I had a brief convo on social media recently with a student who questioned his final exam grade. He went over it question by question with his professor, and according to him, her response in nearly every case was that his essay responses didn’t match the key.
What the heck?
Now, I’m not one to call out another prof, and so I didn’t say any of this in the thread. In the first place, I’m not her chair and I don’t have all the facts I would need to comment intelligently. I have no idea what the course is, what the department is, even if it’s a grad or undergrad asking. In the second place, it’s just bad form. I would not want another professor Monday-morning-quarterbacking my game, after all!
But it did make me stop and think what I would do differently than what’s described here and that is always a good thing. Gives a person a chance to examine and articulate their own principles. And several really got stuck in my head.
So let’s do that–just stick to the general principles.
To start with, I’m teaching my courses, not the authors of the text or of the test bank. This reminded me of my first outing as a professor, when I was handed a textbook on about three weeks’ notice and thought that it was my job to teach the text (as opposed to, say, teaching the course).
I no longer rely on test banks for reasons (including that sometimes they just suck) but I have in the past, especially when I was teaching a course for the first time and simply did not have the time to build one of my own. On principle, however, I never used a question I couldn’t answer myself or a question that didn’t address something I’d just taught. And even then, I often tweaked them to customize them to my course as taught by me.
Which means that I neither care what the key says about the essay questions nor should I need it to grade them. Ergo, the first principle:
Principle I
If I don’t have sufficient knowledge to grade exam questions without a key, I don’t have sufficient knowledge to use those questions. And maybe, just maybe, I don’t have sufficient knowledge to be teaching this course.
We all have been tasked at the last possible minute at least once in our careers to teach courses that are out of our area of expertise. It happens. And sometimes we are asked simply to deliver someone else’s course, also sometimes at the last minute or, worse, to “facilitate” one of those ghastly pre-packaged on-line dealios. But even in such a situation I believe that it is still incumbent upon us not to expect more of our students than we can deliver. This is a nice litmus test of whether I’m going so far out on a limb as to be unethical, as I did the time I took on a counseling and clinical course some few years after I’d retired from practice.
And anyway, it’s never productive to get defensive and tell a student, “but the key says….” or “what the key is asking for is….” That doesn’t help the student understand and learn. It’s not teaching, which you are, of course, still doing in this scenario.
It’s also shooting yourself in the foot: Nothing hangs an “I’m woefully underqualified” sign around your neck faster than that. Seriously: “It doesn’t match the key” is like something a Teaching Assistant or undergrad grader would say. And also…
Principle II
Test bank items and answer keys are to be guarded like it was Fort Knox. We can’t keep students from jotting down questions afterward to share with their frat bros (I’ve even had a student try to photograph an exam right there under my nose) but if we can’t explain, non-defensively and in our own words, what they need to do to earn full credit next time then at the very least we ought to be able to keep mum about what, exactly, the key says is the “right” answer.
As for answers that do match the key…
Principle III
Answers that match are answers that were plagiarized. Period.
Plagiarized by a student who’s obtained a copy of the key, not to put too fine a point on it. Answers that match are Bad News. I never want to see an answer that matches anything–not the text, not the key, not my lecture notes, not another student’s, not nothin’. They match, they’re plagiarized. Period. End of discussion.
Meanwhile, it does not help a student’s cause to go to a meeting with their professor, as I see so many admit on social media, armed with all the evidence and, apparently, prepared to argue her down point by point. I have myself encountered this more than once with male students and it’s the second time in as many days that I’ve encountered it on social media.
Nor does it help to vent on social media about all the things you think are wrong with your professors/department/grad program in the same breath as asking for help. I see this regularly. Remember, we’re on social media too! We see you 👀
Which brings us to my fourth and final principle, to wit:
Principle IV
Don’t be a horse’s ass about it. You will get a lot further if you don’t put the prof on the defensive right out of the gate. And you will learn a lot more if you don’t go into the meeting totin’ a ‘tude about her “stupid answer key,” her character, her competence, her mental health, or anything else you feel entitled to snark on.
You will learn the most if you go into it with questions, not arguments: What is missing from my response? What did I get wrong/misinterpret? What could I have done to earn full credit? What is it that you were wanting to see here?
Furthermore, it’s yes ma’am and no ma’am unless you’re in one of those departments where first names are used, and when you’re done, thank them, for heaven’s sake, for their time and assistance. Then let it marinate for a day or two before you kick it up to the chair. Seriously consider their feedback: Maybe you’ll learn something and realize you need to let it go. But if you do decide to pursue your appeal, rinse and repeat at each step. Argumentative students with nasty attitudes do not inspire compassion and support. Worse, they don’t learn anything from the process–and that, after all, is why you’re here, isn’t it? To learn?
(FWIW, profs shouldn’t be ugly either. I see that, too.)
So I hope this kid has good luck with his appeal. I like happy endings and, speaking for myself, I’d always rather pass a student than otherwise.
But also, I hope any of you who are teaching will own your course, own your assessment choices, own your grading. After all, who’s teaching this course? Who’s the expert here?
Questions? Complaints? Editorials? Drop ’em in the comments and I’ll get back to you.
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