The best students are easy to remember. So are the weakest. But what about the 80 percent or so in the middle?
It's October. Tens of thousands of high-school teachers and college professors across the country are busy churning out letters of recommendation for students applying to college or graduate school. Students dread asking for the recommendations; teachers dread getting the requests.
Writing letters is a loathsome task. It's not just that it takes lots of time, with each typically taking more than an hour to write. The real problem is this: About the vast majority of students, there's simply not much to say. So all that time and effort seem like a monumental waste.
Writing letters for one's strongest students is a cinch -- and a pleasure. It's easy to compose a great letter for a kid who is smart, hardworking, and insightful. A former colleague told me: "I actually enjoy writing the letters for the students with whom I have really connected. By thinking through their achievements and putting it into words, I feel I come to know the student better, and find even greater value in our relationship."
Even writing for the weak students is relatively easy. Usually, if they come to you for a letter it's because they have nowhere else to turn and because they know there's something you like and value about them.
I remember the high-school junior in my American history class who thought Alaska was a separate country. When, in the fashion of the very best teachers, I slapped my forehead and openly expressed incredulity at her ignorance, she was unabashed, and said gleefully, "But, Mr. Tierney, nobody really needs to know that!" She was one of the most appealing kids I ever taught, but she was several crayons short of a full box. (She would laugh with delight at that characterization.)
I found that doing a letter for her wasn't hard at all. After writing about her work in my course, I went on to say, in part:
Susie [no, not her real name] is remarkably open about the way she faces life: she has a cheerful insouciance about her own unawareness of the world around her. In light of her unguarded cluelessness, why would I agree to write a letter for her? The answer is that she is an extraordinary person -- nice, cheerful, and, best of all, authentic. Moreover, she is the kind of student who sees that there are more keys to success in life than being able to explain the causes of the War of 1812. She has great social skills and an infectiously joyful approach to life.
She's thriving now, in her third year of college.
Colleagues at both levels, college and high school, overwhelmingly agree that the real problem is writing for that vast array of students in the gray middle (70 or 80 percent of them), the ones who don't distinguish themselves in class in any way, either by brains or personality, and who pass through one's courses without leaving an impression other than their faint trail of blandness.