Sweating the Small Stuff

The Big Bounce

Each June, there are several recurring events that I use to mark my time on this earth.  The last day of school, the summer solstice, and recital season.  Each is an indicator to me that the weather is getting nicer (sort of) and I can look forward to spending more time relaxing and doing the things I enjoy most--hiking, biking, and hanging out with my kid.  This June is no different.  School ended right on schedule, it is now light until nearly 11:00 p.m., and last weekend, Bellingham was overrun by princesses (princi?) in fluffy tutus and pink tights.  

Dance recitals are something that only a parent can truly love--and only a parent whose son or daughter is directly involved.  If Sarah weren't actually on stage, doing actual DANCING, there's no way I'd be there.  I can think of about a million other places I'd like to be on a warm summer's day (warm being a relative term here--I think we have yet to reach 70 degrees).  But darn it, there I sit, through dress rehearsals and multiple performances, because my kid loves it.  Well, love may be too strong a descriptor.  Let's say she tolerates it.  Oh, she LOVES the stage part of it.  The dancing, she admits, is getting a bit tiresome.  When you're a kid, the moves you're assigned really are kind of dull--a pirouette here, a curtsey there.  There's no real action, nothing that makes you go, "Holy crap!  That was AMAZING!"  Only the bigger kids get to jump and fly in the air.  The little ones pretty much just bounce.

Although, I must admit, there's something to be said for bouncing.  Each year, I positively CRACK UP when the little-little kids take the stage (the three year olds).  Most of them just stand there, staring out into the deep, dark audience, wondering where in the hell they are, and how in the hell they got there.  Some immediately freak out and run off the stage.  Others never even make it on the stage, and have to be dragged out, so obviously against their will.  And then there are the bouncers--the girls that just stand and sort of bounce to the beat of the music.  Oh, their teacher is right there on stage with them, inviting them to mimic her movements as she performs the dance right in front of them.  But they pay her no mind.  Bounce, bounce, bounce.  Somewhere in the audience, I can always hear a parent thinking, "I paid HOW much for this?"  More than you'd like to know, mister.  More than you'd like to know.

But as any parent will tell you, it's not about the dancing.  Not really.  It's about the bouncing, and the friendships, and the commitment and learning how to finish what you start.  It's about the follow-through.  So each summer, I sit in the darkened theater, waiting for my kid's one minute and thirty second taste of fame.  The price of admission to this moment is steep, indeed (literally, each dance is only a minute and thirty seconds long), but I still think it's worth it.

Plus, you get to keep the tutu.  And they're so damn bouncy!

Why We Do It

 

"I like her because she smiles at me and means it."

--Middle School Student to her Student Intern

 

Hard as it is for me to believe, I am coming up on 20 years of teaching.  I have taught at the middle school, community college and university levels, and I am totally and utterly convinced that the relationships that we build with our students, no matter what their ages, are why we continue to do what we, as teachers, do, dispite the numerous and weighty obstacles that cross our collective path.

As I type this blog entry, an e-mail popped up on my screen from one of my students letting her faculty mentors know that she won a scholarship which will assist her during her time as a student teacher.  Woo-hoo!  That's why we do this, folks.  We do it because we want to help our students achieve thier goals and dreams.  We do this because we want to help our students succeed.

The video posted above highlights the work that two of my amazing colleagues, Ray Wolpow and Susan Kincaid, published on the topic of compassionate teaching.  The idea is quite simple, really:  We all need to feel safe and valued before we can start to make sense of anything, including school.  One of the most inspirational teachers I ever knew, Dr. Ken Fox, said it best:  "You can't play chess in a hurricane."  Think about that for a minute.  How motivated would you be if you were asked to write an essay, or solve for "x," or run a mile if you were in pain, either physical or emotional?  Not very, I suspect.  As teachers, we must acknowledge the whole child, not just from the neck up.  Strike me down for saying it out loud, but there are more important things in life than a sparkling transcript.

For the past two years, I have been a finalist for my university's "Excellence in Teaching Award."  This has been a pretty big deal for me, because, as teachers, we don't always know whether our hard work, dedication, and compassion for our students is appreciated.  And while we don't do the things we do simply to be recognized (teaching is SO not the profession for that kind of validation), it does feel nice to have a head-nod in your general direction.  Here is part of the essay that I submitted to go along with my syllabi and teaching evaluations.  In it, I explain the importance of fostering relationships with students.  (NB: It is lengthy.  Be patient with me.)

Teaching Statement

 If you look deeply into any living being a mosaic of intimate interrelationships will be revealed.

Life is all about relationships.

                                                                                                --Joel Levey

 

Several years ago, I joined a group of colleagues in Woodring who had similar interests in placing our students at the center of our teaching.  Considering that this inclusive theory of education is housed in the domain of multicultural education, we call ourselves “Multicultural Faculty Fellows,” and meet several times a quarter to discuss our teaching, and to provide support to one another.  Our first charge, put forth by our fearless “leader,” Dr. Kristen French, was to read a new book by Laura I. Rendon entitled “Sentipensante (Thinking/Feeling) Pedagogy: Educating for Wholeness, Social Justice, and Liberation.”  In her book, Rendon outlines the unspoken (yet universally assumed) “agreements” of the academy (a term she borrows from Don Miguel Ruiz, a healer, teacher and author of “The Four Agreements” who studied indigenous teachings of the Toltec in Mexico).  The agreements (assumptions) Rendon outlines are the following:

1. The agreement to privilege intellectual/rational knowing
2. The agreement of separation
3. The agreement of competition
4. The agreement of perfection
5. The agreement of monoculturalism
6. The agreement to privilege outer work
7. The agreement to avoid self-examination

Oh, my.  When I saw this list, it confirmed what I, as a teacher, had long felt—our priorities are often in the wrong place.  Where are our students in this list?  Where are ourselves?  Upon closer examination, two agreements in particular stood out to me: the agreement of separation, and the agreement to avoid self-examination.  In the paragraphs that follow, I will attempt to explain how I understand teaching and learning to be co-constructed within those two particular agreements, and end with what I wish for all of my students, who comprise the future teachers of our state and nation.

The Agreement of Separation

Thich Nhat Hanh once said, “We are here to awaken from the illusion of our separateness.”  This illusion of being an island unto one’s self has deep roots in our culture—showing vulnerability can often be construed as a sign of weakness.  Within the university classroom, this agreement of separation manifests in several assumptions which are (a) teaching and learning are linear, and information flows primarily from teacher to student; (b) faculty should keep a distance between themselves and their students; (c) faculty are the sole experts in the classroom; (d) teaching is separated from learning; (e) any kind of faculty outreach to students, such as validation, caring, or encouragement, is more often than not considered a form of coddling students who are presumed to be adults and should be strong enough to survive a collegiate environment on their own; (f) the student studies the subject matter from a distance; and (g) the student learns to understand and solve problems employing the perspectives of only one discipline (Rendon, 2009).  In my teaching, I strive to disrupt these agreements on every count.  Friere (1971) suggests that educators transform oppressive structures and create liberatory pedagogy where teaching and learning can be democratic, participatory and, most importantly, relational.  Similarly, feminist scholars (Belenky et al., 1986; Gilligan, 1977; hooks, 1994) argue that a connected, holistic model of education can provide a space for student development, allowing for expressions of uncertainty, a diversity of voices, the development of community, and which views teaching as simultaneously objective and personal (Rendon, 2009).

So, what does this liberatory pedagogy look like in my classroom?  In a word: food.  I like to create a sense of community—of connection—through sharing food.  On many of my formal and informal course evaluations, you’ll see positive comments about snacks.  Occasionally, students would bring baked goods or fruit and cheese to class, and we would all be SO appreciative.  Then, a few years ago, I decided to formalize this practice by having an “official snack sign-up sheet” for the quarter.  You would be amazed at how consistently students attend class when the promise of snacking is offered!  Plus, the students often share the stories of where their snacks originated—grandma’s favorite oatmeal cookie recipe, dad’s favorite three bean dip, or fruits grown on family orchards.  All snacks—and all students—have a story.  They get to share both in my classroom.  This leads to more in-depth sharing on all levels, as I truly value the “schooling” experiences that my students bring with them to class.  Many were “A” students in high school, but several earned their GED only after dropping out of a public system that failed to serve them.  Over snacks, and within an atmosphere of trust, support and respect, everyone is heard.  Once everyone is heard, everyone is ready to learn.

Another way of incorporating a liberatory pedagogy in my classroom is through the use of writing.  In addition to formal, “graded” projects and papers, my students (and I) engage in a fair amount of non-formal writing.  This mainly takes the form of quick-writes, where I introduce a topic and invite students to write a response in no more than five minutes.  At the end of the five minutes allotted, I ask for any volunteers to share what they’ve written.  Inevitably, there are several students who want to share their thoughts with the larger group, and I am often humbled and surprised by what they have to say.  Recently, I suggested the topic, “Today I…”  I was amazed when two students (in the same class) wrote “Today I am worried, because my mom is having surgery on her arm.”  Can you imagine—two students—on the same day!  Needless to say, that was a pretty powerful moment.  Not only did it give me some insight into their lives outside of school (such an important aspect of who they are in school), but it also explained why they kept checking their phones for any updates from family members. 

Through food, and writing, I have been able to achieve a level of community in my classes that I feel is unique at the university level.  As a result, I often read student comments such as, “The dialogue in your class was very open, and I felt very safe to give my opinion” (Fall 2010, SEC 531).

The Agreement to Avoid Self-Examination

On their journey to becoming classroom teachers, my students engage in two types of activities: learning in the university classroom and learning out in the field.  I firmly believe that it is necessary to engage in both in order to become an effective teacher, and that you need a healthy balance of both, allowing for plenty of time for self-examination, or reflection. 

For many of my students—students who were successful in their own secondary schooling experience—they neglect to ask “why.”  They tend to know the “how,” (or can quickly learn), but they rarely stop to ask why.  Harder still is the question, “How did that make me feel?”  For my students, considering the affective dimensions of teaching—the emotions that lurk just beneath the surface—is a scary prospect.  After all, showing emotion is not rational.  Showing (or even acknowledging) emotion can be considered a sign of weakness, or a lack of control, and nobody wants a weak teacher, right?  True, but people do want teachers who are emotionally healthy, and have a healthy sense of what working with adolescents entails. 

Last year, my colleague, Ray Wolpow, and I worked with our graduate students to develop a scoring rubric that would help guide students in learning to write reflectively.  We based our model after what teachers are asked to do on the National Teacher Board Certification exam, the highest level of teacher certification offered in the country.  By using this rubric, our students are asked to reflect, in a meaningful way, on certain aspects of their field experiences (in either their middle or high school practicum settings).  First, we ask them to explain the context of their entries, then to explain what they and their 6-12 grade students did.  Finally, we ask them to reflect on those interactions, but to integrate both cognitive and affective inquiry in their writing.  What were their previous beliefs?  Have those beliefs been altered?  Why?  We ask them to examine their interactions through multiple lenses, and to put forth any new questions about teaching/learning that may have emerged as a result of their interactions.  We encourage them to use “feeling” words—even going so far as to give them a list of cartoon “emoticons” with “feeling” words written beneath them—to help our students build their affective vocabulary.  Believe me, it’s tough for someone with a background in the sciences to write something like, “I was tremendously frustrated and exasperated when my small group of 7^th graders didn’t listen to me!”  Consequently, it’s just as difficult for an English major to write, in an academic paper, “I was overjoyed at the reaction of my small group!”  Expressing emotion is sometimes considered taboo in academic writing, but by not examining that part of our teaching experience, we are only doing ourselves a disservice.  How much better it is to be able to say in class, “It’s okay to be really scared about that!” and have twenty other people nodding in solidarity! 

Concluding Thoughts

In Sentipensante Pedagogy, the classroom is based on relationships.  According to Rendon (2009), relationship-centered classrooms “foster community, are caring and supportive, invite emotion, and find ways for students to bond, employing such strategies as engaging in group work and collaborative assignments” (p. 140).  I can scarcely imagine a setting in which I, myself, wasn’t comfortable.  This is, after all, my job!  Yet, at the same time, it’s so much more than a job, for I can’t divorce my life as a teacher from my life as mother/daughter/partner/friend.  There is room for all, and all are necessary and valid. 

What I wish for my students is to derive the same level of enjoyment from teaching that I do.  I am especially proud of my high teaching evaluations and words of praise from former students and colleagues.  Sure, one would expect quality teaching in the College of Education.  And while we may all be exceptional teachers, our students are especially tough critics!  They know what good teaching looks like (after all, we taught them to look for it), so to be nominated for this award is truly an honor.  I am not ashamed to say that I am thrilled to be recognized for doing what I unabashedly love to do!  My students are sometimes surprised that I still get nervous on the first day of class.  I have always told them that when the day comes that I am not nervous, that may be the day that I need to retire, because the nerves are a reminder that I still deeply care about being a positive role model for my students. 

Oh, and the snacks.  Don’t underestimate the power of a scone to create an academic learning community!

References:

Belenky, M.F., Clinchy, B.M., Godlberger, N.R., & Tarule, J.M. (1986).  Women’s ways of knowing.  New York, NY: Basic Books.

Freire, P. (1971).  Pedagogy of the oppressed.  (M.B. Ramos, Trans.).  New York, NY:Continuum.

Gilligan, C. (1977).  In a different voice: Women’s conception of self and of morality.  Harvard Educational Review, 47(4), 481-517.

hooks, b. (1994).  Teaching to transgress: Education as the practice of freedom.  New York, NY: Routledge.

Levey, J., & Levey, M. (1998).  Living in balance: A dynamic approach for creating harmony and wholeness in a chaotic world.  Berkeley, CA: Conari Press.

Rendon, Laura I. (2009).  Sentipensante (sensing/thinking) pedagogy: Educating for wholeness, social justice and liberation.  Sterling, VA: Stylus Publishing LLC.

Last week, on the final day of class, I found a gift sitting on the table at the front of our classroom.  The gift turned out to be a book ("Twilight"--it's a long story) given to me by a student who had a particularly rough quarter.  Inside the book was this note:

Lauren: You are a teacher who really knows when a student needs a hug!  Your classes never lack for creativity.  You are by far the most personable and real teacher I've had at Western, and have made my Woodring experience one to reflect on throughout my professional life.  You are someone I am greatly inspired by and absolutely adore!  Thank you for all the support, encouragement and everything else you have done for me!  You fuckin' rock!  Good luck and have fun on sabbatical next year!

That is why we do it.  (Choice of adjectives excepted.)