The teacher-student relationship

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.

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?)

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.