Our students do not need yet another reverent speech about literature’s profound importance, especially from English professors like me. They need examples, models of what
Do a little recon when courses begin next semester. Is there an empty classroom nearby? That vacant space is pure pedagogical potential, and it’s a
“Let’s pretend,” I said, pointing toward the back row, “that Macbeth’s enemy is way across the battlefield, back by Jon.” I moved down the aisle,
I sidestepped the question for years.
“I spent hours on the Gulliver’s Travels reading—yes, hours—and I still didn’t get through the Lilliput section!” my student, Sarah, bemoaned after class one morning.
When I talk with my students about navigating difficult conversations, I don’t begin with a slide deck or a list of ground rules. I begin
“Focus on what you can control” is hardly groundbreaking advice. Yet when I read David Gooblar’s version of it this August in One Classroom at
Not one. Not two. Eleven. That’s how many times my fellow panelists and I touted our university’s low faculty–student ratios during a recent session for
How should we respond when students complain about their professors—aka our colleagues?
“Zip! Zap! Zop!” my 15-year-old son cried as he wildly waved his arms. “My math teacher makes us do this exercise halfway through class. You
