I grew up before there were cellphones. I look on in wonder, and bewilderment, as seemingly everyone around me is focused on their devices. Even young children seem absorbed in the things, perhaps following the lead of their parents.
I’m sensible enough to know that I can’t change what the world has become, that I can’t compel a person scrolling next to me on the train to share a few words of friendly conversation. But as a college teacher, I can exert hegemony over my classroom.
First of all, when it comes to cellphones, I’ve learned that one cannot be punitive about students using them in class. I once had a colleague who tried this, threatening punishment for infractors. The result: The class mutinied. The rest of her semester was, in a word, unhappy.
Why We Wrote This
A professor finds a clever way to manage student classroom cellphone use
But neither do I think it productive to take a laissez-faire attitude toward students who are texting friends while the poor teacher labors, ignored and neglected, at the blackboard. I knew a professor who tried this approach in his math class. One day, I ran into some of his students on campus. I asked them who their math teacher was. Their response: “Some guy.” It was clear that the professor and his students were operating in two separate worlds, each ignoring the other.
Both of these vignettes suggested to me that there must be a middle way. And so I came up with one. It goes like this: On the first day of class, I strike a friendly but purposeful tone with my students, telling them, “If I catch you looking at your phone during the class discussion, you must immediately call your parents and tell them that you love them.”
I deliver this intelligence with a twinkle in my eye, and my students chuckle good-naturedly. Then I follow up with my end of the bargain: “This means that when you come to me with a question or concern, I promise not to text or look at my phone. I will focus all my attention on you.”
When delivered in a concerned and caring way, but with seriousness of purpose, my students are on board.
Well, mostly. There’s always an outlier. In my case, his name was Paul. He liked to test the waters of classroom decorum, such as coming to class in his pajama bottoms and slippers. One day, during an animated discussion of “The Odyssey,” I caught Paul looking down at his phone and pecking away. “Excuse me,” I interrupted. “Odysseus is about to do battle with the Cyclops. Are you texting?”
Paul was immediately flustered, but I didn’t have to go head to head with him, because the rest of the class, serving as my proxy, cried out, “Call your mother!”
To my surprise, Paul complied, putting his phone on speaker. When his mom answered, she asked, “Aren’t you supposed to be in class?” To which Paul dutifully replied, “Yes, but I’m just calling to say, ‘I love you.’”
I couldn’t have been prepared for what happened next. The class continued to be invested in Paul’s success by shouting, “And we love you, too, Mrs. D.!”
I think it is too easy to forget how good-hearted these students are. They mostly want to do well. They want to succeed. Banning cellphone use in my class while acknowledging that the devices are an extension of their bodies is a delicate dance. The trick is to communicate to my students that I care about them, and when students know that you care about them, they will go to the ends of the Earth for you.
I’m sure Mrs. D. appreciates my approach.
