I reach the end of yet another semester. Thirty six years in the professorial saddle; ergo, this was my seventy-second semester teaching collegiate students. That’s an awful lot of class time.
You’d think I would have it down pat by now, but I don’t. Stuff goes wrong. I grow in some ways, diminish in others. I acquire new skills, then let valuable old skills deteriorate. Some of the thrill is gone, while the satisfaction in a job well done brings redress and rebalance.
But was it a good semester? I’m not so sure it was. I’m positive I was just fine with my large classes at the big university; those are performances of well-known and familiar material that I’ve honed into a tight, interesting slalom ride through the vast trails of Western art music. My doubts arise at the smaller music school where I am a department chair, very long-time faculty, and a familiar presence.
Most of us, as long as we care anything at all about what we do, perform housekeeping of our syllabi and materials from time to time. It’s a necessary part of staying fresh. I always try to re-think some of the oldest (to me) subjects that I teach, such as elementary harmony, at least enough so I’m not just standing up at the whiteboard spouting what have become near-platitudes, coasting along on automatic pilot, not really thinking or listening. I also have a brand-new course that I’m working through as I go; that’s exciting and a fine challenge.
But while most of us make periodic sweeps through our materials and curricula, how many of us look at our actual presentation style? That’s where I’m having my doubts about my effectiveness this past semester. I haven’t given any of that much thought for a good long while, and it’s clear to me that numerous ugly little habits have grown and flourished.
Item: salty language and risqué stories. They might have been OK in the 1970s when the school was mostly a haven for stoners, but it isn’t any more and we’re living in much more politically-correct times. The words and stories need to go, no matter whether they get laughs or shock a moribund 8:00 AM room into some semblance of life.
Item: impatience, testiness, or a lack of consideration for individual student problems or needs. Maybe their psychological hangups aren’t technically my problem. I shouldn’t touch such issues with a ten-foot pole, in fact. But that doesn’t mean I have to react with waspish irritation.
Item: sticking too closely to rules and regulations. Pure laziness, nothing else. It’s easier to say that policies are policies and I really can’t do a thing about them, rather than really listening and trying to understand what’s behind certain problems.
On the plus side, I think the students learned what they needed to learn, and wound up without too many lifelong psychological scars in the process. That’s a good thing. Still, I could have done a lot, lot better. My pedagogical house is messy. A good scrubbing is needed.