Taking a brief vacation break (before we eventually get on a plane) to note that the NPR “Rate my Professors” story did run today. I’m interviewed near the end of a four-minute piece. Here’s the link to the audio.

Merry Merry to all.

In return for my union dues, I get many benefits. I get, for example, the semi-annual publication of the NEA: Thought and Action. The current issue has an article by Paul C. Price (only available in PDF): Are You as Good a Teacher as You Think? It begins:

A survey of professors at the University of Nebraska a number of years ago showed that 94 percent of them thought they were better than average teachers at
their own institution. Assuming a reality that puts the true value at somewhere
near 50 percent, this survey suggests a rather stunning lack of self-insight among
the professoriate.

That opening made me chuckle. This phenomenon is not limited to the Cornhusker nation; anecdotally, I’m fairly certain that close to 94% of my colleagues at Pasadena City College would consider themselves to be “better than average.” Having participated in the evaluation process many times, and having read the “self-evaluations” that my colleagues are required to produce every few years, it seems that we too have a generous and optimistic sense of our own capabilities.

Of course, “ratemyprofessors” aside, students here at PCC seem to think most of us are above average too. On the old evaluation forms that we used back when I was tenure-track, students were asked if their teachers were “Outstanding/Excellent”, “Above Average”, or “Average.” College-wide, about 65% of the faculty were ranked “above average”, indicating that grade inflation seems to flow both ways!

When it comes to evaluating my own teaching, I think about it on several different levels. I would certainly say I’m an above average lecturer. I haven’t used notes in, oh, at least a decade. I can tell stories well, and structure a compelling narrative. If part of being a good teacher is being a good raconteur, then I’m certainly a talented teacher. But I know full well that I can still learn some new techniques, and that I have miles to go in terms of developing my patience.

But thinking about this abundant, no doubt deserved high self-esteem among the American professoriate, I find myself thinking about the only vaguely related question of how we evaluate our own attractiveness. I’m not just thinking about professors, of course, but of people in general. I remember, back in my freshman year of college, staying up late in a dorm room conversation — and being floored by one brave young woman, who insisted that each of us answer the question “Do you think you’re good looking? Why or why not?”

It was a tough question. But she asked it because she wanted to have a frank conversation in which we could all take the risk to be honest. We had been raised in an adolescent culture where self-praise invited a smack down; saying that you thought you were attractive was an open invitation to criticism, while claiming that you hated how you looked was seen as a none-too-subtle attempt at “fishing for compliments.” My friend in the dorm room challenged us to move past that dynamic, and, lubricated by beer and wine coolers and hash, we did so. There were perhaps eight of us in this triple room in Norton Hall, an equal number of boys and girls of varying degrees of socially acceptable attractiveness. And we listened respectfully and without judgment as each person shared how they “rated” themselves. It was revelatory.

I write about this because my feeling is that we live in a culture where we are expected and encouraged to “toot on our own horns” professionally. Whether or not we are actually over-flowing with self-confidence, the culture of resumes and college essays and self-evaluations invites us, indeed forces us, to insist on our own uniqueness, our own exceptionalism, our own “above-averageness.” But while trumpeting (and often exaggerating) our professional and academic qualifications is de rigueur, to talk frankly and honestly about how we see our looks is something very different. It’s a fascinating question to ask people, even now:

“When it comes to your physical attractiveness, how do you think you compare to your peer group?”

Of course, I don’t run around demanding answers to this awkward query. But as someone who has written endless self-evaluations focusing on my intellectual and pedagogical accomplishments and shortcomings, I’m intrigued by the disconnect between our contemporary willingness to celebrate our professional abilities while remaining mute about our own self-appraisal of our looks.

Thinking about my own life trajectory, I can say this much with confidence: As I age, my looks are fading. But as I age, I also grow spiritually and professionally. My ability in the classroom continues to grow. It grows not merely as a function of time, mind you; not all teachers automatically become better with experience. It grows — and there is still room for much more — because I am eager to find ways to be more effective, to be more relevant, to be more compassionate. I am happy to say that I see that same commitment in most of my colleagues.

I’ll post on this topic again soon. In my second post, I’ll muse on the question of whether or not a high degree of self-confidence does correlate well with teaching competence.