One of the biggest divides in the classroom today isn’t the student who’s off-task or hasn’t done their homework all semester. It’s the student who’s mastered productivity.
No matter how you flip the digitally, AI-generated coin, the real tension in today’s classroom—especially in higher ed—is student vs. teacher.
Let’s zoom out for a second. In the 19th century, education looked very different. Burton and Baxter (2018) noted that the push for literacy defined the early-modern world. While the 17th and 18th centuries leaned heavily on religious schooling and basic literacy, the 19th century ushered in a new era—modernized university practices and the expansion toward universal access to education.
But even then, one thing remained constant: classification among students.
Students were categorized—elite, marginal, at-risk. Today, similar divides exist. Except now, they're wrapped in debates about DEI, access, and increasingly, AI.
So here’s the real question I want to ask: Why does student use of AI spark such strife among professors?
Back in the day, faculty debates centered around grammar, clarity, and retention. We’d spend an entire semester on curriculum, only for some students to walk away unclear on what they’d learned.
Research backs this up. Gan et al. (2021) found that the way instructors give feedback directly impacts how students perceive course content and outcomes. In other words, how we teach and how we respond matters—more than we sometimes realize.
As an English professor, I’ve had students complete a full 16-week course and still feel like they didn’t learn anything new. Sometimes, they weren’t challenged. Other times, they didn’t realize the course was designed to refine what they’d learned before—not introduce brand new concepts.
It reminds me of the saying: “You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”
If students believe they’re not learning anything new, they’ll check out. That’s why we align learning outcomes week by week—to “make it plain.”
But now, AI has entered the room. And for many professors, that feels like the final straw.
Let me be real: One of the biggest misconceptions I hear—especially in English departments—is that AI will take our jobs.
I get it. It’s scary. Could AI grade for us? Complete paperwork? Shrink our 80-hour weeks down to 3 hours? Technically, yes. But AI still lacks the nuance, discernment, and emotional intelligence that defines effective teaching. And honestly… someone’s still gotta do the paperwork.
Still, AI has become a nasty tug-of-war between students and instructors. Let’s be honest—some of us cringe at the idea of students using AI. Whether they’re generating full essays or just polishing grammar, many still don’t see the benefit.
But here’s the reality:
Think back to your own education. Was there ever a moment when you were expected to know something you’d never actually been taught? Like APA or MLA formatting in a first-year comp class. It’s in the rubric—but rarely introduced in a way that sticks.
And yet, when a student uses AI to help with citations, it’s often labeled “AI plagiarism.” We can’t have it both ways.
So I’ll ask again: What’s the real problem with AI?
If your argument is “students don’t actually learn from it,” then ask yourself—how do we ever learn? We read. We apply. We revise.
And you know what AI requires to be effective? Clear prompts. Critical thinking. Pattern recognition. Revision. If a student is refining prompts to get the output they need—they are learning.
Look, I’m not condoning cheating. But we have a choice: We can teach students to use AI responsibly—or we can demonize it, drive students underground, and widen the divide even more.
Let me share a personal story. I’m a step-parent to two kids. My 11-year-old daughter got caught using AI to… curse. Yep. She was using it to say inappropriate words. Her mom grounded her. Took her phone. Removed privileges. I took a different approach. I asked her why. (No good reason, of course.) But I saw an opportunity.
I told her: “You’re smart. You love to learn. Let me show you how to use AI for something cool.” Then I showed her how to create coloring pages. Organize her ideas. Outline a story—because she wants to write books like me.
That’s the power of redirection. When we change the energy around a problem, we change the outcome.
If we keep meeting students with aggression or fear over AI, they’ll rebel. They’ll see us as gatekeepers—not allies. And that’s not why we got into this profession.
Education is evolving. But if our students have no one else—they should have us.
I got into this field because it’s my gift. I’m here for the long game. And decades from now, I want my students to say what I say about my professors: “They molded me. They had my back. They helped me grow.”
Don’t let change make you bitter. Don’t let it make you fearful.
Let change redefine you. Let it help you create the kind of legacy your students never forget.
All the best,
The Rockstar Educator