In the beginning, when I started teaching KU undergraduates as an assistant professor in 1972, I was 27 years old. Because my undergraduate students were about 21 years old, we basically had shared many of the same life experiences—historical events, recreational interests, music, and so on. All of these age-related similarities contributed to relatively easy communication in teaching my content area, the psychology of individual differences.
The gulf widens …
And then it began to happen. Slowly at first, and then with an accelerating pace as the years rolled by. No longer was I just six years older than my undergraduate students, but the age difference widened. At first, it was 10, then 15, and soon 20 years—by now some of my students were the sons or daughters of my previous students. Of course, this age gulf continued to expand from 25, to 30, to 35 years, all the way to the present 39 years. Imagine my surprise this past fall when one of my undergraduate students came up to me after a lecture and announced that she was the granddaughter of a KU student whom I taught in 1972!
These made it obvious
Along the way, a multitude of classroom events made it clear that this age gulf was increasing. Here are but two examples:
• I often play music in class to help make various points. Eventually, however, the students began telling me, in not so subtle ways, that they didn’t like “my” music. In time, they not only didn’t like my music, but they hadn’t even heard of it (except for a few fans of the oldies).
• The students were incredulous when I would ask a question such as, “Remember where you were when President Kennedy was shot?” They replied, “Well no, I wasn’t even born then!” or “My parents weren’t even born then!” Perhaps the most puzzled response was, “Which one was President Kennedy?”
Why all this concern about temporal context?
You might be wondering what the point is of these musings about the age gulf. Why, beyond my own personal self-insights, would I be discussing this issue with other instructors? My answer to this question comes in the form of a conundrum, which is, “What is the only minority group that most people will join?” Answer: “The elderly.” For the younger instructors who are reading this, therefore, some day (surprisingly soon) you will be an older professor and will need to face this age gulf issue.
Beyond the tautological point that instructors become older, there is a more crucial reason to be concerned about the potential gulf in life experiences that grows between instructors and their students. Namely, I think that the temporal context provides a means of helping to teach content. That is to say, if students can learn new concepts in terms that they can make relevant to their ongoing lives, then the chances are greater that they will understand and use those concepts. When we are young instructors, we use words and events that are familiar to our students. As we get older, however, we no longer can do this naturally.
Forever young?
So, how can we achieve the kind of communications that characterize a lively classroom—one that is filled with learning by an instructor and students who share similar temporal backgrounds? To begin, I can tell you one thing that does not work. Have you ever seen a 50s- or 60s-something professor who is trying everything possible to be as “hip” as his or her 21-year-old students? I do not know what is most pitiful about this specter. Is it the aging professor’s youthful clothes that look so wrong? Is it the out-of-place punked hairstyle fashioned on a head with far too few hairs? Or, is it the graying professor’s awkward attempts to borrow college students’ language? It is folly, in my view, for an older instructor to try to remain “hip” and be part of the young crowd. Indeed, I think that such professors come across as ludicrous and pandering. Give it up, I say, for it is only when we are young—for it is who we really are then—that such hipness is appropriate. Additionally, the truth is that our students do not want a hip-hop “pal” as their instructor.
Because of our disparate ages, the distance between my students and me is a reality to be faced in my teaching. What can be done to meet this challenge? This question forms the core of this essay.
The solution: Make concepts come alive
Our ace in the hole as instructors is that we truly know our material. I think that this is what students really want from instructors anyway. The reason that the lack of an age gulf worked to my advantage when I was younger was that this helped to foster student interest in, and understanding of, the material. But, there are other ways to achieve this same goal of engaging student interest and understanding. I discuss some of these strategies in the remainder of this section.
Survey students about important events in their lives. I bridge the age gulf, in part, by calling upon the very best experts on students’ lives—the students themselves. There are two ways that I do this. First, early in a semester, I often give a short, anonymous questionnaire in which I ask my students about the most positive (what I call the “highs”) and the most negative (the “lows”) things that have happened to them in the last five years. When I have done this, the female students report “highs” involving the gratifying aspects of intimate relationships, and “lows” pertaining to the troubling parts of such relationships, including breakups, abuse, and even rape. The male students, on the other hand, report “highs” involving accomplishments in sports, academics, etc., and “lows” involving accidents or deaths of male friends (young males, being high in risk-taking, are extremely accident-prone). Perhaps the worst of the reported “lows” for all students, however, involve the deaths of their parents. Knowing that a fairly high percentage of my students have experienced these particular “highs” or “lows,” I can weave the content of specific lectures or exercises around these student-disclosed issues, thereby increasing the likelihood that the students will relate to them.
Second, once I have explained a concept in class, I ask my students for examples from their lives. With a little patience on my part, students typically are willing to share their related experiences. Furthermore, if one student volunteers a personal example, this often unleashes many other students who also want to describe their relevant escapades (for related discussion, see Snyder, 1972).
Doing experiments or demonstrations in class. In teaching psychology, I have the advantage of being able to perform modifications of various classic experiments. This brings the contents to life, and my students can see phenomena unfolding before their very eyes. I have published several of these classroom experiment/demonstrations so as to share them with other instructors (see Snyder, 1997, 1999, 2003).
Perhaps an example may help here. One concept that I teach is “unique invulnerability,” which is the propensity of people to believe that the bad things in life are more likely to happen to other people (or conversely, are less likely to happen to them). This is a very strongly held belief. To help demonstrate this belief, I perform a class experiment involving the age at which students believe that they are going to die (see Snyder, 1997, 1999).
This exercise begins with my giving students the latest actuarial information from insurance companies regarding their age cohort; i.e., the projected ages of death for 20-year-old students who presently are in college. After presenting these data, I hand out small white cards, and then I ask each student to write her or his sex, along with the projected age at which she or he will die (their names are not written on these cards). The cards are collected, and my teaching assistant randomly selects 10 from men and 10 from women. Beforehand, I have prepared a transparency showing age span on the left vertical axis, with a separate column for males and females. My teaching assistant then calls out each student’s projected age of death, and I mark an “x” at the appropriate point on the vertical age dimension of the transparency chart. One by one, the marked “x’s” appear much above actuarially projected ages of death. Both the men and women estimate, on average, that they will live anywhere from 15 to 20 years longer than the averages for their cohorts. By now, the students are very excited. Some are speaking up to strongly defend why they really will live longer, whereas other students are countering their fellow students’ rationalizations with intended humor such as, “Oh sure, I bet these insurance companies have set these age points because they are stupid!” The classroom atmosphere is electric at this point, and this is precisely what a good class experiment should accomplish.
Reenacting famous events in psychology
This technique involves developing a “screenplay” for famous historical events, and then asking class members to play out various parts by dramatically reading from scripts. It is helpful if the instructor also plays a role and, the worse the acting, the better the exercise in the sense of creating interest. When the in-class recreation is completed, students enjoy talking about why the various real people in the scenarios said and did the things that they did. Such discussions lead to more in-depth insights into the concepts being taught.
Spontaneous humor along the way
A quick wit, especially if it is self-deprecating, can help increase students’ levels of attention and enjoyment as they learn. In this regard, I share my personal motto with students: “If you don’t laugh at yourself, you have missed the biggest joke of all.” I practice this motto as a teacher, and in my life more generally. The teaching arena, in whatever small or large forum that it takes, should be a place where the instructor has the freedom to take risks so as to promote student learning. This view, accompanied by a willingness to laugh at oneself, is important because not all educational exercises work. In these latter instances, I use my own gaffes as examples to help make points that are related to whatever I might be teaching (Snyder, 2002). This willingness to find humor in teaching also makes the classroom a more enjoyable place for both instructor and students.
Display your enthusiasm for your subject matter
Make a point to show students how excited you are about your topic (Snyder, 1971). If you are not engaged and enthusiastic about the material, how do you expect your students to be? Enthusiasm is ageless, inviting, and infectious. I firmly believe that whatever their topics, instructors are role models in showing students how science and the humanities are alive, exciting fields that have captivated thinking people for centuries. This instructor enthusiasm also sparks students’ motivation to learn (Snyder, in press).
Treat student questions with respect
If a student asks a question, do your best to answer it. If you don’t know the answer, say you will try to find it and follow through. Student questions also represent excellent opportunities to help make material “come to life.” This follows because a question gives the instructor clues as to how students are interpreting the material. I think that a good classroom is filled with questions, and a sensitive instructor uses those questions as barometers regarding how material is being absorbed.
Closing reflections on respect: We/me
Older professors have earned their gray hairs, and they deserve respect. Of course, it is important not to go overboard with this respect thing. In my experience, if you respect students, they will reciprocate. Of course, my present students test the limits, but they are no less considerate and civil than those whom I taught four decades ago.
I try to see that my classrooms become “we/me” environments where the students and I join together to explore a particular topic. If we can establish shared goals for the class, then I think that both my students and I will be more likely to learn (Snyder, in press). Moreover, with such shared goals, we both will look forward to the learning process. Learning, when peeled to its core, is an ageless process that involves the reciprocal exchange of information and insights among people. As the title of my essay suggests, it is a verity for aging professors that, “the college students seem to be getting younger…” As long as the students and instructor remain enthralled with the learning process, however, this age gulf is irrelevant.
References
Snyder, C. R. (1971). Approximately 68 wise words. Professional Psychology, 2 (2), 215.
Snyder, C. R. (1972). “Show and tell” as part of a college psychology course. Professional Psychology, 3 (1), 80.
Snyder, C. R. (1997). Unique invulnerability: A classroom demonstration in estimating personal mortality. Teaching of Psychology, 24, 197-199.
Snyder, C. R. (1999). Unique invulnerability as applied to personal mortality: The reports of its demise are exaggerated. Teaching of Psychology, 26 (3), 217-219.
Snyder, C. R. (2002). Mistakes in teaching: What I have learned. Teaching Matters, 5, 4-8.
Snyder, C. R. (2003). “Me conform? No way”: Nine classroom demonstrations in sensitizing college students to their conforming behaviors. Teaching of Psychology, 30, 59-61.
Snyder, C. R. (In press). Teaching: The lessons of hope. Journal of Social and Clinical Psychology.
C. R. (Rick) Snyder is the Wright distinguished professor of clinical psychology. He has taught at KU for 32 years. His courses include the Psychology of Individual Differences and Social Psychology: Theory, Research, and Clinical Applications.