So the father of my St. Thomas cheater just called me at my office: he is ANGRY. Of course, he's angry that his son is, as he said, "getting an F in the class," [see "Mash-Up" below] which of course is my fault. But what he should be angry at is the fact that his son's a liar and a cheater.
The son evidently told his dad that I refused to talk to him about his grade, that I dismissed him from class, and that I told him to "check the website" instead of talking with me. Of course almost the opposite is true: here's what happened this morning in class:
After class, Cheater interrupted my conversation with another student (who, appropriate for her gender role, graciously allowed him to do so) to ask how he could make his reading journal "better: I didn't get the points I was hoping for," he said. Yeah, right.
When I explained that a reading journal should be about what you think of the reading -- a journal is about your thoughts -- he sort of shook his head. And then I made a fatal mistake: I'd seen online that he'd accessed our course website to "read" the feedback I'd left for his exam. But evidently the "read" online doesn't mean "read" in real life.
When I confirmed that he'd failed the class because he'd cheated on his midterm, his eyes bugged out. His whole body language changed, from conciliatory boy to bristling, angry man. It was a fascinating transformation: he's a tightly-wound, emotional human being. Unfortunately, that emotion is probably fear.
He protested, of course, and started raising his voice (in front of at least half-a-dozen students, including the poor African woman who'd he interrupted). I suggested he come talk to me privately once he'd read my comments on the exam, "where I've explained everything," I said. He stormed out. And evidently immediately talked to his parents.
His father, whose name is the same as the son's, called to talk to me -- but bully me is more accurate. I cannot talk to parents about my students -- in fact, I'm not even supposed to confirm that the student is in my class (I learned this a few minutes ago when I called my dean to give her a "head's up"). When the father characterized my interaction with his son (I'd refused to talk with the son, I'd dismissed him), I couldn't even defend myself and say that that's not what happened at all.
All I could say was, "As a faculty member, I'm obligated to talk to my students, not to their parents." The father insisted that he waived any right to privacy, that he'd sign any forms, that he'd talk to my supervisor, but I needed to clarify that his son was out of the class, was not allowed back in. I couldn't even confirm that. (The student had stormed out of the class before I could even tell him that he could stay with us to learn if he wanted, even though his grade was already determined.)
My dean's a champ, though: she's had a few conversations with these priviledged, private-school parents: "They're paying a lot of tuition for their kids," she said, "and they think they can get cheap credits here." Yep, this student joined the class on day 2, and I don't think he's read much of our literature all summer.
The dean will do a much better job of handling the bully than I can: I feel slimed and wimbly after the conversation. He was clearly angry, keeping his voice to an even level, but almost ready to erupt.
The son evidently told his dad that I refused to talk to him about his grade, that I dismissed him from class, and that I told him to "check the website" instead of talking with me. Of course almost the opposite is true: here's what happened this morning in class:
After class, Cheater interrupted my conversation with another student (who, appropriate for her gender role, graciously allowed him to do so) to ask how he could make his reading journal "better: I didn't get the points I was hoping for," he said. Yeah, right.
When I explained that a reading journal should be about what you think of the reading -- a journal is about your thoughts -- he sort of shook his head. And then I made a fatal mistake: I'd seen online that he'd accessed our course website to "read" the feedback I'd left for his exam. But evidently the "read" online doesn't mean "read" in real life.
When I confirmed that he'd failed the class because he'd cheated on his midterm, his eyes bugged out. His whole body language changed, from conciliatory boy to bristling, angry man. It was a fascinating transformation: he's a tightly-wound, emotional human being. Unfortunately, that emotion is probably fear.
He protested, of course, and started raising his voice (in front of at least half-a-dozen students, including the poor African woman who'd he interrupted). I suggested he come talk to me privately once he'd read my comments on the exam, "where I've explained everything," I said. He stormed out. And evidently immediately talked to his parents.
His father, whose name is the same as the son's, called to talk to me -- but bully me is more accurate. I cannot talk to parents about my students -- in fact, I'm not even supposed to confirm that the student is in my class (I learned this a few minutes ago when I called my dean to give her a "head's up"). When the father characterized my interaction with his son (I'd refused to talk with the son, I'd dismissed him), I couldn't even defend myself and say that that's not what happened at all.
All I could say was, "As a faculty member, I'm obligated to talk to my students, not to their parents." The father insisted that he waived any right to privacy, that he'd sign any forms, that he'd talk to my supervisor, but I needed to clarify that his son was out of the class, was not allowed back in. I couldn't even confirm that. (The student had stormed out of the class before I could even tell him that he could stay with us to learn if he wanted, even though his grade was already determined.)
My dean's a champ, though: she's had a few conversations with these priviledged, private-school parents: "They're paying a lot of tuition for their kids," she said, "and they think they can get cheap credits here." Yep, this student joined the class on day 2, and I don't think he's read much of our literature all summer.
The dean will do a much better job of handling the bully than I can: I feel slimed and wimbly after the conversation. He was clearly angry, keeping his voice to an even level, but almost ready to erupt.
1 comment:
Oh Julie what an awful combination of son and father, and day for you.
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