I knew I was done last fall when I faced my seminar class of sixteen freshmen and felt I was staring at circle of aliens. The feeling grew during an oral presentations (no longer called speeches): a musical power point. I didn’t recognize a single song except “Henry the Octopus” by the Wiggles. 
In spite of an uninspired semester featuring students who refused to disagree with one another , I might have persevered, even signed up for another go at it this fall were it not for Harry Potter. He’s not my nemesis, let’s get that straight. I even read the first book, was looking forward to reading it to my kids, jumping on the whole seven (!) book bandwagon till they glimpsed the first movie and declared it way too scary. I was still interested several years ago when my seminar students revealed they were eight when the first book came out. It dawned on me that I was now teaching the demographic responsible for this glorious reading revival so much was made of when Rowling first hit the bookstores in which I was then working. That was neat.
I recently stumbled upon the blog of one of these Potterheads, a twenty something named Kassie. The upshot was how sad it is that the Harry Potter movies are ending with the release of The Deathly Hallows. A babysitter recently said the same thing, announcing proudly,with a real sense of ownership, that she had grown up with Harry, was eleven—his same age in book one—when she started reading him.I don’t begrudge them the love of a character; I’m all for that, and I am all for an author making a huge pot of money by creating a very lovable, well-drawn world. But I do find appalling this assumption that because the final movie has been released, the character is dead. That’s the thing about books, see; the characters never die. This is their primary consolation: they can be opened again, at any stage in life, and there he sits, exactly the same.
And what is this sorrow over growing up? Kassie, in her blog (that is not her real name) claims that it’s really hard to be adult, like no one ever told her how hard it was, just like they never told her how hard high school soccer tryouts were going to be. To which I want to shout: guess what? Here’s a bunch of other stuff nobody ever told you: childbirth pain is life-altering; you don’t really recover from losing a parent; you or someone you know will have an abortion, get divorced and lose a child, possibly—quite possibly—all three.
Clearly, as far as teaching goes, I’m done for. All my freshmen grew up with Harry, and a whole lot of songs I don’t know or like. It’s the disconnect I can’t stand. I don’t get these people. I don’t understand their reluctance to disagree with one another, or to articulate how very much they hated something they read. And more importantly, to explain why. Last fall the whole lot (I polled them) were convinced they were poor readers because they scored below average on the ACT. “Oh I’m not good at this,” they all agreed with a collective shrug.
And though no one admitted to loving Harry Potter (no one admitted to anything, all semester) , I’ve come to associate the Potterhead generation with this kind of helpless self-satisfaction. It isn’t exactly self-love; I don’t think my group of aliens felt good about being no good at reading. It was the lack of fight that I minded. And the “I grew up with Harry and now it’s all over” thing just smacks of complacency. I sense a real field-of-daisies, hand-holding, aw-shucks love affair with immaturity. I was always bothered by the notion of the “real world” as this horrid place lying in wait for all students, death’s ugly twin, waiting to turn you into a zombie as soon as you graduated. This kind of thinking made college a four-year pass, a place to be fun and interesting and even stupid. Sure, there were more responsibilities when one’s parents finally cut the financial strings, but did it really have to mean the death of the self as we knew it?
Does the last Harry Potter movie really mean that all the fun is over? Because to make it emblematic of the end of youth seems to me, just as the “real world” concept does, a gross oversimplification of the entire process of growing up. This isn’t about capitalism; I’m not ranting about Hollywood making money or the author and her empire, now including a theme park. What’s bothering me is the concept of maturing itself, the way it’s treated as a neat little challenge that can be sewn up with a few major milestones: hitting a quarter century, getting married, and a mortgage. But why not? A test score can tell me what I’m good at and what to study, so why not make everything this simple?
Except it isn’t simple. And complex isn’t necessarily bad. The Mourning Harry Potterheads seem to me to need a healthy dose of self-reflection, a way to engage with their world on a deeper, messier, more meaningful level. I realize I sound like any forty-something crank, exactly the type who should not have tenure—I don’t—but I am trying to get at something larger, too. Spirituality. The inner quest to find some kind of meaning in life. Bothering to find out why you don’t like something and caring enough about an idea to disagree with someone else. Curiosity and a sense of wonder, precisely the kind of thing a kid can find in the pages of a book. And did I miss something or isn’t that what, on some level, the Harry Potter saga was about?
If not, then count me out.
Christy could the refusal to disagree, to be willing to feel or live deeply, be partly due to the fact that the students in your class are fairly homogeneous and part of a relatively narrow demographic? My husband, an international public health physician and epidemiologist was stunned when, as part of an MSU panel on careers, the only questions the students asked were: how long did it take to get your degrees and how much money do you make. It is possible that an urban multiracial group of freshmen might feel differently about HP altogether. Just a thought.
yes the monoculture takes its toll….
Don’t give up teaching! You’ve got too much to share/too much talent. I think you are throwing the baby out with the bath water. Why? I am glad you asked, as I have a prepared a little three-point essay defending the little mouth-breathers.
1) On the lack of discussion/fight/searching/etc. I have listened for nearly 20 years to DJ’s descriptions of the goings-on in his college English classes. His teaching style is discussion-centric. The worst classes are freshmen & sophomores who are mearly fulfilling their English requirement. Many times even those who would like to speak up keep quiet because they know the majority don’t give a crap & so they’re too scared. The best classes are the upper level English major classes. But even these vary, as different classes have different personalities. It ranges from having to drag discussion out of them to having a hard time getting them to stop the discussion & move on.
Also, personally, I hate to participate in class discussions. But my liberal arts education forced me to learn about non-math topics so that today when I read, watch a movie, listen to music, go to a museum, my enjoyment & understanding is greatly enhanced. You can’t assume that silent = not getting anything out of it (even if they don’t enjoy it).
I also feel like college students today (based on DJ’s students) are way more self-aware & socially aware/active than we were. I don’t know if that is a sign of the times or the fact that DJ’s college is in Atlanta & I grew up in Robinson. (See Pat P’s post!)
2) On the End of Harry Potter = End of Youth. I think what the Potterheads are sad about is that they’ve grown up with having the super fun social/entertainment event of a new HP book/movie being released. They know they don’t get to have that anymore. Kindof like what if this last Christmas was the last one ever? They have a strong nostalgic connection to it. I think they know they can access Harry at any time by rereading (in fact, my daughter Andi has reread her copies so many times they are falling apart). Yet she cried while watching the last movie – it’s like saying goodbye to an old friend & having only memories.
3) On the clinging to immaturity. There are many (too many, actually) kids who have to deal with more crap before they are even 18 than I will ever have to deal with. Some come out stronger, some crumble. But there are also many kids raised in a protective bubble with helicpoter parents. It makes adulthood seem much more foreign & scarier. However, I try not to fall into the “if they think this is bad, wait until they see what else life is going to throw at them” grumblings. I always hated it when mine were toddlers & I would be telling an older person about some toddler difficulty and they would say “just wait until they’re teenagers!” Now I’m getting “Just wait until they leave home!” Just because what any of us are dealing with at any given time is not the hardest thing we (or others) will have to deal with does not mean that we are not allowed to think our current situation is hard.
What I love about teaching has very little to do with passing on my love & understanding of math onto my students – most of them hate math. I enjoy getting to know them & imparting the idea that I’m on their side to help them through this even if they think they aren’t good at it or hate it. These kids are alien-like to you, so it’s hard to make teaching worth the effort. I think it would be sad if you gave up trying! (Unless you dislike college kids as much as I dislike little kids. If so, please disregard all of the above.)
Tammy
Now YOU my friend, are a good teacher. You’re in their corner all the way, it shows with every word you write. You are the kind of teacher I sorely needed and sometimes got, but often didn’t. Until my attitude shifts…. well, maybe a little break is in order, to be certain. I must also admit that since I have not read HP or seen the movies: I don’t know what happens to him! is it sad? Bad? Doesn’t really matter; I recognize that good-byes are hard, no matter what realm we’re speaking of.
Thanks for saying so. I’m not sure exactly what happens to Harry – he dies? you think he dies but he doesn’t? he comes back to life? I didn’t watch or read it. BTW – I love that you have this blog.
This is really thought-provoking!–I wonder if your passive students reflect a malaise with political-cultural life that I feel?
Politicians have nothing of substance to say because they are watching every word that comes out of their mouths lest it has consequences for their party’s reelection chances; simple-minded ranting passes for substantive commentary on TV and radio; media are only fixated on profits, and so report on salacious tabloid headlines and the loudest, most enraged citizens instead of actual news and real debate. Why bother to debate when argument means only sneering triumph or humiliation, instead of a learning experience?
Maybe Harry can inspire that “sense of wonder” in me as I look at our society though: how curiously absurd it all is, and what kind of spell will cure it? I haven’t given him a try yet, but I will soon.
I take the whole harry potter series as huge metaphor about growing up! and i cried while reading the last book. With each book their problems get tougher, and you sort of see this whole series of events that lead to adulthood. people die. loss strikes. evil lurks, a big metaphor for the kind of transformation from youth to grown up. With that filter in place, i really respond to the books. I take the whole ‘sorry at harry potter ending’ as similar to the cliches we all write in yearbooks at the end of highschool… ah, but the classroom of college students who don’t want to engage, now that is another story. my own lurking burnout will keep me from wading into those waters at this point…