Disappearing Acts

Disappearing Acts

Quite possibly the biggest contributor to my End of Semester Teaching Blues is the recurring hearbreak of The Disappearing Act. Students who have persisted for sixteen weeks, who have done most of the work all semester albeit sometimes shoddily, who have come to class nearly every session, suddenly vanish.

I know what it's like. My second semester of college in Boulder, Colorado, I was miserable. In an unrequited love affair, in a town I knew no one, in a place that had very little creative stimulation to offer a restless seventeen year-old soul such as myself. I had really wanted to move to New York, but for all sorts of misguided choices, I ended up in the Rockies. I should have kept running. But there I was––lost and isolated. Needless to say, I didn't give a shit about Quantitative Reasoning and Mathematical Skills. Yep. That was the name of my one required math class. I attended for a while. I really did. With the other 500 plus students in that giant auditorium. But slowly, I stopped listening. Slowly, I stopped attending. When I did return to class in an attempt at redemption, I didn't understand anything the teacher was saying. In my mind, there was no way I could catch up. I had gone too far. I had missed too much. What was the point?    

So, I get it.

This semester, I've handled the disappearing acts a little differently. Rather than feel disappointed and discouraged and mercilessly fail them, I decided to reach out. I sent emails asking if these students were okay and if they were still planning on finishing the class. Most have replied, have thanked me for checking in, explained their situation. One student is having complications with her pregnancy. Another has started having seizures and has been in and out of the emergency room. Another just can't get his paper right. And another told me this happens to him every semester. He does well and then gives up at the end. I decided to give him a break, let him turn his paper and presentation in late. I told him I know what it's like to feel like giving up. He came through. Maybe one or two others will, too. And if not, at least they know I care and understand what it's like to be human. 

It's not that I always successfuly finish what I start just because I'm older and supposedly wiser. I still disappear. I disappear from friendships. I disappear at family gatherings. I fall apart at the end. You should see me playing ping pong. I'll be ahead the whole damn game and then right when it looks like I have it in the bag, I lose. 19-21. Like clockwork.