To The Teacher That Doesn't Enter Grades Until After Finals

To The Teacher That Doesn't Post Grades Until After Finals

Does it bring you joy knowing I'm panicking over what my final grade is?

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We all have, or have had, that one teacher. The one who goes the entire semester without posting grades. The one who won't calculate your grade for you. The one who doesn't tell you how to calculate your grade. The one who tells you to NOT email him/her about your grades.

That one teacher, no matter how great of a teacher he/she really is, is undoubtedly the worst. The worst of the worst! While I understand the reasoning behind why some teachers do it, it doesn't change the irritation, anxiety, and panic that I feel. No one likes not knowing. No one prefers the unknown. It's one thing as you're going through the semester week by week and you're unsure of what your grade is, but it's another thing entirely when finals week is upon us and you have no idea what score you need to pass.

Now, I'm not saying that this is an excuse for you to not try. No, definitely not. I am all about trying! I am the biggest try-hard, trust me. However, it helps exponentially to know where you stand. How close am I to failing? How close am I to dropping down a letter grade? Do I have an A- or an A? Better yet, knowing where you stand in your classes lets you know how to divide your time between the finals you have. If only college was easy and you had one final. Unfortunately, the majority of us have five finals, give or take. If I'm borderline in one class but have a high percentage in another, I know that I'm going to spend more of my time studying, and crying, over the class that I'm borderline in.

In other words, I'm choosing my battles. In the past, I've had teachers who didn't post grades because they didn't feel like it. As the semester went on, they kept track of our grades on their own private excel sheet. As we did turned in our assignments and projects, he would call us up individually after he graded them and show us our grade. Even after finals week and after the semester was over, he still did not enter any grades onto Canvas. Instead, I found out my final grade once all the grades were posted on my transcript after the semester was over.

Another one of my teachers posts grades on Canvas, thank goodness, but has the final grade option turned off. So while I am able to see what grades I got on my assignments and exams, I can't tell how it all adds up. Despite my irritation, she does so due to the fact that sometimes Canvas doesn't calculate grades correctly. Canvas, depending on the way it is set, calculates your grades only with what is entered, not counting things that still have to be put in. Therefore, whatever grade is posted would be completely inaccurate. While I understand where my teacher is coming from, I still hate it. I hate not knowing.

So as I sip (more like gulp down) my third coffee for the day during my cramming sessions, part of my brain is unable to focus on what I need to learn. I sit here, instead, worrying over what my final grade is. As I decide to focus on your class more than my others, as I don't know where I stand, I lose the ability to pick and choose my battles.

To all the teachers who don't post grades until after finals and after the semester is over and done with, I'm begging you, end my suffering. Post grades.

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Spending time with hospice patients taught me about the art of dying.

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Death is a difficult subject.

It is addressed differently across cultures, lifestyles, and religions, and it can be difficult to find the right words to say when in the company of someone who is dying. I have spent a lot of time working with hospice patients, and I bore witness to the varying degrees of memory loss and cognitive decline that accompany aging and disease.

The patients I worked with had diverse stories and interests, and although we might have had some trouble understanding each other, we found ways to communicate that transcended any typical conversation.

I especially learned a lot from patients severely affected by dementia.

They spoke in riddles, but their emotions were clearly communicated through their facial expressions and general demeanor, which told a story all on their own.

We would connect through smiles and short phrases, yes or no questions, but more often than not, their minds were in another place. Some patients would repeat the details of the same event, over and over, with varying levels of detail each time.

Others would revert to a child-like state, wondering about their parents, about school, and about family and friends they hadn't seen in a long time.

I often wondered why their minds chose to wander to a certain event or time period and leave them stranded there before the end of their life. Was an emotionally salient event reinforcing itself in their memories?

Was their subconscious trying to reconnect with people from their past? All I could do was agree and follow their lead because the last thing I wanted to do was break their pleasant memory.

I felt honored to be able to spend time with them, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I was intruding on their final moments, moments that might be better spent with family and loved ones. I didn't know them in their life, so I wondered how they benefited from my presence in their death.

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In a way, it might have made it easier to start fresh every week rather than to grow attached to a person they would soon leave.

Usually, the stories were light-hearted.

They were reliving a memory or experiencing life again as if it were the first time, but as the end draws nearer, a drastic shift in mood and demeanor is evident.

A patient who was once friendly and jolly can quickly become quiet, reflective, and despondent. I've seen patients break down and cry, not because of their current situation, but because they were mourning old ones. These times taught me a lot about how to be just what that person needs towards the end of their life.

I didn't need to understand why they were upset or what they wanted to say.

The somber tone and tired eyes let me know that what they had to say was important and worth hearing. What mattered most is that someone who cared was there to hear it.

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Sorry Guys, Girls Actually Want Attention From Other Girls

Who else knows fashion, beauty, style, or looks better than other females themselves?

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Why would some ladies spend all the time, effort, and money for men, when some men can't distinguish mascara from lipgloss.

Women are trying to impress other women.

You ever get a compliment from a fellow female and they're like, "Girl, yes girl. The outfit, the hair, YES." Ladies understand and appreciate our efforts.

Do you think what ladies post on social media is to get men pouring in their DMs? No.

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