Don't piss off the students.
In order to coexist with the finest minds of the next generation, I've made several adjustments to my classroom shtick. Sarcasm is out. Never jokingly complain about anything related to the occupation - not colleagues, administrators, salary, tenure, and especially not the students. Correcting students, or somehow insinuating they are less smart than you, is always a bad idea. And I've taken all the jokes out of my lectures.
You have to eliminate any potential for a misunderstanding. If it's at all possible for anyone to ever take offense, someone in your class will. Then you can look forward to a phone call from a parent, or a conversation with the Dean.
The result is a fairly drab, straightforward, uninspiring presentation. But it's safe.
I was reminded of this bedrock principle during a recent lecture in my course on the History of World War II.
I should say from the outset that I love this class. I get paid to talk about World War II in front of people who have to listen. I get excited preparing for it and thinking about the possible photos, audio, maps, and video I could integrate in to the lecture. I have excellent students who have studied the war. They pay attention and ask good questions.
And because it was going so well, I've become a bit complacent. Once I accidentally slipped and made a sarcastic remark. The students actually understood the reference and laughed. Soon I was telling an occasional joke, even parodying a student's comment. It was becoming a lot of fun.
Eventually, I got careless.
In a lecture on the war in the Pacific, we were discussing how the Japanese pioneered the use of aircraft carriers and naval aerial combat strategy. Discussion centered on Japanese aircraft, and I projected the following image up onto the screen:
I explained that the Mitsubishi A6M plane was one of the fastest, most maneuverable planes in the world at the start of the war. It made quick work of the early American planes it met in the dogfights of 1941. Then, like a smoker desperately scrounging through the trash for a cigarette butt, I paused for a moment and said:
"American servicemen nicknamed this plane the 'Zero.' To be honest, I've never been able to figure out why."
I then turned back to the photo on the screen, shook my head, and said, "I suppose some mysteries just weren't meant to be solved."
Reaction was muted. I quickly raced on to the next topic, but as I looked up I could see some that some student had smiled knowingly, but others were genuinely perplexed. No problem. I could fill a warehouse with joke-salvos that failed detonate.
And then I saw it.
At the back of the class one of the more earnest students had raised his hand. I called on him, inwardly pleading for him not to ask what I knew he was going to ask.
But he did.
"Um...don't you think that it was probably because of those big zeros painted all over the plane? Don't you think that's why they called it the 'zero'?"
And now we were both stuck - trapped inexorably in this web of attempted humor. The only way out was for one of us to look stupid. I decided it should be me. I deserved it. I'd ignore the basic rule of teaching.
ME: (looking again at the photo) No, I don't think so. Those aren't zeros, they're rising suns.
STUDENT: But don't you think they would look like zeros to Americans?
ME: (pausing) Well now, that's something I hadn't thought of. That's an interesting theory. I'll have to read up on that.
By this point, even those who realized I had been joking were confused. The student who asked the question gave me this quizzical look like, "How can you not see how obvious this is?"
I have not doubt that several students left that lecture laughing about their professor who couldn't figure out how the 'zero' got its name even after it had been explained to him. No matter. I can handle a few of the more gullible students believing that I'm an idiot.
It turns out that's not a category on the student evaluations.
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