Students of Diminished Capacity: The New Victims?
by Shari Dinkins
I broke up with my girlfriend. Oh, we’re back together. Well, the
cops got involved. It wasn’t my fault. So, what were the assignments
due last week?
I was reporting to my probation officer—that’s why I wasn’t in class yesterday.
I wasn’t here for the test—but it wasn’t my fault. I was in jail.
I’ve had a problem with drugs… so I couldn’t make class last week. I’m better, though. I mean, I quit. Well, I cut back.
I was in an accident because my friend was driving drunk. I mean, I was drunk, too—but he was even drunker than me.
In the last three years, the excuse train has hooked on a few more cars: drugs, drinking, dealing, and getting arrested. I used to hear the usual excuses: my girlfriend broke up with me; my parents are getting divorced; I was working late; my dog ate my paper. And, of course, the new high-tech excuses: I couldn’t print it out; my screen went blank; I don’t know where I saved it, and the hauling in of discs with the request, “Can you print this out for me?” Now, when a student approaches the podium, I’m not sure what to do with my face. Look sorry? Empathetic? Disappointed? It’s a frightening mess for postsecondary teachers.
Last semester, one student missed seven classes. Seven unexcused absences within the first five weeks of class. He then spent many, many hours fighting my documented-on-the-first-day attendance policy. Conversations with Aaron Graham* revealed that his absences were due to drinking, drug use, being booked into county jail, coming before a municipal judge, reporting to his probation officer, breaking up, and then making up with his girlfriend. My response?
“You know, Aaron, it might be a good idea to take this course again when you get through some of these issues.”
“Seems like you’re having a lot of trouble getting to class. Will you consider dropping this course?”
“I can’t see how you can do well here—please drop the course, Aaron.”
“I can drop you from this course without having it reflect on your grade. Will you let me do that?”
“Aaron, please drop this course.”
I asked. He refused. He told me that he had to go to school right now. He later mentioned financial aid and said that dropping a course would mean that he would lose that slim check. Aaron made the choice to continue with six courses—even though every one of his instructors had asked him to drop. Leaning into the wind of reason, he fought us.
After receiving a C in my class for a midterm grade, he stomped out of the classroom and went on a crusade. First he went to the Chair of the English Department, who stated that my attendance policy was clearly stated in my syllabus and that he thought it was very reasonable. Then to the Dean of Humanities, who supported both the Chair and I. And finally to the Associate Dean of Student Advocacy, who wrote this note:
To Instructors: Due to extenuating circumstances that I have verified, student Graham* has recorded absences in your class. His absences can be noted as excused. Thank you.
I was flabbergasted. I had never heard of anything like this before. I copied the note and went to the Chair of my department. He said that I did not have to delete the student’s unexcused absences. I wrote a carefully composed note to Aaron, made a copy for my files and one for my Chair and tucked it into my worn attaché. Of course, Aaron was not in class that day, and I had to bring it several times until he showed up. I passed it to him and a week later was rewarded with this note from a licensed psychologist in Northern California:
Dear Ms. D.: Mr. Graham’s legal problems and court appearances are related to behavior resulting from his medical/mental condition. He is both in psychotherapy and on medication and is trying hard to control his condition.
After the final, I carefully calculated Aaron’s grade. With the unexcused absences, I would have to give him a C. Should I excuse them, he would receive a B as a final grade.
I gave him the C.
But not until I had suffered hours of soul-searching. With empathy fighting reason, I added up the numbers again and again. On-line, I used the pull-down buttons to give grades. At his name, Graham, I pulled down to B, then past, to C.
That night I prayed for Aaron. For his health and safety. For his continued recovery. And I cursed this easy society that gives us all the easy out; even myself. I am not immune.
One day during the Fall semester, I had pulled open my paycheck to see that I had 24 hours of sick time saved up. Twenty-four hours. Not once had I called in sick to my job in three years; the next week I called in sick on a Friday. Left a throaty early-morning message with the secretary of my department. And stayed home to watch television. On Monday, I felt the weight of a hundred and fifty students who had come to class—some commuting 50 miles—to a canary-yellow note on the door. That Monday I lectured, passed out handouts, and was relieved when the day was over. A few students asked if I was okay. I nodded, numb, guilty. All the rationalization flew out of me and I was left with my actions. And I could see the effect on my students and my colleagues. I have not called in sick since. Indeed, I once taught with a temperature, my face red and hot; with my doctor’s reassurance that I was not contagious.
It’s a simple cause and effect lesson. One that we try to teach in developmental-level classes.
*Aaron Graham is a pseudonym
