"Classrooms can be places where learners attempt to reduce knowledge to that which can dazzle or deceive. Too often, learners are more concerned with the appearance of knowing than with the genuine investigation which will enable one to come to know, deeply, a subject and our world. In our antiquated educational system, teaching has been reduced to and cheapened into a privatized delivery of facts and data. Classrooms are too often places of violence where questioning has more to do with conquest than inquisition." (Nancy Lynne Westfield)
The date is approaching--August 24, 2010. That's when I'll stand in front of my 19 freshmen students for the first time. As teacher. Instructor. Professor? No, I'm not there yet. They can just call me Maria. I don't know exactly why I have written that I'll "stand in front" of them; I guess that's just a metaphor for me to fulfill my role as teacher while, in turn, they can fulfill their roles as students. But maybe I won't stand anywhere.
I've been thinking a lot about the kind of teacher I will be. I know I have goals and objectives and ideas--all of the things that I want to be. The longer I ponder these things I realize that, despite my deliberate intentions and reflections weeks (months?) before I start to teach English 101, things are going to be out of my control. I firmly believe that I'll learn more than my students will, and this totally gives me goosebumps. But I love learning, and while the prospect of trying to guide 19 young minds through the writing process and hopefully leaving them with at least one or two words of wisdom is outright frightening, I'm very much looking forward to it. I'll be reading and writing like never before. I'll leave comments on papers in the margins with a green or purple pen--I've learned to stay away from the treacherous red ink. I'll have office hours, and, chances are, no one will come to them. I'll have to get to the classroom early to set up the technology because, let's face it, if you're not using YouTube or some kind of new media to teach, you are behind on the times. (Needless to say that I will be having my students use YouTube for their first unit on pop culture!) And I'm sure there will be other numerous things that I've not yet anticipated.
I've heard that the class syllabus is supposed to say a lot about the instructor. Accordingly, the words on my syllabus were chosen carefully. It's the (initial) space wherein I can adamantly announce my teaching objectives until I start to deviate from my initial plans because, as a first-time teacher, it's a given that I will deviate. And here I'm not referring to the content of the course--homework, feeders, unit projects, oral presentations, etc. I'm concerned with the kind of teaching philosophy that is embedded in my syllabus; this is why the words are important. I know I sound really strict, but I don't like that word. Ideally, I want my students to think of me as demanding? Why? Because I want to teach them how to write and how to do it well. I want to be demanding because I care. And I think to be demanding is also to demand a lot from myself: time, energy, time, energy, time.
I would hate my classroom to become a space wherein the banking concept of education manifests itself; that would be horrifying. Ultimately, I know that, for some students, this will be the case, but I will do my best to fight against it. I've had amazing teachers and professors, and there will always be someone that is (hyper)critical and negative, sometimes for the sake of being so. My goal is to not let that someone (if I should encounter a student like that in my class) influence anyone else. Negativity and pessimism can be fatal in the classroom. And, for me, the classroom is a place of meaning; wherein the student can choose to be mediocre only if he/she wants to be.
Friday, July 30, 2010
Sunday, July 18, 2010
One Sweet Day
Sorry, I never told you, all I wanted to say.
Now it's too late to hold you.
'Cause you've flown away, so far away.
Never had I imagined living without your smile.
Feelin' and knowing you hear me.
It keeps me alive, alive...
And I know you're shining down on me from heaven,
Like so many friends we've lost along the way,
And I know eventually we'll be together.
One sweet day.
And all that know is I'll wait patiently to see you in heaven.
Darling, I never showed you.
Assumed you'd always be there.
I took your presence for granted.
But I always cared
And I miss the love we shared.
Although, the sun will never shine the same, I'll
always look to a brighter day.
Yeah, Lord, I know, when I lay me down to sleep,
You'll always listen, as I pray...
And I know you're shining down on me from Heaven,
Like so many friends we've lost along the way,
And I know eventually we'll be together.
One sweet day.
Sorry, I never told you, all I wanted to say...
Now it's too late to hold you.
'Cause you've flown away, so far away.
Never had I imagined living without your smile.
Feelin' and knowing you hear me.
It keeps me alive, alive...
And I know you're shining down on me from heaven,
Like so many friends we've lost along the way,
And I know eventually we'll be together.
One sweet day.
And all that know is I'll wait patiently to see you in heaven.
Darling, I never showed you.
Assumed you'd always be there.
I took your presence for granted.
But I always cared
And I miss the love we shared.
Although, the sun will never shine the same, I'll
always look to a brighter day.
Yeah, Lord, I know, when I lay me down to sleep,
You'll always listen, as I pray...
And I know you're shining down on me from Heaven,
Like so many friends we've lost along the way,
And I know eventually we'll be together.
One sweet day.
Sorry, I never told you, all I wanted to say...
Lyrics by Mariah Carey
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Ever Wonder?
The sun was shining, and it was hot. Many trees had leaves again. This morning, I heard air conditioners. I didn’t like the sound, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it, so I walked to work. Grant was already there. He was always there. He was from South Dakota and had something to prove, I guess, so he made sure to be the first one to work every day, and I didn’t like him but that wasn’t the reason why. I didn’t like him because he was three inches taller than me, and he didn’t fish. I tried to close the door to my office, but he followed me, already talking.
“Good morning, Ben,” he said.
“Good morning, Grant,” I said.
“That was some storm last night.”
“Yes, it was.”
“It made me glad I was inside. Didn’t you think so?”
“I was outside. I had been drinking, and I was walking home.”
He started to say something else, but I opened my desk and pulled out a bottle of cognac and a glass. I absentmindedly poured a little into the glass and drank it. Looking at Grant, I asked, “Do you want some?”
Grant shook his head. I poured another drink and drank it. “Are you sure?”
“I don’t think it’s such a good idea to drink so early in the morning. I read once that people who do that are people who might have problems.”
I poured another drink and raised the glass in his direction. The cognac was good. “I never read that. But, then, I don’t read much.” The cognac really was good. It was good cognac. I was feeling a bit tight from the good cognac. “It’s nice that you do, though.”
“Can I ask you something, Ben?”
“Let’s not talk.”
He cleared his throat. He looked out the window at the sun. Maybe he was looking at a building. He wasn’t looking at me. I sat down. He didn’t move.
“Do you think we have a purpose?”
“Oh, for crying out loud.” I poured another drink. I was going to need it, and the cognac was good.
“Don’t you ever wonder that?”
“Not since I was in college.”
“You never wonder why we exist or what we could be doing?”
“Well, this cognac is good.”
“Why are we here?”
I had to get some work done. He wasn’t leaving. I pointed at the papers on my desk. He didn’t move. I stood up and walked to the window. I took the bottle with me.
“I’ve read a lot, but I still can’t figure it out.”
I opened another drawer of my desk and pulled out two books. “Take one,” I said. “Read it.”
“And then what?”
“And then what what?”
“Are you drunk?”
The cognac was good. The sun was shining. I had to get some work done, and I needed Grant to leave. “And then I don’t care.”
“You much care.”
“I don’t care.”
“But if you don’t care, and you’re the narrator, then how am I to know what to do?”
I took a piece of paper from the stack on my desk, poured a drink, and then wrote a few lines. I handed it to Grant. “Don’t read it in here.”
“Thank you. You’re a real friend.”
The sun was shining when he left, and I sat down. Outside, I heard him read aloud from the note: Read it. Finish it, eventually. Think about it. Respond. Connect it to yourself. Or not. Connect it to the world. Or not. The thoughts are all up to you. But remember Descartes said to only spend a couple hours a year doing hard thinking. And remember that we’re all in the same mess you are. Hence, the magnificent cognac.
I moved my chair and heard him, still outside my door. I tried to speak the words at the same time he did. “But what will I get out of it?”
“Good morning, Ben,” he said.
“Good morning, Grant,” I said.
“That was some storm last night.”
“Yes, it was.”
“It made me glad I was inside. Didn’t you think so?”
“I was outside. I had been drinking, and I was walking home.”
He started to say something else, but I opened my desk and pulled out a bottle of cognac and a glass. I absentmindedly poured a little into the glass and drank it. Looking at Grant, I asked, “Do you want some?”
Grant shook his head. I poured another drink and drank it. “Are you sure?”
“I don’t think it’s such a good idea to drink so early in the morning. I read once that people who do that are people who might have problems.”
I poured another drink and raised the glass in his direction. The cognac was good. “I never read that. But, then, I don’t read much.” The cognac really was good. It was good cognac. I was feeling a bit tight from the good cognac. “It’s nice that you do, though.”
“Can I ask you something, Ben?”
“Let’s not talk.”
He cleared his throat. He looked out the window at the sun. Maybe he was looking at a building. He wasn’t looking at me. I sat down. He didn’t move.
“Do you think we have a purpose?”
“Oh, for crying out loud.” I poured another drink. I was going to need it, and the cognac was good.
“Don’t you ever wonder that?”
“Not since I was in college.”
“You never wonder why we exist or what we could be doing?”
“Well, this cognac is good.”
“Why are we here?”
I had to get some work done. He wasn’t leaving. I pointed at the papers on my desk. He didn’t move. I stood up and walked to the window. I took the bottle with me.
“I’ve read a lot, but I still can’t figure it out.”
I opened another drawer of my desk and pulled out two books. “Take one,” I said. “Read it.”
“And then what?”
“And then what what?”
“Are you drunk?”
The cognac was good. The sun was shining. I had to get some work done, and I needed Grant to leave. “And then I don’t care.”
“You much care.”
“I don’t care.”
“But if you don’t care, and you’re the narrator, then how am I to know what to do?”
I took a piece of paper from the stack on my desk, poured a drink, and then wrote a few lines. I handed it to Grant. “Don’t read it in here.”
“Thank you. You’re a real friend.”
The sun was shining when he left, and I sat down. Outside, I heard him read aloud from the note: Read it. Finish it, eventually. Think about it. Respond. Connect it to yourself. Or not. Connect it to the world. Or not. The thoughts are all up to you. But remember Descartes said to only spend a couple hours a year doing hard thinking. And remember that we’re all in the same mess you are. Hence, the magnificent cognac.
I moved my chair and heard him, still outside my door. I tried to speak the words at the same time he did. “But what will I get out of it?”
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