End-of-semester Intimidation

I'm still reeling with suppressed anger/shock at an occurrance in my classroom over two hours ago -- here's what happened:

My WGST course ends at 5:15 on Wednesdays, and then another class is in the same room at 6:00. One student from my class stays in the classroom because she's in the 6:00 class -- it's comp 1, with an adjunct who I know a little bit -- so I don't lock the classroom for the 45 minutes between the classes like the college asks us to do (some things have been stolen from computer classrooms). The student who waits is responsible, and sometimes I'm not even out of the room until 5:30. Sometimes other students from the 6:00 class have come in as we're leaving.

Today, I was still talking with students at 5:30 (it's the end of the semester, lots of questions about individual papers/performance/etc.) when a student from the 6:00 class walked in and up to the table where I and about six other students were standing. It occurred to me to ask him to leave and wait outside for his class to start so that I could talk in relative privacy with my students.

He rudely refused.

I was stunned.

I asked again, tried to reason by explaining that we weren't done, his class didn't start until 6:00, so could he please just wait outside. No.

He escalated the situation, making many defensive claims (he pays tuition! he has a right to be there! my class is over! -- these are just a few of the things he said). Other students are watching, listening, and say things like, "Hey, dude, she's just asking you to wait -- we're still talking" which only eggs him on.

Did I mention that the door to the classroom was closed this whole time? That the student had to let himself into a classroom that had its door closed, a classroom that "technically" is not "his class" until 6:00. Can you say "privilege"?

Anyway, the thing is, this kid knows that our class is a women and gender studies course. The student who waits between my class and his even wrote an essay about her experience trying to educate some of the "vulgar" young males (her word) in her class about what she's studying. She'd been harassed for having our textbook on the table. To this woman's credit she impressively decided to turn that harassment into a "teachable moment" by interviewing four male classmates to find out if they might change their behavior if they knew more about the subject she was studying. I don't know if he's one the students she "interviewed," but she did say to me as she was leaving, "Now you know what I'm talking about in my paper."

So what could I do? I ignored this boy, asked my other students to ignore him ("No, we don't need to talk with him any more") and turned back to the students I was talking with. Another young man enters.

I ask him if he could wait outside until we're done. He starts turning around to leave but then looks to his friend -- who's sitting at a table right behind me getting out his laptop cord, plugging things in, making his presence known. The new boy turns back to me and says simply "No."

The two of them then sit behind me -- the second boy just six inches from my back -- while I continue talking with a student who was having a particularly hard time with an essay revision. The boys don't talk much, but they shuffle papers, pushing them into my field of vision, as they get out their [exceedingly ugly] laptops.

I'm shaking through all of this -- reeling, really -- while trying to listen and advise. Finally, about 5:45, I walk out with the last student. I bring my files back to my office. I realize I've left my textbook and keys back in the classroom. I go back: glare, glare, glare. I then to go the office of my colleague who teaches the 6:00 class, telling him what happened, asking him if he'd be willing to come back to talk with the students. He's surprised, dismayed, and agrees.

Here's the thing: I wanted my colleague to tell these students that I had told him about the experience and then to ask them what happened, perhaps asking them to apologize to me. I wanted the students to see a united professional front to demonstrate that their behavior was exceedingly disrespectful. I wanted to give the students an opportunity to do the right thing.

Of course that didn't happen. The boys got *really* defensive, saying things like, "Oh, so were your feelings hurt? You were rude to me!" My colleague tried to talk with them, even going so far as to say that the classroom space was mine until 6:00 when his class started (they had been insisting that there were there early because " We're responsible, coming to class early because we're prepared" -- other bullshit like that). The boys also got really buddy-buddy with their teacher, using his first name to say, "We've been coming in here early all semester and on the last day she tells us to leave?"

Finally, I turned to my colleague and said, "I guess you're seeing an example of exactly what I was talking about -- here's the evidence." That *really* got one boy incensed: he kept saying things like "Don't talk about me like I'm not here; talk to me if you got something to say; I'm an adult!" Uh huh.

I turned so my colleague and I could leave the room, thanking him again for coming. He was apologetic, sincere, saying he'd email me with the names of the students. I hope so because I talked later with my department chair who thought I handled things well -- but perhaps might want to fill out a form for the Dean of Student Life to put in the students' files. I'm going to do that -- the first student just seemed like he was on such a short fuse. I would imagine he's been intimidating and disrespectful in the past. Our Dean has asked us to report incidents like this one because it provides evidence needed if (or when!) a student needs to be disciplined in some way.

Whew - it's cathartic to write all this, but it also makes me realize how much of the incident I'm forgetting. I need to remember some more specific phrases, things the boys said like "You don't have this room, what time is your class over anyway? You can't tell me to leave. I'm not leaving. You're causing this problem. There was no problem when I came in until you escalated things. You're the one who's making a big deal out of this. You're not telling me what to do." This turning of responsibility is classic abuser behavior -- perfect.

Phrases from the conversation when the other instructor was present: "She was all in my face. There were only a few students in the room so I thought it was over. Only one student was in here. She waits until the last day of the class to tell us this stuff?"

Okay, that's enough now -- wow, police reports must be pretty tough to write! I'm leaving out so many details that contributed to the harassing, intimidating, almost violent atmosphere. And I'm usually a pretty good at noticing details! Tone matters, though, and posture (standing close to me, taller than me).

What a way to wind up the semester -- it's not simply end-of-semester stress. It's a powerful illustration of the power of the patriarchy, of the sexist culture in which we all live.

"This game is well known."

This weekend at an antique mall, I bought a book from 1923 called Four Hundred Games for School, Home, and Playground (Ethel F. Acker, F.A. Owen Publishing Company, Dansville, N.Y.).

I bought it because 1) it was $3.00 and 2) I opened it to page 159 to find a language game called "Composition Relay" that began like this:

"This game is well known. Besides furnishing an exercise in grammatical construction, capitals, and punctuation, it is a good drill in spelling and penmanship."

Hmm, I thought, to whom would this game be well known? What would teaching be like if this game was still well known? Here it is:

"Each row of players forms a team. The last player in each row at a given signal runs forward, writes the first word of a sentence on the blackboard, runs to his seat, and hands the chalk to the next player, who writes the next word. The last player writes a word to complete the sentence and adds the necessary punctuation. The points are usually scored as follows: Speed 25 points, grammatical construction 25, spelling 25, and writing 25. If played during the grammar drill period the score should be: Speed 50, analysis 50. No badly written sentences should be considered."

So I love almost everything about this paragraph:

• the second sentence's parallel structure, which mitigates the overload of prepositional phrases
• the way points are "usually" awarded (imagine having to write legibly in chalk when you're rushing, your teammates are hurrying you)
• the assumption that a "grammar drill period" is usual, well known, common
• the last sentence! It's passive verb is so great
• the fact that students are *moving* in the classroom while they're learning language skills (can you say "kinetic learners"? Howard Gardner's theory of multiple intelligences didn't appear until 60 years later!)
  

How I wish we could reintroduce these physical movements in our classrooms -- at all levels. I like my students to move . . . rearranging them to create sentences ("you're an independent clause, you're a dependent clause, you're a comma -- rearrange yourselves!")

But moving requires space. With federal constraints on education professionals, we end up dropping out these kinds of activities . . . phy ed classes get cut! That's simply unjust, not to mention unwise. Students find a way to move -- often inappropriately.

It should be "well known" that physical activity is essential for learning. Ethel F. Acker says it this way:

"Probably no other single theory in the field of education has made greater progress in the minds of educators and laymen in the past few years than that of the importance of organized play" (11 emphasis added).

Analogies

Or perhaps I should say "metaphors"? These "Internet Vices" make sense to me!

Dojka-Davis Brown Bag Series

This semester, I've organized a little "intellectual conversation" on our campus. I've called it the "Dojka-Davis Brown Bag Series" after two fierce, crotchety faculty colleagues who died in 2009.

Both Stefanie and Mark cared a lot about maintaining the academic integrity of the college; both cared a lot about ideas and their clear expression; both insisted on making intellectual inquiry accessible to students, not as watered-down worksheets but as a serious enterprise.

I'd talked with Stefanie many times over the years about having some kind of faculty sessions where we could share our research interests. In fact, the first time I met Stefanie was when she discussed her dissertation research on Jane Austen at a faculty brown bag session back in about 1992.

Stef wasn't the only one who wanted to share more than teaching techniques with her colleagues. As my colleague Judith Roy wrote, "Mark Davis pursued his research and scholarly activities right to the end, submitting another article for publication just a few months before he died."

Many of us do this academic work, work that is so often hidden or overwhelmed by the demands of teaching at an open-admission community college. But we have few venues for sharing that work. So I organized these sessions -- just did it. We have a Center for Teaching and Learning at our college, but it focuses on teaching tips and techniques.

Anyway, the sessions have been terrific: today was the last one, a lecture about Russian intelligensia after Stalin. We've heard about disability rights in Korea, theories of comics, and just war theory. Every session has had at least four participants, with the largest session drawing nine. Sure, these numbers might be small, but I look forward to increasing them next semester. (I've switched the day/time to every other TUESDAY, noon-1:00 p.m.)

So I guess you could say I'm feeling proud about what I've been able to accomplish . . . work that's not rewarded or even recognized by the institution. But work that's central to the mission of the college and to creating a healthy climate.

However, I still miss my two friends. These brown bag talks will never replace the cranky hallway conversations, the delightful and exasperated critiques both Stefanie and Mark shared with the rest of us.

Meaning Making

I'm working through the final weekly progress memos from my technical writing students. They've been revising sentences to improve them, often by finding buried verbs. Here's a funny revision from this morning!

• Original sentence: "This manual gives instructions to end users."
• Most student revisions: "This manual instructs end users."
• Unusual student revision: "This manual instructs you how to end users."

Just what kind of manual would that be? And would I let students write it as a final project for the course? :-)

It's Typo Season

Here's a good one from a student paper about high school education: "I believe if the government spit evenly the amount of money to every school, there will be available funds for everyone to invest in afterschool."

Good cartoon for class discussion?

(click here to view)

Joel Pett Lexington Herald-Leader Nov 13, 2009 EditorialCartoonists.com

The hypocrisy of our current health-care "system" get summed up pretty well in this cartoon -- or at least one of the most egregiously sexist aspects of that hypocrisy.

Many more awful aspects to choose from, of course.

For example: why does no one talk about the *ethical* aspect of health care any more? Why don't we talk about the absolute necessity of *health* for anyone to exercise any of their human or civil rights? Why can't we have a system -- as do other democratic, industrialized countries -- that provides health care for all citizens?

A Writing/Reading/Texting Revolution

I'm reposting a message I received from a great listserv (techrhet, which means technology and rhetoric, the list where I find out all the cool stuff about technology).

One of the major list participants, Nick Carbone, noted SEED magazine's article called "A Writing Revolution," which he found via Andrew Sullivan's The Atlantic blog "The Daily Dish," a post he called "We're All Authors Now" (starting to feel like nested Russian dolls, huh? That's the power of the interwebs and the power of "reach" and "speed" as Laura Gurak once said).

Here's what Carbone sent to the list (emphasis added):

The key claim: Nearly universal literacy is a defining characteristic of today’s modern civilization; nearly universal authorship will shape tomorrow's.

The article measures the rate of authorship from 1400 to the present age, with a graph to show rates of change in authorship. It defines authorship as having a 100 readers. So one who tweets to a 100 follows, or writes an email like this to lists with over a 100 members, is counted as an author.

The analysis unfortunately includes some cyber-enthusiasm that makes some claims that stretch the argument too far, like this example of what seems to be a logical fallacy: "When United Airlines refused to reimburse a musician for damaging his guitar, the offended customer posted a song online—“United Breaks Guitars”—and United’s stock dropped 10 percent." -- is that Post Hoc Ergo Prompter Hoc?

There's no doubt more to pick at, but the chart and the measures of writing growth, and the fact digital technologies provide at least the potential for every writer to find at least a 100 readers (there's no guarantee that will happen) is very cool to see.

Insight of the week

Students write poorly when they don't know what they're talking about.

It's not that they're bad writers. It's that they're trying to write about something that they don't understand. Or they're trying to make stuff up.

So maybe the lament "They can't write!" should be modified to "They're not ready to write!"

Home sick

Yikes - what's the protocol? I'm achy and drippy and itchy: all I want to do is sleep, but I'm happy to report there's no fever, although I've got sore lymph glands. My immune system is doing its job!

I've been feeling suspicious about impending "'flu" because my Eustachian tubes have been itching like crazy for a week or so. Now the bugs seem to have moved into my sinuses and down my throat.

So I'm hanging out on the couch, drinking lots and lots of tea, using lots and lots of kleenex, trying to grade . . . but going slowly so that my impaired state doesn't disadvantage my students.

Wish me well.

Speech Act Theory-into-Practice

Today's Nobel Peace Prize for President Obama highlights the important accomplishment he's achieved: words matter. Speech *is* an action.

In our age of instant, global communication, Obama's changed the conversation. He's begun to resuscitate the American reputation. We can be proud that we no longer have a bully as a leader.

It's Rhetoric over War that's won: we rhetoricians should be proud to see the Nobel Prize's affirmation that words are actions, as John Austin reminds us in his philosophical How to Do Things with Words.

Austin reminds us that speech has "locutionary force" (the words refer to something); speech also has "illocutionary force" (there's a purpose for the words); speech too has "perlocutionary force" (it has an impact on the listener, who may then act or change).

In other words [ahem! :-)]

• Words are accomplishments.
• Words *are* the results that some people insist are necessary for the Nobel Peace Prize.

President Obama's rhetorical accomplishments are an example of the Practice of Peace. Negotiation and diplomacy lead to a more secure and peaceful coexistence than does violence.

Inviting is always better than Bullying.

Student email

Here's a recent message I've received from a student whose assignments also contain these features: what to do?


Hi Julie-
I left a little not by the door just to let you know in case you didnt see me... sorry about that. I didnt want to both you two.
Thats ok thought, I had to start my other class, so I left early. Since its a bit late in the week, then Ill just see you on monday for class :) If needed Ill just go over some questions if I still have them. Most are already answered. If I need a recap Ill let you know.
Thanks
Student

Still teaching

I started this morning at 9:30 a.m. with online Chat, a way to meet my tech writing students (who have a "blended" class, with on-campus meetings on Mondays and online meetings on Wednesdays).

After 10:30 a.m. (when the chat ended), I answered emails from four students (two who have the flu; one who scheduled an afternoon appointment), read and responded to online discussion posts from students in tech writing, WGST, and Nature Writers, checked the Engl 90 blog to see who'd written lately, and commented on a blog post from the tech writers.

By 1:00 I was driving to school to arrive for office hours, an honors student conference, and class prep for my 2:15 class. That Engl 90 class always surprises me: even seven weeks into the semester, some students don't yet know how to access our course D2L website, and others can't remember to bring their written homework in a form they can manipulate in class -- EVERY DAY we use our computer classroom to workshop on writing. Every day. Two students had to completely retype things today, which put them behind on the day's writing objective, which was to understand the function of a topic sentence and supporting sentences (i.e., paragraph structure).

Class ended at 3:30, but students kept talking with me until 3:45, which is an enjoyable thing most of the time. My 4:00 class got started on time, with a slight technology glitch as I used the document camera. The student facilitation ended up being very emotional -- from the "Women's Health and Reproductive Rights" chapter, these students chose to focus on abortion methods -- and I had to intervene three times, asking presenters NOT to use incendiary, inappropriate language that could cause their classmates pain. Three times. I came away shaken by the experience because I had difficulty being respectful to students who were not being so -- I'm never a fan of raised voices or students who're merely mouthpieces for propagandists.

By 5:30 I was in the Writing Center, where I proctored an exam, read some Leslie Marmon Silko and Barry Lopez's "The American Geographies," and helped a couple of students find an online research resource. At 7:00, the writing center assistant left me alone with my books, and I prepped a bit more for Thursday night's class before going back to my own office at 7:30. There I composed/recomposed, and finally posted a news message about the emotionally draining WGST course, read the first two tech writing reports on our class blog and posted a "Reminder" message based on the omissions of those first two reports, and updated online quizzes for tech writing and WGST.

I left the office at 8:45 so that I could get home to attend the 9:30 p.m. online Chat with the tech writers. By 10:30, I was back to my email, responding to a student's question about a room request for next week's "National Coming Out Day" film. Then I started writing this chronology.

So I'm about done teaching for the day, 13+ hours after I began. Sometimes people ask how many hours a week I "work." The answer is either something like 100 (all my non-sleeping, non-eating waking hours) or 0 because it's not work: it's my life.

Fun day

Today's classes went well -- energetic activities, students invested in what we were learning/doing, jokes and happy faces. I need days like this!

The Engl 90 students were turning in their second polished essays -- and all the prep work they'd done to create those essays (at least a half-dozen pieces of writing). Because they're all such visual folks (they'd already drawn some pictures -- reading someone else's essay about a person of influence and then drawing a picture of that person), I had them do another visual thing with their words:

Wordle

I've talked about it before on this blog because it's just so cool: you paste in any amount of text or the URL for a website, and the software generates a visual image of the words. Bigger words means greater frequency. You can play around with the colors, fonts, sizes, orientations, backgrounds -- even the languages! I told students that I wouldn't be able to read anything other than English - dang!

Oh, and speaking of language translation, today is International Translators' Day [this link has Wordles!]. I learned this from an audience member at Maxine Hong Kingston's talk tonight. And one of my tech writing students decided to give his oral presentation on Monday in Pirate. Yep, it's been a good day.

Anyway, the Engl 90 students loved Wordle; some of them went to other websites and saw what happened. A couple of students realized that if the biggest word on their Wordle was "the," maybe they need to use some sentence variety. Yes!

And now: here's a Wordle of this blog post.

Allegedly Real

This answering machine recording is supposed to be the real message that parents hear when they call a high school in Maroochydore, Queensland, Australia.

Good writers

This semester, I'm teaching English 90 again, a course that's to help students get ready to write college-level writing (whatever that is). The students have so many different kinds of issues when it comes to getting their thoughts down in writing.

Issues range all over the place: from not having thoughts they can clearly articulate . . . to not quite understanding what a sentence is; from not knowing how to read . . . to never having used a computer before; from getting by writing the most banal things to "please the teacher". . . to sharing so much of their lives that I feel pity and awe toward them.

But this semester, I have a couple of the strongest writers I've ever had in that class. These young people are investigating their lives and experiences in a profound, real way. They're connecting what they read to their own lives. They're grappling with complex topics related to literacy, education, identity, and meaning -- topics I think some of my colleagues don't yet grasp!

It's a pleasure to read their work -- sure, it's a bit raggedy when it comes to things like comma use and consistent verb tense. Sure, they randomly veer from first person plural to second person singular back to third person plural. But so what: they're thinking and writing, writing and thinking. I'm lucky to have them in class.

Getting cheerier

I received a lot of feedback on my last post -- primarily on my Facebook page (I sort of forget that I have the two linked). Thanks to everyone who's been sympathizing, strategizing, and listening to me.

Now here's another piece to cheer me up: In a recent Inside Higher Education, the excellent scholar and professor Dennis Baron [ignore the IHE typo of his name in the URL] answers questions about his new book on teaching, writing, technology, and history. The book's called A Better Pencil.

Baron offers a perspective I know but often forget -- that people being what we are (and have been), there is (and has been) more good than bad when it comes to how people teach, learn, and communicate with each other.

I especially like these lines about online education because they reflect my reality:

"But I do see some significant downsides to distance education. . . . I fear that completion rates for many online courses are still disappointingly low, that the quality of much of the education is also lower than what happens in the classroom -- of course I’m thinking about the kinds of courses that I [and] my colleagues teach, ones which don’t require memorization of a body of knowledge but instead call for analysis, speculation, exploration. Courses where reading is intensive, where group discussion produces many insights, and where evaluation can’t be done by machine." (emphasis added)

These are the kinds of courses I value, too, full of the kinds of spontaneous insightful moments that can't be predicted but can only be recognized and cultivated organically by an instructor who's paying attention to all of the people in the room. This instructor knows that "knowledge is socially constructed" and that the room of people s/he's with is a social organism with knowledge-making potential.

The whole interview is good: read it!

Very discouraged

A few college situations are converging to make me feel like I don't belong at this institution any more:

-- continued student complaint about a borderline grade that I have absolutely no reason to cut student a break on: s/he got many, many breaks already during the semester -- my honest attempt to help -- but now I'm feeling as if I should never be "nice" to a student because it will bite me in the butt.

-- department discussion about online courses dominated by [insert adjective here] faculty who have a vested interest in increasing online offerings because the increase will line their own pocketbooks. These are faculty whose "pedagogy" consists of 1) worksheet-type exercises, mostly graded by the software, so they simply have to "design" a course and go the the cabin or of 2) lectures (called "discussions") about topics of interest to said faculty, never bothering to help students understand why such topics might be of interest to the students, who are simply a captive audience.

-- college-wide committee work that serves the programs relatively well but the general education (or "liberal arts") courses/programs very poorly. I've been sitting in meetings listening to colleagues say things like "why can't they think like us?" [okay, not exactly those words], and my [silent] response is, "because what you're doing isn't thinking."

I'm beginning to think our institution isn't about student learning -- defined by me as students actually grappling with the difficult developmental processes that go along with absorbing new information, figuring out how to solve problems that are new, attempting to think for themselves and then articulate that thinking in writing.

Given a new campus-wide initiative, we seem to be about "student retention" (make them happy by giving a good grade so they come back) or more simply "student tuition" (sign up for the classes, pay, and then you have a tiny window for changing your mind and getting your money back -- barely enough time to figure out what kind of class/experience you've entered).

When I first joined this faculty, the institution still had a bit of its old reputation as the premier liberal-arts two-year college, the premier transfer institution. That's gone.

When I first joined, I was eager to make this place a place I wanted to work: joined a ton of committees and initiatives; committed a bunch of psychic and emotional energy. I still do way too much, to a large degree. There's absolutely NO recognition of this kind of commitment by the faculty -- done almost exclusively by the female faculty for no extra monetary compensation of any kind (dollars or reduced course load). It's outrageous.

It's way too early in the semester to feel this way. But I'm about ready to let students pick their own grades, to let me classes out 20 minutes early every day and/or skip a day a week like many of my colleagues, to spend no time commenting on student writing (just slap a good grade), to quit the teaching part of my job. I can still do the entertaining, the one-on-one tutoring, the course design. But why do I really need to teach when it's not valued where I work.

Why?

Update

Well, the keys I lost turned up the next day in the lost-and-found. So I guess I must have lost them somewhere (how's that for an obvious statement). I'm glad my suspicion is unfounded. Now if I could just locate my annotated textbook!!

Klepto Class

I'm beginning to think I have a kleptomaniac in one of my classes. Two very strange things have happened.

Strange thing one:
On the very first day of writing class, Aug. 24, my textbook was missing at the end of class. That's pretty odd since I bring my texts to every class. I thought maybe a student took mine home by mistake, and the mistake would be realized quickly because my text had notes, post-its, bookmarks, paper clips stuck all through it.

No one had my book when I asked on Aug. 26. Two students had dropped the course in the interim, so I suppose one of them could have the book and not know it.

Strange thing two:
Today, my car key went missing from that same writing class. I wore unusual clothes today -- boy's jeans and a t-shirt -- because I was doing a "gender is performance" talk in my women-and-gender-studies course later in the day. I wanted students to notice how differently I was dressed for this class meeting: I've worn skirts every day so far.

As I was walking to my first class, the writing class, I had put my office keys and car key in my jeans pocket, but it felt weird. I remember thinking, "But the point is to carry your keys in your pocket if you're doing masculinity." But I don't remember what I did with the keys after that.

At the end of the first class, which was a wild workshop because students had so many questions about the first essay portfolio they were turning in, I looked for my keys on top of my books -- just my office keys. "Oh, I must have left the car key in the office," I thought, and ran to the restroom for a quick break between classes.

Taught the second class, went back to the office to grade and read, then finally at 7:30 got ready to leave: no keys. Looked everywhere I'd been: no keys. The car's still in the parking lot, so no one's stolen it (which would have been easy since the keyring has an electronic locking/unlocking device), but still I have no car keys.

Luckily, Laura came to get me. Luckily, I have a spare set of keys and a spare car so I can get to work tomorrow.

But it's extremely, extremely weird that two things have gone missing during the same class. What other explanation can there be?