Presented 7/17/2010, WPA Conference, Philadelphia. Part of a panel with and grad student mentors and mentees.
Seriously Dude?
I want to use Liz’s discussion of the power structure of the academy as a jumping off point for my own talk. As a graduate student and a teacher, you are sandwiched already between the power levels of your professors and your students. Adding the layer of grad student mentor creates a double-decker effect, if you will. As a creative writing masters candidate – as opposed to the more “serious” literature and rhetoric PhD candidates – I found myself having to contend with a fifth layer to my sandwich. I believe we “creative types” contend with this kind of rhetorical bind throughout our careers, which often (and in my case certainly does) includes both creative and other work: academic, administrative, pedagogical, etc. Is what we do – our creative work - serious, and can we be taken seriously as creators, as students, as teachers, as academic thinkers, as workers?
I think Liz’s point that the approach to mentoring – and the discipline she found inherent in that position – can be taken with a bit too much gravity. What she was able to impart to me was a bit of levity. For all the reasons above, and especially because I was unsure about my own ability to teach, particularly my ability to lead a classroom and keep it in order, I approached the classroom and its attendant issues of discipline with entirely no sense of humor. When students texted in class, I threw them out. When students fell asleep I stopped class to point out their evil ways. If students brought computers to take notes, I was constantly checking the screens to make sure they weren’t looking baseball stats or IM-ing. When homework was late, I dutifully marked it in my little black book.
Not that they should be doing these things. They show a lack of respect for the instructor and the material. But what was my approach to be? How was I to gain that respect? As in a terrible case of male penis envy, I seemed to need to prove how big mine was. I believe I thought I was taking the “walk softly and carry a big stick” approach, but I began to realize it was coming off as a case of “little dick in a big dick world.”
I felt like a fraud. For one thing, who hasn’t nodded off in class themselves? I used time during boring class discussions to write my grocery lists. For another, I didn’t really care if they checked their Facebook accounts instead of discussing the rhetoric of reality television. Their grades would reflect their levels of effort. I was reacting out of principle, and as I have learned from dealing with my 3-year-old son, that is rarely a practical or productive approach to discipline. I would have hated an instructor like me.
I brought my problem to our teaching circle. I asked Liz what I should do if a student fell asleep in class. Her answer shocked me. She said she never wanted to embarrass anyone (I had been trying to do so in hopes of discouraging similar behavior) so she would ask another student jokingly to prod the sleeper. That way, she said, everyone felt like they were watching out for each other, and she became part of the group, rather than the disciplinarian. They made it into a light joke and laughed together, but not at the sleeper. This was a revelation to me. Liz was not suggesting that her students were her colleagues. I understood that. But she was suggesting that the power structure I carried in my head was both untrue and unworkable. It was making no one happy.
Basically, I decided to lighten up. Texting in class is annoying, but it’s not the end of the world. The holier than thou attitude – I was up until 2am preparing these notes, so it’s the least you can do to pay attention to me – was getting me nowhere. Instead, I took notes from my 13-year-old stepson. When I do something that annoys him, he looks at me as if I am crazy and says, “Dude – really?” It is usually enough to make me stop and laugh – and stop doing the thing that annoys him.
I tried it last semester when I caught one of my students – I kid you not!- watching a movie on his iPhone. The rest of the class was engaged in group work, so I was not their central focus. I stood over him for a minute before he realized I was there. When he looked up I said, “Seriously dude? Not cool.” He shut off the iPhone and apologized. I believe this served as a wake up call for him. He had already missed several assignments, and after class that evening I received an email saying he would be dropping the class. Of course, I would have preferred the wake up call to have been one that got him motivated to work harder, but I feel that he got the message: – he was seriously not taking the class seriously, dude, and that was not going to fly. Most importantly, I felt like I had delivered the message well. I stuck to this method and the class became enjoyable. I felt most of my students liked and respected me, and I began to like and respect most of them. At the end of the semester one man even thanked me for “actually” teaching him something. That was cool. Seriously.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
More Like Kuan Yin
From a free write linking yoga to writing teaching/practice at a conference. Next entry will be the paper I presented about my own teaching, very much related to these thoughts about power and letting go:
Prompt by Pema Chodron, The Power of Patience: "There's a slogan that says, 'one at the beginning and one at the end.' That means that when you wake up in the morning you make your resolve, and at the end of the day you review with a careful and gentle attitude , how you have done. The path of developing loving-kindness and compassion is to be patient with the fact that you are human and that you make mistakes. That's more important than getting it right. And, interestingly enough, that adds up to something: it adds up to loving kindness for yourself and for others."
This is also a response to my post from last night (boy that was a creepy movie)
I like the idea of being gentle with myself. I like the idea of being gentle with my students. I like the idea of being gentle with my child, realizing that he, too, has to make mistakes in order to grow. I need to realize that I am asking him to understand very complex and adult ideas that make automatic sense to me because I am acculturated to the rules of our society; he is not yet. For instance, why can't he paint on the wall? Why can he write with chalk on the wall painted with chalkboard paint, but not on the other walls? What if it looks nicer after he paints it? What if the chalk just rubs off? Why? Why not?
How can I apply yoga (and humor) to all of these things? How can I be compassionate for myself, and extend that to those just beginning to know how to be and create in a new world (for my son, the world of middle class American culture. for my students, the world of reading, writing, and critical thinking. actually, they are all learning to think critically). What would Super Nanny say to such an approach? How do you make something hard go easier, as in yoga when you relax into the pose? How do I make my pose of teacher/mother better, more elegant by relaxing into it? Both positions seem utterly un-relaxing. How do you breathe into a tantrum or a sentence with no verb? Is it just a matter of keeping my cool? I don't think it's a matter of giving into everything or accepting chaos. How do I keep from getting angry/frustrated? How do I deliver loving-kindness to these other people? How do I make it happen for myself?
I think part of my sadness about Dylan is the separation necessary in our relationship right now. It's the good, productive kind of tension that will help him develop his independence. Joey brings me such joy because we are symbiotic right now - and I mean biologically through nursing. She is my little leech.
I didn't even notice Dylan's new independence until Larry pointed out that he was helping himself to something in the fridge. That's scary for me. It's hard to let go of the control of him asking for something, just as it is hard to let my students discover new modes and voices on their own. But it is good. I recognize that, even if I have to cover my mouth and sit on my hands. It is nice to sit back and watch him; my students, too, when they have a new interpretation or slant on language. How do I prevent myself from reflecting myself onto them? How to allow them the space to create their own identities as people and writers. And then, how do I trust that it won't all fall into chaos? Well, trust, maybe, just as I trust being upside down in handstand, literally accepting an inverted view of the world. Sometimes it is good to leave off your own perspective and see things with inverted eyes.
Prompt by Pema Chodron, The Power of Patience: "There's a slogan that says, 'one at the beginning and one at the end.' That means that when you wake up in the morning you make your resolve, and at the end of the day you review with a careful and gentle attitude , how you have done. The path of developing loving-kindness and compassion is to be patient with the fact that you are human and that you make mistakes. That's more important than getting it right. And, interestingly enough, that adds up to something: it adds up to loving kindness for yourself and for others."
This is also a response to my post from last night (boy that was a creepy movie)
I like the idea of being gentle with myself. I like the idea of being gentle with my students. I like the idea of being gentle with my child, realizing that he, too, has to make mistakes in order to grow. I need to realize that I am asking him to understand very complex and adult ideas that make automatic sense to me because I am acculturated to the rules of our society; he is not yet. For instance, why can't he paint on the wall? Why can he write with chalk on the wall painted with chalkboard paint, but not on the other walls? What if it looks nicer after he paints it? What if the chalk just rubs off? Why? Why not?
How can I apply yoga (and humor) to all of these things? How can I be compassionate for myself, and extend that to those just beginning to know how to be and create in a new world (for my son, the world of middle class American culture. for my students, the world of reading, writing, and critical thinking. actually, they are all learning to think critically). What would Super Nanny say to such an approach? How do you make something hard go easier, as in yoga when you relax into the pose? How do I make my pose of teacher/mother better, more elegant by relaxing into it? Both positions seem utterly un-relaxing. How do you breathe into a tantrum or a sentence with no verb? Is it just a matter of keeping my cool? I don't think it's a matter of giving into everything or accepting chaos. How do I keep from getting angry/frustrated? How do I deliver loving-kindness to these other people? How do I make it happen for myself?
I think part of my sadness about Dylan is the separation necessary in our relationship right now. It's the good, productive kind of tension that will help him develop his independence. Joey brings me such joy because we are symbiotic right now - and I mean biologically through nursing. She is my little leech.
I didn't even notice Dylan's new independence until Larry pointed out that he was helping himself to something in the fridge. That's scary for me. It's hard to let go of the control of him asking for something, just as it is hard to let my students discover new modes and voices on their own. But it is good. I recognize that, even if I have to cover my mouth and sit on my hands. It is nice to sit back and watch him; my students, too, when they have a new interpretation or slant on language. How do I prevent myself from reflecting myself onto them? How to allow them the space to create their own identities as people and writers. And then, how do I trust that it won't all fall into chaos? Well, trust, maybe, just as I trust being upside down in handstand, literally accepting an inverted view of the world. Sometimes it is good to leave off your own perspective and see things with inverted eyes.
Friday, July 16, 2010
when you have too much anxiety to sleep, write a list
Anxieties:
not being able to afford the house
being away from my kids
dishes
keeping finances in order
getting a job
not getting a job
fixing up the house
having another baby
not having another baby
losing baby weight
new neighbors
writing
not writing
putting my foot in my mouth
when is the next paycheck coming?
why do I open my mouth?
how will we pay for this house?
paying for day care
tickets
cracked computer screen
bills
credit card
living beyond our means
pissing people off
making everything more complicated than it has to be
apologizing too much
messy situations
Dylan attacking me while I'm nursing the baby
Waking up in the middle of the night worried about my kids and money
Waking up in the middle of the night to a screaming baby or Dylan with wet pajamas or night terrors or needing to pee in the potty or wanting a drink of water
Trying not to wake Larry up
Dylan not listening
pumping milk
the scale
the credit card statement
the end of the month
the morning, when it starts all over again
re-reading this list
Fears:
Not being a good mother
being a bitchy, controlling wife
not doing enough for my parents/grandparents/aunt/mother-in-law/sister-in-law
that Dylan loves Larry more
That I don't love my kids enough
That my husband doesn't love me
That my husband does love me, but doesn't like me anymore
that other people don't like me
That I'll never get hired
That my children will grow up too fast
That I will spoil them
That I am too harsh on Dylan
That I love them all too much
That I will never publish anything
not being a good friend -- always taking from others
that I am not an understanding person
not a good listener
too entitled
too demanding
too focused on my own needs to attend to my children or my husband
that my grandparents will die very soon
never being able to kick up into a handstand
not being a grown up
becoming middle aged
becoming boring
becoming stuck in my ways
being all business
not laughing enough
never again going out until 3 in the morning without worrying about having to get up in the morning
caring about such things when I should be focused on the important stuff (read: responsibilities)
that I am not working as hard as I should be and Larry is working too hard to make up the difference
never getting a break
that we are so lucky that our luck is bound to run out soon
not being able to afford the house
being away from my kids
dishes
keeping finances in order
getting a job
not getting a job
fixing up the house
having another baby
not having another baby
losing baby weight
new neighbors
writing
not writing
putting my foot in my mouth
when is the next paycheck coming?
why do I open my mouth?
how will we pay for this house?
paying for day care
tickets
cracked computer screen
bills
credit card
living beyond our means
pissing people off
making everything more complicated than it has to be
apologizing too much
messy situations
Dylan attacking me while I'm nursing the baby
Waking up in the middle of the night worried about my kids and money
Waking up in the middle of the night to a screaming baby or Dylan with wet pajamas or night terrors or needing to pee in the potty or wanting a drink of water
Trying not to wake Larry up
Dylan not listening
pumping milk
the scale
the credit card statement
the end of the month
the morning, when it starts all over again
re-reading this list
Fears:
Not being a good mother
being a bitchy, controlling wife
not doing enough for my parents/grandparents/aunt/mother-in-law/sister-in-law
that Dylan loves Larry more
That I don't love my kids enough
That my husband doesn't love me
That my husband does love me, but doesn't like me anymore
that other people don't like me
That I'll never get hired
That my children will grow up too fast
That I will spoil them
That I am too harsh on Dylan
That I love them all too much
That I will never publish anything
not being a good friend -- always taking from others
that I am not an understanding person
not a good listener
too entitled
too demanding
too focused on my own needs to attend to my children or my husband
that my grandparents will die very soon
never being able to kick up into a handstand
not being a grown up
becoming middle aged
becoming boring
becoming stuck in my ways
being all business
not laughing enough
never again going out until 3 in the morning without worrying about having to get up in the morning
caring about such things when I should be focused on the important stuff (read: responsibilities)
that I am not working as hard as I should be and Larry is working too hard to make up the difference
never getting a break
that we are so lucky that our luck is bound to run out soon
Sunday, July 11, 2010
loooong days
All winter, I dream about summer. Now it's here. Boy is it ever. Hardly a day not in the 90's.
The best part of summer is the long, long days. Even at 5pm this evening, the sun was high in the sky. I took Dylan on a bike ride (he was in the kiddie seat of my bike, not riding his own). This was after a full day of hanging out with relatives and then hanging out in the basement playing board games after they left. We rode through a random street party with a punk band and some bizarre kind of bubble maker. Toothless women were eating pasta salad (???) and smiled at us as we swung by. Anarchist kids that looked like West Philly imports in their cut off black denim vests and dirty dreads (and the sweat - sweat is so West Philly for some reason) waved to us with bubbly hands. This made me glad to be done with my 20's. But it made me miss going to shows.
We got to the river and sailed by the boats, the tourists, the clean brick of Center City. But in the back of my mind, I couldn't help hearing miss Joey Rose cry, and worried that she would be waking up from her late nap and that Larry might not hear her in the basement, where he was surely ensconced, watching a Sopranos episode.
We got home and Joey was still not up, which made the day seem to stretch even longer. I felt tropical, wished we had our hammock up, wished for a fruity drink and a swirly straw. Wished for time and space to stretch out, be accountable to no one. For the pleasure of doing nothing. But I made myself rally, cooked some fish and salsa, mopped the floor, vacuumed, unpacked more boxes.
As soon as the day seemed to finally wear itself out and I got Dylan down, who should wake up but miss Joey. And so the day kept going. Larry put in the medicine cabinet and took a jog (a jog? whose husband is this?) while Joey and I played. Finally, her little eyes turned red and she began to whimper towards sleep. It was 11 o'clock. I was ready to fall into bed, ready to get up and do it all over again tomorrow.
The best part of summer is the long, long days. Even at 5pm this evening, the sun was high in the sky. I took Dylan on a bike ride (he was in the kiddie seat of my bike, not riding his own). This was after a full day of hanging out with relatives and then hanging out in the basement playing board games after they left. We rode through a random street party with a punk band and some bizarre kind of bubble maker. Toothless women were eating pasta salad (???) and smiled at us as we swung by. Anarchist kids that looked like West Philly imports in their cut off black denim vests and dirty dreads (and the sweat - sweat is so West Philly for some reason) waved to us with bubbly hands. This made me glad to be done with my 20's. But it made me miss going to shows.
We got to the river and sailed by the boats, the tourists, the clean brick of Center City. But in the back of my mind, I couldn't help hearing miss Joey Rose cry, and worried that she would be waking up from her late nap and that Larry might not hear her in the basement, where he was surely ensconced, watching a Sopranos episode.
We got home and Joey was still not up, which made the day seem to stretch even longer. I felt tropical, wished we had our hammock up, wished for a fruity drink and a swirly straw. Wished for time and space to stretch out, be accountable to no one. For the pleasure of doing nothing. But I made myself rally, cooked some fish and salsa, mopped the floor, vacuumed, unpacked more boxes.
As soon as the day seemed to finally wear itself out and I got Dylan down, who should wake up but miss Joey. And so the day kept going. Larry put in the medicine cabinet and took a jog (a jog? whose husband is this?) while Joey and I played. Finally, her little eyes turned red and she began to whimper towards sleep. It was 11 o'clock. I was ready to fall into bed, ready to get up and do it all over again tomorrow.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
In the moment 2
It's like a bad summer movie sequel, but this one goes like this:
Fireworks at Penn's Landing
Even the baby is smiling
They look like they will land on us
They shoot into our eyes
The breeze off the river
The familiar chords of Appalachian Spring
Later the baby will be so excited she won't close her eyes until after midnight
Later the three year old will have a meltdown (could it be the 5 scoops of ice cream he devoured at the all you can eat ice cream fundraiser?)
and the tween will escape to the shelter of video games
and there will be fights about whose turn it is to fold the laundry, put away the dishes, change the diaper, get a cigarette break
Later there will be bodies touching beneath the circular breeze of the fan, as the traffic grows loud and soft, loud and soft, again and again beneath us
Although these are things we could anticipate
We don't know them and we don't conjure them
We just watch the green and gold and blue and red
sparkle down on the five us
together
Fireworks at Penn's Landing
Even the baby is smiling
They look like they will land on us
They shoot into our eyes
The breeze off the river
The familiar chords of Appalachian Spring
Later the baby will be so excited she won't close her eyes until after midnight
Later the three year old will have a meltdown (could it be the 5 scoops of ice cream he devoured at the all you can eat ice cream fundraiser?)
and the tween will escape to the shelter of video games
and there will be fights about whose turn it is to fold the laundry, put away the dishes, change the diaper, get a cigarette break
Later there will be bodies touching beneath the circular breeze of the fan, as the traffic grows loud and soft, loud and soft, again and again beneath us
Although these are things we could anticipate
We don't know them and we don't conjure them
We just watch the green and gold and blue and red
sparkle down on the five us
together
summerland
I want to write about being in the moment.
I was at yoga today (first time in a month -- hooray!) and I was trying to be in the moment, to be on the mat, to feel my body, and the room around me, and let my breathing anchor me. But I was so caught up in the directive that I began to let my thoughts drift to why I seem never able to be in the moment and to those few times that my somatic experience is so overwhelming that I can do nothing but be present.
We just went on vacation. Well, vacation is a relative term. It was very nice - a trip to the Chesapeake Bay to stay with some friends and then we stayed on after they left and Larry painted the vacation house while I hung out with the kids. It was very much a vacation while we were all hanging out together. It was great actually, and though it is not the place I would choose to go to rent a house (I'm much more of an excitement, adventure type traveler than an r and r type), it was great to be in a great big house with a great big group. Truthfully, I was more than bored by the end of the week and ready to get back home, where, banal, it's true, my life and all its list of goals lay waiting for me to swing back into action.
The height of the weekend for me was the single moment of action. Perhaps I should begin by saying that I have had almost no sex drive since Joey was born, which is very different from when Dylan was born. My life has seemed so externally up and down and my stress level has been so high between working, moving, and two kids. Now, suddently my stress level was way down, Larry and I were able to enjoy each others' company in h the face of having nothing to get accomplished. By the bay, the still waters inside me began to move. I was feeling sun-drenched, lithe, easy. With the chance to hand off the baby, I felt suddenly able to move, to let my arms and legs stretch. I found myself wrestling with Dylan. I felt myself drawn towards the great blue waters.
So when a neighbor swung by the pier I was standing on and tried to convince som guys to go for a ride on his jet ski, I spontaneously raised my hand. The driver instructed me to grab a life jacket and meet him on the beach, which I did. I hopped on and grabbed the strap as he indicated. We turned out - towards what? Boats passed at what had seemed to be from land very contained speeds - a yacht, a sailboat. "This is going to be bumpy," he said. Did I mention that I'd never been on a jet ski?
"Holy shit!!!!" We rode the waves way off into the air. We collided back again with the water, and then off again, catching air. "Whooo hoooo1" I screamed into his ear. I had just eaten some guacamole and was certain my breath was terrible, but here is where my mind just couldn't get one over on my body. My mouth just opened up and sounds just flew out. It was terrifying and freeing.
We hit the smoother waters of an inlet full of green, green marsh grasses and long legged birds. The driver sped up and my stomach lurched into my throat again. I managed to calm down only when I stepped outside myself. "You're a good swimmer," I told myself and you're wearing a life vest." Then I realized that at this speed, hitting the water would be like hitting the pavement from 10 stories up. The only thing between my present reality and that momentary fantasy was a thin red strap and I held on for dear life. I wanted to puke and cry, but the wind was on my teeth and animal sounds continued to fly from somewhere deep within me. They were sex sounds, primal and beyond thought.
I was grateful when he cut his ride short, possibly to end the agony of my garlic breath hot in his ear, and dropped me on the soft sand. But felt loss, too, as I always do - the moment - again - was gone. During the ride, all I could think was "get me back" and now I was and wanted to be out there again. "My husband's going to be jealous," I said. He looked at me quizzically. "I mean - of the ride."
I was at yoga today (first time in a month -- hooray!) and I was trying to be in the moment, to be on the mat, to feel my body, and the room around me, and let my breathing anchor me. But I was so caught up in the directive that I began to let my thoughts drift to why I seem never able to be in the moment and to those few times that my somatic experience is so overwhelming that I can do nothing but be present.
We just went on vacation. Well, vacation is a relative term. It was very nice - a trip to the Chesapeake Bay to stay with some friends and then we stayed on after they left and Larry painted the vacation house while I hung out with the kids. It was very much a vacation while we were all hanging out together. It was great actually, and though it is not the place I would choose to go to rent a house (I'm much more of an excitement, adventure type traveler than an r and r type), it was great to be in a great big house with a great big group. Truthfully, I was more than bored by the end of the week and ready to get back home, where, banal, it's true, my life and all its list of goals lay waiting for me to swing back into action.
The height of the weekend for me was the single moment of action. Perhaps I should begin by saying that I have had almost no sex drive since Joey was born, which is very different from when Dylan was born. My life has seemed so externally up and down and my stress level has been so high between working, moving, and two kids. Now, suddently my stress level was way down, Larry and I were able to enjoy each others' company in h the face of having nothing to get accomplished. By the bay, the still waters inside me began to move. I was feeling sun-drenched, lithe, easy. With the chance to hand off the baby, I felt suddenly able to move, to let my arms and legs stretch. I found myself wrestling with Dylan. I felt myself drawn towards the great blue waters.
So when a neighbor swung by the pier I was standing on and tried to convince som guys to go for a ride on his jet ski, I spontaneously raised my hand. The driver instructed me to grab a life jacket and meet him on the beach, which I did. I hopped on and grabbed the strap as he indicated. We turned out - towards what? Boats passed at what had seemed to be from land very contained speeds - a yacht, a sailboat. "This is going to be bumpy," he said. Did I mention that I'd never been on a jet ski?
"Holy shit!!!!" We rode the waves way off into the air. We collided back again with the water, and then off again, catching air. "Whooo hoooo1" I screamed into his ear. I had just eaten some guacamole and was certain my breath was terrible, but here is where my mind just couldn't get one over on my body. My mouth just opened up and sounds just flew out. It was terrifying and freeing.
We hit the smoother waters of an inlet full of green, green marsh grasses and long legged birds. The driver sped up and my stomach lurched into my throat again. I managed to calm down only when I stepped outside myself. "You're a good swimmer," I told myself and you're wearing a life vest." Then I realized that at this speed, hitting the water would be like hitting the pavement from 10 stories up. The only thing between my present reality and that momentary fantasy was a thin red strap and I held on for dear life. I wanted to puke and cry, but the wind was on my teeth and animal sounds continued to fly from somewhere deep within me. They were sex sounds, primal and beyond thought.
I was grateful when he cut his ride short, possibly to end the agony of my garlic breath hot in his ear, and dropped me on the soft sand. But felt loss, too, as I always do - the moment - again - was gone. During the ride, all I could think was "get me back" and now I was and wanted to be out there again. "My husband's going to be jealous," I said. He looked at me quizzically. "I mean - of the ride."
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