Written by Michael Claxton
In grad school I had a professor named Jerry Mills. Even among teachers of English, who tend to be a pretty shifty lot, this guystood out as a character.
His lectures were peppered with wisecracks, and his stories were classic. When we were reading the obscure (and awful) Renaissance poet John Marston, Dr. Mills told us about the student who years before brought his dog to class. The dog sat still every day for the entire semester without making a sound or a move. Except for the day when Dr. Mills read Marston’s poetry out loud. To register his complaint, the dog rose and threw up.
Or there’s the fact that Dr. Mills once wrote a scholarly article — footnotes and all — on the topic of dead mules in Southern literature. He wrote it as a joke, but a fancy literary journal published it anyway. I especially loved the time he explained how ridiculously complex the plots of 15th-century English drama could be by reading us a two-page synopsis of one particular play. It contained more characters, subplots and twists than the first season of “Ice Road Truckers.” Just when I thought one play could not comprise anything else, he hit us with the punch line: “Here ends the first act.”
English majors find this stuff hilarious. And we pity those who don’t.
I’m telling you about Dr. Mills to explain where I stole one of my favorite bits of teacher humor. On the last day of class, he passed out course evaluation forms. Before we started to fill them out, he said, “The English department takes these evaluations very seriously. It helps them to adjust my medication.” The whole class cracked up, and we were still laughing after he left the room. I’ve used the line on my students ever since. I send Dr. Mills a royalty check every so often.
It is that time of the year again, when yourteachers will ask for feedback on how the semester has gone in their classes. It’s only fair — we have been grading your every move for the past 15 weeks:
Carly tripped on her way into class, B for poise.
Tiffany’s asleep again, C plus for snoring.
Has anyone seen Sarah Jane? Binge tweeting, A minus.
So you should have your shot at grading us. It only takes a few minutes online, and we really do read your comments and consider what you have to say about our classes. I realize that, to some, the course evaluation process may seem like a desperate plea for affirmation by mousypeople who need a running commentary on themselves (Facebook, anyone?). But you do pay an awfully high tuition not to give official input about it all.
Granted, there are stories of teachers trying to tip the evaluation scales in their favor. Back when students filled these out in class, I’ve known teachers who baked brownies for their students that day. Shameless. They might as well have typed up 3X5 index cards with “suggested flattering remarks.” Or passed out Jason Mraz tickets.
Over the years I’ve had the full range of student comments on evaluations. Many have said kind things about my classes, and I used to dutifully read those to my mother. Sometimes people complain about things that will not ever change: There’s too much writing in Comp 2, there’s too much reading in World Lit, there’s too much starch in these mashed potatoes, etc. It’s occasionally sad when someone will claim that my course helped immensely with his or her writing, only to misspell the word “immensely.” But many students have made incredibly helpful suggestions about how I might improve the content of a particular course, or my approach to it. My teaching style today is the result of years of such feedback.
STUDENT A: It is? How bad was he before?
STUDENT B: Don’t ask. Just pass me a brownie.
Online course evaluations open today on Pipeline, so as we wrap up another school year, please take a moment to let us know how we’re doing. If you are honest, specific and tactful, I promise we’ll listen. Have a great summer.
MICHAEL CLAXTON is a guest contributor for the Bison. He may be contacted atmclaxto1@harding.edu
