A professor's dilemma: When to exit gracefully?
If more students were to graduate on time, universities could better serve their students with degree programs that foster academic engagement. Credit: iStock
'When I swiped your ID card at the gym, we were all laughing because it said you were born in 1900," a student told me before a class at St. Joseph's College in Patchogue.
She works at the college athletic facility where I go to exercise. At least she realized it was an error and I'm not 115. Another student who works behind the desk asked whether I would be swimming. I don't use the pool, and I couldn't understand why she asked until I noticed that a couple of 60-somethings do swim there in the morning. To her, I guess, all old guys must look the same.
Being in my late 60s, I'm old by most official standards. In fact, I have only one meaningful legal milestone left. These milestones started when I got my learner's permit to drive at 16 and will end in a couple of years when I have to start taking the required minimum distribution from my retirement savings accounts at age 701/2.
I've been thinking lately about when to get off the stage. Teaching psychology courses as an adjunct at St. Joseph's is a small stage, but a stage nonetheless, and it's meaningful to me.
Sometimes during a class discussion about how age affects characteristics like personality, a student will start a comment with, "He was real old," and then look at me, pause and say, "You know, like about 80," figuring that's a safe number.
Discussions with 20-year-olds are intellectually stimulating, young in outlook and life affirming. The students don't want to hear about my sore hips or creaky knees. They focus on the present and look forward to what they perceive as a wide-open, unending future.
There are some benefits to being an older teacher. My general fund of information continues to build and, as long as I stay engaged, connections that were unseen before become more obvious. For example, if students want to talk about relationship problems, I can let them -- and then give them the psychological perspective to better understand their experience.
But thinking on my feet and making quick decisions in novel situations slows and occasionally falters. Sometimes in class, I fumble for a word that I just can't recall -- the tip-of-the-tongue phenomenon -- and must make my point with a second word that is not as precise. Other times, when I veer off script in response to questions or during class discussions, I lose the thread that got us there. I tell my students that if I repeat a story, just quietly get up and leave. I probably won't notice.
I love teaching my back-to-back morning classes. After about four hours at St. Joe's, I go home for a snack and a nap. But this semester, I also have started teaching two night courses at LIU Brentwood. I'm struggling to find the best way to recharge before those classes, which so far has been by sitting down to read my notes and determine what excites me most about the upcoming class.
Even after 27 years as an adjunct, I'm not ready to retire, and overall my teaching is probably better than when I started. Because I am more confident, I attempt new lesson plans and techniques, which sometimes fail, as I try to keep the courses interesting.
But there is a time for all of us to make room for the next in line and to play a supporting, mentoring role. So I hope to get off the stage gracefully, unlike aging action stars and politicians who cling to their positions long after hubris replaces competence.
