Good Intentions Falling on My Conscience...Like a Brick

I'm taking a short break from my research paper grading Iron(wo)man competition (because it is so much longer than a marathon folks) if only to remind myself that sentences don't have to start with either the words "therefore," "however," or "this." I am currently in hour 27 of my research paper grading experience this semester. Don't worry; this wasn't consecutive...if that were the case I would be twitching too much for homerow keys, or weeping too much to see the screen. I think I still have about 18-20 hours left. For once, I am not exaggerating. You might think I'm lying unless you are also an English teacher, but I really am not lying. 90 students, 30 minutes per paper...that's 45 hours. I'm keeping a log of the time I am spending grading research papers this year, either because I am spiteful or simply curious (you can decide which one based on your own disposition and outlook on life). If my sentence structure is a little more awkward than usual, please forgive me; I've been spending a lot of time with awkward sentences lately.

All this research paper grading and MLA format correcting and writing "citation?" in parenthesis after every 4 or 5 sentences got me thinking about a story that a friend of mine told me recently. (I can't remember who it was but it's definitely one of those stories that someone tells you and you get a picture of the story stuck in your head that you can't get it out. But it was a story about something this person did when they were really young. Since I didn't know them when they were young, I had to picture this hypothetical child in the story so now I can't figure out which one of my friends looks like this hypothetical child. I know it's a dude with dark hair. So if this is was your story, let me know because I feel bad for telling it without permission).

Anyway, when a friend of mine was little, like 4 or 5, he was watching his dad wash his brand new car. He would watch as his dad picked up a sponge, dipped it in the water, and rub it in large circles all over the paint. So he decided to help out and he found his own sponge and dipped it in the water. He took it over to the side of the car and began rubbing it in circles just like his dad. His actions were so deliberate and calculated since he was determined to do a good job. He just knew how happy his dad would be to see him helping. You can imagine this poor kid's surprise and fear when his dad's reaction was just the opposite of what he expected; his dad started screaming for him to stop.

The kid had picked up a brick instead of a sponge. He was scraping the paint off the side of his father's new car.

My research papers reminded me of this story because I feel like some of my students have accidentally picked up a brick instead of a sponge. These papers are very deliberate and calculated; they are based strictly (and I do mean strictly...and therefore awkwardly) off of examples that I gave in class. My students spent a lot of time on these papers but just like my friend, they didn't realize that they were scraping the paint off while they were working. And just like my friend, they had the best intentions the entire time.

It is because of these good intentions that I am now having a conundrum. When someone has good intentions that means they are emotionally invested. Good intentions are a precursor for raised expectations. (Some of) my students did very hard, deliberate work. They were running an Ironman competition of their own...okay well maybe just a marathon...but they were running in the wrong direction. How do I explain to them that they have scraped all the paint off the side of the car without completely destroying their expectations? Again...the amount of power that teachers have never ceases to freak me out beyond belief.

And then I start to worry that I have picked up a brick instead of a sponge too when it comes to grading their rough drafts...Nope, you know what, after 27 hours I can't even go there right now. I will save this reflection for May when I get to do this all over again.

So I guess this means that next semester before we even start the dreaded research project (which is 4-7 pages of uncited, un-punctuated, pronoun-heavy hell for both student and teacher), I will need to teach a very brief but important lesson. I will even use my SmartBoard.

And this is how it will begin: "Class, this is a sponge. And this, over here in a completely different part of the world, is a brick."