I remember clearly the sense of heathen joy that filled me as I savoured a bite of hot lasagna. Lasagna was a very rare hard ration, and to have the time to cook it was a simple pleasure rarely enjoyed in the fetid swamps and dusty plains of basic training. Best of all, I had found a few moments of peace away from the bustle of camp in which to eat my supper, or breakfast I suppose, as it was early morning.

Basic training is about military indoctrination, but it is also a journey of self-exploration. For a city boy, just sleeping on the ground and working in the true dark of night were challenges. The black and green face that looked back at me from my small compass mirror looked worn, dirty, and above all strangely recognizable. There was an edge to my features, marked by weeks of physical and mental exhaustion, harsh coughing spells, and previously unknown determination to endure.

On that particular night, well towards the end of the summer, I had just finished leading a reconnaissance patrol, and had set aside the anxiety of waiting for my assessment to indulge my stomach. My section commander soon found me and wordlessly handed me a sheet of paper. It noted that despite a very flawed plan, I had, through confident presence and force of will, effectively led the section to the completion of the task. I calmly thanked the man for his evaluation, internally quieting the sudden joy that came with the realization that this meant I had passed the course and home was around the corner. He shrugged and turned away so that I thought he would leave, but then he paused and looked at me carefully. For the first time, he spoke to me with no apparent mockery.

You have been evaluated this day as a candidate; from now on, as an officer, you will be evaluated for the rest of your life by those who follow and depend on you.

Academic life is fundamentally about evaluation: essays, exams, projects and participation. Evaluation opens doors and closes them. TAs play a critical role in evaluation, often performing the lion's share of marking and grading, and providing feedback on essays, exams, and tutorials.

Understanding that as TAs we are leaders is important. The students do not need a friend; they need an accessible, professional figure who actively assists them in developing their writing, studying, and discussion skills. The nature of the relationship, hinged on evaluation, is so infused with an unequal power dynamic, that any attempt at being their friend simply is, and will be perceived as, false. On the other hand, especially in a large university setting, there is a tendency to remain aloof that results in a distant, mechanistic approach that is equally unproductive.

The beneficiary of an excellent undergraduate program at a small university, I had never had a TA before. When I became a first-time TA, I was primarily concerned with the accompanying pay cheque and my own research. I had a vague picture that a TA was like a high school teacher who led discussions. Needless to say, the news that I would be doing all of the marking for my group of fifty students came as something of a shock. If that was not enough, I was directed to cover historiography in my tutorials, as their major essay for the course would be historiographical. Historiography is the study of what other historians have said about an issue. Historiography calls upon the undergraduate to wade into many major books and articles and then compare, contrast, and evaluate their arguments. During my own undergraduate program, I had taken a required history course that introduced us to historiography slowly and we worked our way up to a major paper. Here, the professor was not involved at all and instead the students were simply expected to do a historiographical paper, while simultaneously learning about 16th Century Europe!

After the first difficult and awkward classes, I realized that these students depended on my leadership to learn as surely as army recruits depend on their instructors to pass on skills and knowledge. The methodology taught by the army could in many ways be applied to the classroom. I also considered the importance the army placed on the instructors of personal energy. Students, after all, were often tired and not necessarily enthusiastic about the subject matter. Dynastic politics could be a very dry subject and it is difficult for students to identify with such a different time and context. The interest I demonstrated in the course was critical to success. In effect, I had two tasks. I had to teach a whole new set of writing and research skills related to historiography, as well as try to connect the MTV generation with the intricacies of early modern Europe! I also realized that even as I graded their work, I too would be evaluated on my fairness, my style, my accessibility, and my professional competence. My section commander was more right than he had known and now I needed a plan!

So I tried to keep it simple in our discussions. We emphasized main themes more than simply memorizing names and dates. I used maps and pictures to give a tangible sense of the places and people we studied. Above all, I tried to link the questions and problems of that previous age with similar ones of our own. This resulted in some memorable moments when we compared the political scene of dynastic rivalry with the National Football League and the escalating violence of the French Revolution to the escalating sexuality of music videos! I tried to familiarize the students with historiography through assigning small readings that were examples of the method, and small exercises that encouraged them to interact with their readings in a more critical way. None of these ideas were difficult or earth-shattering, but I saw the results in improved papers and exams.

Thinking about TAs' central role in the formative experience of undergraduates often humbles me. I remember the odd feeling I had when I looked at my first students' final grades. To think that a year of effort, dialogue, and exploration could be reduced to a single page of numbers! A university education is about learning a discipline but is also a journey of critical revelation about the world. As TAs we are one of many guides on that journey. Our grading opens or closes doors. Our feedback and motivation can inspire or discourage. It is tempting and easy to limit ourselves to confirming facts toward an exam standard with no human meaning. One thing is clear: to keep the Humanities relevant to our students, we need to connect our disciplines to contemporary society.

Often the very fundamentals of learning seems concentrated in the hands of the select few; the overworked, the underpaid, the untrained, and the unappreciated—the TAs! It doesn't seem very fair, and it's probably not. Here we are on the ground with the students with a difficult mission. Junior army officers have been making do for centuries. Adapt and overcome—or don't do it! With this amount of responsibility, there is no middle ground.