something that would like to be a conclusion...

...but probably isn't...

In one of my possible writing assignments for next year, I would like my students to write about how one of their classes has helped them to understand another. I would like them to find an “interdisciplinary link,” or a place where their classes overlap in an interesting or exciting way. Part of the reason I would like them to write about this is that it happens to me every semester. It seems that no matter what classes I have, my combination of classes always influence one another. I think I’ve already mentioned that for my 18th century Br. Lit. paper, I’m looking at how Jane Austen is presented in the high school English classroom. For part of this, I am looking at writing prompts that texts give on Austen. What usually strikes me is that they ask students to write about a topic but not a thesis. So often, they ask students to pick out examples of an element in a way that does little more than demonstrate that the element exists in the text, which the question already presumed anyhow. My reading for that class has helped me realize how important a thesis can be for making a paper relevant and interesting. I remember talking in high school about thesis statements, but I don’t remember being challenged to make them interesting or original or even necessarily arguable, so long as we had something like them. Now, however, I keep finding myself telling the students in the writing lab to deal with the tensions in their paper. They shouldn’t try to skirt it, but rather deal with it and take some sort of stance on it. One student I had this morning had an interesting contradiction—well, it wasn’t so much a contradiction as a place of complexity that I encouraged him to develop. I guess I’ve managed to come full circle; I think the ABGW started by talking about “wallowing in complexity” and this semester has certainly helped prove to me the importance of that.
In some ways, I feel that now that the semester is almost over, I should be able to make some grand statement about the “function of the composition course,” but I can’t. Actually, I don’t know that I could after teaching for 30 years, or I’m sure someone would have come up with an answer by now. But I guess for me part of teaching composition is encouraging students to wrestle with complex ideas in their papers but write about them clearly. This very idea of expressing the complex clearly is never easy. Some students have the ideas but don’t quite articulate them, and I think other students are afraid to have the ideas because it would complicate their writing. Hopefully, I will be able to challenge students to complicate their thinking but at the same time give them the tools they need to feel like they have some control over their writing.
But, this leads directly to one of my questions: What business do I have teaching students how to think complexly? Do I think that my critical thinking skills are so great that I can now teach them to others? This is the part where I should probably call my mom so that she can remind me that as a teacher I don’t have to know everything—I just have to remember that I’ve learned a lot from my freshman year of undergrad (which I know I have even if I can’t remember that I have) and that I have to help students make some of those small steps in learning (they won’t learn it all in one semester of comp).
The other question still runs something along the lines of “What am I going to do with them every day?” The reality of this one is that I don’t think I can answer it till I’ve done it. I’ll go back to my mom, who has basically told me that the first year will be hell. I think she said something to the effect that I will feel like they are pulling my teeth out and I have no teeth left to give. (At times my mother can be wonderfully motivating and inspiring, but she can also be simply terrifying.) So, I will plan and then realize that sometimes it will go better and sometimes worse than planned.
Every educator I’ve every talked to has basically told me that the education classes never substitute for the experience. I’ve always been terrified about making that jump to experience, and now that it is almost here, I’m still terrified. But, I also know that I’m excited, and I’m going to try to use all the enthusiasm I can because it is enthusiasm that has made some of the best teachers I’ve ever known, and I want to dedicate my teaching to emulating them.

dealing with diversity? (4-13)

When I glanced at the class blog the other day (and I do mean glanced, so I apologize if I misrepresent it here), I got the feeling that several of the bloggers felt like they had never really thought about diversity and how it might inform their teaching practice before, although they certainly know it is a key area of discussion. I actually can say that I have thought about this issue before, primarily because I had Sally Cook’s class Language and Learning class at Truman, where one of our main texts was Shirley Brice Heath’s Ways with Words, which Moss and Walters mention in their essay. That class, and Dr. Cook in general, had a huge impact on my understanding of language (probably because I took three classes with her—she was just a fabulous teacher in so many ways). But, throughout the linguistic courses that I took with her, a continual theme was emphasizing the constructed nature of language and communication. In some ways, communication is so natural and we do it so often, that we do not realize everything that goes into it. Thus, we may not fully understand those times when communication breaks down. I actually think about successful communication almost every day in the Writing Lab. When I begin working with a student, I find myself both consciously and unconsciously adjusting to the verbal and non-verbal communication cues of the student. Thus, I try to figure out if they will answer questions, take notes on their own, interrupt me, look me in the eye, smile, etc. I want to know how they will respond to me so that I can respond to them. Now, this doesn’t always work. Sometimes I just can’t figure out how to connect with a student. And sometimes I’m frustrated because I suspect that a session might have been more successful had we been able to communicate with each other. I am also completely aware that I probably have more success communicating with students who have a similar background to me. They are probably white and female, and they are probably from the middle-class and a medium sized high school with a fairly traditional family. This is not to say that everyone like that is easy to communicate with, or that I can’t communicate with someone from a different background. However, I know that even with ESL students I sometimes feel there is something more challenging our communication than just the differences in language. The actual language we speak is only part of how we communicate. Even as a student, I am aware of particular teachers who (I’m assuming) share the same background as me, and therefore I feel more successful communicating with them. It is not that I try to avoid other students or teachers, but like the African American students who want African American faculty in the Faegin article, I am conscious of the way in which background affects successful communication. However, beyond awareness, I’m not quite sure how else I am supposed to change my teaching. About the only concrete suggestions seemed to be trying to make sure the readings are diverse, and be aware of why students may make the “mistakes” they do. But beyond this awareness, I still got the feeling that part of teaching was helping diverse students be more able to join the mainstream, which does not quite satisfy my questions about approaching diversity in the classroom.

Interestingly, and perhaps significantly, the one issue of diversity that I didn’t find in any of the readings was religion. They talked about almost every other issue (age, sex, race, class, sexual preference, disability, etc.), but I think that religious diversity also needs to be recognized because it does have an enormous influence (and certainly plays into some of the areas mentioned above). Religion is the one area, personally, where I feel silenced in academia. It is usually a matter of I don’t ask others and they don’t ask me, primarily because I am afraid others will judge me based on unfair stereotypes (and this judging on unfair stereotypes is what is at stake in every area of diversity). I can think of at least three different times this semester where I’ve had one-on-one discussions with students, both grad and undergrad, on the topic of religion, and we all agreed that we are afraid to bring it up for fear of offending someone or being labeled as uncritical because we ascribe to certain religious beliefs, or being presumed to be prejudiced or unaccepting of everyone else. Perhaps the best way to be aware of the diversity issue is to try to be diverse ourselves. That was easier in undergrad because in the dorms I knew people who were Muslim and atheist, black and white, gay and straight. I’ve realized that we, as grad students, are really homogenous. And like the articles, I’m not sure that this train of thought is solving anything, except raising my own awareness…

Simplify, simplify (4-6)

Occasionally I read the personal blogs from other students in this class, but not very regularly. For some reason, I decided to sit down for a while this week and catch up on what my fellow MAs hve been saying. I have to say that as much as we have talked about blogs in class and the benefits they can have, I’m just not sure that I “like” reading other’s blogs, and it is not because of the actual act of reading. Rather, I guess I feel like I become involved in the life of the blogger, and I tend to identify too much with their problems/difficulties/frustrations. In some ways, I guess it is comforting to read others’ blogs because I know they are going through some of the same difficulties I am: worries about handling the work load, fears about teaching and the future in general, complications in relationships with others, etc. In fact, sometimes it makes me extremely grateful that my life is as wonderful as it is. But then, I want to make others’ lives wonderful, and I just can’t solve everyone’s problems. There is also the fact that I tend to compare what another student is doing to what I am doing, and I almost always end up feeling inadequate. I hear about the papers they are writing, the jobs they are juggling, the skills they are developing, and I feel like I have so little to offer my professors, my students, my friends, and my family. But, as I am thinking about all of these thoughts, I am also remembering what I learn in my weekly yoga class that I went to today. (They offer yoga through the student health center, and I would highly recommend it for anyone who is interested.) Every week, the instructor reminds us that yoga is not about comparing ourselves to anyone else in the class. She stresses our individuality, and she repeatedly says that as long as we are feeling sensation, we are doing our practice perfectly. Well, if I try to keep that in mind, I shouldn’t feel so bad. Am I challenged in grad school? Definitely. Am I learning? Certainly—I’m probably not learning as much in class as I could, and I’m learning more outside of class than I expected, but that’s probably not a bad thing. Am I happy? Actually, yeah, I have every reason to be grateful and happy if I just stick to my own standards and quit trying to fit everyone else’s. And maybe the yoga idea applies to the reading that I’ve been doing about responding to students’ papers, particularly “less is more.” I think the whole I idea behind both yoga and responding is to quit worrying about trying to do everything perfectly, and just try to do a few things to the best of your ability. That may be the best way learning can happen. The problem is, I write this like it is a new idea to me, but it completely isn’t. I can’t remember a time when I haven’t struggled to be satisfied doing the best I can at a few things and being happy than trying to fit everyone else’s definition of what I should be doing. Maybe that comes with being the oldest child, although my youngest brother is just like me. And I think this blog is completely rambling with only a little bit about composition thrown in, but if I can remember to focus my own life and my students’, it probably will be a good thing.

(Oh, and the title for this is thanks to Dr. Barbara Price from Truman--and I'm sure she is quoting an American Lit. author, I just can't remember who--but I find the quote to be wise and yet maddeningly redundant.)