F for Fail: an anecdote on how advanced education often fails students

I'm taking another class at PSU, my second in as many quarters. The first class was a great experience in many ways: our professor worked as a trusting guide and facilitator. This was a graduate level class and she presented us with a goal, with as much time and space as she could make room for, and as much guidance as she could to achieve that goal. This class frustrated many of my classmates: they felt that they did not understand what it was that she wanted and therefore were paralyzed to act; they wanted prescribed methods and outcomes. She wanted us to think for ourselves and to explore.

I thought that she was fantastic. She was asking us to think for ourselves. She wanted us to write introductions, glossaries, author biographies, and reviews of contemporary reviews for novels that had gone out of print or were virtually unknown. She didn't define what she meant by a glossary, but really, how hard is it to look at a few and then ask her some questions: should it be like this or should it be more like this? It was interesting how much these graduate-level students squirmed because they weren't being given a roadmap.

My second class is the converse. Tuesdays have become endless; I teach all day and then have class from 5:30 until 9 p.m. I come home tired and usually uninspired. This class takes away the opportunity and space for any form of creative processing or critical thought. It's a 400 and 500 level course on Hood Films of the 1990s: thus far, we've watched "Boyz n the Hood," "Menace II Society," "Fresh," and other films. I thought this class was going to be a fantastic opportunity to discuss issues with a diverse group of people (different races, ages, backgrounds) in a rather safe, open environment. Wrong.

There is no discussion. Instead, we show up to class and get our stamp--yes, a stamp--to prove that we are present. If we lost our "exposure sheet" that gets stamped, we have to meekly ask for a new one. If we are late to class for any reason, we do not get a stamp. We then watch the movie. We then get another stamp. We then have a break. At this point, after the second stamp, we can leave. After the break, we "discuss" the film. Really, what this means is we are asked questions and then the professor gives us his answer--apparently the only right answer--and berates us if we cannot refer to even the most minor character by his/her name, because WE NEED TO KNOW THEIR NAMES! We are spoon fed the characterization, the meaning of all symbols, the deeper meaning of the director's cinematic choices, and the themes. This is our reward for staying in class; answers to the test. We take notes. We go home. End of class.

Oh, and should we talk (ask your neighbor for a pencil or perhaps quietly point out that the person in front of us is on Facebook AGAIN!) at any point during which he requires a semblance of control of the room, even if it's when he's turning off the lights before the movie starts, he takes our exposure sheet and subtracts 5 points. Let me remind you, kind reader, that this is a 400 and 500 level class.

Let's talk about the grading. He literally said to us, on the first day, that grading and learning are disconnected. You can learn a lot and not get a good grade. Conversely, you can get a good grade and not learn shit, I assume. The class is worth 100 points. The exposure sheet is 40% or 40 points. The midterm is 30; the final is 30. The essays are ten points each. Here's how he grades the essays (this is awesome):

He assumes  you've earned 6 points on the essay. Yes, he automatically feels that the essay is worth a D. Isn't that kind? Then as he reads, he adds points or subtracts points. This is his wonderful, clear grading scale (that he told us about after he graded the midterm).

The other 20 points on the midterm and final (I assume) are based around mindless facts and trick questions checking to see if the ONE reading assignment per test was read and lecture notes were taken. Seriously, it's a fucking joke. Two points per the kinds of questions I ask my freshmen ONCE or TWICE a year when I give them pop quizzes to see if they actually read the assignment (and only give that often because they're worthless and meaningless and totally do not inspire anyone to read or care or think or learn). These stupid questions are worth 40% of our grade for the class. Our essays are only worth 20%.

Approximate value that this class is bringing to PSU: $90,000. $3000 of which is coming from my school district to pay for my coworker and me to be there. It's a seminar with 60 students.

As Seth and Amy from SNL used to say, "Really?! Really?!"

So what's the lesson here? Well, hmmm, maybe there isn't one. Except how NOT to treat my students and how NOT to run my classes. I challenge my juniors in the film class that I teach more than this guy challenges us. I know which professor I am going to model my own teaching after by providing my students opportunities for reactions, analysis, interpretation, exploration with scaffolding, clear expectations, and guidance. And I'm going to allow myself a moment of feeling validated by the fact that this offends me and that I am not the kind of teacher who values ultimate control, utilizes humiliation, and disallows actual thought as part of my practice.

A Night with Jane Eyre

For her honors project, one of my freshmen read and submitted an essay to Multnomah County Library sponsored contest for the Focus Features 2011 adaptation of Jane Eyre. She read the novel, wrote a draft, revised, submitted, and was selected as one of the winners. As a result, she and four guests were invited to attend "An Evening with Jane Eyre," and she chose a 9th grade friend, her mother, her brother, and me to accompany her.

First, we went to the Heathman Hotel, where we supped on Stilton cheese, cucumber sandwiches, and other delicacies that Jane and Mr. Rochester might have enjoyed back in that era of wind-swept moors and gothic romances. Then the author Chelsea Cain read to us the opening of Charlotte Bronte's novel, and I was reminded of how much I've coveted having a window seat to hide away in and read ever since reading that particular passage of the book. The two freshmen girls and I all took home a brand new, free copy of the book, which was perfect, because I was sitting there thinking, "I am definitely going to want to re-read this (for the 3rd time!) after tonight." I had such a good time with these young minds, so excited and passionate, lovers of books and learning! Both girls agreed that the fact that they'd won a free copy of a book had made their entire night! Their entire week! I concurred!

And I do want to re-read it! Especially after the film. I've rarely seen such chemistry between two people on screen. There was so much tension in their unquenched desire; there were whole scenes during which I didn't move or breathe. Michael Fassbender and Mia Wasikowska were so well casted in these roles and the cinematography was so stunning; I want to wander on the dusky, wind-swept moors in a cape and return home to my brooding lover. Or, maybe just revisit my two favorite Bronte novels, Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights while curled up in a window seat.

"blograstination"

(Thanks, Emily, for the title to this post!)

I am blograstinating right now, in the midst of finals week, with 100 some junior essays and freshmen lit. papers to have graded and entered by Monday, and reminded of my trek to the Andes via stifled bus and long hike at lung-clenching altitudes with my girl Avery. We chanted mantras to ourselves to get us through the physical discomfort of both that long day and some of the difficult, yet exhilarating hikes on the days that followed. Our mantras went something like this: vistas! saunas! brownies! Not really mantras at all, they were little wish lists: items or aspects of the trip that we were really looking forward to relaxing into and enjoying.

Here are some of the little things that I'm putting on my mantra-list right now:

happy hour
Last Thursday art opening
yoga class
a run
starting seeds
sewing more gifts for lovely people
playing with the camera I got for my birthday
a Valentines' making tea party at Danielle's
christening the snowshoes I got for my birthday
sitting around and reading

On a professional note, put on the list being done with grading and planning some exciting new lessons and units. I'm thinking of doing a black studies unit called--working title--"From Blues to Hip-Hop: Black Resistance through Art, Literature, and Music." If anyone has any suggestions that would be 11th grade appropriate, please let me know! Here's the short list so far:

A Raisin in the Sun by Lorraine Hansbury
Poetry and essays from the Harlem Renaissance, including, of course, Langston Hughes
Billie Holiday
Miles Davis
"President" by Wyclef
"Buffalo Soldier" by Marley
"The Revolution will not be Televised" by Nikki Giovanni
Richard Wright
Rita Dove
Maya Angelou

What's stressing you out right now, and what's your mantra? How are you getting through?

2010 restrospective

New Year's Day seems to be a rather quiet day. Perhaps because so many of us are fighting hangovers from the debauchery of the night before. But there's also a reflective quality in the day. I looked up my resolutions and goals for last year, and it's interesting to reflect on how far I've come in the past year.

For arts and crafts, I wanted to continue knitting and crocheting, which I didn't do. But I did sew: curtains, pillows, tote bags, stuffed animals, yoga mat bags. I had fun with it and I'm still enjoying it, and I'm confident that I will keep it going. I have a long list of projects, including curtains for my bedroom, new turntable curtains, tote bags for friends, and more stuffed animals. Plus, I do want to learn to knit, still, and make hats, scarves, and fingerless gloves. Plus, I became a better photographer this year. And looking back at my photos, I realized that I'm quite hard on myself, but I've done some good work this year.

I went further with my garden/homestead than I'd originally planned, but in many respects I also fell short. I have dried tomatoes, figs, and chanterelles, but nothing canned from my garden. I do have frozen kale and berries, peach jam, apple butter, and green tomato chutney. I have garlic bulbs wintering in stockings in the basement. We have drunk most of my own chamomile, and we haven't bought eggs since June or July. This year, I want to grow even more teas and herbs, more lettuce, peas, carrots, beats, leeks, tomatoes, garlic, etc. My bees need more management, so I will need to take some classes and do some work with them this year that may involve collecting wax and making some candles and finally harvesting some honey. Fingers crossed! My hens are fat and happy, and my garden sleeps under blankets of straw from their coop. My compost is lush and wonderful.

As for career goals, I got my full-time teaching job! At the school that I most wanted to be working at! That's been everything, really, having a job that I can put my heart into and apply my creativity and love of reading and writing and education. I can be organized and analytical and creative and weird. I can sing songs to my freshmen about conjunctions, and I can ask my juniors to create their own class agenda. Time to rev up. Back to work on Monday!

If I were to set some goals for myself for 2011, they would be to grow as an educator and continue my work with rewriting the way we grade and measure our students' progress, to create a book club with a few fellow book-loving friends, to learn to knit, to keep on sewing, and to grow another wonderful garden with happy honey bees and plump egg-laying chickens. Plus, I want to backpack and camp, including biking around the base of Mt. Adams and then summit in a two to three day adventure!

 

Happy new year!

Femivore?

Recently, my students and I read Charlotte Perkins Gilman's "The Yellow Wallpaper," and our discussions and examination of the historical context of the story centered on the history of the bored/depressed housewife which wasn't a crisis until after industrialization. Before industrialization, for most except the rich, everyone within the family unit had a role in the survival of the family. Women and men alike worked together to grow and preserve vegetables, hunt or raise meat, and clothe the family. After industrialization, migration into the cities, and the rise of a consumer-based middle class, suddenly the housewife's importance became more tenuous, less defined and vital. She was expected to rear and raise the kids (who after the age of 5 spent much time in school), clean, and shop.

Discussing this history, I began thinking about how urban farmers are again redefining the roles of the family unit. My thoughts on this were rather nebulous, but it struck me as interesting how many of us (myself included. My move to Portland was in no way an accident) choose to live in urban centers where we can commute by bike or public transportation while simultaneously growing a kitchen garden, shopping at farmer's markets, and even raise our own chickens and bees. There's an interesting irony in all of it.

That's why I found this article, "The Femivore's Dilemma" by Peggy Orenstein, somewhat resonant and interesting. I'm not really a fan of the term "femivore's dilemma," (It seems to imply "eating women." Ha!) and I hadn't thought about this issue in terms of female empowerment, since my boyfriend and I both work and then come home to build hives and gardens and coops. But when connected to the history of feminism, I find it an interesting part of the evolution/revolution of our culture.

And in a sense, I can relate. Teaching is a vocation of love, but I'm also met by public contempt. Scapegoating teachers for the problems of our public education system seems to be increasingly popular. (See Obama's Race to the Top.) I was laid off last year, and this year, I am working over 10 hours a day as a long-term sub paid hourly (for 40 hrs./week, mind you) with aproximately 170 students and no health benefits or vacation pay. Of course, I'm glad to have work, and I will apply for full time jobs in the hopes of a better economy and a bunch of other hopes (such as a revolution within the public education system). But if it comes to the point where I wallow in under-employment or being overworked for little pay, I will replace that dream with my secret dream: not to be a stay-at-home wife or mom. Rather, to be a stay-at-home farmer.

Geronimo

Cody Cosay, a member of the White Mountain Apache Tribe, died last week, almost 13 months after his second lung transplant. He was in my 8th grade language arts and newsletter/yearbook classes for the small portion of the 2007-08 school year that he was able to be in school. Vivacious and full of laughter and energy, he drove me crazy with his constant chatter and laughter in class, but I loved his creativity and passion. He'd always leave a trail of tissues and markers and papers behind him, forgetting his binder here or book there, and then he'd laugh at me when I'd try to lecture him. In fact, it was impossible to be angry with Cody; he was a hero.

He was sick as a baby with bum lungs, and he fought his whole life for his health and peace. Last year, I was as prepared for his death as I think I could have been. He'd had his first lung transplant when he was in 7th grade, and he rejected those in Aug. 2007. Around Christmas 2007, when I went to visit him, his mother told me before I saw him that he was dying. And it sounded as though Cody was ready for some peace. But he continued to fight, and on Feb. 17, 2008, he was given a second lung transplant. He returned triumphant for the last month of school, and I was grateful for every chatty moment and bit of laughter that I got to share with him. I was especially thrilled to celebrate with him his 8th grade promotion ceremony from Canyon Day Junior High. We also told him that we'd be there when he graduated from high school.

Cody, our Geronimo (your hero), I can't believe you're gone. Go in peace, angel.

Inspired/inspiring

Today I feel discouraged, but hopeful in my discouragement. Without these low moments, how would I grow? I'm trying to ask the right questions so that I might discover the right answers.

I feel discouraged by the majority of my students who lack any intellectual curiosity and front a total apathy to the world around them, confronting me with statements like, "Persepolis [the graphic novel by Marjane Satrapi] is boring," or questions like "Why do we have to learn about Iran?" I'm discouraged because if I were a more inspiring or articulate person/teacher, I wouldn't have to be bombarded with such attitudes. How do I inspire them to learn for the love of learning and to inquire for the desire to know? I watched "Harold and Maude" last night, and thought, wow, what spirit, what curiosity, what joy at the unending mystery and beauty of life. How do I convey that to my students?

For one, I have to live it. I have to be it. And I can't criticize my students when I'm not inquiring, when I'm not feeling grateful for every moment of being and every mystery of the universe and every puzzle there is for me to solve. I need to be inspired in order to inspire, and honestly, sometimes I am, and sometimes I'm not. It's like seeking enlightenment to seek that constant feeling of blessing and joy and gratitude for life!

And I'm discouraged because of the students I don't know how to help. How do I reach the students who don't try to succeed? How do I help the students who just sit there, tuned out, not seeking my help, especially when I have 29 other students in the classroom and 20 of them are raising their hand? How? I want to help them. I need to help them. Or else I doom them.

The Temp

This weekend I went out with some coworkers, and I asked one of them if she'd heard any buzz about me in the English department as the newbie since I sometimes feel a bit invisible. I was seeking positive or constructive feedback, but she said no, there was no buzz. In fact, she said, everyone's so worried about what's going to happen to his/her job next year that they just view me as "the teacher who's not going to get her job back next year." Or that I'm viewed almost as "a student teacher": here now, gone tomorrow.

This comment was a bit brutal. Is it the stigma of being "temporary" that makes me so easily dismissed or is it something lacking in my work/work ethic? (I think I'm doing a stellar job for coming in at the middle of the year and teaching four courses and replacing the most popular teacher in the school and being liked by my students! Boo yah!--That was a little self-encouragement that sometimes I forget to give myself. It's easy for me to take to heart unintended criticism.)

But I wonder how people who profess to the desire to build community and solidarity at this time can be so dismissive of anyone. Rather than take this personally, I have to consider that in their eyes, I won't be around long, so what's the point in building a relationship? I understand that. I get that. I will try not to be like that, though, and to always make others feel welcome, wanted, and appreciated for their time, effort, and hard work. Especially when they are most obviously working hard.

As for that particular crew, a combination of social studies and English teachers from a couple of schools, who cares: I didn't feel like I belonged with their crowd. Several of them were quite friendly, smart, witty, but overall, I got this feeling that they were a pretentious group, proud of themselves for their ability to use erudite lexicon and several of them greeted me with all the warmth of an arctic blast. Hot air and cold air: I'd rather have fresh air.