Editor's Note: This article was selected as the winning entry in the Mentor's third annual Academic Advising Writing Competition. Christopher W. Gregory, the author of the entry, will receive a $250 cash award.
In twelve years of academic advising, I have worked with a variety of students, including “general admits,” honors students, adult returners, and probationary, underrepresented, first-generation, international, and in-state students. In that time, I have guided fellow graduate students serving as paraprofessional advisers. I have mentored peer advisers with whom I worked and resided as a live-in faculty member. I have shared many insights and ideas with academic advisers as we strive to improve ourselves and the lot of our students. And just this summer, after being in the advising business for fifteen years, I was visited by a woman looking to “change careers” and wanting to “give something back.” Teaching, I inquired? “No, I want to be an adviser. I want to be you!,” she cried, thrusting her finger at a startled me. “No, no,” I stammered, “You really don't. I'm nothing special, and I have a lot of baggage!” That encounter has led to a months-long mentorship wherein the student is pursuing a graduate certificate in advising while using me as a consultant, a confidant—a mentor.
When I left the Midwest and moved on to a new institution in the Northeast after twelve years of professional advising experience at two distinct schools, I did so with a subtle air of bravado, a solidly established sense of self. I had always worked well with others, contributing to and drawing from them, but I possessed an independence borne from years of hands-off administration. It was flattering to be called “self-directed” and then left to my own devices. The praise flowed forth and built me up, so much so that I wondered what was left to learn after my many accomplishments.
That's when I met Nan.
In my new position as senior academic adviser, I was called to serve Nan, the director of advising on a campus of 8,000 undergraduates. It was clear from the get-go—and she as much as said it several times—that my years of experience qualified me for the position of director. (“However, that position is currently filled,” she told me, humorously.) But because I did not bear the burdens of her position, I was able to do my job and observe her in action. I did not set out to adopt a mentor. But Nan's decision to be one—albeit understated—led to two years of my learning through trial and error, listening, and observing.
Memorable is the gentle way Nan helped me with the transition from a highly selective, liberal arts school in the rural Midwest to a moderately selective institution in the Northeast, one populated with far more first-generation and urban-based students. Not surprisingly, these students were more practical minded, more interested in what a major would “do” for them than how a course might help them grow as a person. My appreciation of knowledge for its own sake was ignored, tossed aside quickly in meetings with advisees the first week. When I suggested that a literature course might be interesting, an advisee scoffed, “What am I going to do, be an English major?” Casting a glance at the Walden Pond print on my office wall, I thought, “Gee, it didn't hurt me.” From incoming, first-year students to new transfer students, it seemed as though every one of them that first week wanted to be a business or computer science major. (“I can make a lot of money!” became an advisee mantra.)
Enter Nan. Not obtrusive, yet ever-present, Nan made herself available to me at every turn, sometimes for a moment to fill in a blank and other times for a full-blown tête-à-tête. Here I was, a few weeks into the position, and I could barely disguise my contempt for what I perceived to be a student body lacking the thirst for knowledge. “In the Midwest, we would ... ,” I'd begin, or, “At previous institutions, we tried ... ,” I'd pontificate. Ever the diplomat, Nan first explained that I had been meeting with many students who were on or near probation (“Check the calendar. It's that time of the advising season, as you know.”) and that perhaps they had needs and attitudes different from those of the general student body. Second, she politely explained that “at this institution, many students must work many hours to pay for college, something you may not have encountered much at your previous institution.” Learning for its own sake would have more value if I took the time to explain its usefulness. True to her role as mentor, she made her points but did not drive them home, electing instead to let me draw my own conclusions. I exited her office with a polite, “Thank you,” but smugly felt that I was right.
Later that semester, I locked horns with a colleague over probation and suspension procedures. It seemed to me that several students who had grappled with physical or mental stress were not given proper consideration in their appeals for reinstatement. At the same time, some students who had served their time away from the institution, but who had not modified habits detrimental to academic success, were welcomed back. The system was not perfect. Nor was the orientation program offered to new students. Though many positive portions of orientation pleased students and parents alike, and though peer advisers and admissions colleagues performed wonderfully, the advising and registration sessions had obvious, glaring shortcomings. When Nan asked me what I thought, I rattled off a number of negatives. What I said is not memorable; how she responded is. “I agree with your concerns,” she began, moving to her now predictable “however” body language. “I hired you because of the passion you have for making a difference for these students. But you need to learn how to channel all this energy.” She then explained, in what could be deemed a sort-of Serenity Prayer for academic advisers, “You have to understand that things aren't perfect, figure out what you can do to effect change, and realize that change won't happen overnight.” Nan told me that colleagues across campus had good intentions and strengths and weaknesses like mine and that part of moving a campus forward is to persuade others to see your view while acknowledging the valuable contributions of others. Ever diplomatic as a good mentor should be, Nan did not criticize others or me. Rather, she illuminated the positive and invited me to draw from it. As a wise man once said, “No problems, only solutions.”
A few years ago, I moved into academic advising administration and away from Nan and that institution. I'm in a position to be a mentor again, only this time I have much more to offer. It's important for mentors to improve themselves so that they can give back. I have a responsibility to remember lessons learned, create new knowledge, and pass on what I know. Many times I face difficult decisions and ask myself, “What would Nan do?” And that's the highest praise for a mentor.