I'm sitting in my office waiting on students to pick up final portfolios of the semester. At Montana we don't issue grades (just written feedback to writing) until the final kaplow at the end. Some students take their grades with aplomb, others whine about that pesky alien abduction to Planet Kokanee.
I spent the past 24 hours sweating the parting words I wrote on my students' grade sheets (that's rubrics for those who approximate the discourse of pedagogy). I actually woke up in the middle of the night sweating over a "C" I was giving one student, a grade he would surely complain about and a grade actually much higher than he deserved. I envisioned the long exchange we would have when he came to pick up his portfolio. I mentally reviewed the progress of his semester, how I would approach the various arguments and counterpoints he would deploy. I stoned myself to that pitiful little look on his face that would wimper, "but don't you like me?"
He hasn't shown up.
Call for Work
34 minutes ago