My passion for reading has permeated my teaching more than any of my other passions and interests. Reflecting on my pedagogy, I realize that an emphasis on reading has influenced my classroom without me even realizing it. Last semester, for example, I was mortified that my students didn't enjoy some of our course readings, which I honestly thought were amazing. Who doesn't like Martin Luther King, Jr.'s "Letter from Birmingham Jail" or David Sedaris's "Cyclops"? I tried to encourage them to read texts analytically, so that they would have something to say in our class discussions, which resembled creative writing workshops. I showed them an essay I had annotated, which resulted in a collective gasp. We practiced analyzing and annotating an essay in class, much to my frustration since they weren't as quick to recognize certain elements (like the thesis) as I would have liked. We slogged through the rest of the semester's readings, and I felt like some of them would never again pick up a book. Surprisingly, many of last semester's students stated in a customized survey I gave them that they wanted more, repeat, more reading. Specifically, they wanted some short stories, novel excerpts, and other creative pieces.

So this semester, I gave my students short stories and book excerpts galore. I packed a lot of reading into the beginning of the semester, trying to give them practice in analyzing texts and material on which to write their critical analyses. I overdid it a little bit. Like last semester, many students did not like the readings I assigned, a fact of life that I have come to accept and even enjoy. Students are more likely to have specific reasons for disliking a reading than for liking it. By disagreeing with me (whether stated or not), they develop independent, critical thinking skills. Nancy Welch writes in "Revising a Writer's Identity," that reading can be a form of "Re-modeling" in which students recognize that they are not perfectly mirrored in texts or in the teacher who they would imitate to be successful (remember Bartholomae's "Inventing the University"). So if a student doesn't like Flannery O'Connor, then he or she recognizes that I, the mighty teacher, am not the end-all, be-all of literature; nor is the student compelled to be invested in the work, unless he/she wants to rip it apart. One of my students this semester wrote a very good critical analysis of Raymond Carver's "A Small, Good Thing," in which she scathingly criticized certain elements while highlighting the saving grace of others.

Although I am interested in Comp/Rhet and Literature, I am also a fiction writer, as shown by some of my reading selections above and the fact that I typically conduct discussions of said readings exactly like a creative writing workshop. I ask students what they think of the readings, sometimes providing a specific question or issue. I consider their comments, reinforce them with an affirming response that may or may not take their thoughts a little further, and encourage as many people as possible to participate. I love it when our conversations become living things, when I don't get to talk for ten solid minutes except to call on people with respectfully raised hands, when someone surprises me with a fresh interpretation that I had never and would never have thought of in my entire life. This workshop style of discussing texts is just as unconscious, I now realize, as my emphasis on reading. I don't plan to change my style with my new-found knowledge, but I think I will try to pull students who don't share my passion into the conversation through methods such as direct questioning, writing responses, mini-debates, and engaging their interests and passions whenever possible.

Student Resistance

I blogged about the Writing What We Teach assignment earlier this semester, so I'm going to focus this post on a topic of recent interest. Let me begin with some stories.

I check my e-mail this morning. One was sent at 10:05 p.m. last night, informing me of the student's impending absence today due to an orthodontist appointment. I dare say that the orthodontist appointment was scheduled prior to 10:00 p.m. last night.

Another e-mail me informs me that the student is already back home for the break, but she will be happy to e-mail her paper to me if that is okay with me.

A third e-mail claims that the student had printer problems, but here is the draft as an attachment. This student does not show up for class just a short while after she sent the e-mail.

Finally, I look out at my students and say, "How about this? Anyone who doesn't care and doesn't want to be here can just leave. If anyone is left, we'll have a conversation." One student asks if there will be a penalty for leaving. I reply, "If you don't care, why should I care?" He packed his things and left.

I tell these stories to illustrate the vast gulf between my students and myself. First of all, I never would schedule an appointment during one of my classes unless it was absolutely unavoidable and necessary. And if I did so, my instructor would be the first person to know, with many apologies, and I would probably turn my paper in early. Second, I would have asked permission to go home early prior to actually going home. Third, there are too many computer labs (including three 24 hour ones) on this campus for a student to not print out his or her paper successfully. I will give this student credit for e-mailing the paper to me, but I suspect that this was her way of skipping class (she has had spotty attendance at best). Fourth, I would never have had the guts to walk out of the classroom, blatantly declaring my lack of interest in a subject to which my instructor has devoted a significant portion of his life.

I have to admire this student for his courage, however rude it may have been. I threw down the gauntlet, fully expecting the entire class to leave, and he picked it up without hesitation.

These recent events tell me the following: my students are resisting the class as much as possible. I think some of this resistance is passive. It was a coincidence, I'm sure, that the student scheduled his orthodontist appointment for class time. But I interpret his actions as resistance based on the fact that he didn't think twice and reschedule and then didn't bother letting me know about his absence until almost literally the eleventh hour. Similarly, the student who went home early probably didn't intend to resist the class; she simply wanted to go home early. But since she didn't ask if it was okay before she left, it's like she went over to a friend's house without her parent's permission and then called to ask if it was okay since she was there already. At best, this is unconscious high school behavior. At worst, it's conscious and pre-planned.

The student getting up and leaving (no one else even moved by the way) is definitely the most active resistance. So far, my response to student resistance (now that I look back) has been akin to pleading. I've almost begged them to be engaged in our class sessions, to take an interest and maybe write something down every now and then if that helps them stay awake. I've told them how I want them to enjoy the class, how it's supposed to be for their benefit, not mine. Nonetheless, there are only a couple students who "open" themselves enough to get much out of our class discussions.

My recent experience combined with the case-study I'm working on for Dr. Weaver's 621 class has prompted me to consider ways in which I can channel student resistance into a positive force. With my case-study, I think I could help my student to "transcend" his assignments, making them fit his interests. While this may seem like common sense to us T.A.s, my case-study student has never fully realized that he can write about anything he wants.

My current students are pretty much locked in for the Research and Position papers, unless they change their topics. I am would like to approach the Memoir and Revision paper assignments in a way that focuses their resistance without them realizing it. Perhaps I could focus the Memoir on a time when they bucked a trend or refused to do something, thus exerting their independence. Maybe the Revision paper could take a satirical approach to a previous paper. Any thoughts, ideas, comments, suggestions?

Lessons from the Pedagogical Landscapes

In Eng 603 today, I feel that I learned some meaningful things. Although all of the "landscapes" my colleagues drew were quite different and unique, I noticed that all of them fell into one of two broad categories. My drawing, and many others, focused on the lone teacher struggling to synthesize various conflicting and complementing pedagogies, such as progressivism versus critical pedagogy or expressivism versus cognitivism. These drawings often featured a stick-figure either under the influence of theorist stick-figures or spying on theorist stick-figures. The other group of drawings gave the students a greater amount of attention. Kara's, for example, featured the teacher leading a line of students up a mountain (if a better metaphor for what we do exists, please let me know). Charity's drawing represented the teacher at various stages in her relationship with her students (Gatekeeper, Coach, Collaborative leader).

Dr. Cadle made a comment on this latter group of drawings, calling them "student-centered." Something clicked when she said that. I am a neo-platonist in many respects. I think there are universal truths concerning knowledge, life, love, etc., and that there are manifold manifestations of these truths. As a teacher, I'm trying to figure out the best way, the truth, of teaching and edifying my students. Thus, I try to synthesize the best of educational philosophy, from Plato to Vygotsky, from Shaughnessy to Bartholomae.

Perhaps, however, I should spend more time considering which truth, way, or philosophy works best for my students. Maybe the general attitude/personality of the students should dictate whether I approach them from an expressivist point of view or a classical perspective, as opposed to me asserting a cognitive model in this context and a progressive paradigm in another. In any case, I will try to consider centering the approach -- and not just the discussions -- on my students rather than what Bartholomae says about academic writing.