Juggling 101

  • 29 Jan 2010 /  social networking

    I am not shy. This was an asset back in the early 90s when I sold computers and corporate network solutions. It’s an asset in the classroom now. Not being shy, though, means that sometimes I may trample over appropriate social boundaries without even realizing it. In my defense, those boundaries seem sometimes to be made of butter and they’re difficult to really hold on to.

    One of my current challenges is Facebook. About midway through every semester I’m confronted with two or three students who want to “friend add” me. Facebook, for those who reside in technological caves, is one of many choices currently available for people who want to combine the internet with socializing. Other such sites are (and this is just a small sampling) MySpace, Twitter, Flixster, Bebo, LinkedIn, and Friendster.

    According to Compete.com, a web analytics company that tracks web trends, Facebook is the top-most used social network site. People clicked on this site over 1 billion times last January. (For those who love statistics, here’s the link). Anyone with an internet connection and an email address can make a profile on Facebook and start interacting with other folks in groups, playing games (referred to as apps), or comment on other peoples’ profile pages (called “walls”). Ease of use is probably the reason it’s so popular.

    My dilemma is always how much of myself should I reveal on my own Facebook wall. While I mostly use the site to update friends and colleagues on my dissertation process, I do post occasional political rants, family pictures, and articles that interest me. Members of my family, including my two teenaged daughters, are on Facebook and we often interact with one on the site. Then there are the students - either merely curious or genuinely looking for a continued connection, current and former students make up about 30 or so of my total 217 friends.

    In the classroom, it can be difficult to reign in personal views and ideas about hot topics. As instructors, we’re in a delicate position of influence. How much more difficult is it in a virtual place like Facebook, where revelation is built into the user interface, part of the entire experience, to know when a boundary is crossed?

    I had a moment of concern last semester when I was frustrated about one student’s repeated failure to come to class or turn in the assignments, but email me his sob stories about all of his reasons why. This is not the unusual part - we’ve all dealt with this. My misstep (if it was one) was in reacting instantly to one such email after the final had been missed. I posted what is called a status update (these are 420 character comments that, when posted, everyone on your friend list can potentially see) about my frustration. I wrote something like:

    When you don’t come to class, don’t turn in work, don’t read the assignments, do I really need to make special arrangements for you to take a test you’ve already missed?

    I posted it quickly and then dashed off to give another final.

    Last semester was a frustrating one, just in general. Students were getting sick with the H1N1 flu, they had financial challenges that I can’t even begin to illustrate here, and there were also the brand-shiny-new students that come every Fall who always need extra help. I was also teaching a new class in both online and classroom format, so I was more than a little stressed about “things.” I regretted my status post immediately and as soon as I returned home I opened my browser to delete it. I was shocked that several students (some in that class) had all posted words of support for me. They commented variously that they were frustrated when classmates acted entitled and didn’t even try. They each praised me in some way as a caring and involved teacher. I was overwhelmed by their kindness.

    I may not always know where the exact boundaries are in this changing world with ubiquitous tech dripping over everything, but I am impressed at the instant feedback that can be gotten - and from my target market, my students. These are, after all, my customers. Where else but on Facebook (or some other social media source) can an adjunct faculty member get instant reactions? I won’t post these sorts of status updates again, of course; I think it was inappropriate. But the response was intriguing nonetheless.

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  • 16 Jan 2010 /  organization, teaching

    I rushed around this morning trying to find my nice shoes, print out a copy of my lecture notes, grab the textbook, and wolf down something so my stomach wouldn’t rumble. It was the first day of the new semester. I felt equally harried and elated. I wanted to leave early because students tend to park in the faculty lots during the first three weeks, and I hate being late for my own class due to something controllable, like parking. Next week classes start at the other college I work for, so today had an almost dress-rehearsal feel to it. I don’t know why, my two online classes began on Monday. The staggered starts and endings happen each semester, but I can’t keep from feeling a weird kind of academic bends from coming up too fast. Another pretty common happening is that, like this morning, I forgot something. I neglected to print the class roster. Not the end of the world but a little frustrating. And I didn’t even realize it until I started to call roll…tough to do without a roll sheet.

    Does any of this sound familiar? Maybe forgetting the roster on the first day of class isn’t something that happens to you, but I know that adjuncts are busy people. Few of us are any one thing anymore - online instructor, training center tutor, classroom instructor, this or that subject instructor; this is in addition to all of the other things happening in your life. For example, this semester I am scheduled to teach five classes at two different colleges. One of those colleges has me in the English department, while at the other I am in the Social Sciences department. When I’m asked “what do you teach” I always pause. When I’m asked where I work and I say at two colleges, people seem confused. But I doubt that many of my fellow adjuncts would be confused. While the majority of part-timers don’t work in different departments, it isn’t uncommon.

    The tricky part of it all is that every college we work for requires a different approach, a different skill-set, even a different persona. Actually, each class requires some form of this, as well. I would no more teach my basic writing classes like my American Religions class, than I would assign the same kind of quiz to my classroom Death and Dying class that I use in my online section of that same class. This is where the title of this blog comes from: Juggling 101. I do juggle. Most of us juggle. And there are sadly more roster-forgetting-type episodes than I like to admit. Sometimes, during midterm time or even finals week, I’ll have whole moments where I forget which school I’m supposed to be. Overcoming these challenges is worryingly like juggling.

    I do it— the crazy and jumbled schedules, the late nights of grading, the sadly-rushed letters of reference for really deserving students, the working weekends trying to get the next syllabus done, or plugging away at my online instruction certification (even though I’ve been teaching online for over two years now) - because teaching is exactly what I want to be doing in my life.

    Even without the roster, I got to stand in front of a room full of mostly eager, mostly interested, some young and some old, new people. I get to talk about subjects that genuinely interest me, and to share those subjects with over a hundred new people every 18 weeks. I get to tell little jokes and most of the time they laugh. And I get paid to do this.  Most days, too, I feel like I could do this indefinitely without growing bored by any of it.

    This past year has seen so many economic ups and downs for the country, the state, my city, and my own family. My husband is also an associate faculty and his course load has been cut in half due to two of his colleges perilously cutting back on part-time instructors. Not uncommonly, neither of us has healthcare, and we were more than worried as the H1N1 flu swept through the classrooms last semester. I have no idea what the near or distant future holds for me; for now, though, I know that I’ll be printing things out at the last minute, hoping I have everything I need, as I rush out the door, my heart racing with an equal mix of exhilaration and beleaguerment.

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