It's in the Syllabus

"I am a very important person with many important things to do" is often the assumption that begins my day.

Ahem. Unfortunately.

Not that I think I am *that* important, it's just that I see a lot of things to get done. And with only 24 hours to do them, well, daylight's burnin'.

Needless to say, sometimes I'm due for a little reminder where I am in the scheme of humanity and what actually matters. I received such a reminder yesterday when I was clicking through email, checking for any emergencies from my students while school's on fall break. I opened one student email to find the following:

Professor Payne, all my sources for my paper are interviews, but I don't know how to cite them? And I don't know how to set my paper up. What do I do? -Student

I don't know what this looks like to you, but I assume to the casual observer that it's a typical communication from a college freshman who's a little high strung over an assignment and looking for some help. Normally I really like it when students ask for help--to me it shows some commitment, interest, and involvement. Usually I kind of get a kick out of emails like these.

Except when I've already addressed every single of these questions in class.

Except when I've covered citation and structure in the past two papers.

With handouts.

With email reminders.

With personal conversations.

Except when I have many important things to do, and these needless requests are clogging my inbox.

My pulse throbbed a little and the tips of my ears tingled.

Now this, this I hate.

As my fingers stiffened and I wavered between ignoring the email and writing a stinging reply, the words, "it's in the syllabus" settled over my mind like a cloud.

"It's in the syllabus" is a favorite phrase of teachers--it means that the responsibility is on the student to find out what's due and when in class. It means that the teacher's ass is covered if s/he forgets to remind the class of something. "It's in the syllabus," is the shrugging reply to protesting students. "You could see it for yourself."

The same principle goes for assignment sheets, email reminders, etc. The information is there for the reading. If the student misses it, it's no one's fault but their own.

Normally I feel that this is a very good rule of thumb, and for new, insecure teachers (ahem, like me) who want their butts covered so that they can secure another position for the next year, "it's in the syllabus" seems like a veritable safe haven, as well as a justification for a few swift replies to the negligent student.

And yet.

I know how forgetful I am. I know how anxiety-bound, frantic, and frustrated I can be. I know how many plates I've dropped, and how many times I've been lost--either literally or metaphorically. And I remember the people I called on--my parents, my brother, my husband, my friends--in those times.

Not once, since I was teenager can I remember them saying, "I told you so," or "Can't you figure it out?"  Instead, I remember plans put on hold, schedules rerouted or simply them giving me their full attention to help me with the problem at hand. I'm sure I could have Googled, researched, and struggled to find my own way, but their  patience saved not only my time but also my dignity. I wasn't accused or shamed for my ignorance. I was encouraged, laughed with, and given help.

Likewise, I remember many a frantic prayer in which not once do I recall a cosmic voice saying, "It's in the Bible, read it. Come to Me when you have a new question that I haven't addressed. By the way, I've answered them all. BAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHA!" In which case, it would seem that God is a big computer in the sky, with all the necessary data in the world for us to download--no talking, no questions, and no relationship necessary.

Conversely, if God said, "It's in the syllabus" every time I prayed, I'd spend all my time reading, reading, reading until I was exhausted, and after finding it all too hard, I'd probably throw it all away and quit this spiritual school.

But He doesn't. Instead, He says, "Come to Me, you who are weary, and I'll give you rest." His preachers say, "We don't have a great high priest who can't be touched with the feelings of our infirmities, but in every way was tempted as we are." He says, "Let the children come to me." He says, "Have you been such a long time with me that you still don't understand?" and then proceeds to explain it all again.

From a teaching standpoint, I think it must be exhausting to be Christ. From a student standpoint, I know there's no hope for me without Him, His patience, and His grace to help me understand who He is. What He wants.

Yes, all of the instructions are in His syllabus, but my problem is, I don't always know how to read the syllabus. I'm forgetful and I do stupid things.

So I go to the Teacher and I ask for help, yet again.

All of these thoughts flew through my mind as I stretched my fingers and prepared my response to the student. I gave her some pointers and reminded her of what we had covered in class. I invited her to come back to me if she still had questions after revisiting the material. My face was still a little pinched up, but this time it was from trying to figure out how to best help her, instead of cover myself and lick my wounded teacher's ego.

Yes, it's in the syllabus, and yes there's a time for judgment (grading) for how well we've stewarded the knowledge given to us. But in the meantime, I'll work on teaching both the syllabus and the reading of it, the information and the relationship, and well, there's really nothing more important than this.

For the Hats

I'm in that particularly nasty stretch between, well, now and the rest of the semester. Wait, let me try that again. What I mean specifically is that time towards the end of the semester with the holidays looming and so are papers to be graded; when emotions are high and so is anxiety and sleep is at a minimum. My husband had to wake me up last night because I was teaching my English classes, apparently rather loudly, in my sleep.

I'm stressed. I've been stressed since the beginning of October. Okay, since the second week of classes, but this level since around the beginning of October. I've effectively annihilated (and I'm so tired I couldn't even spell annilate...annihlated, ...annihilated...that word) the concept of "free" time. I might take time to do other things other than work, but my brain is in knots the entire time. I cried more this past weekend than I have in the past three month. I'm tired, stressed, and self-doubting. Maybe I'm not a teacher. Maybe I'm not a writer. Maybe I'm just a girl who's merely trying on different hats and none of them really suit her.

I

I don't know, I think I have some talent running around here somewhere, and as soon as I can find it, I'll be alright. I do know that I'm not the only one that feels this way; that at this festive season of the year teachers everywhere are doubting themselves, accusing themselves, and all but contemplating a Last Leap as they consider the papers to be yet graded, and the wisdom to be imparted to individuals as reluctant to receive as those to give it.

But this is what I know too: It's the end of the semester and semesters do end. There will be some students who think of us fondly, and others that don't. There are students who will be passed, and those that won't, and believe it or not, it's going to be okay.

This much I know, and I'll keep reminding myself, and others, of that as much as necessary until the end. Here's to the hats.