doctoral candidate in rhetoric and scientific and technical communication
education
Occupied
2When I first began my doctoral journey, and had just moved to Minnesota, I was fortunate enough to be introduced to Krista Kennedy, who was, at the time, ABD in the Writing Studies Department at the University of Minnesota (she is now an Assistant Professor at Syracuse University).
I had moved across the country, nearly 2000 miles away from anyone I knew, and had left behind a life that I knew well, one in which I worked full-time and went to school full-time, to embrace a different type of life. It was expected that I would have a full-time academic career, but leave my full-time work career behind, at least for the foreseeable future. It was, to say the least, culture shock. I didn’t know what to do with myself because I didn’t understand how to work successfully without working constantly and, to put it mildly, in a suffering way. What I mean by that is that I had come to understand success as a grueling, difficult path that required me to suffer in order to progress.
Why Krista mattered so much to me at that time (and I still consider her a cherished mentor) is because she suggested that I read Those Winter Sundays, edited by Kathleen A. Welsch. It is a book about female academics who come from working class families. She said it would help me put things in to perspective, to understand that I wasn’t alone, and that this did not have to be a struggle (a lesson I still haven’t learned, by the way – I am, even this semester, teaching 3 classes while working on my dissertation).
Fast forward to this October (2011). I was at a conference in Arizona, where I’m from, and was able to visit with family. During a family outing, we found ourselves in a lower-economic area of Phoenix and were looking for a place to get something to drink. My brother pulled into a 7-11, but some of us were reluctant to get out of the car because there were many people standing around looking like they might ask for money. My brother said to us, “That could be us.” My brother, an assistant professor of education at a university, reminded us that we weren’t far from those very people, and that at a point in our lives, we were homeless.
I came home, thinking about this. Thinking about being poor and destitute and disenfranchised. We were the working class poor at one point in our lives. There were times when we, as a family, and sometimes individually, did not have a home — or the place we called home was the back room of a business, the makeshift cots in a van, a sleeping bag in the back of a station wagon, or a very small motorhome parked outside of a business. I’m not there now, but I often feel as if I’m only a step away from being there again. And as I pondered this for the next few weeks, a friend suggested that I may wear that as a guard against being privileged, against being amongst those who are privileged.
That brought me back to the book that Krista had suggested a few years prior. In the foreword, Janet Zandy writes
Class differences are measured by the absence of the right clothes, the best early medical and dental care, and, perhaps more importantly, the intangible psychological lift of the privileged, of growing up economically secure with space and time for play instead of constant work, where one explores options rather than settles for what is available. Class status and circumstances shape, perhaps determine, choice.
(viii)
I needed a moment to catch my breath. I had been struggling with trying to understand the Occupy movement. It seemed, to me, to be a lot of privileged people making a stand. I didn’t see my people out there. And why would I? They couldn’t be there. They are at work, struggling to make ends meet. They don’t have the option to go there. They don’t have the choice.
Throughout this occupation of parks and campuses across the country, I’ve tried to connect with this movement. I’ve tried to understand it, to make sense of it. And still, I struggle. Maybe that is because I don’t see the choices available, even to this day. Maybe it’s because I do still feel underprivileged in many ways (although, I know I’m not — I have an education that many people dream about, a roof over my head, and food in my kitchen). What all of this makes me wonder is if I’m the one who is occupied; am I occupied by a past that has become such an integral part of me that I only see a life of few choices? Or has it always been that those who need change the most are the least able to make it happen?
On being skeptical
0I’m often asked what I teach, and when I respond, it is often with “I teach thinking.” Some people nod, without asking what I mean, while others look at me quizzically, and still others engage. “What do you mean by that?” they may ask.
I teach thinking through the exercise of writing and reading. Ok, so officially I teach writing. But when a student walks into my class , I can guarantee that there is far more deep critical thinking going on than there is writing and even reading.
Why do I think this?
First, I’m interested in what students think about issues – and this means any issues. I’ve learned about the best places to buy vinyl (and why they are the best places) in Saint Paul. I’ve discovered that volunteerism means different things to different students and they can give strong arguments for their ideas. And just this week, I had discussions about why Ironman is better than Batman, why the 99% of the US is the 1% of the world, and why Ritalin is not a performance enhancing drug – all instigated by FYW students.
Second, I grew up in a blue collar household where skepticism was encouraged. We we encouraged to think differently than our peers, to think outside the box, and to question everything. While this has led to difficulty in fitting in with peers at times, it has also given my siblings and me the strength to not only believe in what we thought, but to be able to argue it effectively because we would know both sides of an argument and know them in depth. I grew up watching more news programs than anything else, and it showed when I wrote papers or engaged in formalized debate on the various debate teams I was on. What all of this means is that I encourage the same in students I work with. If we watch a documentary, we spend far more time on what we didn’t see than what we did because it’s as important to the story as what was included.
Third, while I am skeptical, I also give the benefit of the doubt when it comes to students exploring their ideas. I want the classroom to be a safe place to explore all kinds of ideas, not just the comfortable ones. While I may not agree with them, I work hard to assist them in thinking through their ideas and their arguments. I throw opposition at them while giving them ideas on how to bolster their own arguments.
All of this sounds so simple and matter of fact when I read it, but I think that anyone who teaches knows that this is often much more difficult than it would appear. And if I wasn’t skeptical when reading back through this, I would be disappointed in myself. The skepticism forces me to think more critically and challenge myself more stringently in each class period. I hope that never ends.
which comes first?
01 year ago
Concepts of pedagogy are reflected in nearly everything I do that requires interaction with others, with technology, and with media in general. Having had a background in educational technology / instructional design/technology, I find that every decision I make in regards to technology comes down to a few basic questions that I ask of that technology:
- What is its impact on the targeted audience?
- Does it fulfill a need that is not otherwise fulfilled?
- Am I engaging technology for the sake of the technology, or for the sake of improving communication?
- Who does this implementation benefit?
- What is the purpose of the implementation?
I think some of these questions come from my technology background, some arise from my rhetorical training. In all dilemmas, I am thinking about audience and purpose. While doing so, I’m considering new ways to engage my audience (whether that is in the classroom, at a conference, or with colleagues).
It boils down to the question of “Am I using the right tool for the right situation?”
I think, with all of the tools at our disposal, we often rush in without considering the need or purpose of the tool. Why should we? It takes 2 seconds to make it happen.
But the ramifications are that we may establish a foundation that leaks. If that technology is not kept up, if it is abandoned mid-building, what does that say to the authority of the developer, the construction of a cohesive identity, and the ability of us, as rhetors and instructors, to anticipate the needs of our audiences?
I love technology. I often rush into it with abandon when applying it to my own desires. This often helps me define how it will be used in a larger setting. When it comes to implementing it on a grander scale, especially in the classroom or for colleagues, I’m much more restrained and thoughtful, using the knowledge I’ve gained from personal use and interactions, to determine its purpose within the greater network.
Finally, I adhere to the adage that “just because we can, doesn’t mean we should.”
magic
02 years ago
After I wrote my post on faeries, a friend sent me a link to the comic strip PartiallyClips. In this particular strip, the characters are talking about magic, and how magic would be a useless discipline, like humanities or communications–although I argue that communications is in the “humanities.” Later in the week, PhD posted a strip about budget cuts and how the first to go were the humanities characters. I started thinking about two things: first, the idea of magic within the humanities, and secondly, the idea that humanities are an expendable discipline because no one quite understands them.
Magic scares people. It isn’t easy to explain, and it is often wielded by those on the outer edges of society. In much the same way, the humanities scare people. The humanities are about people. We extract information about people, analyze it, and reproduce it in different forms. This is scary for some. It is disruptive and worrisome. But it’s also the way humans are.
It is said that Socrates claimed that “the unexamined life is not worth living” (I say this speculatively, because there is some question about Socrates’ actual existence). We have been examining ourselves since the beginning of time. Is this why it is so ridiculed and feared? Have those in the hard sciences decided that we know everything there is to know about ourselves, whether it is philosophical, artistic, or linguistic? Is it possible to know everything? And if we look at it from a hard science perspective, understanding that we are still trying to understand the full capacity of our brains, isn’t the argument furthered that there is always something to learn about the human condition?
If there was a magic discipline, it probably would be the humanities. The humanities bring us the literature, art, dance, music, thoughts, and so much more that allow us to dream about the impossible. Do you think we could have gone to the moon if we hadn’t ever dreamed about what existed up there first? Would we have cared?
Maybe I’m biased — ok, I am. I love working in a field that looks at how humans use language, how it develops identity, and how all of it changes dramatically over time. I love understanding how images and text work in conjunction to create something more powerful than if the two stood on their own. I love it. It is magic. And it’s also science. And it’s also human.
I wouldn’t have it any other way.
inside –> out
02 years ago
“There are trees in our hearts.”
Nalini Nadkarni
On Facebook yesterday, my friend, Betty Schlueter, (who is an amazing photographer), posted a link to the TED video of Nalini Nadkarni, an ecologist who looks at tree canopies, interdisciplinary studies, and urging people of different backgrounds to unite for a common cause.
The first time I watched, I was attracted to the emotional appeal. I’m a tree-hugger. I love trees. I love to touch them, smell them, and talk to them. I’m not ashamed to admit that. I was interested in the idea of creating bonds between people who don’t have that connection to nature to nature itself. But I was also amused by her humor and the way she connected that humor to a very serious issue.
My second time through the video, I began to see the similarities in the way we approach our particular fields of inquiry. She invites artists into the forests to interpret them in a way that connects two seemingly different areas of interest: the sciences and arts. And this is how I approach my studies and teaching practices.
Yes, I’m a writing instructor. But I started off in geology. I like looking down, thinking about how everything is constructed from a foundational support, how it is built, layer upon layer, until it becomes something stronger and more stable.
When I’m in a writing class, I think of writing in different terms. I don’t think about how I interpret it. I’m much more interested in how the students in the class interpret it and how they can find it useful.
We’re working on the final projects of the semester. My classroom is entirely collaborative and students are working as a part of a team to put together the projects. I asked them, “what matters to you?” “What are your interests?” The class isn’t about me. I already know how to do this stuff.
So I ask them to be creative. Not because I expect them to be artists. I don’t. Many of them are pre-professional (med, vet, dentist, etc.), and others are business or agricultural students. While some of them may consider themselves artistic, what I really want to encourage them to do is to look outside of the box to think about what will suit their project the best. Sometimes that’s a wiki, sometimes a webpage, sometimes a video, and sometimes a message in a bottle (yes, I’ve received projects in all of these forms).
It’s about taking what is inside and bringing it out. It’s about going into the forest, looking up, and seeing the possibilities. It’s about looking into their hearts, and seeing the roots that grow there, waiting to connect to something bigger.
It’s about communicating with one another, sharing the excitement, and watching a project come to fruition.
I haven’t been disappointed yet. Each of them is amazing and contributes in ways that I could have never imagined.
the omission factor
43 years ago
I’ve always been conscious of my place within society. I’ve known, since the beginning it seems, that I’ve been on the peripheral edges looking in, wondering how to get “in.” I’ve been reading back through my blog in an effort to not reiterate things I’ve written about before, and I’ve realized how much my identity as a marginalized person has permeated my writings. I’ve also realized how much it has really affected me in what I’ve chosen to study, how I go about my education, and why I’m so keen to understand these artificial divides we construct.
I’ve written several times about our poverty and the trials that went along with that. As I’m pondering all of this, though, and re-reading my own writings, there are moments in my life that are becoming more important and more defining than others. Most of these concepts have to do with an omission of some sort.
Take, for instance, the linguistic style of dropping g’s. Obviously the dropped g has a connection to class. I didn’t realize how this impacts us in education until one day when my brother, Shadow, came home to tell me about the girl he was dating (who would later become his wife). He said, “Jennifer comes from a higher class than we do. She doesn’t drop her g’s.” I thought about it. I considered, very carefully, how I pronounced things. I started paying attention to how my classmates pronounced words. I realized that I was in the minority, that others, especially in an academic setting, were much more careful about their “g’s” than I was (or that it was just a part of their linguistic style). My omission of a consonant, whether noticed by others or not, set me apart in my own mind.
It is assumed, especially with an English background, that we have read the classics. It is assumed, when you walk into a college classroom (at least it was when I first started college, but I don’t think this is necessarily true now), that you will have a basic knowledge built upon certain texts. I haven’t ever really been introduced to the canon of English literature. I took Shakespeare in college because the one Shakespeare play I read in high school, Romeo and Juliet (of course), reminded me of the tickets I had won to see Much Ado About Nothing when I was twelve and how privileged I felt to go to a play at the university to see Shakespeare. I thought you were supposed to immerse yourself in Shakespeare to be educated (and to be fair, I actually love Shakespeare now). But I haven’t ever read Moby Dick, Huckleberry Finn, or even Wuthering Heights (which is on my nightstand because I thought it might be time). I can pass myself off as being knowledgeable and well-read, but in reality, I’m not. I read everything I could get my hands on, but acceptable literature was rarely available to me. This omission of a “real” literature background has forced me to have a distaste for canonical discussions. To me the very idea that only certain books allow us to have a cultured education is ridiculous.
I once took a creative non-fiction course. The first assignment in this course was to write about a real-life experience. I wrote about being trashcan kids. It’s such a real experience for my family, and one that is not shared by many people we know. We then had to share this writing with the rest of the class and have it critiqued. As the class read the story, I could hear the rumblings. Was that my panic or their disdain? Then came the discussions. “Disgusting.” “How can people live like that?” From that moment, I decided that it might be better if I didn’t share too much information about myself. It wasn’t until I was in a graduate class dealing with memoirs and trauma that I actually shared more. At that point, one of my classmates began talking about being raped. The class went silent. It was like they couldn’t relate. In order to alleviate some of the focus (because she was obviously still dealing with the emotions of the attack), I talked about being a walking cliche: poverty, homelessness, abuse, and other things. And yet here I am, fighting against the status quo to make my life different. Then my classmates opened up. Another talked about her alcohol addictions. Yet another spoke of living on the streets (by choice, but still about the impacts of that on her outlook). What I omitted, though, was that this is a struggle. Every day is a struggle to overcome these issues.
I own a home (which I’m trying to sell). I don’t tell many people about my home, and I have rarely invited people over. Why? Because while I own my home and the 2 1/2 acres with amazing mountain views, it is the type of home that automatically establishes an identity for the homeowner. I own a manufactured home. When people call it a trailer, I cringe. It’s on a stemwall. It’s in place. It doesn’t have aluminum siding or paneled wood walls (and I’ve lived in those types of homes, as well). My biases start coming out because of the stigma that is attached to that type of home. I don’t tell my classmates where I live and I don’t invite people over for study groups because I’ve heard their comments about those types of homes. This only places a larger divide between my classmates and me. I’m not one of them.
While some of these divides are my own creation, some of them are also based upon a societal need to define and organize everything and everyone into categories. If I try to pass or blend in through omission, is that defying categorization, or just feeding in to it?
new directions
0
With the changing of my blogging clothing, I’ve decided to add a bit of academia to my blog.
Above the first post on my blog, there is an announcement box. In this box, I will be posting rhetoric/composition/scientific & technical comm conferences and calls for proposals/papers.
Mostly this is for me, because I can’t keep up with all of the deadlines and opportunities. But I think it’s also a great way to share this with other people who might be interested in seeing what is available out there.
If you know of a conference / CFP in these areas, please send me an email. I’ll get it posted.
your cheatin’ ways
0Students are ingenious when it comes to creating ways to pass tests. After watching this video, I had a few thoughts:
- I might want to reward a student who put so much creativity, time, and thought into cheating;
- If this much time is put into cheating, why isn’t this much time put into actually learning the subject matter?
This really is creative, but if the same person who came up with this developed an equally creative way to learn the test materials (and believe me, I hate tests — I don’t think they are a fair assessment of what is learned in a class), then perhaps even more people would benefit from an innovative mind.
via Michael Faris
more videos on cheating
being a teacher
0Our final days of classes were this last week. Next week is finals week and while I’ll be in the classroom assisting students in their final submissions, many of the students finished their coursework this week and are done.
I taught (facillitated, really) an education course — teaching technology in the classroom. Most of the students are going on to become elementary school teachers. I really think that most of them are going to be really good teachers and that their students are going to love them dearly. I know that I will miss working with them and learned as much from them as I hope they learned from me.
Taylor Mali speaks about what teachers make. It’s not about the monetary rewards. There is so much more to it. I barely made any money off of this course but I got so much out of it.
One of the assignments in our class was to create a digital story, reflecting on whatever subject the student wanted to reflect upon. One of the students chose to reflect on being a teacher and posted the video to YouTube (so I’m not breaking any FERPA laws here). I think she sums it up so well.
While I may not be teaching children in the classroom (now or in the future), the reasons are the same. I loved seeing the students get excited about mastering a new technology. I loved seeing them think about the applications of the technology and about the pedagogical benefits of some of these tools. I loved going in to freshman English classrooms and sharing both rhetorical and technological issues with them while they finished up their semester.
I found out something this semester: I liked being in the classroom and really enjoyed sharing my knowledge with others and learning from them as well.
viral
0I hate to perpetuate viral videos except that some of them are worth promoting. The Digital Ethnography Group at Kansas State University regularly put out videos that make us think, ponder this social networking we do, and look at what we’re doing in a new way. It’s no surprise that this newest video makes us think about what we’re doing.
I saw it the first day it came out (a few weeks ago) and put it in my YouTubes favorites to think about and hold until I was ready to talk about it.
Having been a student for the past (*cough*) few years and an instructor this semester, I can say that many of these things are true — but not all of them and not for all students. What I think is important about this video is that it may make us look at education a little differently.
Lecturing from the front of a room doesn’t work. It hasn’t ever worked for all students. They aren’t engaged, their brains aren’t being challenged. Hearing a voice droning on and on about topics that most students won’t find interesting is a waste of the students’ and instructor’s time.
Instead, instructor’s should be out talking to the students, working with them, understanding how the topic will work within their interests and how they can build on the things they know to incorporate what can be learned in this course. If students are bringing laptops, iPods, ultra-mobile PCs, and cell phones to class, how can those tools be used to incorporate learning? What can we share with our students about sites like Facebook and MySpace to encourage them to use those sites responsibly (and this is a topic I’ll come back to later since it is my call to arms statement in my thesis)?
Where can we facillitate learning and not just give directed instructions? I think that we, as instructors, learn just as much when we open a classroom up and promote conversation than when we stand in front of a classroom and lecture. That type of instruction isn’t any fun for anyone.