The end of a school year is always a stressful time.
Students are stressing over final projects and exams. Seniors are stressing
over graduation and job searches. Faculty are stressing to finish paperwork and grading. Still, this last week of the semester had been fairly
pleasant. Several students thanked me after our last classes, saying they
enjoyed my courses and learned some things. A few graduating seniors sent me
wonderful emails thanking me for helping to prepare them for careers in
journalism. Those thoughts promised the sunshiny, three-block walk back to my office would be extra pleasant.
Or so I thought.
As a graduating senior and I passed each other, she
returned my pleasant greeting with a malevolent stare.
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Teachers at all levels often feel a special
responsibility
for their students. |
The walk was no longer pleasant. It’s amazing how one
look of disapproval far outweighs so many other grateful “thank yous.”
I’ve learned in my career as a college professor there
are two basic types of students. The first type is bright, realize they have to
learn and grow, and are willing to work hard to achieve their career goals.
Many of these students have gone on to successful careers in journalism and
other areas of the media, including some at the network level. A few others
have built their own successful media companies. These students responded to
constructive criticism of their work by asking, “No, tell me what you really
think; what could I have done even better?”
The other type of student is also bright but, instead of
learning and growing, they expect validation for their existing level of
"expertise." They insist on doing it their way. One student, for example,
insisted his “gut instinct” and his ability to “think outside the box” was at
least as valid as my PhD and some 40 years of professional and teaching
experience. Few of these students ever have careers. They have jobs –
low-paying jobs they could have had without spending four years and thousands
of someone else’s dollars for a college diploma. Yes, they did get college diplomas.
They just didn’t get college educations.
These are the students who break your heart – because we
educators feel responsible for them. We are entrusted with their growth and
development and, for one reason or another, we couldn’t get through to them.
All we can do is hope their life paths are happy and fulfilling. Those are our
hopes for all of our students, no matter what.
This dynamic doesn’t exist only between professor and
student. It also exists between God and all of us. (You knew this part was
coming, didn’t you?)
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God simply does not expect us to navigate the hard
realities of life alone. |
We all want to “do it our way.” It’s simply our human
nature. (Read “original sin.”) We are autonomous, we have free will, and we can often succeed on our gut instinct. Besides, aren't the best-learned lessons the ones
learned hard? Yes, but after a while, the bumps and bruises of life – along
with the outright crises, failures and emptiness – can get pretty old. That’s
when we sometimes mutter to God the same thing some of my past students have
said to me – “I should have listened.”
It was only after I muttered that line to God and actually
started listening that things began to change. Life didn’t get any easier, it
simply got direction and a destination. Not my direction. And the destination
is unknown. That can be pretty unnerving. I'm still making my share of "learning experiences," but at least I'm landing on my feet more often than on my butt.
School is supposed to be a learning experience, a time of
trial and error, a time for making mistakes. That’s why teachers are there, because
students aren’t expected to do it on their own. Like it or not, life – our
faith journey – is the same thing. We can never get it “right,” we just give it
our best. Usually. Sometimes. That’s why God is there, because, like school, we aren’t
expected to do life on our own, either.
