On Idealism

I've been rather quiet on the blog front this past week while I've reflected on the first semester of my first full-time academic appointment.

This year at SLAC, there are two visiting profs in Good Book: one in First Half (my Caucasian male colleague) and one in Second Half (me).

We each teach two sections of Good Book intro. Last week, we had a long conversation about our experiences with the students last semester. In terms of textbooks, course content, approach, assignments, and class averages, our courses are comparable.

He has had no complaints from his students about grades. Not. One. Peep.

I, on the other hand, seem to have a revolving door into my office. Students appealing to (or arguing with) me about grades on small and large written assignments, the mid-term, the final exam, the final grades. And calls from angry parents.

Even my colleague observed that I've had more than my fair share of "grade-related whining."

Our conclusion: the students challenge me, but not him, because I'm not a Caucasian male.

I would be the first to admit that I'm an idealist (Lonely Dissertator once correctly remarked in a conversation, "Isn't everyone who pursues a Ph.D. an idealist?"). And in an ideal world, neither gender nor ethnicity should matter.

So, since that conversation, I've been mulling things over, hoping to find an alternate explanation. Perhaps there was another reason that could explain the differences in our experiences.

But I haven't been able to find another explanation.

The realist in me acknowledges this reality and prepares to be victorious in the battle against my students' (likely unexamined) racist and sexist preconceptions.

But the idealist in me is deeply saddened that I have to fight this fight at all.