Most college classes meant listening, note taking, reading, remembering and regurgitating it all on the tests and maybe an in-depth paper or two. All of those were A’s.
Professor Margaret Odegard included class participation in her grading. She had told us that at the beginning of the quarter, but I had interpreted it as good attendance with excellent tests and papers. At the time, I did not speak up in any class, didn’t raise my hand, and only answered if randomly called upon, preferring quiet note taking and intent listening as the way to get an education. If I didn’t understand something, I attributed it to my own ignorance, and didn’t consider interrupting the class just to display that ignorance to everyone.
My friend, Don, did get an A and the difference, he told me, was he answered questions in class and occasionally asked one. I decided that was my problem, and for this class only, I would have to speak up.
The second quarter began with me determined to talk. I began raising my hand, but without results. Mrs. Odegard, her preferred title as she said her Mrs. degree, had been harder to get than her PhD, always called on those who raised their hands. During the first quarter, that had narrowed down to about eight regulars out of the fifty of us in class. I think Mrs Odegard was sympathetic to students who might be embarrassed by not being able to answer, and then out of habit called on the same volunteers, and even knew their names. I doubt she even noticed me in the back of the class, even with my hand raised, and if so, didn’t know my name.
I was determined to get noticed and answer a question. I couldn’t change my assigned seat to the front, as the classroom was full. I didn’t want to make a fool out of myself either, and our rules were we didn’t speak unless called upon after raising our hand. So what could I do?
I talked it over with front row A student and friend Don. “Maybe you should just stay after class and talk to her,” he suggested, being a direct person. “Or you could just bring her an apple,” he joked.
“That’s it” I exclaimed.
“That’s way too corny; she will think you are a bumpkin if you do it,” warned Don.
The next day I bought the biggest, best Red Delicious apple I could find and polished it to glow. When class was over, the other students gone, I lingered, then went to the front desk where Mrs. Odegard was putting away her papers.
“Mrs. Odegard, my name is Russ Hanson. I sit in the back. I really enjoy this class and the books you have us read. I have always loved to read, but have done it on a shallow level without looking for deeper meaning. Thank you for introducing me to a better way of reading. My name is Russ Hanson. This apple is a thank you for helping me learn.”
She looked up at me intently, first with a puzzled look, then the hint of a smile. “Thank you,” she said as I rushed off, feeling embarrassed about my apple for the teacher.
The next day, looking to the back, searching until she saw me, Mrs Odegard began a question: “Russ Hanson, what do you think the author meant …”
With that I joined the talkers, and the next two quarters got my “A”s. It spilled over into other classes too, where I found that answering questions, occasionally posing them and joining in classroom discussions improved not only my grades but my education too. I found that most of the time if I didn’t understand something and asked the professor a question, I was not alone in my ignorance and we all benefited from those who were brave enough to speak up.