This week, we’re watching the second impeachment trial of Donald Trump. The first defense move was to argue that he could not even be impeached.
NPR reported this week that one constitutional scholar has a problem with how he was cited in the Trump team’s defense brief.
His argument was that Presidents could, in fact, be impeached under these circumstances, but Trump’s team said he said the opposite.
I would never let my students get away with that.
Q: Karma, now that your grades are in, what are you going to do with the rest of your day?
A: Continue prepping the four classes that start in two weeks, start putting together the Atwood journal, do some mandatory manager training online, and get an echocardiogram.
Q: Weren’t you supposed to say you’d be enjoying the season and the break?
A: [incoherent sounds]
Q: Are you hysterically laughing or crying?
A few years ago, I had an idea that maybe I could illustrate the right and wrong ways to open and close a narrative essay with a choose-your-own adventure-style story.
This week, I finally tried it.
It took way longer than I thought it would, and there was some cussing at the program when it wouldn’t save certain links in the chain, and trying to get all the threads straight kinda broke my brain, but the draft is done.
Wanna play?
https://www.inklewriter.com/stories/14788.
When I first started teaching, I had anxiety dreams. I would show up without my materials, without a plan.
All these years later, I’ve gained confidence. I showed up without my book once; it was fine. Classes have gone off track, productively or not, and I got us back on track.
I’ve improvised an activity for the class to do so I could leave with one student, who was in such crisis she needed to see a mental health professional right that second.
My dreams have to work harder to throw me.
Now, if I have a work anxiety dream, I show up to a class that isn’t mine–in a subject I don’t know–but I’m somehow expected to teach. In the last one, I looked at a board covered in Chinese logograms and turned to the class. “Look, I’m obviously not your teacher.” And then I woke up.
But not all teaching dreams are about anxiety. In many, I’m just doing my job. I’ve woken up having given a whole lecture I had planned to dream students. And then I experience deja vu when I do it for real.
But today, I woke up from a dream of creating modules in Canvas, filling page upon page, converting what I would say to what they would read.
I’d prefer the anxiety dream.
Teaching online has been eventful, which is ironic, since it doesn’t look that way. Watching me teach now is seeing me sitting at my computer, typing. It’s only when you might catch a glimpse of me with a medieval jester puppet as I make a video that an “event” is evident.
There were struggles when I had to teach my first fully online courses at Davis and when I had to convert my Los Rios semester classes to online mid term.
Right now, I’m teaching my first fully online Los Rios course.
I’m better prepared, both through the few months of experience I have and through the course I took for certification to teach online.
I’m grappling with a problem I assume is common. Many of my community college students aren’t doing any of the readings or watching any of the videos. They’re just going to assignments.
And then they fail the assignments because they didn’t do the reading.
The Davis students last term learned their lesson quickly. They either started doing at least some of the reading or they dropped.
My current students aren’t learning that lesson quickly. I can post announcements and videos and write comments on their assignments all day long, but if they aren’t doing the readings/viewings, then they aren’t seeing those corrections.
In class, I could pull them aside. I could make an announcement to the whole class that they would at least be in the room for.
I’ve managed to find ways to pull most of them aside, virtually.
Except one student.
She added the class with a PTA the second day. And I honestly don’t think she’s read anything.
Not the syllabus or schedule. Not the announcements. Not my comments to her. Not the textbook.
She’s failing, not surprisingly.
Over a week ago, she wrote on an assignment that she was confused because the dates kept changing.
I haven’t changed a single date.
The schedule I give the students is complete at the very start of class.
And we stick to it.
It takes an emergency–and not just a personal one. The only time I’ve changed due dates in recent memory was when school closed because of the fires.
So I wrote her a note back, telling her that I wanted to figure out where the confusion was so we could get her on track.
And then I remembered that she didn’t read my comments on her submissions. So I sent her an email through Canvas and an email the regular way.
No response.
She didn’t disappear, though. She keeps turning in failing assignments.
It’s been a week. She’s gotten a second email (I know she uses her email–she emailed me twice at the start of term) and a phone call.
Yes. A phone call. (Their numbers are on the roster in the Los Rios system.)
She didn’t pick up, but I left a message that I wanted to get in touch because I wanted to help her figure out the assignments and the dates.
No response.
I don’t know what to do now.
If this were a movie, I would find a way to find her, neglect my family and my other students, and babysit her little sister, while helping her complete her assignments.
This movie idea–that we should all reach every student all the time–is damaging and pervasive.
At every conference, it’s reiterated that if our students can’t pass our classes, it’s because we’re doing something wrong.
This is an excellent example of how that’s not true.
But I still want to help her.
And she’s not going to let me.
As I’ve mentioned before, I do extra credit book clubs with my students.
After one book club, one of my students recommended The Healing of America, so I made it our book for the next quarter.
Reid lays out the problems with American healthcare, which is fundamentally about our paradox. We spend more than anyone else, but we’re definitely not healthier. And not all of us have access to care. We let people die of manageable diseases.
Reid takes his own imperfect body around the world to look at how other developed nations handle care.
Along the way, he addresses common American misconceptions about the rest of the world, about too-long wait times, rationed care, etc.
I was surprised when my 104F students told me that Reid’s book surprised them. They had believed all those myths.
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. I didn’t know much about how the rest of the world worked when I was their age, but I thought they might know more about their field–and how fucked up it is.
One smart, tightly-wound student managed to shock me, though. After the other students talked about how they would definitely want to work in systems where insurance companies couldn’t override doctors, etc., one student said she was against affordable healthcare.
“If anyone can come to my office–if it’s not expensive to see me–then they won’t respect my degree and how much work I’ve done.”
Another student pushed back.
“So you would rather work in a system where someone could die because they couldn’t afford treatment?”
“Yes.”
This is the one week until December that I won’t be teaching. It’s the first such week of the year.
The first three weeks of my first session summer class are loaded onto Canvas. The handouts and activities have been adapted for optimal online learning.
The cat videos are loaded into the weekly wrap-up pages.
But I can’t just rest this week. There’s admin work to do, three medical appointments, including an endoscopy, trying to get my fence cat-proofed because one neighbor doesn’t like Thoth, . . .
Still, I am committed to only working half-days.
My problem, though, is how bad I am at relaxing. My workaholism has a big list of things for me to do. Even when I can convince it to let me read or watch tv, it has certain ideas.
“You should watch the foreign films in your DVR, since you usually can’t give yourself time to focus on what you’re watching.”
“You need to catch up on your New Yorkers. Do one a day while you can.”
“You should watch at least one stand-up special a day, even if you’re not in the mood, for research.”
I feel weird when I’m not working or crossing something off a list.
It’s pathological, and over the years I’ve gotten better at fighting it, but I still have to remind myself that I’m not doing anything wrong if I’m not being productive, that I don’t need to justify tv time by doing the most difficult physical therapy exercises while I watch.
This last quarter, I was by necessity glued to my computer–and I will be again next week.
I decided to take Sundays off from school work.
The boy says he thinks it’s doing me good, so I’m going to keep trying.
This is especially important if you won’t need the letter right away. Pop by office hours every couple of months. If we’re comfortable with it, friend us on social media. Send us that email when you see a meme that perfectly captures one of the lessons from the class.
Can we use the same letter for each program? Do we upload to interfolio, or do we have to send them separately?
Offer your resume, your letter, and whatever else we might need to write about you.
Give us clear instructions about due dates.
If the place is old-fashioned and wants a paper letter, give us addressed envelopes with stamps.
Teachers procrastinate too. Do you really want your letter to be late because your professor hadn’t been to the post office for a while?
I’m anal, and I’m a planner. When I agree to write a letter for a student, I put it on my calendar. In fact, I mark it on my calendar as something to be done a full week before it’s actually due.
Why?
Life.
I have migraines some days; I’m exhausted some days. Car accidents and happy accidents and all the rest often mean that not everything on a to-do list gets done.
Thus, I stay ahead on my homework, just like I did as an undergrad.
I am unique.
Some of your professors don’t keep a calendar, or they don’t update it. Or they count on their memory. Or they don’t plan ahead for potential problems. Or they procrastinate.
So check in with them, about a week before the letter is due.
Try: “Hi, as you know, the letter for Georgetown is due in a week. I’m just checking in to see if you need any additional information.”
Please don’t disappear. Tell us what happened. Are you going to your dream school? Settling for the one closer to home? Trying again next year? We want to know.
If you will be trying again, ask us to update the letter. Sometimes we just have to change the date, but it will still help. A letter with an older date on it doesn’t mean as much to the admissions committee.
An email is usually enough for this favor, but if someone went out of their way for you, a small token is nice.
Did someone write you a letter at the last minute because someone else flaked?
Maybe they need a nice bar of chocolate (unless they’re a caramel person, like me).
Did someone work with you tirelessly on your letter?
Maybe they need a Peets gift card.
You’ll be in a position to write letters for people some day. Evaluate them fairly and well.
Another way of paying it forward is to pass all of this advice along. We faculty don’t mean for any of it to be a secret. Sometimes we don’t think we have the time to tell you. Other times, we think we don’t need to tell you–because no one ever told us; we had to figure it out.
But we’ll all do better if things like this are transparent.
Go forth and find your mentors!
(Past entries discussed the basics, how to get mentors, mistakes to avoid, how our letters can address problems, and tips for asking.)
If you weren’t a good student, or if you were, but you didn’t get to know the instructor, you’re not going to get a good letter at the last minute. In other words, the first time you really have a conversation with us shouldn’t be the “may I have a letter of recommendation” conversation.
If you work in a lab, don’t get both of your letters from your lab supervisors. Get one from someone who can talk about your work and another who can talk about you as a student, or some combination like that.
Ask in person, if possible. If it’s not possible, apologize. I recommend a sentence with the words “comfortable” and “strong,” as in “Would you be comfortable writing me a strong letter?”
By saying “strong,” you’re asking for something beyond the form letter–and they’ll now know you know the difference.
If there is even a bit of hesitation, BACK OFF!
If they say they don’t have time, don’t argue or come up with time-management tips. If they say they don’t know you well enough, they aren’t asking to get to know you. If they say they can’t write you a strong letter, go ask someone else.
Definitely don’t show up at their house with your mom on a Saturday, demanding a letter, causing them to have to threaten to call the police since you won’t stop screaming about how they HAVE to write one.
(This happened to a colleague.)
We expect at least a month’s head-up for graduate school–those deadlines don’t sneak up on people. We’re more flexible with jobs and scholarships.
I often have students in my office for a whole office hour, trying to build up the courage to ask me.
It’s so obvious.
But I pretend to be oblivious, as they ask about my cats and where I got that picture of Weird Al and how my Simpsons collection started.
When I say, “it’s been great, but I have to get to class,” they finally ask.
Why don’t I spare them asking? Because asking for help is important. I had to learn to do it–it was the hardest lesson. But every person you might ask for a letter had to ask for letters. It’s just part of the process.
Pro-tip: If you want to say something nice while you’re asking, ask first, then flatter.
When a student says, “Your class was my favorite. Can I have a letter?” I’m never sure whether the first sentence is true.
Take, for example, a card I got my from my son for mother’s day when he was about 7:
“You are lovely. Your hair is lovely. I’m sorry I set the carpet on fire.”
Those first two lines sort of get cancelled out because of the placement of the third.
It’s so much more convincing if you just flip the sentences: “May I have a letter of recommendation? I’m asking you because your class was my favorite.”
The next entry will be about what to do when we say yes.
Previous entries went over the basics, how to get mentors, things to avoid, and why our letters should address your problems.
What if I don’t need the letter for a while?
Bring it up before you lose touch with them: “after taking a couple of years off to work, I’ll be applying to vet school. I might be back to ask you for a letter of recommendation then.”
What if the professor asks me to write the letter?
I know that some professors do this, but it’s insane. These letters are a genre. How are you supposed to know how the genre works? How are you supposed to know, from one school’s pov to another, what to say?
Some professors don’t use the letter they make you write. They say things like, “oh, I just wanted to know what you thought of yourself.”
Whether it’s laziness or mind games, I wouldn’t deal with those people.
What if the people who could write the best letter aren’t professors?
One of my students was recently told that all of his letters should come from tenure-track research professors.
But that wasn’t possible. Those professors only taught the big classes, and they didn’t allow undergraduates near enough to get to know them.
So one of his letters came from me, a lowly lecturer. We got him into one of the most prestigious schools in the country.
If you’re choosing between a form letter from a professor or a great letter from someone who’s not, don’t you want the great one?
So far, we’ve gone over the basics, how to get mentors, and the mistakes to avoid.
Today, let’s talk about the Letter of Rec superpower: addressing problems.
Few of us are perfect candidates–there was one class we bombed, one bad habit we haven’t conquered.
If a problem is so big that it will be visible to the job or the school you want, you have to address it.
How are you going to explain that terrible second year?
Or why you had to drop out and come back?
Or why you changed majors six times?
It’s actually best if we address it.
There was a term in college when I had pneumonia during the last weeks. If I’d had insurance, I would have been in the hospital. I don’t remember my mother having my brother say a final goodbye to me over the phone, but it apparently happened.
I do remember throwing up during one final and hallucinating in another.
I didn’t get straight “A”s that term, and I was worried about it.
John Degen was one of my letter writers–I’d taken three of his classes. He was the only teacher in the theatre department I had to study for–and I loved him for it.
He had me read the letter he wrote; he said he wanted me to proofread it.
That was bullshit–I realize now that he was finding an excuse to show me the letter so I would calm down.
In the letter, he talked about my illness. He mentioned how, despite my vomiting in the final, I did better than 92% of the class. I hadn’t know that.
I also didn’t know that my name had come up in a faculty meeting. The professors discussed who among them would go to my hometown for my funeral.
Because I was so clearly going to die.
“John,” I said. “Why did you all make me take my finals?”
“We thought you wanted to finish before you died.”
I was out of my mind with illness; they should have told me to go home.
Nevertheless, I knew I wasn’t going to have to mention my illness in my letters for grad school at all.
And that was a good thing. It would have sounded like an excuse if I mentioned it.
John made me sound heroic.
And that’s why you want mentors to write great letters for you. If we don’t know you, we can’t do this part of the letter.
Let me give two more examples, from letters I wrote.
I had a student who wanted to get a Masters in Public Health. She didn’t have the requisite GPA. But I knew her very well, and I went to bat for her. My only mention of what sank her GPA was in this paragraph (I’ve changed her name):
In our time together, I have gotten to know Jane very well. I know about the hardships she’s faced, including physical and mental abuse at home. I know how strong she’s been to overcome those hardships. Jane’s transcript will likely not be the strongest you’ll receive; however, I recommend Jane over anyone else I can think of for this program—she is dedicated to improving the health of those in at-risk populations. She understands the challenges they face in receiving care, in bridging the cultural and languages gaps between patients and doctors, and in making sustainable, long-term changes in lifestyle. Jane may have fumbled a bit in her undergraduate career, but I have every confidence that she will excel in this Master’s Program.
The program filed an appeal, asking for the university to waive the GPA requirement for her. And she has that Masters degree now.
Another student wanted to go med school. We had known each other for four years; he’d taken three classes from me. He was special. My favorite thing about him? When I would mark a mistake on his paper, he would not make the exact same mistake on the next paper. He would learn.
I was pleased when he asked me for a letter. I was less pleased when he came back a week later to tell me never mind, that he wasn’t going to med school, that he wasn’t good enough.
If I hadn’t really known him, I would have taken him at his word. I wouldn’t have known how wrong he was. And it would have been one more thing to cross off my long to-do list.
But he was wrong. So I yelled at him. And I ordered him to apply.
Later, he told me he was only in med school because I yelled at him.
If you don’t have mentors, who is going to give you a kick in the ass when you need it most?
I wrote him a great letter. In fact, I was worried the committee would see it as hyperbolic. And I was worried that he wouldn’t really explain in his own letter how amazing he was.
So I ended mine this way (name changed):
If this letter seems unduly glowing, it is because I hope to make up for John’s humility, which might prevent him from “selling” himself in his application. It is vital that this humility be respected, as it is another quality that makes both for an uncommonly good doctor and an uncommonly good person.
I give him my highest possible recommendation.
He’s a doctor now. And sometimes he sends me facebook messages to check in with me and to ask if my doctors are treating me well.
I think he’s waiting for a moment when I’m letting a doctor not do his or her best, so he can give me a much needed kick in the ass to demand better.
