In the following journal excerpt, I respond to the teacher assistant evaluation form feedback I received (in January 2011) for the course: Introduction to Creative Writing 202. The quote below is a highly negative comment given by a student in the class.
“If this was the second t.a. who lectured on poetry and on hard or partial stops, she needs to prepare her lectures a lot more. I gave her the benefit of the doubt during her first try but she was flaky, which definitely undermined her argument that poetry was not an insubstantial, emotionally-driven art form. She didn’t look as if she knew what she was doing and it seemed that way because I got the sense she was completely winging it. The second try, she was more prepared but was still not the most riveting. It’s not as if she’s ignorant but she needs to work on her teaching skills if she doesn’t want to come off that way.”
~Anonymous undergraduate student
My Response
Before I began TA’ing, I prepared myself for rude reviews and personal attacks—especially since it’s a class of 180 students. Probability: moderately high. But, my initial reaction to this inflammatory feedback was not what I thought it would be. I skipped the ad-hominem cruelties like, “she was flaky,” “she didn’t look as if she knew what she was doing,” etc., and concentrated on the statement: “[she]…undermined her argument that poetry was not an insubstantial, emotionally-driven art form.” Ouch. How did I do that, exactly?
The first conclusion I came to: this student has an already established prejudiced to poetry. Second: there’s probably not much I could’ve done to dissuade him. I pacified myself with the adage, “you win some you lose some.” But still, something was bothering me like a small burn on tender skin. Why was this student so biased? Doesn’t everyone know that poetry is a substantial art form that humans have turned to as a mode of emotional expression for hundreds, no thousands of years?
The Anti-Flakey Argument
Eventually, my thoughts returned to the ad-hominem attack. Am I really flaky and ill prepared? I thought over my lecture and concluded that no one in his or her right mind would conclude that is was “winging it.” This is why—for 1.5 hours of teaching, I spent many hours working on my presentation material:
- I made up my own three-page handout and went through it with the class question-by-question.
- I worked on a PowerPoint presentation for at least three hours.
- The poem we discussed in class was colour coded for line breaks, metaphor, image, style of the voice, etc.
Who colour codes a poem? Apparently I do.
The Sting Begins to Burn
A few hours after I read the review, I realized that this little burn had turned into a patch of seared flesh. What could I do to stop the irritation? I’m a professional and I can’t let one angry comment get to me. Right? But, because it is my nature to muse and muse over things, I kept at the little wound. I returned to the phrase, “insubstantial, emotionally-driven art form” and the word, “flaky” numerous times.
Eventually, I stewed over it until the “aha!’ moment came. The professor who taught the class had an obvious prejudice to poetry. In fact, I think he introduced the poetry section of the class as, “the flakiest section” and jeered me and the other poetry TA/lecturer on our “fairy art form with lots of feelings” in it.
An overwhelming thought: it is possible that the professor’s attitude was directly implanted in this student and/or for this student, the professor’s bias caused an already occurring dislike for the genre of poetry within this student to boil over.
A Partial Sequitur
Now I see there is no glass between the students and the teachers, there is a thin bi-lipid layer like the one that coats each cell in our bodies. Information passes through this cell wall via our student’s ears and eyes. Our attitudes and our enthusiasm or disdain is easily—no readily—absorbed. At moments like this, when I realize I have the power to inspire my students or turn the wheels of prejudice in their brains, I feel overwhelmed.
I also feel angry and frustrated by the professor’s attitude. For a fact, I know he respects poetry (deep down inside, or this is what he said) but delights in making poets squirm in their butter dish of manifold insecurities. For me, a crucial question has been raised: How does a teacher navigate another teacher’s mistakes and prejudices? In this case, I tried to defend poetry and my attachment to it many times but was unable to properly address the problem for two reasons:
- I felt uncomfortable questioning my boss’ authority in front of the proper authorities, namely our department head. If I did, opportunities for more TA work might be denied me in the future.
- This feedback came so late in the game, weeks after the class’ end.
The first reason is indeed very complicated and too complex for this journal entry. However, the second one is easier to address, easier to fix. Feedback is an essential, no, a central part of teaching. As a student, person, teacher, I thrive on feedback (grades, constructive criticism, advice from my mentors). Though its possible that this student’s mind might not’ve been changeable, de-programmable, it was possible for me to have addressed the problem to the whole class (it’s likely others were negatively influenced).
In the future, when lecturing for so many students, I will try having feedback forms for them to fill out right after my lecture ends. This way, I can get a sense of their love/dislike/disdain/enthusiasm for my subject area and better fine tune my next lecture or help my professor address the mood of the class in his lectures.
But for now, I pacify myself with the old adage, “you win some you lose some” while I look through teaching job prospects on the internet and hope to “win some” of these someday soon.