Juggling 101

• Why, Gen Y? PART ONE

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  16 Aug 2010 /  students
  This is a longer blog, and I’ve decided to break it into two parts.

  I see them shuffle in every semester, this group referred to by the label-makers as Gen Y or The Millennials. The Millennials in my Community College classes, though, don’t look like the super slick, Gossip Girl outfitted, tech-savvy young adults I see in Apple computer or Kia Soul commercials.

  One of the communities that I teach in is very rural, and the students come in right off their jobs on ranches or in construction. The other community that I teach in is extremely urban, with many students unfamiliar with technology except in regards to their music players. In neither group do I have many commercial viewing, internet trolling, movie-going young adults who live on that tech cutting edge.

  Many times during lectures, in fact, I am reminded of my students’ lack of popular culture exposure. I reference movies, songs, news items, the latest commentary on The Daily Show, etc and I get blank stares back at me. In my online Introduction to Myth class I even use contemporary movies to illustrate the mythic themes each week, and I wade through regular emails from confused students complaining that they don’t have an online movie rental account, don’t have access to a DVD player or a computer that will play movies, or worse, can’t even choose a movie because they’ve never heard of them. (Note that I choose mostly current movies, those 10 years old or newer).

  I’m not the only person who’s noticed this inequity in representation. Social commentary writer for Bitch Magazine online, J. Maureen Henderson wrote a recent blog (03 May 2010) called “The Young and the Feckless” where she specifically addresses the “largely invisible” who, “by virtue of culture, religion or upbringing, have different values or a different relationship to technology than those which defines the Millennial archetype.” She believes it’s predominantly an economic issue. I’m not so sure.

  Is it economy alone? Isn’t there some amount of culture of origin, and faith system, and even political affiliations at play? While money is, I think, a large part of this equation it isn’t only money that separates the tech savvy from the tech invisibles.

  Whatever the reason, there’s a definite divide; it is, though, quickly being bridged, even if the media hasn’t caught on to that fact yet. In March, Jennifer Bleyer wrote “Hipsters on Food Stamps,” a blog post about college educated young adults who are finding themselves on food stamps (and they’re shopping at Whole Foods, which adds to the controversy.) Bleyer’s piece looks specifically at those who enter the workforce with a certain expectation of success, only to find themselves heavily in debt and starving. To her credit she makes no overt critique of these graduates utilizing government social programs, but there is a certain cluck-clucking sound playing in the background. I have mixed feelings.

  Few, if any, of my students have ever stepped into a Whole Foods and while these so-called Hipsters might have been the original Gen Y models for all those cell phone commercials, they no longer have the disposable cash to utilize their tech know-how. The divide could easily close over all of them, without regard for their parentage or economic status of origin.

  Next time: The media and Healthcare versus the reality for Community College students.

  Tags: Apple Computer, Blockbuster, Blue Ray, community college, DVD, DVD Player, DVR, Economic Divide, Gen Y, Gossip Girl, Katherine Kiefer-Newman, Kia Soul, Media, Media Representation, movies, Netflix, Red Box, rentals, rural, teaching, tech divide, tech invisibles, tech savvy, The Millennials, urban

• Commuter Hell, the Ballet

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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.

  Tags: adjunct, college, commute, commuter, drivers, driving, freeway flyer, freeway flying, instructing, Katherine Kiefer-Newman, students, teaching, types of drivers

• “Vacation, All I Ever Wanted…”

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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.

  Tags: adjunct, April, break, dissertation, grades, grading, Katherine Kiefer-Newman, part time, procrastination, students, summer, teaching, vacation

• Function Over Form, Really?

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  19 Mar 2010 /  organization, teaching
  I was out walking with a friend last week and the conversation turned, as it often does, to school. She’d just finished her college-level writing class and was sharing her experiences. She loved her instructor and mostly wanted to express how grateful she was for the terrific job he had done. In his class, the students wrote eight essays, plus a rash of smaller writing assignments. They watched movies, and analyzed them. She raved about the various critical thinking exercises and discussions this instructor offered—she felt challenged to try harder, and to push herself. Overall, the class sounded like one that, as a student, I would’ve enjoyed.

  This got me to thinking.

  Much goes into putting together a writing class. As part of the design, instructors consider the course’s outline of record and other requirements. These can be rather strict and stiff. Some schools have tightly controlled curricula, some limit the textbooks used, while others allow the instructor total autonomy. A minimalistic approach is one extreme (basics only), and a fully-loaded course like the one my friend had is at the other extreme.

  Where my friend’s class was chock-full of critical thinking opportunities, a variety of materials for the students to analyze, and ample classroom discussions on controversial topics, the minimalist approach offers a more practicum-oriented structure rather like a vocational application of writing techniques. Here, students spend their time learning writing formulas for thesis statements, paragraphs, and essays; they read mostly other student work looking at style, function, and effectiveness more than content and quality of writing; and while they are introduced to critical thinking as per the requirements, classroom time is mostly spent in various writing exercises and workshops rather than heated discussions.  Instead of spending weeks on research essays and longer writing pieces, students have a shorter reading and writing assignment due every class, and frequently workshop those assignments in groups.

  Now, the ultimate goal of any instructor is to offer a variety of teaching styles so that more students’ needs are addressed. Sticking too closely with one or another style, however well-intentioned, can result in losing some, or many students. Having too minimal an approach can lead to formulaic and dull writing; having too creative an approach can lead to the basics getting lost in the milieu of technique. Perhaps it comes down to that old battle of function over form, of practicality over style.

  You might be thinking that I am about to say that my courses fall firmly between the two extremes. That isn’t the case, though. I did used to teach the fully-loaded, critical thinking heavy class. If lessons got sidetracked because of hot topic discussions, I figured that students were learning how to express themselves. I encouraged creativity. I cheered on individuality and innovative thinking—at least I did until I taught a critical argument class about two years ago.

  The first meeting, I surveyed my students and they admitted that not a single one of them had scored higher than a C in their prerequisite writing class (which I regularly teach). I spent the majority of that semester:

  1) teaching them the what and how of a thesis statement

  2) that opinion is not analysis

  3) that plagiarism can be unintentional yet still be really bad.

  I came to dread the discussions because basic “if/then” arguments were lost on these students. Their attempts at writing clear, concise arguments were painful to read. Critical analysis was all opinion for these students, and they had no idea how to even communicate those opinions in grammatically correct ways. When we moved into the literature section they were lost in every discussion about symbol, tone, mood, and interpretation.

  I made the decision then to return to my computer training method of a practicum approach. I developed my writing formulas, and I’ve been using them since. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wonder sometimes if I haven’t sacrificed style for practicality. Sometimes it’s a roll of the dice how well we do in any class; sometimes we agonize over every choice we make. I’d say the proof is in the pudding, but I don’t allow my writing students to use clichés or figures of speech in their writing and it would be bad form for me to do it here.

  Tags: adjunct, adjunct instructor, complicated, critical thinking, form, function, how to teach writing, how to write, Katherine Kiefer-Newman, minimalist, philosophy of education, POE, simple, style, teaching, writing

• Why Are They Just Staring At Me

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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.

  Tags: caring, classroom, good job, helping students, juggling, Katherine Kiefer-Newman, students, teaching, worry

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