The Day a Student Taught a College Professor About Life

I was king of the world, at least in my mind. There was a shiny, new doctorate diploma on my office wall. I had gloriously defended my dissertation, at least in my own mind. Life was good.

I had a full-time teaching position at a private college. It wasn’t a big-time, state university, tenure track position, but I had a good salary and benefits. So I was a pretty big deal — a big fish in my own little pond.

By the end of my first semester, a string of events shattered my perception of teaching forever.

The Problem Child

If you work long enough, every employee can recall that one client, customer, student, co-worker, or person that was, or is, a herculean headache. In my first semester teaching, I had Michelle.

Michelle was consistently late for class. She never participated in discussions. Many times she would get up and leave early without saying a word or making eye contact. Michelle seemed distracted and distant pretty much all the time. She did the minimum amount of work possible.

It was apparent she didn’t want to be there. Negativity seemed to ooze from her being.

My Limiting Bias

Assessments by educators are supposed to be formed after careful consideration of all the work a student submits. But not me, oh no. I had a doctorate degree which made me intellectually bulletproof.

I didn’t need careful deliberation.

It was beyond me how Michelle failed to appreciate the brilliance of my talks, lectures, and exceptional teaching. Her poor performance was obviously due to her shortcomings, not mine.

If I am honest, I wrote her off. I figured she would eventually drop out and leave college. Most certainly, she was lazy, unfocused, probably out drinking and partying all night, and didn’t care about her education.

I didn’t invest time to help her along, assuming it was a waste of time. I had 200+ other students to shepherd along the path.

The Moment of Reckoning

Flashforward to Final Exam week. As I reviewed student progress before the exam, I was surprised Michelle was hanging on with a D+. All she had to do was show up, take the test, and she would probably earn enough points to pass.

On test day, I entered the classroom, and that oh so common final exam tension was in the air as students anxiously waited to take the test.

Everyone showed up, except one person. Michelle. She was a no-call, no-show. Per the syllabus policy, this warranted an automatic zero.

Two days later, as I recorded the final grades, I submitted an F for Michelle. When I wrote it down, I remember shaking my head and thinking to myself, I knew this is what was going to happen. So lazy and inconsiderate to not even contact me.

But the story doesn’t end there.

A Heavy Dose of Reality

I remember the day clearly, even though it happened over twenty years ago. The semester is over, and I am with several faculty members. We were sitting around drinking coffee, talking, joking, looking forward to the winter break.

Then I hear the receptionist call over the intercom. It was Michelle. She wanted to talk to me.

I walk to the lobby, of course joking with a professor along the way about what kind of crazy, bizarre excuse she will try to spin this time.

When I see her sitting in the lobby, something seemed off. She was hunched over wearing dark sunglasses. She looked incredibly pale, but what stuck out to me was her protruding lip.

Michelle asked in a timid voice if we could please talk in private. I was a bit taken aback by her look and demeanor, but I said, of course. So we went into my office.

After a long pause, she hesitantly lowered her sunglasses, and I was horrified. Her left eye was swollen shut. The other eye wasn’t much better, but at least she could see out of it.

It was obvious someone had brutally beaten her.

I will never forget her words. She said, “Dr. Hopkins, my boyfriend and I have had a lot of problems lately. Last Wednesday was a very bad night, and that is why I missed the test.”

Tears were welling up in her eyes as she carefully searched for the right words, “but everything is OK now. We are back together. Would you *please* give me one more chance to take the test. I *really* need to pass your class. I don’t want to fail.”

Growing up the Hard Way

I felt like somebody kicked me in the stomach. I was stunned and ashamed of myself. My heart ached for this young woman, beaten brutally by another human being who supposedly loved her.

It was the first time in my life I had seen domestic violence up close and personal. All my book knowledge didn’t prepare me for this. I felt like I was two inches tall.

I immediately made arrangements for her to take the test, she passed with a C, by the way, and I set her up with student services to get help. But the academic and student services protocols are not what is important.

The point of the story is I grew up that day.

I learned how wrong it is to judge someone without knowing the facts. I learned a lesson in empathy and humility. It is a lesson we all need to embrace.

Where I saw an undedicated, lazy, and undisciplined student, the truth was Michelle was 1000% more courageous and strong than I. In fact she was stronger than almost every student in the class.

I thought I was a teaching machine imparting wisdom and knowledge to my students. At the end of the semester, I realized the real teacher was Michelle.

This quiet, detached, young lady endured physical and emotional abuse throughout the entire semester in my class, but she never quit. What a fighter. What a hero.

You may be wondering if there was a happy ending for Michelle. Sadly, after the semester, I never saw her again. She didn’t return to campus for the Spring semester.

I sincerely hope she found her way in life and broke free from the violence. But, unfortunately, I can’t leave you with a feel-good Disney moment.

However, I want to thank her for being my teacher because she taught me more about life that semester than I could have ever dreamed of teaching her.