You Never Forget Your First Time

The Solipsist has been teaching for nigh on twenty years. He has taught junior high school students, high school students, community-college students, private college students, and university students. He has taught writing, literature, and even, on occasion, math. In all that time, in all those classes, one thing has never happened. (Well, SEVERAL things have NEVER happened--we've never been bitten by a sloth while explaining subordinate clauses, for example--but we are speaking here of one fairly common occurrence.) We have never had to kick a student out of class.

Until today.

We are disappointed in ourselves, but we feel we had no choice: A small group of students simply would not stop talking--in comparatively loud voices--having been warned repeatedly that this was unacceptable. Finally, we asked one of the louder students to leave. He got up and moved to another seat in another part of the classroom--having been asked to do this on at least one occasion by the Solipsist's co-teacher. "No," we explained. "Out."

We know we did the right thing. After all, some 25 other students are in the class actually trying to accomplish something. It's unfair to them as well as to YNSHC to tolerate constant disruptions. Still, we can't help but feel that on some level we've surrendered.

Whenever the Solipsist conducts interviews of potential faculty members, a standard question is, "How do you handle disruptive students." The stock answer includes some reference to having a private conversation with the student and emphasizing the importance of mutual respect. But we've never really understood the question. This is college. Students' attendance is optional. There are no truant officers to deal with. It has never been much of a problem for us to make the case to students that, if they are disruptive, ultimately they are only wasting their own time and money.

Indeed, after "Gabby" left the classroom, we paused and said, "Anybody else?" Not a threat or angry comment, but a sincere invitation. "Look, folks, you have to understand something. We really don't mind whether you show up or not. It makes very little difference to us. If you don't want to be here, you literally--seriously--do not have to be here. But if you choose to be here, then. . .well, then BE HERE." Nobody took us up on our offer.

We like to believe that there's a solution to every problem. Apparently, there is, but the solution may be undesirable. Still, 20 years is a good run before our first intolerably annoying student. And we suppose there's a first time for everything--maybe even for getting attacked by a sloth.

A friend of ours once said that, once you get past a certain age, the opportunity to have "firsts" doesn't come along that often. We suppose we''ll accept that and chalk this up to experience. Here's to another twenty fairly tolerable years.