An Open Letter to All Dual Credit Students

I don't think I need to tell you what inspired this.

I am not sure how I would handle having college classes at 15 years of age. I was a mess in 1995-1996. Chemistry, Algebra II, and Geometry were the least of my problems, but I pretended like they were the biggest ones. I wanted good grades to 1) prove myself and 2) leave home, and that meant getting B's and C's in those subjects was unacceptable.

Of course, I was completely dishonest with myself about why I wanted to prove myself or leave home. I didn't want to think about how deep insecurities can't be fixed only by getting or achieving something. You have to be able to recognize the worth of what you do, and that requires a use of education we rarely highlight nowadays. Moreover, I didn't want to confront what was going on at home. While all parents struggle with teenagers, my household was especially ill-equipped. My parents thought a large dose of neglect was a serious way to raise kids. They didn't mean badly–they thought they were avoiding messy complications and allowing me to figure things out–but the result was horrible. Things actually got worse when I went to college, because a lack of interest and guidance meant nothing I was told by them made any sense.

So if I were given college classes at that age, I can't be sure how I'd respond. I might have treated them like music or gym class in grade school. Since those occurred once a week, none of us cared. It was just a way out of the same room, a break that wasn't really a break. Or maybe like health class in high school. I had it twice a week and was fairly checked out. I know I'd want good grades in the high school classes meeting every single day, since if something meets every day, it must be important, right?

I believe if you reflect on that last idea, considering the possibility that if something occurs every day, it might not be important, you're closer to understanding what we professors want from you. You're used to preparing, taking the tests, getting the grade. You're used to books with answers. A structure that demands obedience and promises reward. The trouble is, none of that stuff is higher learning. You actually know this already, but in a way you haven't considered. You know the difference between street smarts and book smarts. You've seen those your age who are book smart get somewhat ahead but not know how to handle any other situation. And you've seen those who have a number of diverse social experiences unlock all sorts of interactions and opportunities. You've seen them build credibility, have something uniquely their own, and be able to vouch for others.

I'm not saying college level work is the same as street smarts, but it works in a very similar way. A teacher who throws all the facts at you relentlessly isn't doing it to test you on every single point. What they want is for you to take one thing and make it yours. Find a concern, articulate a question, build from there.

I realize not every college teacher appears to you this way. But think about what would happen if, in a history class that looked like tests and papers, you said you had done original research and interviewed a child of one of the Tuskegee airmen after a class on them. You were curious how their legacy affected their families, and you were perhaps shocked to hear that the Jim Crow South found new depths of ungratefulness. You can intuit that's the real expectation. While the teacher will give A's for who knows what on the test, higher learning isn't about grades and rank. It's about the courage you develop to use your curiosity.

There's more. Curiosity doesn't matter unless it is yours. And this really drives home something missing from most educational experiences nowadays. We're telling you to do the classes, get the grades, get the skills, get the job. Get get get. Get for what? For whom? In a weird way, students are buried under the rhetoric of acquisition. True achievement is buried, too. No wonder we're a society defined by greed. If no one knows who they are, how could they possibly know what they want?

You're young. You must take role models and heroes seriously. You must think about how complicated things are and take the best you can from imperfect people who try but cannot always adequately respond to the sheer amount of crises thrown at them. You need to do this so you know who you are and what you stand for. On that note, Aristotlean notions of virtue are profoundly countercultural. They're not about getting a job or fitting in. They're about learning to think through what you want to be known for, learning to see how you can uniquely contribute to society while being yourself.

You need to read books so you can hear different voices talk about the problems they faced and how they resolved them. A dialogue much richer than a coach yelling at you or a counselor telling you to fill out forms and attend meetings. Young people are owed an opportunity to build an identity, and education is essential to doing this. We have nearly completely abandoned this use of education. We're paying the price for it. We'll churn out the engineers and technicians and skilled workers and the planet will still burn. Overgrown man-babies will control trillions in capital and the fate of nations and we won't think to challenge them.

I don't think I could convince 15 year old me to take the time to think about who he was. But I was wondering if anything I covered in the classes I teach now would resonate with me. I'm pretty sure all of it would because it is immediately empowering. When you learn about how Texas' Medicaid rules work or the complicated relationship between West Odessa and emergency services, you know more than some in the government itself. It's power and 15 year old me would want it for all the wrong reasons. You've got to figure out for yourself why you might want it, and if you don't, what exactly you want. These are not easy questions, as they involve admitting that maybe some ideas and attitudes we have must change. It would be much easier to get a grade which tells all of us what we want to hear. Good grades for straightforward work affirm teachers, students, and the whole system. The outstanding question is at what cost.