No professor in his right mind would put much faith in student course evaluations. Those scribbled comments are mostly about the students and are only marginally about the course or the professor. Nonetheless, trends can be discerned, and agreement from a significant majority just might be worth considering. Should 90% of your class give you the lowest possible numeric rating (usually from 1 to 5) and blister the comments section with scathing negativity, then there’s a possibility that you just might have a problem.
Student evaluations grow in accuracy, and importance, with the age of the students. Graduate students are generally better judges than undergraduates, and adult students—i.e., those in continuing education programs—tend to be the best judges of all. Should one teach a course in a continuing education program, and should one be on the receiving end of a barrage of dissatisfaction, then one should be thinking hard about one’s career choices.
I’m somewhat less convinced that the opposite outcome—i.e., raves and outpourings of affection—is necessarily an indicator that the recipient is the greatest pedagogical thing since sliced bread. Still, such comments aren’t accidental. If your students shower you with compliments, you must have done something to earn them.
All this is by way of preface to contemplating my evaluations for the past academic year: they come to me from undergraduates, graduates, and continuing-education adults, and from three different schools—one where I am a full-time department chair, one where I am a long-time adjunct, and one where I hold an honorary chair. Between one thing and the next it’s a good 700 folks who have offered their two cents’ worth in regards to my abilities as a teacher. The verdict would seem to be that I rock, and it would seem to be unanimous. In one program, I was evaluated by over 300 students; on a numeric scale of 1 to 5, I wound up with a 4.99. This means that one student out of the 300 saw fit to give me a 4 instead of a 5. I can live with that. I’ve read remarks such as “the best teacher I’ve ever had in any subject,” and nothing along the lines of “the Stygian depth of this man’s incompetence can be neither expressed nor measured.” Words such as “passionate” and “enthusiastic” pop up frequently, as well as “expert.” A lot of folks have remarked on my sense of humor, and at least this year nobody saw fit to chastise me for being too ribald or falling short of political correctness standards. Then again, I’m on the whole fairly careful about that sort of thing. I wasn’t always.
Why do I get such uniformly high ratings, and some of my colleagues—who burn as much midnight oil as I do, who might possess more carefully acquired classroom techniques than I have, and who might be astounding experts in their respective fields—never receive better than wanly polite approval, or even worse, wind up being mugged in their evaluations?
I will allow that there are people in this world who have absolutely no business teaching, period. There was the chap who began a music theory course by reading aloud, in a monotone, from the textbook. I understand that half his class requested a change of section after the first day. Or the guy who snapped at his students at the slightest provocation, but was himself prone to numerous and elementary mistakes in his own performance. Others drift into mind. The pompous windbag with woefully out-of-date information. The stream-of-consciousness blabberer who boomeranged from topic to topic. Those are generally the exception. Most people want to make good and do well, and they’re willing to put in the time to make it so. Provided they’re not straitjacketed into some ridiculous departmental syllabus that forces them to frogmarch through acres of silly pedagogical doublespeak—a big ‘if’ where secondary public education is concerned—most people can do a reasonably decent job of passing knowledge and skill along.
Why am I so good at it? (At least according to my student evaluations.) It’s a mystery. I get a kick out of teaching, always have and always will. I’m sure that has something to do with it. I really and sincerely want to help people. That’s got to count for something. Just the same, I can be a revolting little smartass and I’m prone to fits of impatience with slowpokes—although I’ve learned, with time, to work with those fits and iron them out into something approaching patience. I’m at my very best when I’m lecturing to large groups, at least in my humble opinion, but it would seem I’m fine in most situations.
But I remain unconvinced. It’s one thing to know that you’re good (and I know that I’m good) and another thing to take that skill for granted. I can’t, and won’t, ever do that—if for no other reason but that I am on constant alert against burnout, that insidious creeping danger that can ensnare us all unawares. The solution is simple: stay fresh by coming up with new materials, new techniques, and never miss out on an opportunity to teach something new. And if you hear a worthwhile criticism, listen carefully to it and do what you can. He talks too fast sometimes is the one negative I’ve heard more than once. And it’s bang-on correct. I do talk too fast sometimes.
I’m working on it.
Who knows? Maybe by the time I’m finally ready for retirement (which won’t be for a good long time yet) I might be worthy of some of these compliments I’ve been receiving.