The Dog Ate My Winter Break

When I finished my course grading after finals week, I entered the grades in the PSU system and immediately put up an away message on my e-mail.

I decided that this year I was going to allow myself to really be on break. No returning emails. No course preparation. No student advising. The students are on break from Dec. 19 through Jan. 11. There was nothing that couldn’t wait until the spring semester, right?

Wrong.

The e-mails started immediately. My grade is wrong. Do you take off for missing classes? I know I turned that paper in; why does the system say I earned a zero? Is there anything I can do for extra credit to bring up my grade? My parents are really mad about my grades and want me to come back to school to meet with my teachers. I know this week is Christmas but do you have any appointments?

My favorite: “This is my third attempt to reach you about changing my grade from a C to a C+ with no response. Please respond immediately.”

I was whining to my own college-aged daughter about the sense of entitlement and poor impulse control of some of her peers when I noted I was copied on an e-mail from my department chair. Apparently, a student who had missed the October deadline to submit his paperwork realized he wouldn’t be able to keep his spring semester internship. He decided to call my boss right then and there. At home. At 10 in the evening. On Dec. 23.

An after-hours call trumps my whining emails. So much for semester break.

Most students wouldn’t think about calling a faculty member at home, at night, during break. They are responsible, respectful kids who are looking to learn, have a little fun and pick up some professional preparation in their four years in Happy Valley.

It’s that darn 80/20 rule: Twenty percent of the students create 80 percent of the work.

Gather a bunch of faculty members together and ask about the 20 percent. The collective response is fodder for a comedy routine. The dog ate my homework. The dog threw-up on my homework. I threw-up on my homework. I threw up on the dog. I had lice and couldn’t come to class. My grandmother died again this semester. I was in court. My girlfriend was in court and I had to drive her. It was my parents’ anniversary and I had to go home. I didn’t have your phone number. Does a DUI count as an excused absence?

The key to dealing with the 20 percent is a sense of humor and a good course syllabus.

Many faculty members will spend time over break getting their course materials ready for next semester, preparing assignments and developing a course syllabus.

There has been a lot of debate in my department about whether we need to hand out a hard copy of syllabus on the first day or if the electronic version does the trick. I’m kicking it old school again this semester. I figure with tuition increases, rising book costs, etc., the least we can do is hand out a hard copy of the syllabus. I also want to be able to say that I handed it to each and everyone in the class. It’s my nine-page insurance policy when facing the end of semester e-mails.

In addition to the standard stuff in a syllabus (how to reach me, course objectives, a description of each assignment and how much each is weighted), the bulk of information has to do with classroom and university policies. I have learned that if it isn’t spelled out, it will come back to haunt me in the future. I have learned that unless I want to spend the final weeks of the semester in “litigation,” I have to specifically outline every potential situation in advance.

The syllabus includes my class attendance policies, the procedure for making up a missed test, what happens if a student doesn’t show for a test and how I handle assignments that come in after the due date and so forth.

There are some university-wide guidelines for what has to be included in a course syllabus. I have to specifically spell out what cheating means in my particular course and include references to the faculty senate policy on academic integrity and cheating. I also have to include the standardized blurbs on offering accommodations for students with disabilities, not eating in the classroom and a reminder to adhere to university policies and code of conduct in all classroom behavior. Redundant? Yes, but just about the time that I omit one of these tidbits of information, I will have a student say “I didn’t know that,” even though he or she hears it in every class.

I have come to look at the syllabus as a protection against all of the end-of-the-semester e-mails, calls from Mom and Dad and, yes, threats of lawsuits, bodily harm and bad course evaluations. Sorry, Johnny. Yes, Susie. It was written down AND I talked about it in class.

Missing nine classes does impact your grade. Not coming to class on the day of the exam without calling in advance means you earn a zero. “No late papers” means that I don’t accept anything after the due date. Turning in a paper that is identical to your roommate’s is cheating. It’s all spelled out in the syllabus you were given on the first day of class.

Benjamin Franklin said an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. He must have been a university instructor writing a course syllabus.

Next week starts the new semester. For the newbies coming in for Spring 2010, I will pass out the syllabus and cover it on the first day of class. I will also take time that first week to review the grades of the students from last semester who sent me e-mails on Christmas Eve or who left messages on the phone in my darkened office over break.

I’m happy to make changes with their grades if I have erred. I will, however, pull out my syllabus and follow the policies fairly and consistently for all.

Semester break? Not a chance.