my life 2007

Upon the close of summer vacation

To teachers, the end of summer is like New Year's Eve*. We have spent some time examining our performance over the past school year, have highlighted mistakes, and have compiled a number of resolutions.

* I don't actually do this at the turn of the new year, and haven't for years. New Year's Day seems like such an arbitrary time to "resolve" to do anything. It's driven by tradition--not by a genuine desire to improve.

I will make time for myself to cook, take long walks with nothing in particular in mind, spend time with friends, write, exercise, and watch movies. I've come to believe that the most effective teachers are the ones who find a way to maintain their contact with the real world during the school year. Not only do they make themselves more interesting and human to their students, but they remember what it's like to occasionally have priorities over schoolwork, and forgive their students the same "sin."

I will set aside an hour here and there to visit the classes of the outstanding instructors in the department throughout the semester in order to learn from them and to be inspired. I did this when I first began teaching. I allowed myself to be sucked into the mountain of work, and stopped making time to learn from the many in the departments who are years ahead of me. That will change.

I will take the advice of one of our most seasoned instructors and break up my grading with poetry. His technique for grading is to grade about five papers, then reward himself by reading a few poems, or perhaps a short story. He says it's revitalizing. He also sometimes goes to the top story of the library and sits at a window-facing desk to grade. Not only does this reduce interruption from a busy department, but the view is breathtaking.

I will bring in the occasional random poem or short piece to read to my students for enjoyment only. One of my goals is to open the door to the pleasure, beauty and inspiration of literature. Or at least the humor of a good book. They love to be read to. This "childish" pleasure, in my experience, never goes away. Well into adulthood, being read to can still kindle a love for the written word.

I will find visual and kinesthetic ways to engage my students. I will find better ways to make the connection between literature and their lives. This stems from the understanding that the best teachers use a variety of methods to reach their students instead of adhering to the one method that works best for the teacher himself. For example, I'm overpoweringly a read/write learner. In non-academic areas, I learn a great deal by just doing (this falls under the "kinesthetic" learning label, I believe). Sometimes, I learn by listening, but that's spotty. Thus, I teach assuming the "read/write" model. The flaw is obvious: while many students learn like I do, many don't. Plus, it's just plain boring to stick with reading and writing--even in composition and literature courses.

Thus, I find myself beginning to think in--no, of--pictures. I already think in images. Now, as I read literature, I note my own mental images, and I think of actual images--photos, art, movie clips--to help my students make connections.

I'll create more handouts with the main ideas for class discussions. I will provide more models of what I expect. Now I have a much firmer grasp of the sorts of ideas I want students to glean from literature. I want them to find passages that speak to them, and I want them to see the philosophical applications to their own lives and careers. My handouts and models have been limited heretofore because I didn't really know what I wanted my students to take away from the texts. I'm not kicking myself; it's a learning process for all of us, and I'm still certain they learned much, but my method was haphazard, to say the least. Haphazard methods are effective like shotguns are.

When I assign readings, I'll give the students leading questions for consideration. This is an experiment, admittedly. One of the (generally unspoken) problems we encounter in the English department is teaching students to read closely instead of cursorily. The possible drawback is that students who read with the purpose I give them are less likely to make other important connections I may have missed.

I will be more encouraging than corrective. I will think of their feelings first, and avoid that which might crush their enthusiasm. This is the most important part of all the changes I will make. I have, while trying to promote clearer thinking and expression, have inadvertently crushed the spirit of my students. This realization is painful. My approach must change. Sadly, the solution for this admittedly personal deficiency is still far too abstract in my mind for my own comfort.

The seminar I attended last week was very helpful. To begin with, I was again in the classroom, not leading it. I remembered--how quickly we forget!--what it's like to be a student, anxious to learn and do well, needing the approval and encouragement of the teacher...particularly when I try to express a thought or make a connection and fail. Also, I am more attuned now to pedagogical methods than when I was a student. (After all, I was never going to teach!) I've noticed how much I have a tendency to speak up when I disagree with someone compared to the frequency of my voiced agreements. I noted the methods of the professor who ran the seminar, as well as those of my colleagues. They disagree plenty--that isn't limited to me--but I notice how much they speak up to agree and support and expound in comparison to me. I see how my very behavior--my inclination to disagree--can discourage students.

Interestingly, I realized--perhaps for the first time--what it's like to lack confidence in my own opinions. I know that sounds arrogant, and perhaps it is, but the fact is, I've been a bona fide adult throughout my education, from undergraduate onward. I've not known what it was to be cowed by the education and experience of my peers as well as the teacher. Many of them express their opinions with a vocabulary I don't understand (and I have a rather extensive vocabulary, compared to the average bear). I had the distinct sensation, several times in the course of the seminar, that I was the only person who didn't understand any given person's ideas, though. The experience opened my eyes to what so many of my students see and feel daily. (My colleagues, I'm happy to say, are masters of encouragement and validation. I have much to learn from them.)

I wanted to do so much this summer. I wanted to rework my thesis, trim it down, and submit it for publication. I wanted to lay tile in my master bath. I wanted to read The Iliad, The Odyssey, and Dante's Inferno, among other things. I wanted to read more about pedagogical theory and techniques. I wanted to exercise more than I have. However, I accomplished a great deal at the same time. I spent most weekends with one or more friends. The conference on Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness helped me see the potential of the text to the point that I'm excited about teaching it. I have read a number of beautiful and inspiring professional essays which I'll use, in turn, as models of good beauty, inspiration, and the power of the written word for my students. I've attended the wedding of an old friend and made several new friends in the process, walked the streets of London, visited the British museum, the Tower of London, Westminster Abbey, and finally seen Phantom of the Opera on stage.

While I had so many plans, I have accomplished much. I feel like I have, in a sense, sucked the summer dry. I have accomplished the most important thing: I'm ready to step in front of a class again.

As an aside, RIF results are due out next Wednesday, which is earlier than the originally projected release date. This is good. Three of us in the department are ready to know the verdict, for better or for worse. The bad news is that the "force shaping" programs for 2008 are due to be released in mid-August. Somebody grab that spoke over there and help me stop this Wheel of Fortune....

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