next semester. Then, I can kick him out of class for the rest of the semester. OK, it's only 3 more classes, but I won't have to look at his sourpuss and that makes me very happy.

I refuse to give up on teaching writing skills. I refuse. I do. Really. (sob, sob)