Students end their semesters with euphoria and determination to do even better next time. For teachers, a class ends (borrowing from T.S. Eliot) “not with a bang but with a whimper.”
After the “Happy Holidays” and “Goodbyes” are exchanged, a teacher is left with grades to figure out. Anyone who has ever evaluated a colleague’s performance knows that grading is no fun. Even when the grade is a good one, evaluators have anxiety about balance and fairness as they turn in those final assessments.
And so as students end with a sense of triumph — or, at least, relief — teachers end with an angst-ridden task that must be done quickly. In my George Mason writing classes, this anti-climax is mitigated by the topic of their last papers: endings.
For while I was girding myself for that last “whimper,” I found some gems in that tall stack of papers. One woman speaks of the end of a lifelong friendship as “difficult, sad, confusing, stubborn, and something I hope to not experience again. I feel like there is an empty bubble where she used to be.” I encourage students to embrace complexity but express themselves simply, instructions that seem contradictory to many. This paper exemplifies that feat.
James sees a “misplaced focus” in the way we view endings. He theorizes that we don’t celebrate or mourn what has ended. “Our emotions associated with endings like a death stem from a fear of what the ending will bring. We are more afraid of beginnings than ends.”
Binh, living at home, analyzes the way he ends all of the arguments he has with his parents: “rudely and abruptly, because they are my parents. But I can walk out and slam the door because I know they will still be there when I come home. There will be time to apologize later.” His paper is full of self-knowledge as he admits, “One day my mom won’t be there any more to yell at or cook for her ungrateful son; my dad won’t be worrying about my whereabouts either.”
The personal epiphanies that sometimes accompany the best pieces of writing are what make English teachers return year after year, to instruct and grade and take roll. We certainly hope students will learn to read insightfully and write clearly in our classes, but what we really want is for our students to know themselves better when the class is over. The “ungrateful son” is an example of someone who has more insight at the end of the paper than at the beginning.
Chris’ paper is clever and philosophical, and a good way to end this column. He starts by announcing, “This is the beginning of this paper,” and makes a case for recognizing time’s passage as “something you cannot defend yourself against.” He concludes his reflection by observing, “This paper is now over. The time you have spent reading it is time that cannot be replaced. Don’t have this same feeling on your deathbed. So go do something you love and embrace life, from beginning to end.”
Teachers often learn from their students, making those endings bangs rather than whimpers, and that’s the ending we all hope for.
Erica Jacobs, whose column appears Wednesday, teaches at George Mason University. E-mail her at [email protected].
