Awkward Exchanges with Gen Z Students

Yesterday I had a bizarre encounter with a Gen Z student, and I felt unsettled the rest of the day. The exchange took place in my behavioral research class, and students are three weeks into working on their literature reviews. The student’s name is Albert’A, which is not pronounced like the Canadian province—a mistake I had made more than once, so maybe he was already feeling miffed. Albert’A is sharp, by which I mean his ideas land well outside the familiar “mental health issues in college students” topic that everybody else focuses on. 

 

Albert’A said he was having trouble choosing between four of his ideas. He said it with a stifled smirk, as if it was a problem he was proud to have. I told him to do all four, and he suddenly looked as though I had emptied the contents of his backback onto the classroom floor. 

 

“Why would I do that?” he said sullenly.

“Because you can,” I said. “And sometimes it’s fun to show off what you can do.”

 

It’s what I do as an academic, after all. I write about ideas that I’m interested in. Nobody’s holding a grade over my head anymore. Not for the last fifteen years, at least. To earn tenure I needed a few peer-reviewed articles. But I’ve done more than the equivalent of four papers instead of one.

 

Albert’A still hadn’t looked up from his computer.

 

“I’m gathering from your lack of joyful exuberance that you don’t like my suggestion,” I observed. “I’ll admit that I took a risk in suggesting that you could.” Albert’A flashed a look of disgust and went back to examining the screen of his laptop.

 

Still wanting to be helpful, I gave him my method for choosing a topic when I’m feeling uncertain, which is to pick the one I find most interesting. But all he did was widen his eyes like the method asked for him to begin by peeling his fingernails off. 

 

By now, six other students in the classroom were trying to get my attention for their one-on-one consults, but I didn’t want to abandon Albert’A. I said, “You seem to have retreated emotionally.” Without looking at me, he said, “That’s what I do.” 

 

“Okay,” I said, and I got up to help Aspirazun work on her outline. As I was complimenting her on what looked more like a detailed rough draft, Albert’A packed up his things and left.

 

The exchange reminded me of something that happened ten years ago in a humanistic psychology course. A student who hadn’t said much of anything in class was giving a presentation, and she was visibly nervous. Whenever she stuttered or hesitated, two students seated in back would start giggling. Unlike the majority of their peers, these gigglers were minutes from graduating and had several years on the rest of the class. They’d already communicated to me that my class was a waste of time, and I’ll admit that my own frustration with them was being communicated through the disappointed stares I delivered while the anxious student was presenting. My frowns did nothing, however, to quiet the giggling. 

 

I asked the pair to stay after and at which point I shared how shocked I was by their cruelty. Neither could look at me. They stared at their phones and shrugged in response to my questions. 

 

Digital humanities scholar Sherry Turkle provided some helpful context at the time for understanding this inability Gen Z students had for making eye contact, which I read about in her book Reclaiming Conversation: The Power of Talk in the Digital Age. Turkle’s research showed how ill-prepared kids are for serious conversations—and this was ten years ago. She explained how very few children who were reared on smart phones and tablets had ever apologized to another human face to face. These kids would begin a spat in the kitchen, then retreat behind a bedroom door to finish the argument by text.

 

I get it. I drag my heels all morning to avoid calling my doctor’s office to confirm an appointment—this after refusing to pick up when they had called me two days ago. I prefer to handle my business by email and make appointments by text. Still, I wouldn’t dream of apologizing to my wife in a text message for ruining date-night with my grumpy attitude. How could that resolve anything in me or her?

 

Difficult conversations I can understand. It’s no fun to endure embarrassment or humiliation. 

 

**

 

I was surprised when Albert’A came back to class today. He came in ten minutes late. I was working with another student. After he sat down I turned in his direction and said, “Welcome, Tay,” which is what he’s asked me to call him. 

 

“Hi,” he said without looking.

 

After a few minutes I asked him if he’d like to talk about our exchange the other day, and he said that would be okay. I explained that I thought I had said something to offend him, and he said that he was frustrated about something else that I had completely forgotten about. Before our awkward exchange, he had asked me if I was an Aquarius or Capricorn or something, and I had said that no, I’m a Pisces. That is apparently what had rendered him mute. I’m guessing that it had something to do with one of his lit review topics, which was his opinion that Astrology is objectively verifiable.