Less Smackdown than Worn Down

My friends and fellow travelers in misery, I am worn out to my soul. This semester is killing me slowly, and I don't know what to do about it.

I'm teaching several sections of Writing for Your Hamster Audience here at LD3C. The course is designed to get students up to speed for Freshman Hamster Composition, the first required course in the Hamster Writing sequence. I'm teaching other courses as well, but I meet only with WfYHA students only on Mondays.

This is a sample--and only a sample--of the students enrolled in these several sections:

Angry Agnes. She was dealt a life lesson over the summer and she's taking it out on me. Surly, uncooperative, unprepared, often absent. Storms out of the room before the end of class, nearly every time. I have no idea why.

Calamity Cal. Has a new crisis every week and doesn't seem to understand that class time is not the time to inform me. Also doesn't seem to understand that his personal crises do not excuse him from the course work. Displays bad attitude when not accommodated--which is every time he opens his mouth to complain about his personal life in class.

Cognitively Disabled Dan, Deb, Dora, Don, and Darlene. Nice students. Very sweet. Attend every class. Do work to the best of their ability. Absolutely incapable of passing the class.

Cognitively Disabled Donna and Dirk. Not nice at all. Mean, loud, angry, frustrated, and absolutely incapable of passing the class.

Conspiracy Theory Conrad. Seemingly normal, otherwise, Conrad thinks that there's a government plot behind everything--absolutely everything--including my desire to get him to read a text as written. At least he's not a jerk.

Dramatic Dharma. Could be related to Calamity Cal. Her temper is a little better.

Disruptive Dave and his sidekick, Sometimes Sam. Dave rarely attends, is never on time, and when he does show up attempts to demand special treatment to get him caught up in the class. This is Sam's behavior some of the time, especially when he comes in late with Dave.

Emailing Emeril. Thinks this is a correspondence course and refuses to hear that he's failing because he's never in class. Tone of his email is becoming increasingly belligerent because he's not getting his way.

Entitled Enrico. Right out of high school, acts as though I owe him a medal when he bothers to show up. Gets loud and puts on a show when I don't drop everything I'm doing, interrupt every lesson, to pay attention to him right now.

Helpful Hal. Still won't stop trying to teach the class that I am teaching.

Leaving Lorraine. Has an appointment to keep every time class meets, before class is over. Becomes irritated when I cannot alter my lesson plans for her.

Mentally Lazy Lucy. Bright woman but won't read directions or listen attentively enough to know what's going on--and she's perfectly capable of doing so. She'd just wants the spoon feeding.

Occasional Ollie, Olivia, Orlando, Olaf, Owen, Ozzie, and the rest of the Occasional Bunch: Students who breeze in and out of my classes to the point of disruption. I don't mean that they come in and out during a class period. These are students who come occasionally and then demand to be caught up right now. These classes are capped at 25 and are full; there are days when a given section will have just seven or eight. Sometimes their attendance is so sporadic that I don't remember their names when they do show up, and that makes them angry.

Quirky Quinn. Wants to be my BFF, still. Follows me. Refuses to do the assignments as assigned, opting to write for a giraffe rather than hamster audience. Interrupts with questions that have nothing to do with class.

Restless Rita, Ron, and Rob. Will not remain in class long enough to hear instructions. Get up to leave the room to talk on the phone endlessly, go to the restroom, get a cup of coffee. Become angry when I won't catch them up right now.

Sleepy Sam. Sleeps through every class and becomes pissed off when I won't catch him up (upon awakening) right now.

Special Edwina. Loudly proclaims that she has suffered through the label of special education. Becomes irritated when she doesn't understand something. Thinks I'm trying to undermine her. Cries often.

Stoned Stan. Guess what he does before class.

Talkative Tom: Still won't shut the tea party up.

Texting Terrance, Tara, and Taylor. Cannot be bothered to put the electronic devices away, then become irritated because I won't re-teach what they missed while texting.

TMI Tammy: Still reveals too much. Cries often.

Underskilled Ernie, Edna, Ursula, Erskine, Umberto, Uta, Erin, Evan, Esteban, Enid, and Ulf. These are the students who do not read or write at the level required for WfYHA. Somehow, they slipped through the placement cracks (and backups) and are taking a class for which they are absolutely not ready. For some, their reading comprehension is too low (at this point) to understand the course; it simply moves to fast for them. For some, their writing skills need much more work before they can pass the course. For several, it's a double whammy; they are not proficient enough in both reading and writing to pass the course. Some are angry and frustrated and take their anger and frustration out on me or act out in other inappropriate ways. Some are resigned and sad. A couple are determined to get what they can out of the course--but still require more time from me than I am capable of giving.


Every day I walk into my classes prepared to teach Writing for Your Hamster Audience. Every day I spend one-quarter to one-third of the class time on something else, from discipline issues to repeating directions and answering questions endlessly--and in many different ways--for those whose comprehension skills are low. I spend most of the class deflecting and containing the anger of one or more students. I spend a good deal of every class connecting dots so close together that the distance between them is barely discernible.

Yes, there are rules about behavioral issues clearly defined in the syllabus. Yes, I enforce the rules--but that takes a huge chunk of my time as well. Yes, some students are tossed out of class.

Yes, there are students ready for this course, and I try with all my might to teach to them. As they are in the minority, however, the majority becomes frustrated and I find myself having to slow down and loop endlessly.

And, yes, others who teach this course experience similar things, but I tend to teach more of these classes than my colleagues do. Yes, yes, yes--the college is aware there's a problem, but that doesn't help me now.

In addition to the class management issues, these students create an enormous amount of extra work for me outside of the classroom. Every time a student is ejected from class for disruption (which happens often enough), I am required to write a report and do some follow-up with those who take care of such things. Even when students aren't ejected, I document everything because who knows when something that happened in class will come back to bite me?

Then there's the grading. I don't even want to talk about the grading. I am thankful that no one has become violent. I have been called some really awful names.

I am an encouraging, effective, approachable teacher, which is why the college wants me to teach these courses and why I'm pretty good at what I do. I'm no doormat in the classroom, either--another reason I'm a good choice for these courses.

I'm also, however, a teacher who feels worn down to the nub. I feel like I'm spitting into the ocean, howling into the void. It's not even midterm--and midterm brings mandatory one-on-one conferences with each student.

Every day I come home exhausted, and more and more that exhaustion feels akin to heartbreak.