The joys of being a male teacher
Ms T enters the classroom to get a first-hand look at being a male teacher in Pakistan and the many joys it entails.
Ms T enters the classroom to get a first-hand look at being a male teacher in Pakistan and the many joys it entails.
Have you ever wondered why teaching which is traditionally the preserve of women becomes primarily male-dominated as we move up the educational hierarchy the world over? Why is it that college-level education is dominated largely by male professors, despite women having equal ability?
Personally, I believe it may have something to do with the fact that teaching gets progressively unglamorous from kindergarten to college level. Women figured this out a long time ago and left their male counterparts become bald, toothless caricatures of the bright lively beings they once used to be.
You might feel I am exaggerating but teaching young adults is perhaps the least exciting of all professions, devoid of the drama and adrenaline rushes felt in other jobs. There is no breaking news, no stock market plunges and no serious deadlines to be met. And worst still, there is rarely a need to don a suit and imagine oneself as the dapper Harvey Specter. Male university teachers were but a sad bunch of socially-challenged men who knew the stuff but failed to apply it to their lives. At least, that is how I used to see them.
While at university, I secretly pitied the male members of the faculty. They never seemed to me more than awkward guys, dressed in shabby clothes one size too big, which was alright since they probably didn’t have much of a social life anyway. It also didn’t help that they had possibly the worst sense of humour imaginable with jokes that elicited little more than a few polite smiles from the students.
You can therefore imagine my apprehension when I was offered a teaching position as part of my degree at a university. Would I become one of THEM? Would I start cracking jokes about the 1920s and sporting tweed jackets and dirty sneakers? Would I end up having lonely tea breaks at the corner table of the campus cafe, surrounded by students sniggering at my receding hairline?
Nonetheless, I decided to accept the offer despite all my concerns as the money was good and the international teaching experience would add to my resume. What I didn’t realize was that unlike other jobs, teaching grows on you rather quickly. Not only do you begin to enjoy being surrounded by over a dozen or so fresh minds, you also start to believe in your ability to make a positive contribution to their lives. You begin to see yourself as a suave Indiana Jones of sorts, ready to take on any challenge presented by the sleepy bunch of students you now look forward to meeting every morning. All in all, it goes straight to your head.
Fortunately, this misconception doesn’t last long and the bubble bursts. Come class evaluation time, students are asked to fill anonymous forms for feedback regarding a particular class or teacher. These forms are then weighed upon by the presiding faculty and necessary changes (if any) are made based on the results. For me, this day of reckoning came mid-term, just before the students broke for winter and I felt a familiar feeling of dread as I noticed my students appeared oddly happy as they filled their forms. The school’s protocol required that I give them their privacy so I stood waiting in a corner of the classroom, watching as a sleep-deprived group of 20-somethings decide my future as a teacher, resisting the urge to peer over their shoulders.
By next morning, I had a considerably low opinion of myself. It appeared that the anonymity of the evaluations had encouraged the students to unleash their inner demons. I realised that the best comment I had received was about my “amusing centre-parting and interesting choice in jumpers.” The rest were far less complimentary. However, I did learn a lesson that day — wear only black, brown or blue to class.
However, if foreign students are unnecessarily vindictive in filling out evaluation forms, desi students take the cake when it comes to conjuring up innovative excuses to get out of trouble. About two years ago, I began my teaching stint in Pakistan by joining a renowned business school as visiting faculty without an inkling about what was to follow. In addition to disciplining apparently mature, young adults daily and confiscating cell-phones, my job entailed dealing with students who could talk their way out of anything. One such student was Farhan* who had been unable to submit his assignment before the deadline, the reason behind which was that he had been unable to leave his house due to gang-violence in his neighbourhood — a fairly plausible excuse considering the current situation in Pakistan. I asked why he couldn’t just email his work to me and he replied his family’s financial problems had forced them to cut off the internet. Months of unpaid bills had lead to the telephone company shutting the phone lines down so he couldn’t call and inform me either. And if you are wondering, as I did, why he couldn’t use a cell-phone then it was because he had been mugged at gunpoint a week ago.
Needless to say that by the time he was finished, I was speechless. I felt like a horrible, insensitive person and apologized immediately for my thoughtlessness, promising to do whatever I could to compensate for his bad grade. But a cautionary email I received from Farhan’s counsellor the next morning made me realise how gullible I had been. As it turned out, not only was the boy a habitual truant, he was also notorious for missing deadlines and pitching the exact same sob story to other lecturers before. That day, I learned another important lesson — never trust students without conducting an in-depth, CIA-level background check.
Ever since then, I had been seeking employment opportunities at different educational institutions hoping for better, more rewarding experiences. When I managed to land an offer from a local arts college, I briefly became Indian Jones once again until the classes started. Little did I know this too would be more of an education for me than my students! Soon after I joined, a female student actually brought her child to class one day! Another was having trouble explaining just how her signature had appeared on the attendance sheet when she had never actually been spotted in class the whole term. But both of them barely compared to the poor chap who, I imagine, was dared into shameless sycophancy by his female students. Yet another lesson learnt — apparently, if you and everything else fail, perhaps flattering your way out of that F grade might just work.
Some days at the college our worse than others; when you encounter a set of assignments to be graded overnight which make you wonder if the sea of nodding heads which you saw during class last week were a figment of your imagination. Other days, my faith is restored temporarily by a student who responds correctly do a question. Nobody said teaching college students wouldn’t be a daunting task. In fact, I’d say that few things can be more troublesome than trying to get through to angsty teenagers and 20-somethings who care for little apart from their current Facebook statuses. But then again, there is something oddly rewarding about the proverbial rebellious young man with immaculately coiffed spikes and multiple piercings offering to carry your books up to the staff room. In that moment, the agony of teaching seems worthwhile — until you turn around and catch him winking to his friends mischievously.
Published in The Express Tribune, Ms T, November 3rd, 2013.
Personally, I believe it may have something to do with the fact that teaching gets progressively unglamorous from kindergarten to college level. Women figured this out a long time ago and left their male counterparts become bald, toothless caricatures of the bright lively beings they once used to be.
You might feel I am exaggerating but teaching young adults is perhaps the least exciting of all professions, devoid of the drama and adrenaline rushes felt in other jobs. There is no breaking news, no stock market plunges and no serious deadlines to be met. And worst still, there is rarely a need to don a suit and imagine oneself as the dapper Harvey Specter. Male university teachers were but a sad bunch of socially-challenged men who knew the stuff but failed to apply it to their lives. At least, that is how I used to see them.
While at university, I secretly pitied the male members of the faculty. They never seemed to me more than awkward guys, dressed in shabby clothes one size too big, which was alright since they probably didn’t have much of a social life anyway. It also didn’t help that they had possibly the worst sense of humour imaginable with jokes that elicited little more than a few polite smiles from the students.
You can therefore imagine my apprehension when I was offered a teaching position as part of my degree at a university. Would I become one of THEM? Would I start cracking jokes about the 1920s and sporting tweed jackets and dirty sneakers? Would I end up having lonely tea breaks at the corner table of the campus cafe, surrounded by students sniggering at my receding hairline?
Nonetheless, I decided to accept the offer despite all my concerns as the money was good and the international teaching experience would add to my resume. What I didn’t realize was that unlike other jobs, teaching grows on you rather quickly. Not only do you begin to enjoy being surrounded by over a dozen or so fresh minds, you also start to believe in your ability to make a positive contribution to their lives. You begin to see yourself as a suave Indiana Jones of sorts, ready to take on any challenge presented by the sleepy bunch of students you now look forward to meeting every morning. All in all, it goes straight to your head.
Fortunately, this misconception doesn’t last long and the bubble bursts. Come class evaluation time, students are asked to fill anonymous forms for feedback regarding a particular class or teacher. These forms are then weighed upon by the presiding faculty and necessary changes (if any) are made based on the results. For me, this day of reckoning came mid-term, just before the students broke for winter and I felt a familiar feeling of dread as I noticed my students appeared oddly happy as they filled their forms. The school’s protocol required that I give them their privacy so I stood waiting in a corner of the classroom, watching as a sleep-deprived group of 20-somethings decide my future as a teacher, resisting the urge to peer over their shoulders.
By next morning, I had a considerably low opinion of myself. It appeared that the anonymity of the evaluations had encouraged the students to unleash their inner demons. I realised that the best comment I had received was about my “amusing centre-parting and interesting choice in jumpers.” The rest were far less complimentary. However, I did learn a lesson that day — wear only black, brown or blue to class.
However, if foreign students are unnecessarily vindictive in filling out evaluation forms, desi students take the cake when it comes to conjuring up innovative excuses to get out of trouble. About two years ago, I began my teaching stint in Pakistan by joining a renowned business school as visiting faculty without an inkling about what was to follow. In addition to disciplining apparently mature, young adults daily and confiscating cell-phones, my job entailed dealing with students who could talk their way out of anything. One such student was Farhan* who had been unable to submit his assignment before the deadline, the reason behind which was that he had been unable to leave his house due to gang-violence in his neighbourhood — a fairly plausible excuse considering the current situation in Pakistan. I asked why he couldn’t just email his work to me and he replied his family’s financial problems had forced them to cut off the internet. Months of unpaid bills had lead to the telephone company shutting the phone lines down so he couldn’t call and inform me either. And if you are wondering, as I did, why he couldn’t use a cell-phone then it was because he had been mugged at gunpoint a week ago.
Needless to say that by the time he was finished, I was speechless. I felt like a horrible, insensitive person and apologized immediately for my thoughtlessness, promising to do whatever I could to compensate for his bad grade. But a cautionary email I received from Farhan’s counsellor the next morning made me realise how gullible I had been. As it turned out, not only was the boy a habitual truant, he was also notorious for missing deadlines and pitching the exact same sob story to other lecturers before. That day, I learned another important lesson — never trust students without conducting an in-depth, CIA-level background check.
Ever since then, I had been seeking employment opportunities at different educational institutions hoping for better, more rewarding experiences. When I managed to land an offer from a local arts college, I briefly became Indian Jones once again until the classes started. Little did I know this too would be more of an education for me than my students! Soon after I joined, a female student actually brought her child to class one day! Another was having trouble explaining just how her signature had appeared on the attendance sheet when she had never actually been spotted in class the whole term. But both of them barely compared to the poor chap who, I imagine, was dared into shameless sycophancy by his female students. Yet another lesson learnt — apparently, if you and everything else fail, perhaps flattering your way out of that F grade might just work.
Some days at the college our worse than others; when you encounter a set of assignments to be graded overnight which make you wonder if the sea of nodding heads which you saw during class last week were a figment of your imagination. Other days, my faith is restored temporarily by a student who responds correctly do a question. Nobody said teaching college students wouldn’t be a daunting task. In fact, I’d say that few things can be more troublesome than trying to get through to angsty teenagers and 20-somethings who care for little apart from their current Facebook statuses. But then again, there is something oddly rewarding about the proverbial rebellious young man with immaculately coiffed spikes and multiple piercings offering to carry your books up to the staff room. In that moment, the agony of teaching seems worthwhile — until you turn around and catch him winking to his friends mischievously.
Published in The Express Tribune, Ms T, November 3rd, 2013.