(No. 3)

In the Undergraduate Mind: The First-Year Experience from Three Perspectives

Instructor

This USEM class proved typical of my experience over the years: it featured that combination of excitement, frustration, and mystery that keeps me coming back for more.
Most inspiringly, I witnessed some of those "light-bulb" moments that comprise one of the true joys of teaching. One day, several students audibly gasped as they suddenly understood a point that had previously eluded them-they clearly saw the "Big Picture" in a fresh light. As the semester progressed, I watched individuals formulate increasingly sophisticated arguments that demonstrated a new level of awareness. One or two displayed strong reactions when their conceptual universe or hallowed truths were challenged. I also detected moments of revelation secondhand in students' written work-some of them had become much more articulate and insightful by the end of the term. These overt phenomena, however, are the exception.
More often, students toil for their gains. Even the best-prepared have weaknesses, and it's my job to help them make progress in developing academic/life skills such as reading, writing, speaking, analysis, listening, critical thinking, creativity, and selfawareness. Similarly, they almost always learn to see the larger connections incrementally; spectacular breakthroughs are rare. In this class, students' performances varied widely; some consistently improved while others fluctuated between competence and mediocrity. A few made no discernible headway, despite my best urging. Nevertheless, by the end of the semester, most students demonstrated in concrete, measurable ways a more sophisticated grasp of the subject matter as well as an enhanced ability to operate in an academic environment.
As usual, both unpleasant and pleasant surprises occurred. I conducted a midsemester assessment of my teaching and received a mixed report. Students indicated that the topic, the assignments, and interaction with peers prompted them to think in new and exciting ways. Yet they also voiced concerns about how I orchestrated the discussions, they questioned the value of some of the readings, and they did not seem to understand certain key issues I had covered repeatedly. Although I attempted to address those complaints, I sensed (and their end-of-semester evaluations confirmed) that I did not fully succeed.
On the other hand, my growing inclination in recent years to take chances and trust students yielded handsome rewards. Most notably, I devised a final assignment that required students to develop a concept for a film that expressed their viewpoint on the drug question, taking into account what they had learned during the semester. This was a great departure for me because it did not require students to demonstrate encyclopedic knowledge of the subject material. Rather, I wanted to foster creativity, and they responded well. Each made a formal presentation about their concept, and most of the projects evinced a sophisticated, nuanced approach that recognized the complexity of the topic. Many incorporated portions of what they had learned from other courses, deftly illustrating the value of interdisciplinarity in education. The other students in class comprised the audience, acting as true colleagues by reading closely, listening attentively, and asking questions that emphasized the creative and interpretative aspects of the assignment. At the end of the last class, I had the sense that students grew as individuals and cohered as a group-a living example of "academic community" in all its imperfection and splendor.
In the midst of these typical frustrations, uncertainties, and victories, I found (as I always do) the process of teaching exhilarating. There is nothing quite like participating in the excitement of minds at work, especially in the fluid environment of a discussion-oriented class. Each student arrives with a constellation of experiences, questions, puzzlements, understandings, prejudices, ignorances, knowledge, and ostensibly immutable truths. Combining one or two dozen of these conceptual universes in the same room inevitably leads to friction, destruction, and re-creation. I have learned to cherish the unpredictability and creativity that unavoidably occurs. For example, at one juncture a student unexpectedly made a point in a particularly cogent way. I tried not to get in the way, instead savoring the golden moment in which the words spoken are "just right." The students even challenged me to think about the course in a new way by suggesting that I might be legitimizing certain social problems by promoting study of them. Their unsettling, insightful inquisition required me to contemplate more deeply the implications of my acts and words on the lives of others.
In the end, teaching is a faith-filled enterprise, animated by vital questions to which no absolute answers exist. How do I best teach my students knowledge, and how might they utilize that information? Does the study of a particular subject provide opportunities to impart a way of thinking that transcends a specific discipline? Can I help students acquire wisdom? Should I (consciously) teach values? What is my responsibility, and the University's responsibility, to society, especially to the families of the students who cross my path? Can one really know the consequences and import of a specific college class on an individual's life? I cannot say with certitude or precision what effect I have, but on balance I believe it is positive. That is why I find myself drawn into the classroom again and again; I want to wrestle with this experience of teaching and learning, at once both mundane and mystical.