I finally had a semester of teaching that I think my college would approve of. I admit that my colleagues would probably feel that I wasted a lot of time during the semester trying to help my students develop understanding of linear algebra, even though I had lots of evidence that they were learning the material better than any of the students in my previous nine classes. My students consistently performed well on tests and quizzes, and during group work in class, they expressed powerful insights into the material. I thought perhaps I was actually figuring out how to make the content of the course more accessible to students. I expected a strong performance on the final, particularly since the problems and questions on the exam were similar to the questions and problems on previous exams, as I had warned students they would be. I was ready to give out some of the best grades I have ever given in a linear algebra class.
But then a miracle happened that redeemed my teaching--my students bombed the final. I have no idea what happened to my bright students. They stumbled over problems they had successfully completed on previous exams. They overlooked conditions that we had discussed on at least four different occasions in class, both in small groups and whole class discussions. After I applied a fairly merciful curve to the final, the overall grades in the class were still a disappointment to me. I had expected that my students would do so much better than they had.
To my college, however, the overall grades of the course are resounding proof that the course was good. Recently when talking with the deans, a colleague asked what the deans thought of the teaching in our department. Rather than talking about the many innovations we have implemented or the overwhelmingly positive student evaluations we receive semester after semester, the deans instead chose to criticize our department for giving higher grades than any other department in the college. I should have expected that type of response, but at the time, it caught me off guard. I have this silly, naive notion that higher grades indicate that students are learning and understanding more than if they had lower grades. In other words, shouldn't high grades be a good thing? Shouldn't that be a natural phenomenon that accompanies good teaching?
But no, I'm wrong. A good course is one where many students fail, most get Cs and Ds, and none can ever mention the name of the course again without a shiver of dread going up their spine. That's a good course, because it's
rigorous. And because it's rigorous, the only way students will survive and pass the course is because they learn the content. Or so the theory goes. And a wonderful byproduct of such a course is that it separates students so that we now know who deserves future opportunities and who doesn't. Never mind that perhaps many more would qualify for future opportunities if we focused more on actually helped students learn rather than making sure we sort them for employers and graduate school admission committees. Oh, there I go again with my wrong headed thinking. Stupid liberal tendencies.
At least this semester, though, I can pride myself on doing a good job in my class. I gave low grades, so my course must have been rigorous. Of course, I'll probably get good teaching evaluations from the students, like I usually do. Only this semester, my colleagues will attribute my high ratings to a good sense of humor rather than a propensity to give out easy As. No harm done, because I've become one of them. I've kept the system intact, perpetuated inequality, earned the respect of my colleagues. Of course, they'll wonder why I don't join them in bantering about the poor quality of students I've had this semester, and instead choose to sit in my office, lights off, staring at the wall. And in my darkened office, I'll continue to wonder when any of us will be smart enough and care enough to really make a difference in the lives of our students.
