These days, many of my students seem to have been raised without manners; they are, in fact, relatively free of the moral encumbrances of civilization. Their sense of entitlement is enormous. Poisoned by the attitudes of postmodernism, they believe that nothing should be privileged, that hierarchies are made for the smashing, that professors have little of worth to teach them, that rap videos possess as much inherent value as classical music. Rabid utilitarians, they regard literature, especially poetry, as useless and irrelevant. Entirely permeated by the questionable cultures of television and the Internet, they have read little and thus have poor writing skills and the attention span of katydids. They freely admit that what concerns them is not getting an education, which is what drove me to college when I was their age. Instead, entirely mercenary, they’re only interested in what sort of jobs, what sort of salaries, their degrees can land them. For them, education is not a means of becoming, but a means of owning. […] When I compare such students to the young man I was, I am amazed and horrified. As an undergraduate at West Virginia University in the late 1970s, I was imbued with Southern politeness, respectful of my elders, sharply aware of my own ignorance, awed by my professors’ expertise, and aflame with intellectual curiosity. (48)
Though, in my worst moments of self-doubt and weariness, I often feel that I’ve had absolutely no lasting effect on any student I’ve ever taught, when I’m in a more rational mood I realize the influence a teacher might have on those engaged students who choose to listen. There are several of those left, thank God, their bright eyes brimful of interest while their many blank-faced classmates stare at the wall, at the clock, or out the window, possessing not even the good grace to feign interest. (49)
Any teacher can tell the depth of a student’s involvement by the look in his eyes, and while many students these days seem to display the intellectual curiosity of rutabagas, Graham’s eyes were always involved. (79)
Mann, Jeff. Edge. New York: Southern Tier Editions, Harrington Park Press, 2003.