I.
The Education Big Bang Theory
In the beginning there
was an education degree, and I was not going to have anything to do
with that! I did not want to be a teacher, did not need to be a teacher,
and was not going to be a teacher. BANG! Welcome to my universe.
Here I am, in front of a class full of kids who not only want to see me fail,
but feel it’s their duty to assist in that failure.
My life up to this point
has been a series of fun adventures, never really leading to anything as serious
as discussing medieval Britain with a group of over-achieving 18 year olds.
They sit before me with that defiant look on their faces that say, “Come on.
Try and get me to acknowledge you as anything other than a simple, inexperienced
nothing.”
Right about now, I feel
that I fit that description. Sure, I have done my research, and I have a
nice little lecture sitting right in front of me, but who can read when the
sweat is cascading into your eyes? I feel slightly nauseous, and definitely
out of my element. After all, I am supposed to be an actress, not an educator.
I take a deep breath and dive in.
“The role umm… of King
Arthur in umm… medieval Britain…” and I go on and on and on, talking faster
as I go. And the faster I talk the more irreverent they look, which makes
me talk even faster to counter-balance their irreverence. Pretty soon the
words are spinning uncontrollably out of my mouth, and they have moved from
irreverence to “what the heck is the matter with her?” I have no recollection
of ever breathing that entire class period. When it is over, they let out
a tortured sigh to match the roll of their eyes, and promptly get up and leave.
I collapse and vow that I will never do this again.
“Ten weeks of torture.
I cannot do it. I hate it! I hate them. They hate me!” My mom listens
patiently as I go through my agonizing day, my very first day, and I already
stink at this. I knew I was not cut out for this teaching deal, and the very
worst part is that I have to face them again tomorrow! I cannot do it. I
am not smart enough, they are AP kids for cryn’ out loud! These kids are
smart! They are certainly smarter than I am. How can I get out of this?
I feel like a trapped animal. There is no fight in me, it’s over, I am defeated,
and I cannot even muster up the strength to accept it gracefully. I just
want to quit.
Of course, I don’t quit.
I swallow my pride and slink back into the classroom the next morning to await
another hour of hell. Today, however, I have vowed that I will not say “umm”
ten thousand times like yesterday. Today, I will slow down, and I will make
them at least say, “Hello” to me. I can do that. I know I can.
Six weeks down, four more
to go! I feel like my own personal cheerleading squad. I have completed
the majority of my time. It’s all down hill from here, right? Not exactly.
While the kids are at least grunting some sort of greeting to me when prompted,
I know they still think I am an idiot. Today’s the day to change all that.
Today, I introduce The Canterbury Tales and all the history of the
14th century. I have never worked so hard to get ready for something
in my whole entire life. It is like childbirth all over again. This class
will go well. I will achieve something. I will get them to appreciate me.
Breathe.
“Let’s talk about a timeline
of the monarchy of the 1300s…” and I am off. This time, it is not the Kentucky
Derby racing through the century, but a calm, confident teacher who knows
what she is talking about. I look out at this sea of children and they are
looking at me! They don’t have that glazed over look that I have seen for
six long weeks. They are paying attention to me! I nearly cry, but I remember
that I am the cool, calm one, so I promptly move on the Thomas Beckett.
“Miss Del Val, can’t you
stay and finish out the year with us? You are so great! We have learned
so much from you. Please?!?!?” I sit in my classroom, for that is now what
I consider it to be. I wake up in the morning and I rush to see these kids.
I delight in their questions, I struggle to keep up with them, and I feel
like I am learning and teaching all at the same time. They wait for me to
tell them interesting things. I have found that this is my greatest role
yet. I was crazy to think that by becoming an educator, I was giving up my
acting. This is acting! This is an eight-hour a day performance, and I am
the star! .
I look out at my kids, and I wonder
if this is how the earth came to be. I am amazed that out of total chaos,
darkness, and despair, emerges a sense of order, light, and success. If this
is the big bang theory, then I joyfully say, “Welcome to my universe!”
II.
What’s It Going to
Be Today?
If there ever was a
time in my life that I worried I may have multiple personality disorder, this
semester confirmed it. Having just completed 18 weeks of “This is definitely
how I am going to teach”... until I opened the next book, I can now say that
I know significantly less than I did when I began, or do I?
I have always prided myself on being creative.
In many ways I have used it to mask the fact that there is not always incredible
substance to my writing, teaching, and even thinking. Anyway, my creativity
helped me divide, conquer, and learn to cherish my students when I student
taught last spring. I expected, I suppose, that it would be that creativity
which would carry me through my years as an NDSU teacher of freshman composition.
Now, thanks to English 759, I believe I can finally say that I feel the beginnings
of some substance to all the madness. But it is a type of madness indeed
that has driven me through these past four and a half months.
I suppose if I have to label myself, I am a process
teacher at heart. I connected immediately with Peter Elbow and his teacherless
classroom. I was intrigued by Janet Emig’s Composing Process of Twelfth
Graders. She touched upon so many issues that plagued me all semester:
How do I make assignments relevant? How can I truly correct “errors?” Do
they write because I make them or because they want to? Does process work?
I really found a connection to ‘How the Writing
Process Came to UMASS/Amherst,’ by Roger Garrison, Donald Murray, and Institutional
Change. They conclude, “English 111 was a ‘conference-centered writing course
designed to meet the needs of students who have difficulty writing rapidly,
fully, and accurately’” (Tobin 141). While I don’t adhere to the pressure
of being each student’s editor-in-chief, I love the idea of the writing
process that they advocate.
I also agree with James Moffett’s essay, “Coming
Out Right” when he says, “Teachers should use portfolios and conferences to
find out which kinds of writing might be best next for an individual” (Tobin
26). This seems ideal to me, but an ideal that I will spend years trying
to reach I would suspect. There simply is not the time to individualize every
assignment for every student.
What do I want in my classroom? I want to continue
to use group conferences. I found real success in them. Not only did they
take some of the pressure off of me, but they opened up the paper to four
other readers and four other sets of comments. They were also helpful because
they showed multiple students how to successfully respond to a paper in a
way that peer responses never can.
I want to use portfolios next year. Not necessarily
to individualize each assignment, but to allow even more ownership for the
students. I have to believe that if they have some investment in their work,
even if it is not work they would choose to do, they will have more success
with it, and feel like they learned something relevant and important
I will continue on my quest to make English apply
to the “real world.” I will always use Current Events Days to allow the students
to present and teach. I think that every student should get an understanding
of what it takes to run a classroom. They are more likely to follow me if
I have shown that I will follow them. Plus, presenting is a big part of composition.
Also, it allows them to work in groups and get to know some of their classmates.
I will spend more time coming up with new ways to
get them prepping for the major essays. I think that some of my ideas worked,
but alas, time is always of the essence, and often, I felt like I was developing
the ideas for the day as I walked to class. I will have the summer this time
around to work out some of the bumps from this year.
So, what is my teaching philosophy? I think that
I can honestly say I don’t know. I struggled, fought, won, and lost all semester.
What do I have to show for it? Well, I have two classes of students whom
I believe are ready to go on to other classes in their majors with the ability
to think, create, and compose intelligent ideas. I have a full year under
my belt, and the most valuable lesson I learned is that I know there will
always be more to learn. My philosophy is to continue to learn with my students,
to always search for assignments, ideas, and lessons that will work even more
successfully, and to never underestimate the power of the process in whatever
form I shape it to fit my needs. I guess there is a method to the madness.
III.
The Story Goes
On…
I sit here today, September 16, 2000, and I
feel like I am in deeper than I have ever been. I just re-read my other two
teaching philosophy papers, from the beginning of last year about my student
teaching experience and from the end of last year about my first year as a
teaching assistant. I am amazed at how my mind continues to stretch.
No longer kicking and screaming in resistance, I now find that I am anxious
and malleable to all that is still unknown.
I laugh when I think of my student teaching experience
now. I thought I had climbed Mount Everest at the time. In retrospect, I
had not even strapped on the hiking gear. I thought I was successful because
I could relay material to them that came from other sources, because they
grew to trust and like me, and because I effectively used my performance skills
to make the classroom a place that they enjoyed being and learning in. Those
things are all valuable but certainly do not carry the weight I once believed
them to. I still agree that teaching is an acting job. I still agree that
my creativity is a great help, but I no longer believe that my primary job
is to entertain first and teach what I can on the side. Graduate school has
taught me so much more.
When I read my philosophy from the end of last year,
I begin to see the new me; the more serious, academic teacher who has enveloped
me, at times consumed me, and always pushed me to go further. I still believe
myself to be a process teacher at heart. I am working again with group conferences.
I am trying to get my students immersed more quickly into the idea of evaluating
both their own and their peers’ work. I continue to search for ways that
let them have more and more autonomy in the classroom while I am on stand-by
to be their watchful and quiet guide. I am discovering that the idea of performing
holds less and less appeal for me in terms of being in front of the classroom
entertaining them. It is as if I have moved from a Vaudeville actress to
a Chekovian actress. The beauty and art is now in the silence.
In addition to my new role, however, I have something
else to chew on. I have technology. Whereas before it held no place in my
life beyond word processing, I am now beginning to see the faint glimmer of
intrigue across my horizon for all the possibilities it holds. I think Storyspace,
web pages, and all the other concepts that I have not even been introduced
to, are worth looking into. I found myself reading these past papers knowing
that they would be much more interesting placed on the screen somehow than
they ever could be written on paper.
Have I fallen into the twenty-first century unknowingly?
Of course not. I have, once again, begun to pull the rubber band that is
my brain just a bit more. Until recently, I believed that all rubber bands
had a breaking point. Now I am not so sure. I think I could stretch on and
on, never tightening, never snapping, always expanding with the slightest
bit of resistance reminding me that I have to continue to push myself further
than I thought possible. Lucky me.
