Lost Papers and Lost Socks
If you want it submitted here, they will submit it there.
As this blog continues getting off the ground, I want to muse on “slice of life” cases before posting my speaking notes to various workshops.
Case 1: You Gave Me a Zero
“Mister,” the teenager demanded, “why did you give me a zero on that assignment?”
“What?” I asked, confused.
She squinted her eyes, pursed her lips, and dug in her heels. “You heard me. Why did you give me a zero?” she repeated. As her glare grew more intense, she shifted her weight and moved her books and binders from one arm to another.
“First off,” I started, “I don’t give grades. You earn them. Second, look at the baskets. Do you see any papers?”
She glanced over, then rolled her eyes. “No.”
“So what does that mean?” I asked.
“There aren’t any there.”
“And you turned it in?”
“Of course,” she scoffed.
“So check your folder,” I said.
“What?” she asked, indignant.
“Check your folder.”
“It won’t be there.”
“Just check it.”
Rolling her eyes again, she set her things down and thumbed through a folder. Several seconds later her eyes got wide and she glanced up to me and then back down. “Oh,” she said.
“Oh?” I asked.
“It was there.”
“So I didn’t just give you a zero?”
She glared, handed me the paper, then stormed off. Welcome to teaching, I suppose?
In my first year of teaching, where I had high school English, this incident played itself over many times: Angry personal accusations followed by papers in folders and no apologies. But at least ten years ago they had folders. Now, not so much. (For a great breakdown with digital organization, see the 2021 article by The Verge called File not found. This could be an entire other post!)
Summary: Totally their fault, but fault of memory.
Case 2: The Gmail Twilight Zone
That same year, maybe around 2013, a sophomore emailed an essay. No problem. Except that I didn’t get it. This was before learning management systems (LMS) were popular, and all assignments were either emailed or shared through Google.
“Mister, I emailed my essay. Why didn’t you grade it?”
“Let me check my mail. I’m sure it’s there.” Thirty seconds go by. “No, I don’t have it.”
The student grew frustrated. “But I submitted it!”
“Can you show me your Sent messages?” I asked.
He complied. Sure enough, it sent two days before.
“That’s odd,” I said. “Just send it again. This was clearly not your fault.”
So he submitted it again, I never marked it late, and we went on with our lives.
Three years later.
During passing period, my computer made the typical email sound. No big deal. I went and checked and to my surprise, the essay arrived! I rushed to the hallway and found that student.
“Hey!” I flagged him down. “This will sound random, but do you remember that one essay from your sophomore year that never made it to my Inbox?” He stared then shook his head. “Here, check it out!”
As he walked in, we looked at my screen. Sure enough, his essay arrived three years late, but with the same exact time stamp as before. That was around 2013, and in 2024 the story ages well as an example why I love LMS’s.
Summary: Totally not his fault. The digital records saved him.
Case 3: Basketcases
Years later I would teach middle school. By then, I would develop better paper management systems. Since small letter trays are outrageously priced, I bought eight multi-colored crates from Walmart for $3.50 each.
With four classes, each class had their own color-coded crates, all zip-tied together: Submit in the top basket and graded papers moved to the bottom basket. Easy.
Then came the office chat. My principal at the time pulled me aside and said that parents were confused about my grading system. What confusion, I asked? Students did not know how to submit work. The baskets? Yes. Well, I explained, students submit work in the top basket and graded papers go to the bottom basket. Easy.
Apparently not.
We walked down the hall to my room and sorted through them. The problem? Students submitted work in the graded pile. She then pointed out that my baskets weren’t labeled as well as they could be. Fair enough. So I nodded my head, created better labels, and moved on.
Yet seven years later, with labels galore and policies posted around the room, this still happens. I used to say “Late papers to my (desktop) keyboard,” but even that failed when papers wound up randomly stuffed around my desk. I’d assume it’s human nature by this point. Papers disappear. People panic. Someone gets blamed—just not the student.
Summary: If you want it submitted here, they will submit it there.
Case 4: Learning Mis-Management Systems
Fast forward. As LMS’s became more entrenched, I taught online submissions the first full week of school. That first full week.
Nearly all of my digital assignments have submission instructions ON the web page. Let me repeat, ON the webpage. (Yes, it bears misusing capital letters.) You know, sort of like candy bars that say Open here or socks with arrows.
What is today’s problem? Each March, after many online assignments with directions posted, students still don’t understand how to submit their work. And yet they understand editing and posting videos on TikTok, right?
But going full-circle, Case 1 still happens. Just angrier. Why did I give you a zero? Because the work wasn’t submitted. I can’t grade what I don’t have. But you submitted it? Prove it. Oh, the site says you didn’t? Indignant glares. It’s still not your fault? Can you at least say My bad? No? Why is the web page closed, you asked? It closed three weeks ago because it was due three weeks ago.
Three weeks ago.
Yes, it’s still late because it was due nearly a month ago. Grades were posted weeks ago. In real life adults are charged late fees. Even when told point blank (“Hey! You are missing work!”), why is it not a problem until you decide it’s a problem? What? You should have been told a fourth time? When is it your fault?
The profession has never been more transparent, yet parents expect more and more and more from teachers. Never themselves. Never from their children.
Hmm, that could be a series of posts.
At least now teachers can document messages sent through Canvas, specifically reminding students when they did not submit their work.
Summary: Document away. But don’t expect much.
Case 5: Lost Socks (Conclusion)
How many socks have you lost recently? Before getting married, I’d “lose” socks once a month. It’s the weirdest thing: I always walk around in two socks. The two socks were tossed in the hamper together. The two socks were washed together. Yet one went missing. The extra sock sat on my dresser, longing for its companion.
Like “Little Girl Lost” I was sure a parallel dimension was involved.
Then one day I found the culprit: Socks inside t-shirts. Turns out that socks found their way to my t-shirts while in the dryer, then I might go weeks without discovering it. I went to get dressed and found socks going out my sleeves.
The fix?
I never washed my socks and t-shirts together again. Judge however you want, but I’d always wash socks with towels. The towels were sock magnets and I rarely ever lost a sock again.
Summary: Some things just get lost.
What is my point?
I can’t stand corny teaching blogs, so never expect that empty, feel-good message. This blog is more Malcolm in the Middle than Family Matters. But I suppose it goes something like this: Sometimes the lost papers are the kids’ fault. Sometimes the lost papers are my fault—that rare one percent of the time. And sometimes papers just get lost. Like socks.
I do wish that teachers weren’t the only ones accountable in the school system, though. Students don’t know what’s due? We post reminders. Students don’t submit their work? We tell them point blank. (This includes the parents with various LMS’s.) But admitting responsibility is a learned response all the way around.
What about the “lost” papers that were never completed? That’s another story!
