Outrage and Advocacy

The following is something I posted originally on Facebook as my most immediate means of public expression. However, there is more to the story here in regards to pedagogy and advocacy.  The original post reads as follows:

“Okay trumpsters, sleep on this: I just spent 45 minutes with a student discussing his research paper which is about the impact of the end of DACA. Through that conversation, he told me his story. Let’s call this student ‘Joe.’

Four years ago, Joe’s mother woke him up in the middle of the night and said “We have to leave now.” They fled Mexico and ended up near McAllen, Texas. Why did they leave? Because his father had just been killed by the cartel. Why was Joe’s father killed? Because he refused to cooperate.

Three years ago Joe’s mother was deported. Joe somehow managed to make it through high school and get into Texas A&M University where he joined the corps of cadets. Joe has been planning to enlist in the army when he graduates from TAMU because that is how he can become a citizen. His visa status basically labels him as a refugee.

Joe has no family here – no one – yet this kid makes it to every single one of my 8:00 am classes after doing the morning workouts/rituals of the corps. Joe completes every assignment on time and seeks help constantly as he apologizes for his English (which is, honestly, better than many native speakers). He’s also surviving what can basically be referred to as hell month as a freshman in the corps. Yet, he can no longer join the military to get citizenship because trump killed that hope.

Joe is not a rapist. Joe is not a terrorist. Joe is not a murderer. Joe is a kid – an 18 year old kid – trying his damnedest to maintain grades and graduate from one of the top universities in this country. Joe is willing to die for this country, yet your president doesn’t think he belongs here and your congressmen are too weak to stand up for what’s right.

Rest well. I know I won’t.”

I did not rest well.  I immediately picked up my office phone and contacted student assistance services in my university. I spoke with someone who assured me we had resources to help but she would need Joe to come in to see her, so I gave her his contact information.  I also spoke with a colleague and my department chair, both of whom felt equally outraged, both of whom immediately got to work looking for local resources outside of the university (this is my first semester on faculty and I live an hour away from campus). All of this took place on Wednesday.

Friday morning, Joe came to class and I pulled him aside to ask if he had spoken with student services. He replied that he had not because he does not answer calls from numbers he doesn’t know, but he assured me he would contact her after class. HOWEVER, and possibly more importantly, he told me that he had secured 90% additional funding towards his current semester debt by going to two of the offices that I suggested. HE went on his own after speaking with me, after discussing how the process should work. He was very grateful and I felt very relieved.

As it is now Sunday morning and I’ve had a couple of days to mull this over, I’m realizing how many lessons were learned in that brief encounter: we revised his thesis for his essay; we researched additional resources/sources, and we – HE – found a resolution, temporary as it may be. How does this relate to teaching?

Obviously, we must have a positive rapport with our students in order for them to be engaged learners; however, I believe that engagement is reciprocal. I NEED my students to push me, to drive me to the point of outrage that I immediately leap (literally and figuratively) into action on their behalf. I believe that teaching IS advocacy, and that’s why I know it’s a calling and a passion.

As we navigate the next 1164 days of this presidency, advocating on behalf of our marginalized students is an imperative, not an option. I believe as educators we subscribe to our own hippocratic oath that includes a healing aspect via knowledge. If we show/help our students find a way to help themselves, is not that healing?

Poking, Needles and Threads as Writing Instruction

“I poked my paragraphs with my needle and thread!”

That was the subject line of an email from one of my freshmen composition students today. Anyone else might look at that and wonder if they needed to refer the student to counseling. I knew the student was quoting me.

I don’t know how to teach without using metaphors and imagery. I mean, I know the pedagogical groundings and methodologies, but when I’m standing in front of my students or talking one-on-one with them, and I see their eyes glaze over as I discuss the importance of connecting every paragraph back to the thesis without being repetitive, I stop talking and start visualizing. And the strangest analogies come to me in these moments.

So, what do poking needles and threads have to do with writing instruction? They are two simple yet important strategies for getting students to understand how to sustain an argument (thesis) and how to end each paragraph in their own words rather than someone else’s words (quotes).

The poking comment comes from my asking how many of them have siblings. When 98% raised their hands, I then asked if they ever argued with their siblings or played the poke game where they endlessly poke one another in the arm or some other body part in an attempt to establish dominance (I can only assume this is the intent because I am an only child…however, I have three daughters, so I’ve watched this game unfold on multiple occasions).

I then ask them one simple question: “Who wins the game?” They naturally respond, “the person who gets the last poke.” Bingo! In an argumentative essay, your task is to persuade your reader via informed evidence that you are correct about your chosen issue – therefore, get the last poke in every paragraph. Their eyes widen as a collective “OOOhhh” is uttered throughout the room, and I experience a small teaching victory (or that’s what I tell myself).

The needle and thread analogy came to me during individual writing conferences with a student who struggled with maintaining focus beyond topic sentences.  I told her to imagine sewing by hand: picture the needle moving methodically up and down throughout the material; notice the gaps between stitches on each side because the needle is weaving the thread throughout the seam. I then asked, “Do you realize that the thread is ever present throughout the material even when you can’t see it?”  She answered yes – and that, I told her, is her thesis – ever present, yet not always perceivable in it’s original form.  This resulted in a “hmph…that makes more sense than what I was doing.”

So, reading the joy in that students email about poking her paragraphs with the needle and thread makes perfect sense to me – and it tells me that she understood the purpose of the assignment. Yes, I also have to check her MLA formatting issues, grammar, spelling, etc. But as long as she keeps poking away, and those stitches hold tight, then the paper should be solid…in my humble opinion.

#WhyIWriteWed

Always Changing

I’ve been a professional educator for twenty four years.  Yeah, that’s the cv term of choice, but as I said in my most recent interview for a new university position – I’m a teacher at my core.  It’s not what I do, it’s who I am.

I began my career teaching in a Title I high school in San Antonio where all students received free meals.  I had students with ankle bracelets and students with full academic scholarships.  Parole officers frequented my classroom as often as university scouts.  But all I saw, everyday and all day, were kids who hadn’t been exposed to some of the readings and forms of writing that I was armed and ready to reveal to them.  I’m not going to lie and make it sound as if I had absolutely no problems – in fact, every single day I found myself having to constantly talk over my students in order to be heard.  It was a struggle.  But, I’ve always been tenacious when it comes to something I believe in, and for this school I believed that all of my kids could learn to think critically and read voraciously.

Yes, veteran faculty members scoffed at my new teacher naiveté, but I didn’t let them affect my spirit.  I accepted every challenge thrown my way (Want to teach honors classes? Sure! That’ll give you four preps over six classes with 157 total students. The more, the merrier!….Want to sponsor the cheerleaders and dance team? Absolutely! How soon can I start?….Wanna attend xyz professional development courses? Sign me up!)  In short, I was a voracious learner of the teaching profession…and, twenty four years later, I like to think that I am still voracious in my desire to learn new methods, strategies, texts, writing styles, etc.  Nowadays I explore these possibilities with pre-service teachers and graduate students, but I still try to learn at least three new things each year from my students.  That first year I learned that students of color are frequently dismissed as being incapable of learning.  I also learned that no matter how many other teachers say “That won’t work” you’ll only know if you try it yourself.  And I learned that being open, honest, and genuine with my students will yield the highest results for growth in critical thinking and writing skills.

So, as I begin this blogging adventure, I use the theme of perpetual change to describe my constant becoming.  I’ve taught in numerous schools across two states, but every experience has been enlightening and enriching, some in small ways, some in very large manners.  And as the proverbial rolling stone, my changing positions have prevented me from gathering the moss of complacency.  But don’t get me wrong!  I may have a few more degrees and experiences now than I did that first year, but I’m still a teacher at my core, seeking to be the best I can for the students I have.