By Lauri Mattenson

Hello Bruins, and welcome to your first fall term. I remember my own. It started in September 1987, and I was so excited to begin classes that I woke up long before my 8 a.m. lecture to watch the sunrise from the top of Janss Steps. Now I teach writing here at UCLA, and every quarter, I get just as excited about the first day of class as I did when I was 18 years old.

I enjoy working with freshmen, and I can feel our shared enthusiasm for a new start, but I know that some of you are stuck in high school – on the inside. Are you one of those people? If you ask your instructors the following questions, you might be!

1. Did I miss anything important?

Of course! I spent a great deal of time and energy creating this curriculum for you. I care if you come to class or not. I care if you feel inspired or discouraged. Ask me what you missed in class, but don’t imply that it might be unimportant. Writers choose their words carefully, and while you are taking a writing class for several months, you are a writer. While you are taking a sociology class, you are a sociologist. Think of yourself as an active participant in a conversation with a larger community, not a passive consumer of information that may or may not be on a test.

2. What can I do for extra credit?

Nothing! Do the assigned work to the best of your ability, and do “extra” work when you are motivated to learn independently. The “credit” counts toward your future self.
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3. How can I use this in the real world?*

I appreciate this question. It’s a good idea to think about application, action, and consequence. However, there are some faulty assumptions embedded in this inquiry. The classroom IS a real world, and the more you contribute to it, the more real it becomes. I think of the classroom as sacred space designed for communal learning. This thrills me! Let’s turn off our phones and become more conscious by plugging instead into the process at hand. And yet: I don’t want you to shut yourself off when you walk in the door because you regard the classroom as special or different. Are you chatty with your friends but silent in discussion section? Why? If you remember that the classroom is also just an ordinary space like any other, you might not dismiss it as unreal or useless.

4. I want an A.

You’re right; this is not a question. That’s the problem. I don’t really care what you want. What are you willing to DO? That question is a better catalyst for a fruitful fall quarter. I encourage your ambition, as long as you support it with action: Have you completed the reading assignments? Do you actively participate in class? Have you attended office hours? Have you revised your essays? Do you turn in your work on time? Students who regularly receive high grades understand that wanting an A is different than earning an A.

5. Is this what you want?

Let me introduce you to two students. Here is Alan: he wears nice button-down shirts, comes to class five minutes early, and always carries extra pencils. He raises his hand before speaking and always asks me if he can go to the bathroom. He ignores his peers, but nods his head at everything I say. When I ask him to evaluate his work at the end of the quarter, he writes: I deserve an A in this class because I did everything you asked me to do, and fixed all the things you asked me to fix.

Here is Allison: She rarely makes it to class on time. She wears flip-flops and short shorts and always forgets to turn off her cell phone. She whispers comments to her neighbors, but never shares her thoughts with the entire class. She has never come to office hours, and despite my written warning on her most recent paper, she seems unaware that she is not likely to pass the class. In her self-evaluation, she writes: I guess I deserve a C, because that’s what I always get in English class.

Opposites? Not at all. Alan follows the rules and Allison resists them, but both students observe the exact same code, and it limits both of them. Both posit themselves as my subordinates, and not in a way that cultivates respect, but rather resentment.

I’ve changed the names, but these profiles are real.

Is this what you want? Is this ok? Is it an A yet? Have I satisfied you yet?

These questions just make me sad: for the student who seeks approval rather than growth; for the missed opportunity to think critically and independently; for the student who doesn’t even realize he is merely training himself to obey orders. And for what it’s worth, the answer is no. You’ll never satisfy me. That’s not your job. My own search for truth and contentment is powerful because it is perpetual, and that’s the way I like it.

My goal is to participate in that process as a lifelong learner, and I prefer hunger to satisfaction. I am happy when you succeed and I try to remain compassionate when you struggle, but my job is to challenge you as much as I support you. Expect me to ask for more, even if you do earn an A. Try to remember that enduring satisfaction is the kind you cultivate on the inside.

I hope you’ll be patient with yourselves during this transition to college life and remember that our skills mature as we do. Enjoy this time, and once again: Welcome to UCLA!

For the full text of this article, please email mattenso@humnet.ucla.edu. Mattenson is a lecturer with the UCLA Writing Programs.