I teach 16, 17, and 18 year olds.
Jesus Gad, some of them are thick.
I don't remember being a twit when I was in grade 11 and 12. Was I a twit?
(That I don't remember much from my youth worries me. It's general impressions and blurs of images, but no concrete emotions or lucid memories. Why can't I remember elation, shame, joy, embarassment, and so on? Granted, I don't remember much from last summer, let alone 10 years ago.)
Anyhow, if anyone can remember me at the time, please let me know if I was a twit.
Professional conscience prevents me from giving precice details right now, but understand that I often shake my head with incredulity at these kids. I also laugh bitterly, thinking about how they're going to react to true academia next semester when they get to Uni. What a kick in the pants it's going to be. I wish I could go and sadistically watch their shining faces when they don't get everything handed to them my mummy and daddy.
To be fair, which I rarely am, I have some awesome students. About half of them, I'd say, are high school grads who dicked around at their first school and now know the value of going to university, so they're back to upgrade. They take the classes very seriously. I just gave a 21-year-old an 87 as a final grade, and he deserved it - he worked very hard for it.
I often think, perhaps erroneously, that those 3 or 4 years between the teenage twits and the early-20s students make the difference cognitively. Their intellects are simply more mature than their younger classmates'.
Anyhow, I will soon start job hunting again, because I want out of this job before I become a bitter, burnt out old school marm. Pre-emptive strikes are rad, yo!