Yesterday was a hard day. I had to give a student some very bad news.

In my school, you are allowed a maximum of 10 absences, with 11 absences being an automatic failure. This is for every course across the board, and is handed down by the administration. It is included in the syllabus for the class, as well as the student handbook.

I had one student who had 10 absences. I told him he had 10 absences. Yesterday he missed his 11^th absence.

I was leaving the lobby of the boy’s dorm, after watching Bush’s acceptance speech, when he came up to me. “Hey, Prof!” he said. “I took my 11^th absence today. I know I might should have saved my last absence, but I stayed up late watching election returns, so it was worth it.”

I just looked at him, and motioned him to follow me. Once we were outside, away from everyone, I just had to tell him, “You are allowed 10 absences. Eleven is past the point of no return.”

“oh, no” he said in a small voice “i just got confused . . .”

His face looked so awful I could hardly bear to look at it. He wasn’t a bad kid; he was intelligent and respectful and contributed to class (when he was there). He was just a slacker, played it too close to the edge, and slipped up. But at that point, it was out of my hands. There was nothing I could do.

That didn’t make it any easier, though. Usually, if a student fails, they find out by mail after the end of the semester. And usually, if a student is failing, they know they’re failing. I’ve never had to come right out and give it to someone face-to-face when they think they’re doing great.

I like being friends with the students. But I have to maintain a professional distance. And there are some times, like these, that I wish I was calloused and coldhearted and could relish the thought of a fool getting his just deserts.

But I’m not and I couldn’t.