Parting

Last fall, one of the students in my Introduction to Communication class, a junior, came to my office and told me he wanted to switch his major to Communication. I knew him a little bit, and recognized that he was both likable and smart, so this was good news. He joined the forensics team and went to a tournament with us (no, he's not pictured below), and wrapped up Intro with solid work and a nice, high grade. Then he signed up for five, count them, five classes with me for this term. I joked with colleagues that after that kind of ordeal, he'd probably drop out.

Early this term, to my surprise, everything began to unravel. First, his attendance turned spotty, then he stopped turning in work, and finally, he just looked miserable in every class meeting. I sat him down in my office to ask if he was having problems, and we had a good talk. Despite that hopeful sign, all three patterns just accelerated: more skipped classes, more forfeited assignments. He became so disruptive in class that one day I had to bark at him, and another day I nearly threw him out. I announced syllabus revisions in all my classes to give myself authority to crack down, and that contained his behavior problems a bit, but the absences and zeros piled up. I worried about him much of the time, and began drafting in my head a tactful suggestion that he take some time off from school. He was just spinning his wheels, and his school experience had devolved into an empty charade. I had become more of an enforcer than an educator, and while that's also a form of teaching, it's not a good one. When it becomes a chronic problem instead of an occasional lapse, then radical changes are in order.

About a week ago, in the middle of a class discussion, he piped up and said he didn't like being told what to do, didn't like being required to follow assignment specifications in detail, didn't like having to be organized or systematic, and didn't understand why such things were necessary. He said his goal was to move the culture in the direction of authenticity and spontaneity, so no one would ever have to sweat over the minutiae of any kind of message. My suspicion, then and now, was that I wasn't hearing the output of his thinking, but the blowback of his frustration. He didn't truly think organization and detail were unimportant. I asked him a couple of probe questions about how, say, medical school should be taught, and he conceded that they're necessary in some contexts. But I think what I was hearing was exasperation passing the critical pressure and erupting. It certainly cast what happened next in an interesting light.

Yesterday afternoon, after skipping his (my, our) morning class, he came to my office and told me he was dropping out to enlist in the military. This from the guy who doesn't like to be told what to do. But it did mean he'd take himself out of the classroom and into a different environment, so I assured him right away that it was a good idea. He told me that most of his friends were opposed, since he's a second semester junior and could finish his degree in just one more year. But he had his parents' blessing; they said that if he was sure he'd be happier after the change, then they agreed. And I think they're probably right. True, he's going to bang his head against military discipline, but he won't be in a schoolroom anymore. I honestly think fifteen years of education burnt him out on this learning environment. He's got very distorted, romantic notions of what life is like outside the classroom, and at this point words are just bouncing off him. He's got to go see for himself.

My fervent hope and prayer is that this is an opportunity for him to grow, to rise to a challenge, to change his ways. I'm still fond of the kid, even though he's generated no end of stress and grief in my life, and the best news in the world would be to hear that he was thriving. He even hinted that after serving his hitch, his GI Bill benefits might bring him back here to school, but I don't expect that to happen. I think I'm seeing the last of him.

And last night, I grieved a little. This place is going to be different without him, and it's not the same kind of difference as saying goodbye to graduating seniors. That's poignant, but it's also a celebration and a success. It doesn't even feel the same as students transferring away, because at least there's a continuity and a next chapter ahead. This is a change that I hope, and have reason to believe, is positive and an improvement, but it's still a breaking off, a rupture, an unculminated, failed attempt at earning a degree. It feels right, but it doesn't feel good. Still, I woke up this morning in a much better mood about it, so I guess one night of grief isn't so bad. God's still got His eye on this kid.

Now, in about half an hour, I have to go to my morning class and nail a cheater. My week so far is not exactly an advertisement for my line of work.