Assignment- Past, Present, and Future

Apropos of nothing, I thought I'd share an assignment I came up with for my honors college course. It's called "Adaptation in a Changing World" and uses an integrated approach to learning that also encourages reflective and creative thinking and combines it with developing research skills. So I thought I'd share it too. I think my students will like it. What are your thoughts?

Past, Present, and Future

DHC 270 Integrated Learning 

Research Assignment 

Adaptation in a Changing World

This research paper takes an integrated approach to predicting the future of a given field of study or work. 

Take for instance the field of aerospace engineering (also see “rocket science”).  

Introduction: You might look up some background and context for the field, and think of definitions related to this field.  You do not need to justify your interest in this field; your choice to research it is justification enough. In aerospace engineering, you’d look up terms like astrodynamics, electrotechnology, materials science, aircraft structural and design, avionics, software, and fluid mechanics. Maybe you’d like to see what sorts of jobs are available in this field. Narrow this a bit- instead of aircraft and spacecraft, think just of one field- spacecraft (because why not?)

Next, think of the history of your field. You should be creative here. For example, in aerospace engineering, there is a raft of history, cultural significance, and research; so much so that you’d have to pi ck and choose. I personally would begin with thoughts of Galileo, and Copernicus, then move to mythology and stargazing (astronomy? astrology?!) and flow into speculative fiction, such as the works of Philip K. Dick, Arthur C. Clark, Isaac Asimov, and Harlan Ellison. While I’m at it, I’d swing by the original Star Trek television show by Gene Roddenberry. 

This is not fancy, however, as art and speculation often prompt real world development. Think of the communicators from Star Trek, as seen below left. 

Visual elements are encouraged. 

Dr. Martin Cooper, who invented the first handheld mobile phone, credits the Star Trek communicators for his inspiration. Flip phone, anyone? Imagination and creativity are what spark innovation. Negative outcomes are still valuable outcomes. Do keep that in mind. 

There should be a point in your paper in which you describe the general trajectory of your chosen field. For instance, in aerospace engineering, they have gone from myth to speculation to steps towards space flight to actual space flight, landing on the moon and landing a rover on Mars. 

Then the paper gets fun. You’ll need to do some speculation of your own. You may consult the stars (not really), but perhaps your paper would be better served with primary and secondary research. Your speculation may take the form of where this particular branch is heading- in our example, I would consider space tourism, a colony on the moon, the likelihood of a manned space flight to Mars, and exploration outside of our solar system. This won’t happen in our lifetimes, but perhaps we can imagine what will take place eventually.  Incidentally, I recommend a book called “The Martian”, by Andy Weir. It’s speculative, as scientifically accurate as possible, and comments on the human condition, even when someone is stranded on Mars alone and far from home. 

In the conclusion, you might imagine your place in this field. My place in this field is to encourage others to follow their dreams and shoot for the stars. If my life were arranged differently, I might have been an astronaut. 

There is no minimum page count, though you may not exceed 15 pages not including the works cited.  Use MLA format and make sure you conform to the conventions of research and writing. 

A Million Little Things

Oh My Gosh, do I have a problem.

It may not seem like much but I have to stop drinking coffee. Like altogether.  I figured this out two weeks ago.  My body has bee intensely disinterested in working with me on getting food in and not being sick. I tried lots of medicines, including an antidepressant since there is seretonin in the gut and the doctor thought it would help.  It helped a little, I admit. My husband also reports that I am less cranky and less bubbly when I take it.  But after a month or so, the benefits dwindled and I have been back to potatoes and rice and bland things for awhile.  What other possible irritant could I possibly give up?

*Groan* I wish I hadn't asked.

So what the heck. I have stopped drinking coffee, except for one cup a day.  I split that into two half cups, or rather two half-caff cups.  I've started drinking loads of tea, which not only helps but keeps me hydrated.  I've had muscle tension, headaches, pain, crankiness and days where I feel like I'm going to pass out from fatigue.  In coming off of my addiction, I've had this fogginess about me, like the world is moving faster than I can keep up with.

Pretty severe addiction, huh?

I have been drinking coffee since I was 11.  That's 29 years. About 20 of those years have been about 2 pots a day.  Not cups, pots.  I've stuck with it through ulcers and a year of this colitis business.  Wanna see me without coffee?

Not Pretty

 Yeah.  

Wanna see my new haircut (with coffee)? 

Caffeinated

The good news is that I am so much improved. It's like I stopped drinking poison, and I am so sad.  

On the bright side, I can eat dairy again.  DAIRY! I thought that was gone forever. I'm going to eat ice cream and stuff and cheese.  Yeah. 

In other news, I took a group of students up to Leavenworth, Washington for a trip to Icicle Creek Performing Arts Center.  Lovely people, and we got to eat lunch at a pretty swanky restaurant called Kingfisher.  Some people in the group wanted to hike; others wanted to go shopping in Leavenworth. Nobody wanted to leave each other so we hung out around the grounds and climbed up hills for a bit.  I snapped a few photos: 

Icicle Sculpture

Icicle Creek

See the ruby in her mouth? 

I love that 12 students who only met a few weeks ago are so attached to each other that they don't want to part.  We all headed into town as a group and shopped together, only splitting up for about half an hour.  It's the sweetest thing I've ever seen a class do. 

The other really neat thing is that I have a writing mentor for the class and a co-teacher. (Ah, the beauty of grants!) My writing mentor, Jamie, is a wonderful budding teacher and her kids came to see us off the morning for the trip. Megan and Dylan are practically class members anyway, since they sometimes attend class or help out in one way or anther. Kyle, one of the students in the class, was taking his dog so he was driving up separately.  He didn't say anything but smuggled Megan and Dylan up to the lodge.  Cool as could be, both Megan and Dylan did our writing assignments with us and participated like everyone else.  I loved the way the whole day went down. I am a lucky, lucky teacher.  

My other English classes are going well too.  In one assignment, my students were to summarize an article that they chose. Preferably something interesting, academic and in their field of study.  The student above was talking about a peer-reviewed article from the Library database on orgasm in contemporary romance novels.  She said she couldn't help but have fun with the title.  I took a picture and put it up on Facebook. Can't help it.
On the 21st, I'm heading off to Boston to present at the National Council of Teachers of English conference. I'll connect with my Oklahoma teacher friends and attend seminars and probably get a good look at Boston.  I like it there, but it'll be cold in November! I may have to stay inside a nice, warm museum or something...

Wish me luck- pretty soon I'm going to wean off of caffeine altogether, forever.  For some reason that looms over me like a cartoon monster.  On the other hand- ice cream. 

Random 5 Friday (On Friday This Time)

It's Friday and time for my five random events or thoughts this week.

1.  I love my students, and this week I got to take a class on a field trip! I'm so grateful for grant funding and pilot courses.  This one was to the Wind Farm just outside of town.  The winds are regularly up to 40 miles per hour.  There is a local sandwhich shop and the owner, Roz, made us paninis (Ok, mine was a gluten free, vegan sammy) and sent along a panini grill. I cooked lunch for everyone.  We did a boatload of writing, had a very interesting, hour-long lecture and got to go inside one of the turbines. These ones are 220 feet tall, taller than the Statue of Liberty and there are 149 in our area.  Good times!

It was so loud, but the noise is mostly wind.  The propellers sound much smoother and are so enormous.  This is the first video I've tried to upload so let me know how it plays.

My Class

Perspective Shot

2.  I am not a morning person.  Repeat: I am not a morning person.  At least I never have been.  Maybe I'm getting old, but I used to regularly stay up until 1, 2, and 3 a.m.  Now I'm yawning by 9:15 and passed out by 9:45.  Eleanor also gets me up pretty early to feed her and give her water. She really likes routine, much like her staff.  I mean owner.  Ah, who am I kidding? I'm pretty much her servant.  It's also getting colder at night and G likes the bedroom cold. There are two comforters on the bed and another blanket.  Eleanor usually sleeps on my feet, but lately I'll wake up to her sleeping under the covers next to me- both of us purrfectly warm.  Happens every winter.  However, since she's taking Methiozole for her thyroid, she's lost the volume of her meow and the volume of her purr has increased.  This wakes up G.  Usually he can get back to sleep but not always.  When that happens, well, let's just say that I woke up extra early this morning to a kitty extraction.  He removed her from the covers, snuggled her and put her back where she belonged.  She huffed off and didn't come back for hours! 

Also, no pictures of that... 

3.  Since I'm not a morning person but a night person forced to function in society and to serve a cat, I spend a little time each week, maybe thrice weekly, at the gym.  I enjoy weightlifting and G does not. He also goes in earlier than I do each day.  So he heads to the shower and I head to the gym around 6:30.  Here's what that looks like in Ellensburg, Washington. 

"So that's what morning looks like!" 

4. Next week is my last week working at my job.  It's been a nerve-wracking and frightening journey since June. I am disappointed that even though I have a contract, my employers just couldn't come through.  I am glad they tried. I'm incredibly sad that this is happening but not sad that we came here.  G feels the same way, and says we'll be just fine.  It's so hard to let go. I'll still be teaching for the English department and they have been so, so supportive! They will put me on full time in January if I'd like, even though the pay is deplorable for people who do not have an annual contract.  I cannot tell you how grateful I am for all of the love and support I've experienced.  We will get back on track soon. G is terrific at his job and I'm not sure how they ever managed without him. :) He amazes me with his resiliency.  I think it's true that even though my job is falling apart, I am not as worried as I could be.  Everything else is so good.  Work is work, but my life is very fulfilling.  What's life without a little danger, right? 

Yeah, I'd still rather have some security.

5. I cut my hair off today.  I usually cut it in the fall/winter every other year but I just got tired of all the styling and junk you have to do to look good and cut six inches of my hair off.  Pictures to come soon...

The Graduate

Last weekend was pretty amazing. My niece, Jessica, graduated from high school in the same gymnasium where I graduated from high school 20+ years before. Even the robes were the same.  I checked her tag just to be sure, but no, it did not have my initials in it.

Class President, National Honor Society...

The place where I spent my adolescence is not much changed. The school buildings have been well maintained, as are most structures in town. The woodshop and agriculture buildings are still standing, off to the south of the gym, which in turn is south of the main school building.  They still have the weight "room" on the loft in the gym, an open-air place that doubles for gymnastics whenever a qualified teacher happens to get snagged in the teaching dragnet. And in early June, if you cross the street and go through the park to the West, you'll come to the city pool which has opened for summer and does so on the last day of school.

After the pomp and circumstance and the hour-long awarding of scholarships to three or four main students who sat at the front (my niece chief among them), the crowd disbursed to the front lawn for a reception.  Me, I felt skeevy. Like seriously skeevy. Here were several of my former classmates, with their children graduating and me having been absent for 17 or 20 years made them peer at me as through through a dirty windowpane. They could make out my outline but needed to step closer, clean the glass and concentrate in order to place me.  And trust me, those looks are not comforting looks. I wasn't a popular girl in high school and mostly I'm known in that community these days by the stuff I post on Facebook.  Those who recognized me really recognized my husband and said something along those lines. I'm glad that sort of thing doesn't bother him. We left pretty quickly, because the next day was set for a family barbecue and because I am terrible at small talk. I end up saying the wrong things or asking inappropriate questions or not saying enough and looking like I'm pretty snotty.

I love my niece and I won't comment on her life because it is uniquely her own, just as every single one of those 23 kids who graduated has lived an unique life. However, they have touch points in common with everyone who has graduated from DHS in the last 30 years or so- the curriculums, some of the teachers, the lockers and that spiral staircase. Even the stupid Current World Problems class. High school wasn't something I enjoyed or that I felt I had accomplished a feat when I was done. It was something I lived through, a thing I was proud to have endured. It was a place I had to go and it took a daily act of will to attend regularly.

Which I didn't. I stayed home and read book upon book upon book. I lived on Main street, right on the highway. My sister still lives there. Saturday in the gymnasium, I felt as I did when I was a kid: I was among the crowd, but not of the community.  A stranger in a strange land. I wonder how many of those kids who graduated feel the same?

If I could, I would tell them a few things, like how this isn't "it", how it gets better and that the choices they make in the next 5 years may define them- but also that change is possible at any given time. I didn't get my act together until my late 20s.  I would say that the world is vast and if they go explore it and avoid the chain restaurants of the world, then their perspective will broaden and change. I would say that I'm glad they made it this far either because of the help from their families or in spite of it, and that there isn't such a thing as starting over, only going forward.

I would say that grown ups don't know everything. And safety nets are an illusion.

But there is also good news. The only thing now holding them back is themselves.

Outside of this corner of the world, nobody knows you and that's a great thing and a scary thing at the same time. It's scary because you have to make your own way and it's great because you can. And because you truly can be whomever you want to be. It's like walking a tight rope between buildings. You don't have to go out there. If you do, you could fall.  If you make to the other side, there are probably lots of other tight ropes to go climb after that first one. The thrill is in learning to be a tightrope walker.

Every fall, my classroom fills with newly-minted tightrope walkers.  They are scared that day, the first day of school.  Not everyone in their classes got to go to college anyway- either by choice or by circumstance.  Many are there by the skin of their teeth. But they have each girded up their meager weapons and adventured this far. They come from all over and nowhere in particular. And suddenly, they are in a place where nobody can help them and they must make or break by their own devices. It's a trial by fire and as a teacher, I am always surprised, not surprised, and usually by the end of the year, in awe of how well they have fared- or how badly they have crashed and burned. But mostly I am humbled to get to watch, to set those trials and to help them sometimes through hurdles. I'm scared for my niece, a little bird about to fly on her own. I know that she'll be ok though, eventually.

For now, all is the same. She woke up this morning in her childhood home, a just-graduated senior with her whole future in front of her and the world at her feet. Hopefully, that is comforting and not overshadowed by the fact that things change and will continue to change. Someday if she goes back to the old high school gym and experiences the vertigo of seeing the familiar next to the not-quite-as-it-was, she will smile and clap wildly for whomever is graduating next.

My Great Aunt Sarah- a long ago graduate. And my great nephew, Sawyer. Class of 2036?

June!

Oh how I love June! 
The hottest the weather got last month was in the 80s, but mostly it was mild and stayed in the 60s and 70s like it should. Sometimes it dipped into the 40s at night and twice we left the water dripping for an overnight freeze. 

And now it's June. In my world that means that 1. Our wedding anniversary and 2. The end of classes. Not sure which I'm more excited for. Maybe 3. Time to travel and find adventures!  

It's #3 for sure, though #1 makes #3 so much more fun. 

This weekend, we're headed to Walla Walla for a little fun scoping out the valley and attending my niece's 18th birthday/high school graduation.  I can't believe that little girl is all grown up.  Well, mostly grown up! I'll also get to visit with other relatives and meet my new great-nephew Sawyer who turned two months old today. Lots of pictures to come... 

Next week, since school is letting out, I'm taking a few days off and we're heading to Portland for a little vacation.  G has never been there but I'm betting It'll take a bit to get him to come home.  Rainy, liberal, vegetarian, eco- and- vegan-friendly. Oh yes, this is the place. 

So with all this in place, I took a nice, composed selfie with red lipstick before I left the house: 

This is how I think I look

Nice, huh? Good light, nice smile, no teeth. In the movie of my life, this is how I would look. I got to have coffee on the porch, read a bit of a book, texted with my friend Carrie and talked to my dear Charlotte, whose health is improving. Red letter and red lipstick day! 

And I headed off to work. I get to walk to work most days, which I love.  It's a great 15 minute commute. Then I ran into one of my students, who is graduating on Saturday. We hugged, talked about how amazing he is- and he truly is. I mean, graduating from college and moving to Brazil to teach music education? Yes! Dream come true!! 

And we took this picture: 

This is how I really look

This is how I actually look- excited face, big cheeks pushing up my sunglasses and my neck- well, doing something. 

So much for glamour. 

And you know what? I don't care. Ennui is overrated. It's summertime and the livin's easy... ! Happy trails! 

A Safe Place

Yesterday, I asked an 8th grade student to carry a slim toad away from our portable buildings.  He or she had gotten into a classroom the night before and was stunned after being manhandled by 18 sixth graders and kicked by one of them.  Gently, the 8th grader picked up said toadling and asked where to put it.  I couldn't really think of anywhere.  In the soccer field there would be children running around after school. The pavement was no good because of hot sun, foot and car traffic and lack of moisture.  The dumpster might be ok but the fence line would only lead to the sidewalk.  We decided on the dumpster and let our hopping friend loose.

Today is the 17th anniversary of the bombing of the Arthur P. Murrah building in Oklahoma City.  On this day so many days ago, in revenge for the ill-conceived and badly ended standoff between the Branch Davidian church group and the U.S. Government.  Timothy McVeigh chose the Murrah building and Oklahoma City as an easy target. The Murrah building was a federal building and housed many beaurocratic headquarters for federal business in the city.  He filled a large truck with homemade explosives and detonated it, killing 168 people- including children in the daycare- and changed the course of Oklahoma history.  Oklahoma, the safe place, was under attack in an act of domestic terrorism. When it came to light that it was a scrawny white guy, a separatist, former military and an American, well, people were stunned. What had we expected, a non-White, non-English speaking, non-graduate of American school systems who held beliefs that were never critically considered?

Last Friday, one of our sixth graders stabbed another sixth grader with a pencil in the shoulder over a bag of skittles.  She had stabbed the victim before the day before but it did not break the skin and the little girl did not report it at the time.  This time, however, the pencil went through a sweater and a shirt and lodged in her skin.  And our alleged perpetrator was so rotten, disrespectful and belligerent that the arresting police officer put cuffs on her and took her past kiddie booking and to a juvenile detention center where she will remain until her arraignment.  Her mother did not go to see her and she is now in a position to get real lessons on how to become a criminal.  She is twelve years old.

I am missing one of my students for the rest of the year as well.  He (allegedly) brought a large amount of illegal substances to school with intent to sell.  Four other students were busted in the boys room smoking a Swisher Sweet with a large amount of cannibis in it.  Gone. Those kids are gone for the year.  I'm not sure why my students are dealing and taking drugs. I figure that reality sucks when you are a teenager and it must really suck to live and go to school in a ghetto with few prospects and teachers who often fundamentally dislike children.  We finally and temporarily replaced our deceased geography teacher. The new lady is nice and blonde and pretty and with sky blue eyes that make me think she might come from Edmond.  The kids have mostly been nice to her, and one drew her a picture which she put outside of her door.  Unfortunately it has gang colors and the drawing is actually of "the shocker" hand gesture.  If you don't know what that is, click here for an eye-opening explanation.  I couldn't find her today so I'll try again tomorrow. I heard one of the 8th grade boys (not my student) said some highly sexual things to her during class, poked a pencil into her lunch and left.  I really hope that is not true.

Students have been roaming the hallways in droves. I took it upon myself to stroll the hallways during classes.  Ok, it's trolling.  My student intern is now competent enough to handle teaching by herself so I walk around looking for kids ditching class. I catch about four per day.  It makes me cranky.  Yesterday, one of my gang-girls was conducting business with her boyfriend's cell phone.  She's really sweet and I like her. I suspect she probably compartmentalizes and gets to be a kid during those classes she attends and a "thug" when she needs to be.

In the meantime, we are doing the OCCT- Oklahoma Core Curriculum Test.  Awesome.  Along with the continued construction, how can we possibly hope to pass those tests?  Yet many of them are.  A good number of my 8th grade students either passed or got outstanding scores on their reading tests.  Next week my 7th graders are up and I expect they will surpass my principal's expectations but not my own.  I want better for them.

Yes, yes I do. I want better for my kids and I am frustrated and fighting mad.  What does it matter if my kids can think critically or read and write their asses off if the end result is not going to change?  Necessity trumps luxuries like novels and me and my little narratives cannot compete with the immediate relief of getting high. Sometimes I feel like a fool for even trying. The world, as illustrated by Timothy McVeigh, is not as trustworthy as it might once have been. My students are stunned toads with no safe place to go but dumpsters. At least there is food and moisture there, even if it smells.  All I can do is keep guard and provide hope.

I Thought I Was Here To Stop This...

This was going to be a blog post about how I am sick again with bronchitis-like symptoms and thank God and Cathy Klasek for antibiotics. I was going to write about how just being in the main building in school for 15 minutes and breathing that toxic air made me sick.

I was also going to write about how yesterday I broke up a fight between two of the kids who were going to class in the room next door to me and that I felt bad because one was crying when he found out that his mom was going to be called. He had been in trouble for fighting before and he just looked so young and helpless. I felt awful for not turning a blind eye. Both kids said they were just play fighting, even though they were both all read and bruised looking.

Then I thought that perhaps I'd post a rant about the CRT writing test my 8th graders have to take next week. How I can't read or write or do anything for the 70 and 90 minute writing prompts but stare at kiddos. I was going to compalin that my kids are not on a level playing field and that even though I've been severely thwarted in my efforts to help them learn grammar- which they need for the test- it's now become very clear to them that this is exactly what is needed. So I have a week to get them there. The five paragraph format? No problem. Writing it in proper English with well-developed themes? Not a chance. But if they want to learn to drive and get a license, they have to pass.

Maybe this was an appropriate place to think on paper about how well my 8th graders and I are getting along. How my first hour class asked me yesterday if they could just read for awhile. I said yes, of course. They seem to enjoy getting lost in a novel these days. I'm sick that it took six months to get here, but all of my kids seem to have found a groove with me.

But no. Todays' topic is a kid you'll never hear about again, except perhaps on the six o'clock news one day. A sweet kid that I will name Bobby. Bobby comes to school only sometimes and he always wears the same thing. When he shows up, the red rims of his eyes give away his fatigue. He's a night person, he says. He has fallen asleep in my class a few times and the last time, I walked him over to the In School Suspension office myself. "What are you going to do when I call your mom?", I asked. "What will she think?"
"She'll be sad. She don't need this." He sort of ducked his head.
"Yeah, I can't suppose anybody would. What about your dad?"
"He's not around." His eyes darted almost wildly.
I nodded. I know better than to ask where a parent is. The answer is usually one that breaks the heart- drugged out, absent, jail, dead, gangs.. the list is endless.
Jail. Bobby's dad is in jail.
I did what I always do. I cut him some slack. Maybe others would disagree with me, but you know what? I'm always going to err on the side of believing someone and giving them a chance. My top readers in class right now are two boys that I caught doing some ruly shit and they asked for clemency and got it from me too. Why use a sledge hammer when a nudge will do?
"I'll tell you what. I won't call your mom, but get more sleep at night. Ok?"
"Yes, ma'am."
He was awake the next time. He's a bright kid, Bobby. You'd like him. Quiet, clean cut. Handsome with such a beautiful dark tone to his skin and intelligent eyes. As a 7th grader, he is very popular with the 8th grade girls. Two of my 8th grade girls to be exact.

On Monday he stepped off of the bus to school with some of his friends and took off to a local fast food joint to get some breakfast. Guess they didn't like the breakfast offered by the cafeteria. Automatic suspension in a closed-campus junior high school. Today he stepped foot on campus again. It's probable that he rode the bus to school, hung out all day off campus and only came back to catch a ride home on the same bus. Why his mom wasn't watching him is anyone's guess.

If you weren't aware, that's trespassing and it's illegal. According to school policy, he had to be apprehended for such behavior as coming to school while suspended. And arrested.

So it came to pass that I stood with my mouth open saying his name without realizing it. He looked over at me and looked down. I think he would've crawled into his shoes if he could have. He was handcuffed behind his back and the officer took him into custody and escorted him to the police car.

I was reminded so strikingly of the time I worked in the prison. The guards would wait until class was over to arrest anyone who was going to be arrested because they didn't want to interrupt what I was doing. As long as we were in that classroom, they weren't just felons or numbers or yucky inmates with MRSA and aggressive disorders. They were people and they were my students. One sunny day I came into work after 2 days off and found that a transport was in progress. One of "my students" was in the office, waiting for his ride. Normally, they wore kahkis and polo shirts. This man also wore his long white hair in a neat ponytail down his back. He was very good at English and we had worked very hard on his math skills so that he could get into community college and take correspondence courses. This day he was in belly shackles. That's where they cuff your hands to a chain around your waist that drops to the ground. Your feet are shackled into it too. It makes people walk funny too, sort of a slow, shuffling sound. His hair hadn't been brushed and it was wild and stringy about his head. He wore an orange jumpsuit and flip-flops- a sure sign he had been in isolation. That's what they called "The Hole". I didn't know any of the guards- I was friends only with a few people in the education department as everyone else was very suspicious of teachers- and didn't say hello to anyone. But for a moment I met his eyes. And they looked ashamed.

The same shame I saw on Bobby's face today.

And it broke my heart.

Pretty Well Settled

I had 12 students show up all week for lunch detention.  We finished Sherman Alexie's The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian and all present agreed that it was the best book that they had ever read.  Six girls, six boys.  Most of them are low-level readers.  I am so happy.  Sometimes other teachers pop in at lunch just to behold the sight of these kids and I engrossed in our book and happily munching on cafeteria fare.  Some of these kids believe they will never be good readers.  Some of them don't follow the book so much as listen to my narration. That's ok too and that's also why I read it out loud.  They are interested in stories and in this book.  Every day they tell someone who was absent what is going on. It's normal and natural and this, I believe, is the way to encourage literacy. This part of the day is what reminds me why I got into teaching.  The big question is "What are we going to read next?!".  I offered the other Alexie book, Flight, and also The Hunger Games.  They picked Flight.  I'm not sure how they will like it since the story line is much different than the first book, so I offered to keep Hunger Games as a backup in case we decide to abandon the book.  I also tweeted Sherman Alexie to let him know how much we loved the book.

My regular classes are going well.  My 8th graders- cynical as they are- are just finishing and enjoying The Outsiders.  They like it and have done a good job so far.  They are impatient with reading and resist doing more than a chapter a day.  We are working on the attention span. I'm not sure if they know that part of it. Next up is Walter Dean Myers.  While Alexander Nazaryan may decry the usefulness of Myers, and insist that students would benefit more from Homer and Aristophanes, I advocate first getting children interested in reading.  Yes, perhaps Lysistrata with its overt sexual humor and Martial's epigrams are somehow elevated to high art and of benefit to readers, they can't get there from here.  I'm scaffolding.  Perhaps at the end of the year, as a reward. But until then, until my students understand how to approach a reading at all, I want them to learn to enjoy learning how to do that and Myers can help us farther along with his accessible language and stories that my students can identify with.

My 7th graders, having just finished up with an expository writing unit, are now eager to return to literature. They are perusing Virginia Hamilton novels and will seen become engrossed in the stories of early African Americans.  And for me, I have offered a school-wide initiative to help us get on the same page with vocabulary.  I'm selecting a word every week for the school, and we are putting it up on the marquis.  Then the word, definition and an example will be read every day with the morning announcements and the other teachers will join in to help reinforce the lesson.  I like it, overall. The faculty are seemingly behind the idea as well so we'll see how that pans out.  The first week was a success.

I have had some trouble with the construction.  I've had bronchitis twice since it began. I was sick over the whole holiday and have had to stop running.  Let me say that again: I had to stop running for the time being.  Running is how I stay in shape and it's how I keep my asthma in check. I cannot and should not be exposed to a dangerous work environment and I tried pretty hard to ignore or deny the implications.  But my last trip to my doctor- where he advised me to find a different job while giving me a steroid shot in the butt- that made me see the light.  The remodeling is going on all around us, and all precautions have been taken.  We are stuck with just dealing with the dust, mold and noise.  And probably some asbestos too.  There was a public meeting to address health problems for students and faculty and the companies told us we would need to transfer. That's what the environmental officer said, anyway. I met with my principal and we decided that if I can't get someone in one of the adjoining buildings to trade with me, he will transfer me to another school.  I'm just getting going in this school; why would I want to switch in the middle of the year? I feel as though I am part of things there and part of the force that will get us past the CRT gatekeepers at the end of the year. I'll keep you posted, but it's most important to be able to breathe and I'd rather just work with people rather than any litigious entities.

But what about my kids? Where can they go? How can they even know to ask?  To be continued...

What Students Can Teach Me About Kindness

Today I loved being a teacher. I haven't been able to say that much this fall. Between administration, the state department and basic trust issues with my kids, we are now sort of at the point where we can move forward. I've now got some buy-in with my students, some street cred, as it were. It occurs to me that I know so little of the true lives of my students that it would be a mistake to make assumptions about what they do or do not know. So I ask them to write their lives, their experiences and their opinions. We all have notebooks to write in and they have the option every day to either do my writing prompt or their own.  I love it when they choose to share with the group.

Ninety-five percent of my kids are Hispanic and most of those are Mexican. The remaining 5% are African-American and White, in that order.  Many are Christian and Catholic; a few are Jewish. It may surprise you to think that I see the races, religions and ethnicities of my students. There are those who follow a philosophy of color-blindness when it comes to children and teaching.  They report that a student's background is has no bearing on the classroom environment.  That since Standard American English is pretty much the status quo and since English teachers teach SAE in the curriculum, it is best to ignore any other issue besides the curriculum. I think this is done out of love and a desire to give students the best chance they can.  But it's not effective.  To refuse to see the world in color, to not see children for who they are and to not acknowledge or honor the lives they live is not only a mistake, but it is irresponsible of educators to do so.

As a teacher, as a woman and as a White person, I have a background in my subject that some of- ok, many of- my students are not privileged to have. The pathways of their lives and mine only intersect in a few ways.  Instead of laying my curriculum, my pathway, over the top of my student's heads, I find it a much better fit, and a more productive one from a learning standpoint, to find some of their pathways and offer them augmentation in English. The students and I come to agreements about how the class will run, what sorts of privileges they can earn and what sort of work they will do.  And they do work. They sometimes work their guts out. In return, I attempt to serve them, not from the tippy-top of a mountain pouring down a dominant ideology, but instead from a little creek that bubbles alongside their own experiences. And sometimes they surprise me, because what they learn and practice has little to do with the stated curriculum, but instead speaks to the hidden agendas I purposefully demonstrate.

The kids work in groups of four, where I have seated them. In one class, I have a table of four with Donna, Billy, Mary and Alaina.  These are not their real names. Donna is shorter than 4'11" tall.  She and Alaina are both Black. Mary and Billy are both Mexican.  Donna has a temper on her and I have seen her do a power punch that lifted her off of her feet in order to sock an older, much larger boy in the face.  But in my class she is a joyful kid and regular contributor to our discussions. Billy is a gentle giant kind of kid, quiet and studious. He loves to read to the point that I have had to ask him to put away his book to do a writing assignment- an assignment that involved another book we were reading. But Billy does not seem to have much family structure.  He never completes homework. His handwriting is atrocious and his personal hygiene is often questionable. He's usually got dirt on his arms and face.  The other kids pick on him.  He is a sweet kid too- always finds me in the hallway and says "Hi Miss Dieu!!!" One day he was crying in class. I pulled him into the hallway to ask him why. He had not done his homework and thought I'd be mad at him.  Oh no! No, no, just do it for tomorrow! I spent some time reassuring him and sent him to the bathroom to splash water on his face. I was taken rather aback that he thought enough of me to cry at the thought that I'd become angry with him.  Truth be told, that made a big impact on me.  I had a talk with his tablemates while he was away. I asked that they be kind to him and include them more than they had; that junior high is hard enough and it costs nothing to be gentle. At first, they just stopped being snarky.  Then, with my own reminders, Mary and Donna have said nice things to him.  Alaina is not convinced; she continues to make little digs.

Yesterday, Donna came in madder than a wet hen.  She picked up her notebook and wrote furiously for 10 minutes straight and read what she had written to the class.  She was angry; a boy she said she liked called her ugly and she had to resist the urge to punch him out.  She read the class the riot act about being nice to people and how she has feelings too.  She said she thought the teachers just didn't care (not you, Miss Dieu, I love you!) and that things were going to go badly. We all thanked her for sharing, which is what we do when someone shares their writing out loud. Criticism is saved for peer review. "Thank you for sharing" is reserved for those brave enough to read what they have read.

After class, I asked Donna to talk to me.  She admitted that there was more to the story.  Another boy, Todd (also a pseudonym) keeps threatening her.  He said that if she told anyone, he would have someone beat her up. I have Todd in another class.  He is a year older and is very smart.  It's just his modus operandi to get others to do his dirty work.  I took Donna to the counselor.  He art teacher came to ask me about her.  Donna had been confrontational and angry in class the previous two days and she was wondering if I knew anything that would help.  I relayed what Donna had said.  The art teacher said she would take a few minutes to let our student know that we do notice and that we do indeed care.

We had a team meeting with Todd.  That's when all of his teachers get together with a student to help them, to ask them to change their behavior and to hear what they have to say about their own education.  We also let Todd know that if anything- anything at all- were to happen to Donna, he would have to answer to us, the school and the police officer assigned to the school.  I don't think it scared him much, but I don't think he'll pick on Donna anymore.

Today in class, everything went as normal.  We were writing expository essays with the understanding that a 5 paragraph essay is not the be all and end all of good writing.  The students chose their own topics from the daily writing prompts we have done for the last few weeks.  But Billy still hadn't gotten started.  He couldn't think of what to write.  I offered some ideas and asked his tablemates to help him like they were helping each other.  Each of them had picked a season and were writing about it. Billy looked like he was going to cry.  I told him to take a few deep breaths and try again. That's when the girls jumped in. "You're a good storyteller!", said Donna. "Yeah, you always tell the best stories" "You remember the one you told us in math class about the vampire and his beard...?" And on and on.  They gave him ideas on what to write based on his own interests.  And I almost started to cry myself, but I smiled and busied myself with other kids who needed help.

Today I loved being a teacher. I loved being a human and I loved being a part of this community and playing my appropriate part in it.  I had to leave during 4th hour to go to OU and meet with my adviser. As I was dashing out the door (found a great substitute teacher, by the way!) I waved and said "Bye kids! I love you, have a great weekend!"  They yelled "Bye! We love you too!", and I smiled all the way to Norman.

The Student And The Teacher

I've come home, gotten something to eat and washed my face.  Took out my contacts and stuck on my nerd glasses. Thought about my week.  Thought about what I want to write.  Thought some more.  Now that I've had some time to get used to my new environment, it's important to reflect on my experiences so that I can respond within acceptable parameters rather than going off half cocked about something without thinking about it.

In public school, there are three basic components that a teacher has to deal with: the students, the curriculum and the administration.  I guess these components are present anywhere you go, but as a college teacher, I had much more control in both the student area and the curriculum area.  After awhile the administration trusts you with the curriculum and you do your own thing.  In public school, you have file lesson plans.  I doubt anyone *looks* at them, but for whatever reason, teachers still have to file them electronically.  Also, if a student annoys me enough in college, I don't have to put up with them.  People pay to go to college and generally want to be there.  Children in 7th and 8th grade in a poverty-ridden area might not necessarily think that this is the most important place to spend their time- as opposed to hanging out with friends or working.  So part of my job is to convince them of the importance of education.  I do that through the environment that I create, the routine that I establish and the values I emphasize in the classroom.

In any case, the curriculum in question here is the easy part.  It's one the district bought and the teachers follow, though how closely is anyone's guess.  My guess is that many of the teachers in my school try to follow along.  The script is actually a daily one, down to what words students need to learn and how to approach lessons.  I'm just a little taken aback with the assumptions of a corporation (Pearson) attempting to enter into my classroom and tell me what students need and what to say to them.  You know what? I can figure that part out since I'm a human being with eyes and ears and the capability to interact with my kids.  So I'm adapting the curriculum.  I'm accomplishing the same goals, which I am tying to the core curriculum standards recently adopted by the state, but it's more tailored to my own students.  I think it's ok.  I am new and teaching seventh and eighth grade English, the sixth/seventh grade English teacher and the eighth grade teacher are both new to this school.  We do not have a department chair as she is out sick until December and the only other person in the equation with any experience teaches the remedial classes.  Nobody around us has any experience with this curriculum.

And really, I don't mind.  I like looking at the materials and making up my mind what I want to do.  There is a thing called the Scope and Sequence and it gives a general overview and order of the units I have to teach.  For the first year in this school, I'm not going to do anything fancy or get all crazy on curriculum development.  That's what summer is for.  Don't worry, I won't break any kids.  This week, a representative from the curriculum provider came by the school.  She remembered me from the half day of training (the last of three days of training) that I received and wanted to check on me.  I gave her a three-minute tour of what I was doing and she seemed pretty positive, saying that from what she could tell I went beyond the required stuff.  I guess she will come back some other time.

The students are quite a tricky bit to the job.  These are middle school kids, so everything is extra dramatic.  They are also quite tough from an exterior point of view.  But I know they are just kids.  They are 12, 13 and 14 years old.  Hell, my cat is older than any of them.  I can't be specific of course, but I can speak in generalities about the students I serve .There is always that requisite kid who is way bigger than everyone, has to shave by noon and tends bar down the street at night.  He's there too, but he's not in my class.   I teach some very full classes.  If you don't know how Oklahoma public school runs, our hours and obligations are negotiated in the Collective Bargaining Agreement, and we are in the building at 8:40 a.m. and out by 4:20.  That's the contractual obligation.  So far, I haven't gotten there any later than about 8:15 and I don't leave sometimes until 5.  Last Tuesday was Open House, and I left work at 7:15 p.m. I also came in days before school started and on the weekend before, to set up my classroom and figure out the first days of school.  Anyway, I teach five sections of class and have (theoretically) two planning periods.  Those plan periods are used to catch up my grade book, talk to administrators and attend meetings for my department and grade level.

Last week, I used two of those time slots to attend disciplinary hearings for kids. The first one was a kid who really has nothing- a home, parents (jail) or much of a future.  Just a lot of pain.  I have reported defensive bruising on his arms and  his eyes have the wildness of a child too long unloved. He won't stay seated in the classroom for long and is very sensitive about how I speak to him. I take too much class time to help him and explain lessons for him again.  I know he doesn't need it because he is not academically deficient in any way.  He just needs attention.  He earned a disciplinary hearing by annoying the shit out of a less sympathetic teacher.  The way she spoke to him, belittling him, bothered me.  When it was my turn, I praised him for his efforts to make improvement in my class and left out the parts where he took inappropriate actions.  Of course he did inappropriate things.  After the hearing I had to go into the ladies room and cry for a minute.

The second disciplinary hearing was one that I called.  Just a kid thinking he is tough and that the rules don't apply to him.  It's not ok to listen to an iPod at school, nor is it acceptable behavior to chew gum in class.  Last week, he was doing both.  Normally, I'd ask for him to spit out his gum and to hand over the iPod.  I am supposed to turn them in to the office, but usually on the first offense I give the phone or electronic equipment back at the end of the hour as long as the kid doesn't get into more trouble.  This guy said that he would do neither, so I took him to the Assistant Principal.  Same response.  We both had to write up reports on him.  This week, he wouldn't stop with the outbursts, interrupting others and bothering students.  I held him after class and talked to him (for something like the third time that week).  No change in attitude.  So I took him to the office.  As I was looking for the Assistant Principal, he cussed at the secretary and that was all she wrote.  At his hearing, he looked like a prisoner at sentencing. Since it was my meeting, I opened by telling him that I think he is very bright and a good reader when he focuses on his work.  That I thought he could do well in my class.  He looked surprised but it's an age-old tactic: praise the person and address the behavior.  Once he didn't feel so threatened, I think he could at least hear what we had to say.  He will have a week to contemplate his choices.  I'm not certain if he just doesn't want to be in school or if he's just acting out.  I may never know and perhaps it's better that way.  On the way in to the meeting, I asked a friendly teacher to come to the meeting for moral support.  She sent me a text that night that said "You kicked ass today!".  It made me feel really good after an exhausting day.

The truly tricky students are my female students.  Last Wednesday in my first hour eighth grade class, a table of girls asked me if I had gotten ready quickly that morning.  Did I have to drive far? Did I get enough sleep at night?  I thought they were sort of being catty and ignored the questions.  The girls seemed to shut down and lose their enthusiasm for the writing exercise we were doing.  Then they seemed to become just a bit hostile.  Very subtle, with the eye rolls and the looks they exchanged.  Boys will throw stuff or protest loudly. Girls will kill you by glaring daggers into your back.  The situation puzzled me, so I had dinner with my friend Charlotte.  Charlotte is retired. She was an elementary school principal and worked with me at the community college for some time.  She's the one who decorated my room and bought my supplies and vocalized some of my fears.  She's my Oklahoma mom.

Over dinner I asked what she thought I could do.  "Oh", she laughed, "Those girls want to know about you.  They admire you and want to be like you."
I've never been one to attempt to be a role model.  "I mean, are you sure?"
"Yeah.  Just be honest with them.  They'll take the good parts and leave the rest."
I had to think about it for awhile. The students so far have asked why I wear heels, why I cut six inches off of my hair, how far I drive to get to school and if my eyes are really blue.  And what TV I watch.  Hmm.

So the next day, I wore my best zebra print flip flops.  I am one of the only teachers who wears something besides flip flops and I'm pretty proud of it.  But these students do need to think of me as a person and not just as some standoffish white lady who punishes them with reading and writing and never cracks a smile.  It just so happened that one of my first hour girls had on a zebra hair bow.  She loved my shoes and I complimented her on her bow.  Before class began, they asked me small questions and I answered.  Yes, I love teaching here. I love to wear heels because they make me taller, even though I'm already tall. I don't watch television. And even if I did, I wouldn't watch Jersey Shore. I read books. Sometimes I feel very white.

The rest of the week, those smiles returned and they more or less concentrated on their work.  Thank you, Charlotte.

For the most part, I'm still instilling routines into my students' brains.  Routines of what to expect from me and what I expect from them.  And hopefully, what they can expect from themselves.  My favorite part of the day is "Duty".  I go to the auditorium and stay with the kids while they wait for their buses to arrive to take them home.  I get to ask kids how their day was, offer some encouragement, a smile and a wish for them to have a good evening.  It's a nice feeling to walk into the room and be greeted by students and to feel a part of a small community.  My students are teaching me how to teach them.

My administration is having a learning curve too.
I still do not have a contract and until yesterday, there was no way to sign on to the web portal for attendance and grades.  I am not getting paid yet and probably won't until the end of the month.  There was no internet access in my classroom until today when I pirated the right cable and fixed it.  And I won't get to do my "Competency Hearing" with the state department until September because for August, they couldn't get their shit together.  This is probably the least tangible and most distressing detail of the job. Technically, I could be said to be either "volunteering" or "wasting my time".  I have verbal assurances that I will get paid, even if my contract is still sideways.  I don't have much choice but to wait and see what happens.

So yes, a week of processing and of reflection.  I love having to adapt to a new environment.  Not everything is going well and that's ok.  It's a challenge to figure everything out.  And now I must change gears and move in a different, more familiar direction.  Monday my dissertation is due to my adviser and I simply must spend the weekend in revisions.  Thank God the topic is infinitely fascinating. But that's a post for another time...

Finals Week

It's finals week at our little university.  Personally, I love it.  I get to read the best of the best of my student's work and listen to them make summer plans and generally roll around in end-of the semester marshmellow-ness.  Everyone gets so sweet and sentimental.  The week before finals, it's all "I can't wait to get outta here!"  The week of finals, all I hear is "Wow, this year went by fast!"  This is also the time of year that I will give out my blog address if students want to read it.  So if you're reading this and you're one of my current students, then cool! Glad you're here.

I'm going to miss Ada in many ways.  The students are really phenomenal and have shown me nothing but kindness.  My fellow faculty members are pretty neat too.  I wish my contract had been renewed but each institution only has so much money and they often have to make difficult decisions.  I will be moving to Oklahoma City where it's more likely that I can find a teaching position and also defend my dissertation over the summer. Or I'll become a bartender or some such other thing.  It doesn't matter that much to me, though I prefer teaching. I just want to do something useful in the world.

As I pack up my tiny cell block apartment (which in truth shouldn't take more than an hour since I didn't really unpack) I will be sure to take the best parts of Ada with me- the hilarious, serious, earnest and amazing people I've had the pleasure to meet in the last year.  And as I move to the city, I know I will find many more misadventures and happenstances.  I will do colossally stupid things and share them on my blog. I will know more loss and more love and if I'm not careful, might at some point find myself even more at peace with the universe than I am now.

Boundary

"I know this is late, but will you take it anyway?"  It's not typed. It's handwritten on raggedy-ass notebook paper with those edges that make it impossible for me to keep papers straight. I try to look sympathetic.

"I don't accept late work." My student glares at me.

"I was at the doctor."
"Are you alright? You're not contagious?" I feign fear and back away a step or two. My student is probably fine. The next student asks me to accept his late paper; almost a week late.
"My Grandma died." Mine died too and I didn't miss any work. We all grieve in our own ways.  His grandma dies twice a year: once before Thanksgiving and once the week before Spring Break.
"My internet was down."
"I didn't know it was due."
"My computer died!"
"My free subscription to Word 2010 ended and now I can't open it."
And my personal favorite: "You let turn last week's in late" (uh, no I didn't).
All of these earn the same response from me.  I am sympathetic.  I wish I could help, really I do, but I don't move boundaries for anyone unless they are either a) having a baby in front of me and I see a leg or something, or b) their academic advisor/veterans dude calls me or c) they just found a conjoined twin on their leg and it's going to take more than a week to have that little problem taken care of.  I'm still waiting for c to happen. Don't ask me about a.

After all, don't we all just want to be an exception to the rule?

I am not without compassion: students may miss up to an entire week of school with no adverse effect, provided they keep up with the work. I don't repeat class discussion and I don't accept late papers.  Athletes who have to be gone still have to turn their stuff in on time.  These parameters, contingencies and guidelines are all laid out in the syllabus and I do not protect my students from their consequences. I also do not ask for protection when I do stupid things.  I do stupid things all of the time, I just don't ask to be let out of it.

Those boundaries aren't in place for my students.  They are there for me.  I'm drawing a line in the sand and saying that this line shall not be crossed.  Sometimes I wish I had Gandalf and a giant sword, beard and Balroc to protect me and yell "You shall not pass!!"  because indeed, a student shall not pass without towing the line.  In some ways, I do.  I have a second, professional social networking page so that I can interact with my students.

One student skipped class on Monday.  He posted the following on my wall: "I didn't go to your class today.  Can I turn in my reflection and bring my items to you Wednesday?"

Another student replied on my behalf: "No!!! It was your responsibility to get to class and get that stuff turned in, what about all the other kids who turned their stuff in on time? Are you better than them?? Do rules not apply to you?? Why should you be able to slack off and not get punished for it? And another thing, if you're gonna ask for something you should go to her office during her office hours and talk to her face to face, not thru facebook. Teach him responsibility Mrs Dieu!!"


I couldn't just let that go, so I replied as well: "I name [Student's Name] as the Composition Bouncer.  Forever!"


I know that I'm not alone in the setting and enforcement of boundaries. Others want clear boundaries too.  But here's the thing I know about human nature: If you draw a line in the sand, someone just has got to got to got to fucking cross it.  It calls to them.  It's a guarantee that if I declare an absolute, someone has to break it. Let's take my friend Leah, for instance.  I freaking adore her and her writing.  But she is impulsive and loves to break societal rules and, you know, sorta push boundaries.  I think that secretly, she wants to get caught, to know where the absolute boundary lies, to see where she cannot push past.  I hope she doesn't die looking for that. But part of me really hopes that she just keeps pushing those boundaries because I'm the same exact way. Minus all of the drugs, illegal shit and uh, ok, minus anything that isn't particularly acceptable, like breaking stuff.  She's short and funny and I'm tall and needlessly academic.  But you get the idea- I'm totally Miss Rebelwithoutaclue. 


The boundaries I care about most are the ones I set around me.  I have a certain level of behavior towards myself that I expect from others and when they cross lines and make me uncomfortable, it's my job to enforce my own boundaries.  Before that happens, though, it's really my job to clearly communicate those expectations.  Let me give an example.  I love punctuality in others.  I need routine and dependability and someone who tips well and doesn't go on a stupid power trip with the wait staff at a restaurant. I like it when people are faithful, kind to animals and can carry on a conversation just like a human being.

I especially like a schedule.  If we make plans, my little brain only wants to do that thing.  I remember some poor date of mine who wanted to spontaneously change the plans we had made for that night.  And he was five minutes late.  Seriously, this is a problem with me. We were en route for the activity and he just wanted to change that.  For many people, this is not a problem.  Given enough time to recalibrate, I could have been ok with it.  But no, no time to ponder, consider wardrobe, or get my head in the right direction.

I could have said "No, I think we should follow the plan."
I could have said "Yeah, maybe we could do that other thing another time."
I did not say "I'm not really comfortable with that."

I said "Fine." And the night ended in disaster.  I can't even remember that poor guy's name but I do know that I never spoke to him again.  Seriously, who shows up five minutes late without letting me know he's going to be fucking late?

Yes, I am aware that I'm crazy.

I also try to always do what I say I'm going to do.  Because of this, I am reluctant to commit to things unless I'm sure I can do them.

When someone crosses a boundary that they and I both know I have set in place, I have choices to make.  The first and most healthful choice is to reiterate my own position and enforce the boundary.  No harm, no foul; all is well.  My second choice is to silently cut the person to pieces and live with a transgression that they may or may not care that they have committed. I'd expect them to do it again, too.  I do so enjoy pouting and resentment. The third choice is to accept the behavior, take responsibility for my part in allowing that boundary to be crossed and either re-think that rule I have made or enforcing it more consistently next time.

It's a wonder that I'm still single.

Racism

I have had to take some time to think about this. Carefully. I still shake when I think about what happened yesterday and why I had the urge to slap a student so hard that her Grandpa felt it. Even in the prison system, my students didn't speak that way.

Let's set the scene. Every semester, rain or shine, regardless of how many students I have, I take time to meet with them individually about their writing and to allow them to ask questions. We talk about their papers, I offer suggestions for improvement and congratulations on the work they've already done and attempt to look like a human being for fifteen minutes rather than just some professor with a talking head. It works, generally speaking. I have about 120 students.

This week was conference week, and I went home from work every day with eyestrain from going over paper after paper and discussing the same issues. The student doesn't know that I've said it a million times, it's still the first time he or she has heard the part about where it's APA guidelines to use words like "Black", "White", "African-American" (don't forget the hyphen) and "Caucasian" to describe race. And if you're quoting Dr. King directly, you cannot take out the "N-word" where he uses it, even though it makes you uncomfortable. And no, we don't use the words "honky", "cracker" or "colored" either. My classroom is where we make those mistakes and one of the reasons I meet with students on this particular essay is so that those embarrassments can happen in private with low-risk of shame, but still offer the maximum opportunity for the students to learn.

Just for levity and for my own amusement, I follow up on some of our class discussions. I make it a point to say during the course of our class meetings to say that I dislike the use of the word "very" in their papers. It's unnecessary and redundant. We've discussed this many times by now and how it's alright to use in common speech but not in a formal paper (Don't even scan my other blog posts, I'm sure it's in there somewhere!). If I see the word in their paper, I'll pause briefly and draw a little box around the word. Smile a little. Put the pen in my left hand and scratch it out. Then take out a black marker and mark it out while discussing something else. Then finally, I'll get out the white out and make it disappear. I love the looks on student's faces. We usually laugh out loud and then the point is made and everything moves along.

I laugh a lot during conferences anyway. Sometimes my students relate the best stories from class or from life. They'll share trials and tribulations from their first months at college and make the most astute observations. And their writing is improving and they want to share that too, so we celebrate. Often, my students have never performed a rhetorical analysis and they're proud to have accomplished the task. I promise that the next essay will be a lot of fun. This week I've gotten to discuss Elvis (several papers on Elvis' letter to Nixon), Dr. King (two or three speeches), President Obama, JFK, Rhianna, Eminem, the Westboro Baptist Church and The Laramie Project. Overall, I'm pleased with the movement from brand new college writer to more sophisticated and complex projects. Speaking of sophisticated, one of my students writes a blog called blog.verysofisticated.com. Check it out if you get a chance.

A dark spot on this week is the death of my Great Aunt Earline. The identical twin sister of my Grandma, Verline, she had been taken off of life support and passed peacefully with her family (including cousins Lolly and Roy) at her bedside. I'll miss my second Grandma, and worry about the effect of this loss on Grandma. Last week was the first anniversary of the death of my Grandpa and the first wedding anniversary she celebrated without him- their 64th.

That brings us to Friday afternoon at 1:20. I had just three appointments left, then I'd be out the door for the weekend and on my way to Dallas for some fun and also time to read and do homework in preparation for my general exams. I met with D, who had done a particularly nice job on Dr. King's "I Have a Dream" speech. We discussed in particular the audience and the message of unity and brotherhood and what made his message of well-received. I felt revived despite having read 22 other essays that day. I promised this student, who is an athlete, to come to a game. My second student was right on time and had chosen to do her essay over a White supremacy website. She had written her proposal over it and I had approved. I didn't think that she had approved, but she did.

The essay was not an analysis or discussion of rhetorical strategies. I asked her why. She said she didn't want to sound biased. It's not possible to be unbiased. Plus, this is a hate group under watch by the government. How do you feel about this?, I queried. You mean do I agree or disagree with them?, she asked. She didn't want to say. I was surprised. It's 2010, she's an articulate White kid with multiple tattoos and piercings and a studio art major. I made an assumption about her being a hipster. Apparently it was a bad one. She said "Well, I think they're extreme and extremism is bad in any group (something I'd declared in class), but I'm also proud of my White heritage. I guess that makes me a moderate." She had learned the rhetoric of unity and was using it to further her racist argument. At least she had been paying attention a little bit in class.

My jaw dropped and my face turned as red as a beet. My office door is always open and the students and I are visible to the casual observer just for instances such as these. It was then that I saw the feet and legs of my last appointment- a dark skinned Hispanic student who I knew was writing about a love song. Irony, anger, shame and more anger flooded through me. "Hey," I wanted to say, "Why don't you come in here so she can tell you why your DNA is inferior to hers. Go ahead, young lady, tell this young man why his little girl should never be allowed the same success in society as whatever offspring you produce, even though he works as hard or harder than you and even if it took more for him to get here today than it did you." But I didn't say that. I immediately checked my feelings, lest I shake the racism out of her thick skull. Had she not been paying attention the last four weeks as we dissected hatred, racism, and the dangers of separation and oppression? Bitch slapping wasn't the answer, even though it would be gratifying. Dr. King used the route of peace, love and brotherhood for his tools and I'll be damned if I'll let ignorance, and in this case, willful ignorance, get in the way of my educational objectives.

I got professional. At least the paper didn't have any blatant insults. No way could I have handled that. I explained what being a moderate was after showing her how to do the actual analysis of the website. What was their purpose? What rhetorical strategies did they use to achieve that purpose? How effective are they in their endeavors and how can you tell? I checked her language use, reminded her that there is no such thing as unbiased information and sent her on her way. Smiled broadly at my last student as he sat in her recently vacated chair, and walked into my colleague's office. I put my head on her desk and whispered my confession. She rolled her eyes. "Jesus, you need a drink. What did you say?" I told her. "I'd have kicked her out." It took a full minute to shake off so that I could be of good service to my last student.

I still have to grade her final paper. Our rubric will be decided by the class and hopefully will assist me in a less biased evaluation of her writing. This is America and as much as I disagree with someone's opinions, they have a right to them and a person in authority- in this case me- shouldn't hold power to control what another person thinks. Writing the essay in third person helps with the most flagrant abuses of opinion, but the things they choose to talk about and how they present that material will represent their world views and perceptions.

I'm not sure I handled that well. I'm not sure how to handle people who think so differently and in my strong opinion and experience, so fucking wrong. I sort of feel sorry for her because she's closed off her mind from growth, interaction and enlightenment and will be stuck in the perpetual cycle of restricted discourse and dialog with only those who agree or who have indoctrinated her into that mindset. One of the major benefits of attending college is to open the mind to experience new horizons, viewpoints and thoughts. I'm offended that she would waste such a privilege But then again, if I were being snarky, and just being myself instead of the professional educator and role model that I'd ideally want to be, I'd admit that she's getting what she deserves.