Juggling 101

  • 23 Aug 2010 /  Uncategorized

    Last time I wrote about recent media coverage of college-aged and recent college-grads (the media has dubbed this group Gen Y and The Millennials). The media seems to think that everyone in this generational group has access to cutting edge technology and knows how to use it. The media also seems to think that this group is a major buying power and regularly exercises their disposable-income-muscles. I won’t retread what I’ve already stated: but I don’t see that all Millennials fit neatly into this designation. More, I don’t even think that the super-spenders (using loans and their parents income, if the media is to be believed), is even a narrow majority. Assuming a knowledge (and spending) base can be problematic; this lack of economic agency absolutely changes the way one interacts with these individuals.

    Politics, for one thing, are different in lower-economic and working-class neighborhoods, but maybe not in the way one might think. If I believed the media I would think that all 17 - 28 year olds are super liberal. They are also atheists and anarchists, if the hype is true. Of course, that isn’t the case at either of the campuses where I teach. Both urban and rural colleges sit securely in the Land o’ the Conservative.

    While many of my students do come from politically conservative homes, proudly voting to maintain the system, regularly attending their various churches and temples, wanting to control the anarchy and chaos that they believe is around every corner, they nonetheless agree with me that many social programs are beneficial. The recent Obama healthcare reform law didn’t so much spark debate in my classes as it brought a sense of relief for many local families facing home foreclosure, job loss, and worse. Because I believed the media hype that “all conservatives” were against healthcare initiatives that provided benefits for people without any insurance, I was shocked to discover this.

    Blogger Samuel P. Jacobs, over at The Daily Beast, doesn’t seem to agree with my students or me in his recent post: “Slackers Cheer Health Reform.” He writes that specifically the provision that grants “twenty-somethings extended healthcare coverage under their parents’ health-insurance plans closes a major gap in the social safety net.” He also predicts that it “also might coax a few recent college grads back to Mom’s couch.” But will this extension keep college graduates longer in their parents home, will it allow them to linger in their unemployment, and  prolong their college-years slacker lifestyle? I asked my students in one of my classes this very question and they all said a resounding “no.” In fact, they laughed at Jacobs’ suggestion.

    My students, you see, come from families that don’t have any insurance to begin with. These are not the elite; these are not even the kids who grew up thinking they would change the world. These are ethnically diverse young people, many from immigrant families, versus the predominantly white groups that the media focuses on. They are working and poverty class, versus the upper-middle-class and wealthy that the media pokes at.

    In my classes, I routinely spend the first several weeks, even in my online classes, teaching students how to do basic things like access their student email, log into Blackboard to find what resources I have available for them, and how to utilize the colleges’ databases. These students didn’t grow up with a computer in their home. The media seems to think otherwise. These students are thrilled with their new phones, but often can’t afford the basic data package that would give them even limited internet access. Many of these students worked through high school to earn enough money to buy a car and then come to college with no clear goals or any idea of what to expect.

    TV shows on network and cable channels lavish attention on the tech generation. This can only create an enormous gap between the “us” and the “them.” Music genres also reference the toys of the generation with fixated devotion, and no authentic sense of the reality for the listeners. Billboards, radio commercials, all tout this idea. I do my best, as we all do in the classroom, to educate my students not just about my course subjects but also the world they actually live in. It never feels like it’s enough, though.

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  • 10 May 2010 /  commuting

    The old, dirty flatbed truck two vehicles ahead if me is loaded down with assorted shopping carts. Had I noticed, I would have gotten in the other lane; now, it’s too late. I’ll be trapped in this spot for at least 20 minutes. I pound my flat palms on the steering wheel and use my most colorful language in my closed car. It’ll be a slow move up the main drag of my hometown, into the hills, over and around the bend, then back down into the town where I work today.

    It’s my fault; I left late.

    I have come to believe that there’s an art to getting through the commuter traffic. Timing, quick but calculated decisions, and a healthy helping of luck are all necessary components. As I sit at yet another light smelling exhaust fumes, feeling the combined thump-thump of the big truck’s engine and the stereo from the car immediately in front of me, I start to think that, as in all art, there’s a narrative to this car-ballet I do during the week.

    There are the slow-goers who insist on driving just below the speed limit and they truly, sincerely believe it is best if everyone follows their lead. They almost never pull over to let the line of cars behind them pass. They staunchly guard their lane-place, and will even give their horn a little tap-tap if someone gets cheeky enough to tailgate.

    On the road we also have the multi-taskers, who like to conduct blue-tooth meetings in their car while they also shave, or put on eyeliner, read reports, and root around for something-or-other in their glove compartment (something they seem frustrated about because it is seldom there). The multi-taskers can be dangerous; often you’ll spot them first weaving a little in the lane (although they usually manage to stay in the lane, at least). They are very distracted, and that always concerns me, particularly on winding, two-lane roads.

    Then there are the happy-to-breathe who, when they come to a four-way stop, like to wave people through ahead of them two and three cars at a time just because it’s a nice thing to do. They keep plenty of distance between their car and the one in front of them, even if it’s a seriously-slow-goer. Their windows are down and you can see them singing along to the music, looking at the clouds in the sky, and just generally being glad they are alive.

    Two other types of commuters that I see regularly are the all-business drivers and the oh-so-impatient. The all-business are my favorite to get behind, because they aren’t going to slow down to look at accidents or try any crazy passes around the slow-goers. They don’t gesture wildly when someone cuts them off, or give the middle finger to tailgaters. The oh-so-impatient drivers quite honestly scare me and I try to give them ample room (probably looking like a happy-to-breather in the process). They will always (you can count on this) use turn lanes and wide shoulders to pass the slow-goers and anyone else in the way. For this driver, it isn’t actually about being able to drive at a certain speed; they just don’t want anyone in front of them. They often have loud music coming out of their tinted windows. But despite what some may think, they aren’t all in their late teens and early 20s - impatience is not necessarily a matter of age.

    I will admit that I’ve been some form of each of these drivers and appreciate the headspace that each type represents.

    I catch a break in my commute this morning….my slow-goer truck turns off before the long trek up the two-lane hill-road and I say a little prayer of thanks to the commuter gods; it looks like I may get to my class on time after all. I crank up the stereo and start singing along to the upbeat song. I notice the clouds dancing around in the blue-blue sky. Some days are just good.

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  • 30 Apr 2010 /  teaching

    It’s almost May. The weather has changed and it’s making me think ahead.

    I’m already planning my meager summer vacation. Most of this summer I’ll be desperately working 8 and 9 hour days getting my dissertation finished so I don’t have to face my scary committee chair and ask for even more time than I’ve already taken. I’ve been blessed, or cursed, depending on how you see it, with no classes this summer.

    Blessed, because this dissertation isn’t going to write itself. I’m mired in Chapter Three and finding the time to even finish that has been difficult, at best. Having dedicated time, even just the sporadic hour here or there, is always a gift, and I appreciate it whenever it happens. Obviously, I’m cursed, because having no classes can mean dire financial consequences for part timers.

    As for the upcoming summer vacation, one of my oldest friends is planning on visiting here in June. She called me last week to ask if I was “in.” My only criteria for going along with any of her crazy plans was that I needed to be able to read trashy novels (no laptop, no Blackberry) and laze by some kind of body of water. She ended the conversation quickly; later, she texted me that we would be going out on another friend’s sailboat for four days. Four days. I’m in shock thinking of how wonderful getting a four-day break will be.

    Along with the anticipation of relaxing days under a deep blue sky, dipping my toe in the rippling waters of the Pacific ocean, I am also thinking of all of the work still to be done between now and the actual end of the semester. There are final projects to be graded, stacks and stacks of essays to get through, more online discussions than I know what to do with to comment on and grade, and then the finals to write.

    There are also the bevy of worried student-faces hovering around me at the end of each class, their pleading eyes and wistful voices hoping for some kind of extra credit for assignments earlier blown off and now (belatedly) causing gpa concerns.

    The semester has gone by so fast, it seems. Actually, the entire year is a blur. Like my students, I see my own as-a-student work, my dissertation, and what it means - work I’ve put off, and now must face. Because I am anticipating my soon-to-be loafing I will likely be more understanding with my needy students. I get their anxiety. I’m going to try and not pack that when I back my sunscreen and swimsuit.

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  • 25 Apr 2010 /  students, teaching

    It was bound to happen in one of my classes. I knew that sooner or later I would be confronted by the fanatical devotion fans have for the Twilight books and movies. Twilight, for the three people in the United States who don’t know, is the first in a series of novels and movies about a young woman named Bella Swan. As the series progresses, she must choose between two different young men with whom she has fallen in love. The first is Edward, the outsider who comes from a wealthy and prominent family; the other, Jacob, is everyone’s favorite town son. The twist that makes this more than a standard teen romance novel is that Edward is a vampire and Jacob is a werewolf.

    These stories have captured the attention of so many people, from all different age groups. Christine Seifert, writing for BitchMagazine.org back in 2008, explains that this multigenerational reader infatuation with Bella and Edward’s smoldering romance was even the focus of a fan “engagement” party at the Sandy, Utah, Barnes & Noble store on the night before the fourth book was released that year. Participants wore formal wedding attire in honor of the happy fictional couple. It was a big night for romantics, one and all (”Bite me, (Or Don’t!“).

    With so much overexposure, I should have realized that at some point a student would bring up the books and movies in a class discussion. We were talking that day about “showing” versus “telling” in writing. I was giving examples about word choice, word placement, sentence choice, and using examples. One young woman lovingly brought out her copy of the second or third book and, in a rush of breathless exclamation points, told the class that she wanted to write like Stephanie Meyers, the author.

    Quite the controversy exists around these works and this author. Early last year, horror writer Stephen King, in the USA Weekend Magazine, stated that while Meyers does speak directly to her audience, “Stephenie Meyer can’t write worth a darn.” Her lack of polish and talent dogs her as she continues to write for fans who are so avid they call themselves Twi-Fans and Twi-Hards, or Twi-moms if they’re of the older variety. They don’t seem to care that literary critics pan her work, they just keep buying her products obsessively. And, with the second movie just out on DVD, and the third movie scheduled to arrive in theatres at the end of June this year, fans everywhere are in a frenzy.

    Here I was in my college writing class faced with just such a dedicated enthusiast and I was caught off-guard. I am not going to spend this entire post outlining the failings of Ms. Meyers’s books. Not when gifted bloggers like Eric Boyd Vogeler have already done a superb job of it here. And the Monkey See duo at NPR have also done a series well worth your time here.

    But I was at a loss as to how to manage the spellbound student. I barely had to. Not all students, it turned out, were in the thrall of this pseudo-gothic-vampire love story. A heated debate broke out. One contingent believed that Twilight was a poor substitute for such literary classics as Dracula, Frankenstein, and Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde. Another didn’t care about the literary merit because readin’ is readin’ and that’s what these books caused people to do (people who normally weren’t bookish). Still another rallied in support of the writing in the Twilight books, sticking with their dogged belief that it was good. What’s an instructor to do?

    In the end, I allowed all sides to state their views. Then I took lines from the book and used them as examples. Sadly, they just didn’t hold up to scrutiny and the student-fans were forever awakened to that fact.

    I seem to be breaking ever more hearts in my classroom…

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  • 04 Feb 2010 /  teaching

    There are days when I wonder why I even got out of bed.

    In teaching, these days can sneak up on you when you aren’t ready for them. For me, they are especially acute when I’ve taken extra time with a lecture or assignment and the fanfare and accolades don’t come from it. Don’t misunderstand; I don’t think for a second that every lecture is a golden testament to my own brilliance - far from it. But when I’ve really worked hard to make a lecture interesting for the class, and they nod off during the lecture, or file their nails, or text under the desk, it can be more than a little frustrating. The reason behind the extra work can be that maybe the chapter reading was more dry than usual; or past students have struggled with some of the vocabulary in a particular reading; or maybe the previous lecture was less-than-stellar and I want to make up for it. Whatever the reason, there are times when I will take extra time and care, scout out particularly vivid images to put in a PowerPoint, find a video clip interview with someone that I think makes the lesson even more powerful, or tell an especially fun or unusual story - and they just stare at me.

    You know the feeling. That loud silence when the crickets fill the silence of the room or when their eyes are blurry from trying to pretend they’re paying attention. That’s when I wonder why I got out of bed and bothered to come to class.

    Luckily, these days don’t happen often. If they did, I would probably rethink my desire to teach - or at least I would rethink doing this part-time gig. For as we all know, this job doesn’t have a lot of benefits or compensations.

    I sometimes wonder if there isn’t a teaching-fairy-godparent looking out for me, because when these days do sneak up on me (worse, they sometimes even double up on each other), something wonderful will happen that erases the frustration and feeling of “why did I bother.” That “something” is often small, and always unexpected. It’s a student from a previous class showing up in the next class with a huge smile; or it’s when a student stays after class to tell me he was too shy to speak up in the lecture, but really thought my story that day was fascinating; or when a student declares he or she will change majors because my class so interesting; or when a student asks me for advice about which college to transfer to.

    These “somethings” can also be unbelievably huge and momentous. Like the time one of my online students showed up at my class to meet me because she wanted to see the person who had changed her life. Or the time a former student read my birthday on my Facebook page and dropped a birthday card off at the Instructional Office for me. I even had a student ask me to sign my lecture notes because “they got me through the really hard readings, and I just know you’ll be published one day.”

    Big or small, these interactions with grateful, engaged, excited students keep me fueled through those other times. I mentally pull the “somethings” out and hold them in my metaphoric hands when the echoing silence rings through the room and the glazed expressions cause me to pause. A rueful smile will spread across my face, too, because I also know that the biggest failure is taking myself too seriously. That brilliant story or fantastic PowerPoint clearly isn’t as life-changing as I thought it should be. My own hubris must be kept in check, or those silent stares will happen more often as I lose touch with what I’m really supposed to be doing, which isn’t some ego-stroking performance, but just plain ol’ good teaching.

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  • 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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