The Grad School Diaries: Henry Jones Syndrome

In the third (and probably best) of the Indiana Jones movies there’s a line where Indy is asked about his father, Henry Jones (Senior, as we later discover) making an important archeological discovery. Indy just laughs, and explains that his father is not an explorer; he’s just a history teacher – “the one all of the kids hope they don’t get!” It’s a funny moment, because every history department seems to have at least one teacher like that; maybe all academic departments do. He (it’s almost always a man) may or may not be any good at his profession, but he’s got that combination of messianic devotion to the subject and professional hard-assery that makes him a total pain to spent 16 weeks with…

I REALLY don’t want to be that teacher…

It’s not really a required part of this life, of course; a lot of the best scholars in every field regard teaching as an intrusion to the world-shaking research that is their true calling, and do everything short of faking their own death to avoid it. Which probably accounts for why they’re so bad at it, but the real point is, I set out on this journey, in very large part, because I love being a teacher. It would really suck if I turned out to be bad at it…

Of course, I’ve taught before. I’ve taken the state in front of dozen of paying customers in grant writing workshops, taught hundreds of would-be entrepreneurs how to write a business plan and how to plan by objectives, even presented an original research paper to a real-live academic conference (although I was very far out of my league that time). In fact, I couldn’t tell you exactly how many times I’ve done this before without checking my datebook. But this time is different…

This isn’t some half-assed free lecture series at a community college. This isn’t even an overpriced private training class. This is a core class in the business management program of one of the best business schools in the country. Actual professors, including some of the best in the field, have taught this class before me; it’s their standard I have to live up to, even if I never complete the program and become a Ph.D. myself. If I fail this time it’s not just myself or my family or even my beloved I’m going to let down; it’s an institution four times older than I am and all of the men and women who have served it so well. This one counts; this is for real…

And just to make things more interesting, they’ve given me the section that meets on Monday morning at 9:00 am on the other side of campus from the Business Complex. As a result, I’ve only got 11 people signed up, instead of the customary 40. Of course, there aren’t a lot of classes scheduled for first thing Monday morning during a summer session, so the building itself is cool and quiet as I walk down the long hallway toward my classroom. Will anyone show up, I wonder? Will the technician from A/V services be there to check the media cart and review how to use the systems with me? Will I remember the lesson I’ve worked out, or will I just freeze up and babble?

I’m always nervous waiting in the wings for the show to start; have been since childhood. It’s only once I step up to the lectern and call the room to order that I suddenly know what to do. It works the same way during tests, finals, and other stressful events. No matter how keyed up I am beforehand, I’ll be fine once the action starts. But as I pause here in a corner of the hallway to watch my abbreviated class enter the room, I can’t help but wonder. Can I really pull this off, or am I just fooling myself?

It’s time to find out…