While I'm considering former students, I thought I'd share one particular story. I had a student in my Introduction to Philosophy class a few years ago--very sharp, very imaginative, very judgmental, and very combative. We can call her Ms. Cokesbury. If I said x, she'd say not x; if I said up, she'd say down. I was never too sure about this woman, and as far as I can tell, she was never too sure about me. Of course, the latter is expected and desirable; no fun being predictable. I tried to get her to take my logic class, and see if she could construct a rule for her inferential pattern; given "p," "~p" follows. Not exactly truth-preserving in a bivalent universe, but an interesting approach nonetheless.

Every now and then teachers meet students who seem mature and interesting to talk with, and whose careers we follow, or about whom we guess; if we find out later what they ended up doing, our guesses are frequently quite wrong. This is especially so in my case; I've had students who I just knew would end up working in a huge law firm, making lots of dough ripping off the righteous; I then find up they are working in the inner-city for peanuts, teaching English or math in schools that are badly funded and, generally, up against it.

So what will Ms. Cokesbury end up doing? I can't even guess in this case. She has suggested a variety of interesting opinions to me--opinions worth arguing about--such as a potential racist submotif in the term "film noir"; she also insists when talking with me that we only discuss things on the basis of "former student-former teacher." I'm pretty sure she's wrong about film noir, although I'm tempted to consider any movie with Reece Witherspoon in it film blanc. So the quandry: she is fun to talk with, but seems suspicious and only willing to talk in these bizarre two line e-mail exchanges.

The more general issue, which is why I'm even thinking aloud about this stuff, is the whole student-teacher relationship. There is, of course, a given distance between the two groups, and generally that is probably a good thing; how many of your friends would really sit and listen as you bloviate about the mind-body problem, or show how a sentence is a theorem if it can be derived from the empty set? On the other hand, at what point is it appropriate to cross that line separating instructor from student? At graduation?

Anecdotally, I tend to agree with Ms. Cokesbury's hesitation. I knew a teacher at a former school who had to hold office hours in the cafeteria, due to repeated complaints (and possibly formal charges) for sexual harrassment. He was, to be precise, a complete sleazebag; had I been in position to do so, I would have fired his ass on the spot. On the other hand, I used to hang out at the same time with three older female students--it didn't really hurt that they were loaded--and after class we would often go out to eat, or drink; I was in their houses, they once paid my rent, and we were all pretty good friends. Had one of them issued a formal complaint against me--say if I'd given them a bad grade--I would probably have been in some trouble, and the kind of trouble that may well have prevented me from pursuing an academic career.

Perhaps the solution would be to have no interaction of any kind with any student? That seems to impoverish the whole idea of what can be gained from listening to students, and talking with students (and even what they also can gain from such conversations); indeed, one of my professors in college was--is--a brilliant man, who introduced me to all sorts of interesting things about Africa, art, and the general joys of intellectual curiosity. He was also gay, and out, and introduced me to what all that meant, at a time when I was remarkably naïve about such issues. I learned quickly when his partner died of AIDS what was involved, both in the politics of such a situation and the pain involved in being the "other" and, in an important sense, not accepted as a full member of one's community. (Fortunately, he didn't give much of a fuck about any of that, and he was so good at what he did, and was so smart, he could get away with that attitude. Some of us aren't that gifted.) Yet had I followed Ms. Cokesbury's approach, I would have never been exposed to all that my friend showed me; while I was his student--and in awe of him--we ended up good friends, and he even came all the way from Texas to Chicago to go to my wedding.

Perhaps the lesson is that life presents certain challenges--wow, what a bold statement!--and the easiest and most clear-cut solution provides a seductive response that fails to solve anything, yet all other solutions are messy and complicated. Perhaps, also, we often grasp the easy solution, simply because it clears up any potential problems, but by doing so we miss out on what makes life the interesting set of complexities it is. A trade-off; but what is the right way to resolve the choice here?

This entry is more stream of consciousness than most. I should get back to something I know about, like baseball. Quickly (more later in the week):

Cards over Padres (in 4)
Astros over Braves (in 4)

White Sox over Red Sox (in 5)
Angels over Yankees (in 4)