OF STUDENT BONDAGE: A POKE AT PROFESSIONAL DISTANCE

I'm still naive. I like new semesters. They have the same clean, promising appeal as new years. New
semesters are better, though, in their greater abundance. They give our syllabi and our professional selves
multiple opportunities for rebirth. Frequent and regular renascence must be part of the benefits package that
goes with college teaching. College instructors get more "fresh starts" than the unfortunates in other fields.
They can make, therefore—and break, therefore—more resolutions. I’ve started many a semester with a lust
for PPD—a lust for lack of intimacy with students—and usually a new strategy for achieving "nonintimacy."
For the sake of PPD, I won’t (I promise myself) let down my guard, smile broadly, smile warmly, listen to
sob stories, listen to jokes, or look at family snapshots before or after class. I'll teach this course (for once)
like General Patton. And we'll cover all the material. And we'll cover it on time. And we'll win the war.

There is always a problem with a new PPD strategy: namely, that | hate it. I hate the plans for distance
because, in truth, I hate the distance once I have achieved it. Fifteen minutes into the second class period
the PPD plan usually begins to fall apart. I recall that I’m not remarkably similar to General Patton. I notice
that my students do not resemble brave soldiers. Some of them look peculiarly nervous. But they have little
reason to fear. After all, they come to class well armed against PPD, with engaging personalities, with
energy and earnestness, and in some cases with the most formidable anti-PPD weapon yet developed—a
spontaneous sense of humor. At the slightest indication of an instructor's interest in them, they fire off all
their artillery, battering down the barriers.

And what happens? Bonding begins. It isn’t quite so tender as what occurs between parent and child in
the moments following labor and delivery. But it has its own transient wonder. It isn’t superglue, either.
Still, it’s strong enough to cement an alliance for a semester. For me the process starts with the first focused
attempts to memorize names of students while they’re writing. Thus, this two-second scenario: A student
looks up, catches me staring, mouthing her name. She grins at discovering me and looks down at her work
again. Suddenly, we have settled in for a semester together. We like our distinct identities, so we've started
by getting our labels right.

The bond intensifies when we all work together on writing in progress. Another student brings me his
problem paper. I read it carefully—even though he’s impatient for a quick fix—and pause to think. He
waits while I read. He watches me think. He’s expecting a verdict—a colossal and irrevokable Thumb up or
down. But I keep my thumbs on his paper. Together we start to look at what's there in the still unjudged
writing. He tells me what he wants it to say. I tell him what it does say. Then we study wording. He tells
me which words don’t suit him. From the abridged thesaurus buried within, I present some other
possibilities. He points out the parts of the writing that he likes best. I point out the parts I like best. We
scrutinize punctuation. I show him where he has correctly used what he has learned in class and where he
has apparently forgotten my excellent instruction. For a few minutes we have teamed to produce a
masterpiece, albeit minor. The student appreciates the experience, regards it almost as a miracle. He can
see definite improvement in his writing. I can sense a definite leap in his motivation. The mere acceptance
of him and his writing and the moments spent with both will make everything I say all semester authentic to
him. I’m not just a figurehead any more. I’m a friendly expert, a tappable resource. And he'll stay on tap.
Bonded.

So PPD vaporizes... . It probably condenses again somewhere else, in an idyllic classroom down the
hall. It undoubtedly works wonderfully there. But my resolution this semester will be to refrain from
yearning for it.

Rebekah Womack
English Instructor

Abstracted with permission of LCC = Teaching, Number 2, April, 1988.

For further information, contact the author at Lexington Community College, Cooper Drive, Lexington, KY
40506-0235.

 

Suanne D. Roueche, Editor
August 26, 1988, Vol. X, No. 17

INNOVATION ABSTRACTS Is a publication of the National institute for Staff and Organizational Development, EDB 348, The University of
Texas at Austin, Austin, Texas 78712, (512)471-7545. Subscriptions are available to nonconsortium members for $35 per year. Funding in
part by the W. K. Kellogg Foundation and Sid W. Richardson Foundation. Issued weekly when classes are In session during fall and spring
terms and once during the summer.

“The University of Texas at Austin, 1988
Further duplication |s permitted only by MEMBER Institutions for thelr own personnel. ISSN 0199-106X