Balancing Act

So, What's in It for Me?

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By Chris Barnett

At times I am sick of how tied to the bottom line my students are, how unimaginatively selfish they are, how often they ask that insulting question, "What's in it for me?"

I could blame our current consumer-driven culture, I could blame politicians or Enron, I could blame the alignment of the planets. It wouldn't change the internal cringe I feel when students, with their penchant for being direct when it hurts the most, say those five little words.

You can therefore imagine my discomfort when my dean, during a recent conversation about restructuring one of our programs, shared how sick he was of my fellow faculty members having that same attitude. "I can't get faculty members to propose or create any new or different classes around here without paying them extra," he said. "They should be willing to do more to help the students, but all I hear is this 'What's in it for me?' attitude!"

I was taken aback and mumbled something about workloads and being tired. He didn't buy it: "Faculty members have agreed to teach. That's their job. They ought to do it without always insisting on more money!"

I left that meeting feeling pretty low. Are professors really that mercenary? Are we as selfish as our students?

I could see where my dean was coming from. There are some faculty members who have been around a long time and no longer have much of a spark. There are some few who really do have a seriously jaded attitude; they long ago quit their job but never told anyone.

But there is a much larger group of hard-working, dedicated faculty members who do care about the profession. Not coincidentally, many in that group, including me, also share another trait: We have school-age children and, thus, busy family lives.

My colleagues and I teach at a small college. Its salary range is notably below the national averages (according to The Chronicle and the American Association of University Professors), although we get some "freebies," such as free parking and use of the fitness center. Our teaching load is 12 credit hours a term, and that's quite a bit. But most of us, on the whole, love what we do; we teach our classes well and work enthusiastically with students.

Yet there are occasions when we could do more, and instead we hesitate. Students ask us to sign on as supervisors for their independent-study projects. Certain programs encourage us to develop new courses. The admissions or alumni office invites us to attend a weekend event. There are countless other "extras" thrown our way -- and we hesitate.

We hesitate because of the lack of pay.

At our college, at least, there is no pay for directing independent studies or developing new courses (though, of course, teaching those courses is compensated) or giving up part of our weekends to attend an alumni event. The dean is right in that such things are our job and help sustain the life of the college, and since we are hired by the college, we ought to willingly take on such opportunities to help the college and its students.

I understand why the dean feels we're being selfish. And we are, indeed, being selfish. But for me and many of my colleagues with family obligations, our responses are fundamentally different from our students' responses. For when we say, "What's in it for me?" we really mean, "What's in it for my family?"

Time spent at the college is time not spent at home. It is time not spent with visiting grandparents or cousins. It is time not spent with spouses. It is time not spent with children who grow up faster with each passing semester.

When I leave my family every day and go to work, I know I'm doing so to make money for my family to live. I don't work for a salary; I work for groceries, for gas, for the house we live in; I work for schools and camps; I work for glasses and braces.

Thus I'm very pleased to do what I am paid to do: I teach well, I stay active in my field, I serve on committees. All in all, I enjoy my job very much, and I'm thankful that in return for my work, I make enough for my family to live on (with the help of some summer work). I may not see my family as much as I'd like, but I know that what I'm doing is right for them.

But when I'm asked to do more for my job -- without additional compensation -- of course I hesitate. I need a trade-off for leaving my family. I'll teach a night class and not be there to put my children to bed because I know that the money I make from that class will pay for three months' tuition for my 8-year-old.

But ask me to give up attending that child's dance recital to stand at a table during a Saturday morning admissions fair and expect me to do it for free? Sorry. There's nothing in it for me -- nor for my family.

One might argue that if all my colleagues felt and acted the way I do, then my college would face ruin. It would never grow, money would dry up, I would lose my job.

Rather than argue about such hypothetical matters, I'll stick with what I know: While my college might suffer from my lack of after-hours involvement, I know that my family absolutely will suffer without my involvement.

To my dean, who doesn't have children, such a sentiment may make me a selfish mercenary. To me, it reveals my dedication to my family. After all, I'm in it for them.