Why I Love First Year Students

While they also annoy me and are prone to toatlly losing their way without warning, first year students are refreshingly, well, fresh.

They say things like, "Is it okay if we read ahead on the syllabus?"

or

"Can I volunteer for that?"

or

"Can I see you in your office hours?"

Isn't that interesting?

After teaching for a while, a few things have become commonplace. I will have a student named Brittney (or Brittany or Brittanee). And one named Ashley. And one with strange colored hair. And one from Chicago.

Except this semester I had a class in which not one student was from Chicago. Or any state in the Midwest. I know because we did an icebreaker.

But you know who was in that class? Two students born with six fingers on each hand.

TWO of them!

Isn't that interesting?

Starting again

I guess I have to start planning fall syllabi, huh? I've been so engulfed in the children's school preparations that my stuff has been shelved. I'm trying some new things with my classes, so I feel both excited and nervous. I also have an essay that really, really needs to get done before class starts. And one that needs to get started and finished soon after school starts. And to boot, I'm debuting my new curly hair when class starts. We'll see how it goes.

It Happens Every Year

It seems to come in cycles. First, I realize that job postings will soon be released. So I search them. Then realize that people are interviewing. I hope for one. Then I realize that other people are planning for the next year. I wonder if I should, too. It all feels so uncertain.

It's easy to get caught up in the joy of teaching and planning and pretend that I'm fixed in the office I love, working with the students who challenge me, thinking of the possibilities for the future. But the truth is that it's all very temporary. I'm temporary.

So, now I'm reading So What Are You Going to Do With That? Again. I'd love to just to keep doing what I'm doing, where I'm doing it. But with some stability and, you know, some remote possibility of tenure. Ever.

And I guess I'm going to add "Have an unexpected, exciting career" to my life list. I hear the circus is coming to town. Maybe that will be the ticket . . . .

Use Your Words

So I'm working on my syllabi and assignments (well, not right now--right now I'm avoiding work and writing this post). I'm always excited about the narrative assignment. It is often the best writing from students and the most interesting. But sometimes it's hard to read because they disclose so many personal and painful stories that, eventually, I just felt like I couldn't handle it anymore. I want to solicit happier stories this time around, and I'm trying to figure out how to do that without literally saying, "Don't make me cry and freak me out, people!"

I also thought that maybe I would write my own response to the assignment so that they will have an example of what I want since I won't have a student example for this new assignment. I thought of a story that happened recently:

Not long after we moved into our new house, The Hubby was moving around boxes and exploring the nooks and crannies. He found a note from the original owners--yep! the family who lived here close to twenty years ago. It was a note from the mother to her daughter. It was a short expression on a cutesy sticky note. She wanted this young girl to know that her mother thought she was bright and loving--and loved. She told her that she was growing into a wonderful young woman (we figure the daughter must have been about ten or twelve years old) and that she (the mother) was having a fabulous time raising her.

I was crying as I thought about what that would have meant to a little girl. Actually, I'm crying right now as I'm writing this . . . . What a sweet gesture. It doesn't just express love. It's a seed of confidence and strength in a world that constantly tells girls that we're not enough, or too much, or wrong in some fundamental way. Who could this girl be, with a concrete reminder that in her home she was safe and valuable? Who could my daughter be, also raised in this house?

When we had our house blessing, I thought of the moments of joy and sadness and laughter that must have filled this home in the last decades. I imagined that the words of the blessing--peace, joy, comfort, safety--went out into each room and took root. This family wasn't the only one that lived here before we moved in; but I saw us as part of the history of this house. The house was in great condition and had clearly been well taken care of. I remember hoping that the people who lived here were also well taken care of.

What a beautiful example of the power of language! I really wish we could find these people and give that note to this girl, now a grown woman. And I wish we could see who she turned into.

Random Bits of Holiday Goodness

Just as I'm hearing the bars slam shut on the grading jail that locks me in every semester, I'm feeling pretty good about a couple of things. That's impressive, I think, because I've been on Googling binges for a while, looking up people I used to know to see just how much more fabulous their lives and careers are than mine. Then I think about how suck I am. And how those people would think I was suck, too. And then I think about what my children will tell their therapists about me (because that's the logical next thought--right?) It's a horrible game. Worse than golf.

But I've had a few moments that interrupt the pity parties:

The Babydoll wanted to bring her lunch to school, so I packed one up for her (it was a Lunchable, but it counts!) I added an orange, but she called me at work the next morning to say that she had changed her mind about the orange because she wouldn't be able to peel it at school. BUT, she has an awesome mother, so her orange was already sliced and peeled and in a cute little container in the lunch box. She was thrilled!

I received promising news on a publication project that I've wanted to materialize for about 1000 years. I'm really hoping that it goes somewhere, but either way, this is the most interest anyone has shown in the project in all this time.

My students were completing evaluations sheets and asked if they really had to write down their answers because they didn't have a single critical thing to say. More than one said that this class changed their perspectives about writing and about themselves as writers. In addition, for the first time--ever, I think--most of the students followed documentation guidelines and didn't give me crazy, made-up crap that drives me nuts.

I made two desserts for two holiday parties and received raves on both!

Things are looking up!

My life is again becoming a bit unbloggable. Though I'm sure that many people have already seen this, it was a bright spot in my day. Hey?! Maybe it's God forcing me into another Thankful Thursday . . . .

http://xtranormal.com/watch/7451115/

Getting some things off my chest

So, old people at the gym: Congratulations on still being able to get around and everything. But could you not annoy me with your annoying, narrow political rhetoric while I'm on the treadmill? It's already pretty unpleasant that I'm still gaining half a pound on the regular despite my time on said treadmill. Your self-involved and greedy ideology isn't helping. Move to the machine on the other side of the room, please. Or just shut up.

The Diva: If you need a wife, I guess I need a nanny. The Babydoll just wrote a note to me that read, "To Mommy. I don't like you. From The Babydoll." I told her that it hurt my feelings, so she sighed, then returned with a note that read, "I like you." I'm thinking this is going to show up in her Freshman Composition literacy narrative assignment.

Abusive parents and other jackholes: What the yuck is wrong with you???!! I watched Tyler Perry on Oprah and seriously wanted to cut off some folks' hands . . . and other parts. Human beings were not created for this kind of evil. Someone should have protected the little boy that Perry was. His stories are so raw (which makes me wonder why his writing isn't better). I keep wondering if there's some child who I see regularly who's wishing that I would be the one to protect him.

Students who either didn't read or just didn't come to class today: I realize that there is a big game tomorrow. Yes--Tomorrow. Today is class. And we covered Douglass today. Douglass! You should be ashamed.

DVR: I hear you calling me. I'm coming soon. I miss you, too. Smooches!

"That's Gay"

Over the years I've had students who have willingly exposed their sexual difference in my classes. I've had students who I suspected were struggling with their sexuality. I've had students who were clear about their own sexuality and who were painfullly clear about other people's sexuality, too. I've even had a student, no joke, whose gender I was pretty unsure of during the entire term. I hope that I've been able to make my classroom a place where students don't have to be afraid of being intentially hurt, for any reason. I hope that I'm getting it right. I know that there have been times when I clearly did not. I'm working on it. But we've been looking at a text recently that forces our discussion of sexuality and I've been afraid that the students who are homosexual are uncomfortable, not because of mean or homophobic comments; just because there are all these words and thoughts flying through the air and they seem to land on them specifically. Still, I don't want to force us to be silent as a class. That's worse.

A post over at CocoMamas today makes it palpably and poignantly clear why we HAVE to get it right. I hope you'll take a look.

Who's the Teacher?

I'm watching my recorded version of "Teach" with Tony Danza. I think it would have been awesome to have him as my English teacher! And most of the students in his class only have a vague idea of who he is. Of course, my students are a few years older than these students and they were thrown by the idea that Madonna was more original and artistic than Lady Gaga.

I wonder if other 50 or 60 year olds could teach a class like Danza is doing, especially since too many of them probably need money these days. Teaching ONE class can be kind of fun, unlike having a full load and all the annoying surrounding stuff. Maybe. Anyway, he was so incredibly nervous. And he made lots of mistakes. I'm sure I must have looked just like him--talking way too much and sweating and making lame jokes--in my first class. Bless his heart.

A Few Things

• In the spirit of lament, I just realized that I'm losing another dream. When I turned 30, I made a list of things I wanted to do in my life. One of them was appear on Oprah. Now that her last season is starting to air (and I assume that they have all been taped already) I seem to have missed the boat. This, despite the fact that I lived in Chicago for a year. I really suck for letting this pass me by.
• I changed my narrative assignment for my classes, partly because I've found it difficult to receive heart-wrenching story after sad, difficult story. I made the assignment much more broad and a little less personal. Still, students want to write about their pain. Maybe the next batch will be a bunch of happy tales about how Pollyanna their lives have been. I won't count on that, though.
• Had a productive day alone, researching and revising. I'm really trying to make publication a priority this year. Let's hope something pans out. Pretty please.
• Autumn is finally rearing its head in the south. The oppressive heat of the summer is being overtaken by the crisp, cool air of the fall. Now we can actually go outside in our new yard. And I can stop sweating out my newly unrelaxed hair. :)

Introductions

So, I had my first day of class. It was a good day. I enjoyed my students in that"undefeated season, before the first big game" kind of way.

I tried a new introduction activity this time. In addition to their names, hometowns, and standard info, I asked them to say who would play them in the movie of their lives. This is something everyone's thought about, right? But some of them couldn't answer. They had no idea. So I gave them the option to name, instead, their theme songs. For a couple of them, this was too difficult, too. One student asked, "Who thinks about this kind of stuff?" Well, obviously I do! I thought that was odd. I've been trying to come up with a theme song since that episode of "Ally McBeal". And I've known for years who should play me . . . probably in a Lifetime movie. Plus, I told them, I have a friend who has a theme song, an actress in mind, and a personal emblem. (Isn't that right, The Diva?!)

Nevertheless, the day was good. I'm satisfied and feel like I'm back in the swing of things. On that notes, I'll go prepare for the next class.

Thanks again today

So, after positive feedback from students the other day, I had a class observation today and the feedback was very useful and positive. I really feel like I'm getting better and better at this job, becoming more effective. Clearly, there are things to work on, but there are more days when I feel like I'm not just droning on to my own nerdy self. Thanks, God and God's universe, for more affirmation that this work is meaningful. And that my efforts are not (always) invisible.

This, AND, a neighbor in my new neighborhood is bringing us cheesecake this weekend! Yippee!

(Nearly) The Ides of March

Yippee for starting Spring Break with absotively no grading to do! I only had a small class of exams and essays and I've managed to knock them out over the weekend. Now all I have to do is completely move and unpack my entire family's lives into a new house. The house that makes me giddy when I think about it. The one that I love more every time I see it. I am soooo in a happy place right now!

Zinn, Salinger, and my students

So, it looks like this is one of those times that, sadly, proves the rule that bad things happen in threes--we've now lost three insightful, artistic geniuses this month. Howard Zinn and J. D. Salinger joined Teddy Pendergrass in leaving the world a little better than they found it.

I was glancing through the remembrances and personal reflections of the work of Zinn and Salinger. Many people had their own threshold moments about how their words changed one's perspective on the world or how their ideas connected deeply to another's sense of isolation. It might seem odd that I throw all three of these men together, but the truth is that they challenged the way we see the world. They made us ask the questions that force a look at our collective humanity: Do I matter? Do other people matter to me? Am I loved? Will my love be returned? Am I free enough to be unguarded? There's something so fearless about their work, all in their own ways. I'm amazed.

As I am meeting with students this week, I'm also feeling pretty amazed at their fearlessness. They are writing literacy narratives and I've asked them to think about moments when writing or language helped them overcome silencing. Their stories are poignant and moving and, too often for only 18 years old, painful. Seriously painful. Rape and suicide and violence and death kind of painful. I can't believe they are telling me this stuff (and several times I have wished they they would please stop telling me this stuff! Geesh!).

The point I think I am left with is that words matter. I know. That's simple and cliche. But I hope that my students realize the raw truth of that idea. Words, even their words, can change the world.

"First of the . . .": RBOC on beginning a new semester

For some very strange reason, I keep hearing Bone Thugs 'n Harmony's "It's the First of the Month" in my head.

Actually, it's the first day of class. Not quite the same thing. Plus, it's almost the middle of the month.

I was so nervous last night. I keep hoping that at some point that will go away. But every semester I have a hard time sleeping the night before and I have to check all the paperwork a bunch of times. My stomach is all butterflies. I don't know what it is, but it's both exciting and vomit-inducing, the nerves.

Anyway, I'm please at how the day is going. My fabulous, exciting class on a favorite author looks as if it will make. There were only four students registered last night, so I was elated that there were seven people there when I walked in. Three of them were from last semester, so I'm going to take that as a compliment. My composition classes are totally full, but we've been instructed not to overload anyone into our classes, so I'm happy to turn down the beggars. I foolishly let people in last semester and I wanted to slap them by mid-term. Three comps is a LOT of grading and I should not have invited more--after all, it's the worst part of the job. This time, the cap is the cap is the cap and you can't override the cap because it's the cap. Sorry. Find another section, chick.

Also excited because I bought a new space heater for my office. It's freezing in there, and it seems to only be my office. Now I don't have to swaddle myself in a big wrap. It's toasty!

Blessings to everyone who's beginning anew. May you all have brilliant, hard-working students, fast grading, and upbeat colleagues!

Seriously?

So, I decided to be all industrious and hard-working today. I started working on my syllabi and planning for classes. I listed all of the class dates and started filling them in with assignments and class work. Then I realized--oh. my. goodness.--these dates start next flipping week! What in the world?! Here I was thinking that I had two more full weeks and that I was really on top of things by starting now. Instead, I suck because I don't even have some of the books that I need to list readings on the syllabus. And you know what else sucks like a Hoover? It's what-the-heck? degrees outside and now I'm going to have to drag my behind all the way to campus as if I'm not still on vacation. This is not cool at all.

Lost

This weekend I took a class that has lead me to think about a new career path. People keep asking me what work I would do for free; professorship was it. So, I've been feeling quite pessamistic and just plain sad about the very real possibility that I have so little control over my work life. Training myself and practicing another skill will, perhaps, give me some sense of that.

I heard Laura Schlessinger again this morning talking about her new book about stay-at-home moms, which I find to be so off the mark. First, most of the sahm I know have at least one degree, so railing against the stereotype that they are stupid seems weird to me. Second, I like(d) my work. It was meaningful and was a significant part of my individual identity. I'm sure many women don't need that, but I do. Now that I'm at home with my son, the sudden change is not easy or entirely welcome. We're having a good time, but it's not what I planned.

One of the reasons that I so enjoyed my job (even though it wasn't tenure-track or ideal in other ways) was that the schedule was so flexible. I could go on a field trip or a doctor's appointment whenever I needed to. Most semesters, I had two days a week that I could keep my children at home or pick them up early for an afternoon of hanging out. I had time to read. And in the summers, I was practically a sahm anyway, if I chose to be. I had the best of both worlds. I'm mourning the possible/probably loss of that. That brings me to this article from Inside Higher Ed that is calling my name. It succinctly expresses just what I feel about being pushed out of academia. Even if one of the opportunities I'm waiting to hear from works out, I still feel shocked into the reality that this whole thing isn't exactly what I had in mind. I think that now I'll always feel that academia is a bad marriage, with the divorce papers drawn up and hidden in the drawer, especially since even tenured professors were kicked to the curb in this case; "Never forget" I'll hear the administration saying, "You are expendable!" And yet, can I do anything else? Do I want to?

What Schlessinger doesn't seem to care about is the fact that working wasn't just about money--although for lots of women it's about exactly that--or about societal expectations--although somewhere in this conversation someone should point out the need for workspaces that support working parents instead of making their lives so much more difficult. For me, working was about making my own individual contributions and identity. Where do I put those needs if stay-at-home motherhood is 100% of my life?

Renewed and Rethinking.

So, the semester has come to an end. Oddly, I feel envigorated. Don't get me wrong, now--I need this break. But I'm working on getting better. Being more effective. More open. There's no deep insight, but I think that something better might be on the horizon. As they say after the SuperBowl, next semester begins with an undefeated season. Yay.

Two Offers

My class was reading Frances Ellen Watkins Harper's "Two Offers" the other day and one of my graduate students pointed out that women are still dealing with the story's major dilemma because women are "held hostage by children." I nearly fell off my chair with laughter. After I had righted myself, I muttered, "Yeah, that's kinda true." The story is about two women. One of them is contemplating two marriage offers; the other is taking the path of work and professionalism. Ostensibly, these are the two, and very distinct, options available to women.

Now, of course, I can't complain so much about having those options. I mean, the women in the slave narratives we are reading don't even have the choice of marriage, and the choice of motherhood is pretty much ripped from them, too. And many throughout time have not had the option of work they choose. let alone work that is fulfilling. So, I won't complain, especially in this semester of course reduction and new pedagogical challenges.

Nevertheless, nobody in the class disputed the grad student's comment--not the men and not the women. I had mapped out the points I wanted to make about the story, but I wasn't really prepared for this personal turn in the discussion. Some of the undergraduate students talked about their plans to vigorously pursue work before they sought family life. One even stated that she planned to be a stay-at-home mom. In general, I got the impression that these young women hadn't given a lot of thought about just how could have any of what they want. I don't blame them; young adulthood is built for other things. Things unrelated to the smell wafting right now from my son's diaper or the annoying whining sound that someone in this house makes every 20 minutes. Or even to the 20 pages of research I should be revising--deeply-- instead of writing this blog entry. But the ideological split in the story seemed very much alive to these much-younger women and men. The problem, though, isn't that women can't handle the dual identity of worker and homemaker. Certainly, black women have had to be models of this pardigm for a long, long time. The problem, and the female grad students understood this palpably, is that there is no framework that supports the actual lives of women in these dual roles. I can't help but to wonder if I've been punished a bit for choosing to make, birth, and parent two children in close proximity. I'm almost certain that I lost a possible job offer because I was pregnant. Even with my flexible schedule and ability to do work at home, I'm not a rock star in my field and I don't see that changing any time soon. I've decided that I don't care. But that's not exactly the truth.

There are days when I foolishly Google former classmates and colleagues to see what they are doing. They always seem more fabulous than me. I wonder if I could have been, would have been, just as fabulous if I had spent the last several years being fabulously productive. Just as often, though, I wonder if I would be (nearly) debt free and more beautifully dressed if I had been working for 7 years instead of toiling away in graduate school.

I don't know. I guess we make the choices we make. Then, we just keep pushing. I don't have much time to work all of this out in my head. My daughter's crying and my article isn't going to write itself. When you figure it out, let me know, please. Then, I'll tell F.E.W. Harper; I'm sure she'll want to know.