Haters Gonna Hate, and other lessons of a college lecturer



Lesson 1: Someone will always hate you. Someone will always love you. Sometimes it will be the same student.

I currently have a class of 200 students.  I know now, after almost a decade as a lecturer, that the end of the semester student feedback will bear with it bipolar reactions to me as a teacher.  Some students will love my teaching techniques and overall approach to education. Some students will think I am a terrible, awful, wretched individual who should never have attempted a career as a lecturer.  Nothing I can do will ever fully eliminate these haters.

Over my development as a teacher, I sought to hone my skill as a lecturer and my technique in presenting material.  Each semester presents a unique opportunity to improve over the previous semester. As a result, the proportion of students who connect with my teaching outweigh the students who despise it, but it’s taken me a long time (and many sleepless nights) to reconcile with the fact that no amount of effort will ever eliminate those haters from my teaching audience.  In a pool of 200 people, you are bound to have significant heterogeneity in learning styles, temperaments, belief systems, and senses of humor, to list just a few. Once I realized that it was literally impossible to meet the personal preferences of such a varied group of individuals, I stopped throwing up before class–which leads to #2.

Lesson 2: Authenticity is key.

The most significant misstep I made as a lecturer was when I tried to put on a persona.  Instead of approaching my students with my natural self, I attempted to set a protective boundary between them and me by adopting the guise of Teacher Sarah.

Teacher Sarah was bubbly, smiled a great deal, and avoided eye contact with students. She treated each student utterance as brilliant, even when it was uninformed. She tried really, really hard to be nice.

When I got nailed on my reviews for being fake, pandering, and patronizing, I knew my students were right. It taught me that disingenuous actions have no place in a learning environment.

Now, I go to each class as myself. I give distracting students the stink eye, I call students out who didn’t read the article and still feel the need to offer ridiculous commentary.  And I also am able to offer genuine appreciation to students who are present and active in their thinking.  Who contribute to the collective learning process through their insights.

I might smile less, but I certainly laugh a lot more.

Lesson 3: Vanity is a fool’s game.

It’s appropriate to be clean and well-kempt in front of your students. It’s fine to dress up, to press sartorial boundaries and to have students want to take pics of your outfits (although, of course, you don’t need to let them). But expecting each day in front of your 200+ students to be one where you walk away without embarrassment is unrealistic. It only takes one wrap-dress coming undone in front of your class, or a missed button right there, or wearing your microphone to the bathroom (all of these, by the way, I’ve experienced personally) to clobber all of the cool pastiche you’ve been gathering.

You will look like a fool at some point. You will say something / do something/ wear something utterly ridiculous.

So get over yourself–much like there is no crying in baseball, there’s no vanity in teaching. As long as they (your students) are learning, who cares what you look like?


Okay, so those are three heavy-lifters. Time for a lightning round.  

Lesson 4: Never give out your personal cell phone number.

Lesson 5: Students might fall asleep in your class for any number of reasons.  Unless the majority of your class is drifting off, don’t take it personally.

Lesson 6: Always check your zipper before your start. Just do it.

Lesson 7: Try to remember what is was like to be a student. Go to talks, presentations, lectures if you can. It’s surprisingly easy to forget what it’s like to sit in the seats rather than stand in front.

Lesson 8: Keep a toothbrush and toothpaste in your office. Coffee breath is nobody’s friend.

Lesson 9: Keep a box of tissues in your office. There will be tears and there’s not much you can do to avoid it, which leads to the last lesson. . .

Lesson 10: You will never know everything a student is dealing with. Never assume you do.


An Ode to the Good Doctor (Martens, that is)


Are you rethinking using "You old boot" as a criticism now?  Thought so.
Are you rethinking using “You old boot” as a criticism now? Thought so.


I bought my Doc Martens in the late 90’s during my senior year of high school. The only way I was able to afford them was through a unique alignment of the universe: 1) it was summertime, 2) they were 50% off, and 3) the cashier working in Pac Sun seemed under the impression that 50% off also meant additional reductions in cost through some arithmetic magic. I ended up getting the pair for less than $50, which was a steal for my waning Perkins’-plumped wallet (I was waitressing at the time to earn a little mad money and save for college).

I am now in my mid-30’s, many years out of the hormonal tides of adolescence.  Over the span of these years, I’ve gotten married, earned my doctorate, taken on a mortgage, and become a Mom to three children.  The one constant on this journey?

My Doc Martens.

They have withstood the bitter salt and ice-laden roads of the Northeastern US, the harsh sun of mid-summer, and umpteen encounters with grapple (If you don’t know this particular form of precipitation, I encourage you to search it out. You’ll never look out your window and say,  ‘I wish there was a word for these tiny ice balls’ again).

They have remained true, despite the every-changing tides of fashion. Round toes, spike heels, elvish toe curls. No trend has defeated their stylish flexibility.

I wore them to teach at my university this semester and received compliments from both colleagues and students.  One regularly well-styled student asked where I got them, and the inner awkward teen in me rejoiced.

Thank you, Doc Martens, for crafting a shoe that is both edgy and timeless.  I look forward to the next few decades that we have ahead of us. Together.