8:58 p.m. - August 05, 2002
I disavow any knowledge of events or happenstances
The winter of my last year as an undergraduate was difficult for me, being editor of the literary journal, carrying 20 units in law and ethics and French literary theory (gotta love Helene Cixous) and writing my honors theses (yes, two, because I had a double major in the honors program) while dealing with a break up, some mild depression, and drinking far too much. In simple terms, I found myself overloaded, overwhelmed, and under-equipped to carry on as before and while things did not come crashing down on me, I came face to face with favoritism and always since then, I've been determined not to favor students, to avoid grade inflation by even one half point, to avoid tainting myself all over again.
That winter I took a course in constitutional law and applied myself the best I could under impaired circumstances. More than once the professor--my advisor, my favorite teacher, a rather close friend even--took me aside and inquired into things, concerned, as he put it, that there was something alarming in the quality of my work. It's not that it was undone or poor, but apparently the spark was gone and he missed my questions and debates and rebuttals in class. He knew what had happened and what I was doing, and he would put his hand on my shoulder and squeeze, and I was comforted--as silly as that sounds. At any rate, after the quarter was over, I ran into him during spring break and he came up to me with a small smile on his face and out of the blue mentioned that he bumped my grade up substantially in that law class because my final exam was rather poor and because he knew I could have done better. I remember feeling ashamed, deeply so, and a bit horrified at the idea that someone literally prevented me from earning a B, and horrified further that he would do that to me/for me out of pity. Bothersome was the conspiratorial look on his face that revealed a desire to please. It still bothers me.
Today, I committed that sin myself. One of my students, tremendously hard worker, energetic, engaging, combative, working with English as a third or fourth language, wrote a final paper that was nearly indecipherable. Mechanics, content, everything smacked of a brain freeze. The paper is 60% of the final grade.
I lost the paper and filed a grade report manually.
She will pass my class with 88% instead of the 65%.
I feel dirty on one hand, yet feel justified on the other. I don't regret it at all, but the episode put an end to my holier-than-thou rants on the topic. It's not a matter of right vs. wrong; it's a matter of conscience.
Of course, no one will ever know. Not even her.
It's a gift to the world: Jason's not always a hard-ass.
Heh.
