Empowering students to join the conversation

One of my students, a young African-American woman (I’ll call her “Liz”) from an inner-city childhood and substandard schools, told me yesterday about her experiences and passionate commitment to improving conditions in VA hospitals. She has volunteered in a particular VA hospital since she was 12 years old and at age 16, had some truly life-changing and eye-opening experiences including vets being turned away, uncaring high-salaried administrators, and witnessing the physical therapy department lack the funds and equipment to help vets in pain. She now wants to be in the physical/rehabilitative therapy field as a result, but her anger about the government’s lack of financial attention to veterans’ care lends a sharp edge to her words and presentation of her thoughts. And yet she considers herself a terrible writer. She utterly lacks confidence in her ability to convey her thoughts and ideas in writing.

She received a 99 out of 100 on her first major essay for me. When she saw her score, she was visibly shocked and said in a quiet, shaky whisper, “I’ve never gotten an A on a paper before.” Then she cried.

I was stunned and moved both by Liz’s reaction to her outstanding performance on paper and angry at an education system and English teachers before me in Liz’s life who were either unwilling or unable to recognize her passionate commitment and quality thinking. And then I realized that perhaps Liz’s ability to thrive had something to do with the subject matter of our composition class and my teaching strategy that combines expressivism with critical pedagogy and an awareness that perfect grammar does not make a perfect writer. Some of my best thinkers have imperfect grammar and sentence structures – but their ideas are creative and compelling and usually well-organized with a passionate focus. I also offer as much encouragement as I can to students like Liz, especially when they so clearly care about doing well and are so evidently terrified of the task at hand. How did our educational system get to this point where fear and dislike of writing is so deeply ingrained that too many students tell me regularly, “I’m so bad at English,” “I’m a terrible writer,” “I’m just not good at writing.”

I counter these statements with my own: “You know more than you think you do,” “Give yourself more credit, these are good ideas,” “You’re not a terrible writer, you’re a good thinker and that leads to good writing, I’ll help you.”

Although I am new to teaching in academia, I am not new to teaching. I’ve been a mentor in varying capacities since my mid-20s, I’ve taught at numerous writers’ conferences helping other (newer) writers develop the skills and confidence to start a freelance writing career, and I’ve directed community theatre, which requires all sorts of teaching and mentoring skills with all ages. Encouragement, support, and compassion are at the root of every teaching moment I encounter…and it boggles my mind that all other teachers don’t approach teaching with the same attitude. But then, I’m starting to realize that in academia – at the university level – teaching is often a side dish, not the main course. And unfortunately for students like Liz, this means they become relegated to dishwashing duty instead of learning how to become first-class chefs.

Part of my composition/rhetoric reading list for my upcoming exams includes Min-Zhan Lu’s “Conflict and Struggle: Enemies or Preconditions of Basic Writing” from a 1992 College English issue. Lu cites Ann Murphy’s essay, “Transference and Resistance” that “draws on her knowledge of the Lacanian notion of the decentered and destabilized subject.” Murphy argues that Basic Writers “may need centering rather than decentering and cognitive skills rather than self-exploration…being taken seriously as adults with something of value to say can, for many Basic Writers, be a traumatic and disorienting experience.” I have to wonder – in the case of a student like Liz, would this also be liberating and empowering as well? By giving students a sense of control and ownership of their own experiences and place in the world – or at least opening the door and inviting them to feel this – wouldn’t this also be a positive growth experience?

In addition to Murphy, Lu also cites Peter Rondinone, who maintains that “learning involves shifting social allegiances,” and asserts that “conflict can only impede one’s learning.” Lu is alarmed by this and so am I. Conflict, struggle, difficulties – these are a natural part of life, in or out of the college writing classroom. Conflict and coping with struggles can create some of the most memorable and lasting learning moments – sometimes life-changing, but ultimately positive, even if the conflict moment itself is painful in the short term. The long-term gains from learning how to cope with and articulate struggle can be extremely beneficial in very tangible ways.

Last night, Liz emailed me that she couldn’t locate her finished paper on her computer – she didn’t save it correctly, spent two hours looking for it, and couldn’t find it. So she wrote to say she’d take a zero on the assignment.I got her email this morning, wrote back instantly and told her no, that she shouldn’t give up that easily. I emailed her the two page draft she’d sent me and told her to use that as the base of the new re-written paper. She came to see me this morning and we talked extensively – many things seem to be going ‘wrong’ for her right now, and this lost paper combined with a failing math test were the so-called final straws. We talked about the need to learn how to cope with obstacles and how common problems like this really are – that instead of giving up and giving in to the urge to withdraw from the semester entirely, she should take a moment to be angry, and cry, and lament how unfair life is…then get back on the computer and re-write the paper. Basically, I tried to encourage her not to give up because she has a modest and completely attainable goal – to graduate and help people (in some capacity). She also has never experienced teachers like myself and her math teacher – apparently, we are the only two teachers she has encountered in college thus far who truly seem interested in helping her succeed.Apparently, when she has approached other teachers for help, the result is a rather disengaged rote repetition of common assistive advice – not truly personal help.

Some may argue that a big research university isn’t the place for students to receive personal help from over-taxed professors. Sink or swim. Survival of the fittest. But what if by helping Liz, she realizes her own capacity to overcome adversity and does graduate, then goes on to become a public advocate for improving VA hospitals? Perhaps these learning moments that are fraught with conflict, difficulty, and discomfort are the moments she will absorb and then, years later, benefit a community of people in need because of her willingness to bravely and substantially face the difficulties of life head on.

Don’t we owe it to our students to empower them to learn from conflict and struggle, no matter how small or how large the issue, and to fearlessly join the human conversation? Isn’t that why we’re teaching? Or shouldn’t that at least be part of it?

The power and volatility of language

Funny thing about language. Once you say something, it’s out there. It can’t be taken back or reversed. The direct or indirect implications of a statement can’t be fixed or corrected or even amended. Once a thought, spoken with words, is verbalized, it becomes powerful and potentially volatile.

Consider a situation in which a person you are dating tells you they love you. For most people, this is a pivotal moment in the relationship, loaded with all sorts of emotional, spiritual, intellectual, and physical implications. And usually, it is a joyous moment.

My experience as a writer, a writing teacher, and an analytic engager with culture, has taught me that a person’s language and spoken utterances should be weighed and considered carefully. Therefore, it takes me awhile to process something that was said – I consider how the statement was said, when it was said, in what context it was spoken, and why that statement might have seemed appropriate to the other person at that time. I also weigh my own reaction to that statement – how and why I reacted a certain way externally and internally, whether my reaction was rational or extreme.

All of this careful consideration of spoken language has a purpose – to help me grow as a person, understand more about human nature and myself, and to guarantee that I don’t make snap judgments about people and situations. This tactic has served me well over the past decade, protected me from questionable situations, and helped me give good people more of a chance to enter and become part of my life.

Back to “I love you.” The timing of this particularly loaded phrase is crucial to its success or failure. For example, after dating for several months, and developing a progressively stronger bond with someone that begins to transcend physical desire, one person feels comfortable enough to utter this pivotal phrase, thus exposing the rawest and most vulnerable part of themselves to scrutiny (and worse, rejection); the response from the other party is telling. If the other person instantly responds sincerely with “I love you, too,” then much rejoicing results and the relationship enters a new and glorious phase. If, however, the response is silence, or confusion, or “How could you love me, you don’t really know me,” then the negative and volatile impact of that single utterance becomes a barrier to progress. Because now imbalance and the awareness of that imbalance takes center stage and can become an insurmountable obstacle.

Now consider what might happen if, for example, the man tells the woman he loves her and is sure of it…on the second date. (I’ll wait for you to stop hyperventilating.)…..

And starts talking about marriage and moving in and the future during the first week of dating….

This is the situation I recently found myself in. So while some women might run screaming in the other direction, I paused for thought. I verbally (and gently) rebuffed, directly established my boundaries and comfort zone, and gave him a chance to live in the moment and not bring it up again.

He did bring it up again – differently, but obviously. So I thought some more and re-established my boundaries and reiterated my aversion to implied references to the future. And to every verbal exchange, he would agree, and then proceed to bring it up again and again in direct and indirect ways that became so persistent that I realized his emotional attachment to me was unhealthily strong for being such a new relationship (three weeks). What to do, what to do.

I looked it up…in a book. Of course. Books have provided so much guidance to me that I have come to rely on them for answers or help with thinking through problems. And it turns out, this intense and fast emotional attachment is a psychological condition that has been studied – it’s called Anxious Romantic Attachment. And the 33 question test for it (in a scholarly psychological book, not on some web site) revealed to me almost everything this very nice and well-meaning guy had done to a very high level…within three weeks. A high score on this test indicates or reinforces that the person has a “tendency toward anxious romantic attachments.” And every scrap of affection given reinforces the person’s already elevated sense of attachment…and they are very hard to dissuade.

Armed with my own discomfort and this information, I thought some more and reflected on this man’s words and actions over the past three weeks, in hopes that I would discover a point of misunderstanding – meaning, perhaps I misunderstood something or misinterpreted a statement or situation. But the more I thought and considered, the more I realized that this wasn’t a scenario I wanted to participate in.

Language in relationships is so important, reinforced by actions. So I’m not really a believer in that old stand-by phrase, “Actions speak louder than words.” Very often, I find that words scream a mouthful of intention that can’t be ignored or corrected by the sweetest actions. Sometimes when someone you care about says something at the wrong time, in the wrong context, even with the most honorable and honest intentions, the power of language renders the situation irredeemable, completely cut short of its potential had those words not been uttered.

Daydreamer

Trying to write a blog while being a PhD student sometimes seems an exercise in futility, as evidenced by the fact that my last post was June 2007. And yet here I am again because I can’t not write. Yes, that’s right. An English PhD candidate just used a double-negative…correctly, might I add, and absolutely intentionally. I work within parameters but I love breaking the rules, especially if the desired outcome can still be achieved. Pushing the boundaries of what makes an acceptable and appropriate writing teacher is one of my current projects. So what inspired this return to the blog? A book. No surprise, really. Books have always helped me to think through problems, issues, social and family situations, personal demons. And this is no different.

The book is Mike Rose’s Lives on the Boundary and I’m reading it in service of my comprehensive exams, upcoming at the end of August (if I get my way with scheduling). Although we come from very different backgrounds, I found my own experiences mirrored somehow in his recollections of literacy, language, and education as a youngster. One phrase in particular struck me: “the abyss of paradise”…what a fabulous evocative phrase – the text so far is littered with gems like this. (I’m only on page 131) Another gem from the introduction also resonates with me: “the resilience of the imagination.” Words to live by. At least for me…and I want to find a way to help my students understand the vital importance of imagination in reading and writing and education.

As I sat outside Applebee’s last night waiting for my friend, Jessica, I ruminated on what I’d read of Rose’s text thus far. Here are some thoughts I wrote down on the back of an envelope containing a thank you card and a $10 gift certificate to Books a Million (for my participation in some friends’ graduate research project during spring 2008):

Ability and skill with language for me meant escape, acceptance, and a way to harness and use my imagination in ways that gained me recognition, which, in turn, fueled my confidence and self-esteem when more traditional sources of these failed or frustrated me (friends, parents, standard academic subjects and classroom experiences).

Important book – Mirror, Mirror – self-acceptance; Brave New World and The Third Wave – reinforced my concern about the future

Important classes – Shakespeare and Science Fiction – love of difficult language and concepts, made me feel smart and part of a community

Important phrase – “carpe diem” – at 16 gave me a motto for life that I have strived to live up to ever since

So what on earth do these shorthand ramblings mean? Well, they are very personal remembrances of literacy moments in my past; moments that somehow helped to shape who I am, how I think and relate to others, and even my very ideas about right ways of being in the world.

Take Mirror, Mirror. I don’t remember the author, but I do remember the story – about a girl struggling with weight and self-image and self-acceptance issues - read when I was 12 and at the height of physical self-esteem issues. A constant phrase in my household directed at me was, “You’d be so much prettier if you lost weight.” And permutations of the like. I read this book at the height of my despair – bought with my own babysitting money, not pre-digested by Mom – I saw the cover and read the blurb and instantly knew I wanted to read this girl’s story. It helped me understand that I not only had the right to accept myself for who I was, but that I shouldn’t allow others to tear my psychological fabric (obviously, not the words I had at the time!)…I had been a competitive swimmer from age 6 to 12, but suddenly I was a developing young woman with breasts and hips and no longer a slight, boyish figure. I also had a thing for candy. But looking back at pictures of myself, I try so hard to be objective and not see a fat little girl – the image foisted so regularly upon me by my family. If I’m being really honest and as objective as I can, I see a girl whose body is changing, who is trying so hard to be happy and positive but is unsure and worried about friends, boys, parents, school. Especially school. Those damn tests.

I was always bad at taking tests. And I have always been horrible at math. In second grade, my teacher called my folks in for a parent-teacher meeting. She walked them over to my desk and opened the lid, revealing all of my second grade math homework for that section, unfinished. My parents were not pleased, but to their credit, they came up with a creative solution to figure out if I was capable of math or not – their suspicion was that I WAS capable, just uninterested. (How prescient that prediction turned out to be.) My dad, an artist, made me a Valentine’s Day card that year with a long addition and subtraction problem gracing the entire length of the inside page. The deal? If I could figure out the problem (no calculator) on my own and get the right answer, they would give me that much in money to spend on candy at the corner store.

I got it right on the first try. This daydreamer, creative thinker, imaginative spirit just wasn’t interested in math.

Thus began a lifelong hatred of all things math – except when it relates to money. I’m very good with money. But ask me to enter the realm of abstraction and equations unrelated to anything tangible and I shut down – uninterested and annoyed. But language? What a vast difference…I thrive on language. Language, as I wrote on that envelope, provided me a method of escaping critical parents, mean classmates, my own sadness and loneliness in the dozens of books I read every summer in the library’s competition. I regularly finished 40 – 50 books well above my grade level every summer and always earned a certificate and some free ice cream at Baskin Robbins.

Mike Rose’s book reminded me of all these childhood experiences with language and literacy – and what language really means to me. And here I thought I was just reading a book for my comprehensive exams. You just never know what’s going to resonate.