Sock it to me, Wysoki!

When I began to read this day's reading, Opening to New Media, the mention of the five material components of composition did not make immediate sense, but as I continued to read, this essay synced up with Daniel Pink's book, A whole new mind, as well as Ren Gen by Patricia Martin--both of whom believe that we are undergoing a cultural revolution. The difference between their assessments of this revolution is that Wysocki goes into considerably more detail, with an emphasis on the factors behind composition. I'm reminded of Louise Rosenblatt's text, The reader, the text, and the poem: and her assertion that the reader, the writer and the text interact, within the context of what "material" each item or person brings to the process. I had never considered in the exquisite detail expressed in Wysocki's essay the infinite variables present in every communicative transaction. I knew that communicating while conveying pure meaning was a complex transaction, but when I started to think of all the elements involved, I think it is a miracle that we humans communicate as well as we do. The idea that transfering in between modes changed the meaning and the form of the text became especially fascinating when I was asked to consider one text in several different forms, and if my reaction and interaction would alter the meaning of the text. So, if the same words and images presented in different ways evoke different meaning, is there ever any hope for future understanding? If words and images are entered into a computer, and become a series of zeros and ones, does the form change their meaning? Wysocki's loving, intricate examination of this topic reminds me of Boice's minute examination of the writing process, which makes me eager to read more.

Paper 2: Extremely Rough Draft

3.5.09
If I need to write this paper in an APA format and scientific style, then I’d better get a move on, because I always have to look up APA and remember again how it differs from MLA or the Chicago Manual of Style. Back in the day, I used Turabian as my go-to reference for research papers, and I still consult Elements of Style/Strunk & White to make sure I’m following at least some of the rules of civilized composition. This paper has been on my mind, especially since it seems to be SO difficult to schedule an observation time for English 1000—am about ready to ask CDIS if I can lurk online and observe their English 1000 students. In the meantime, my thoughts about this project led to a mini-epiphany as I brushed my teeth this morning: it may be that it is the students, and not the teacher, who are primarily responsible for climate of the classroom, which in turn blows to hell Haim Ginnott’s statement:
I have come to the frightening conclusion that I am the decisive element. It is my personal approach that creates the climate. It is my daily mood that makes the weather.I possess tremendous power to make a life miserable or joyous. I can be a tool of torture, or an instrument of inspiration.I can humiliate or humor, hurt or heal.In all situations, it is my response that decides whether a crisis will be escalated or de –escalated, and a person humanized or dehumanized. Haim Ginott
My mother taught with this saying posted in her classroom; I had a copy in my classroom and typically distribute copies to future teachers in the classes I teach.
So what if students really are the decisive element? Let’s face it; we’re outnumbered and mutiny is always possible. I believe that teachers play a large part in determining classroom climate, but in the end, it is your skill, knowledge, and charm that will save the day.


Teaching vs. Helping students learn
Both of my parents taught school in Oklahoma City and American Samoa, and I've listened to them talk about their students my entire life. They are both retired now, but every so often, my mother agrees to substitute because she misses having a regular group of students. It surprises me that they aren't both teaching night school, because they did that, too, and liked the challenge of helping students earn their GED.I had the great good fortune, or extremely bad luck, to have both of my parents as teachers --my mother was also my fifth grade teacher at Fia Iloa, and my father volunteered to teach at Samoana, my high school, so that I could have the benefit of his in-person teaching, instead of his televised lessons beamed all over the island to village school children. Was I appreciative? Not really--I think it warped me for life. I was, however, able to observe up close and in person the teaching styles of both parents and in later years chose their best techniques to use in my own classroom. The biggest difference between them was their teaching style--my father could lecture for hours without notes on any of the historical times we studied, disclosing juicy tidbits about historical figures and helping all of us think about and understand what motivated the people in history to behave as they did--and how their behavior changed the world for better or worse. My mother's approach to teaching was more individualized, but less engaging. My father cajoled us into learning by letting us peek behind the curtains of history. My mother didn't cajole. We all had work to do, and we'd better get to it! We churned our way through the fifth grade textbooks and in our spare time individually worked our way through the box of SRI reading resources. We finished the spelling book by Christmas, so we started on the 6th grade book and were more than half-way thorough it by the end of school. We did do several art projects, and it wasn't entirely grim, but I would have much preferred another teacher, as my friends complained bitterly to me when they were in trouble for not doing their work. My mother's philosophy towards classroom behavior/finished work was consistant throughout her whole teaching career--but fortunately, she had not yet implemented the pink chair cure. Looking back, there should probably have been sanctions against pink chairs in the documents drawn up by the Geneva Convention, but this form of torture somehow escaped notice. Her pink chair method was simple: when she taught first or second graders, anyone in trouble was required to sit in a pink chair outside while everyone else enjoyed recess. She had three pink chairs. Strangely, this method of behavior modification seemed to work. Only one child needed a second pink chair experience--once was enough for everyone else. How is this relevant to English 1000? I've noticed that teaching undergraduates is not much different from teaching middle or high school students--and while pink chair use is verboten, there are "tricks" you can do to engage students in their own learning, even though they balk at active participation with more resistance and energy than would be required to successfully complete the assignment. Somehow, students may feel that their job is to be a funnel head--and my job is to pour information into the funnel while they check their e-mail, text their friends, and mutter to their classmates about how much effort it will take to finish assignments. I think part of the problem is that teachers do not continue to learn and grow with their students--and do not see the need to vary their methods of information delivery in order to help all learners learn.
My plan to observe an English 1000 class this morning fell through, so it will be my next/final observation. For now, I'm going to write about my Q2 course--Qualitative Analysis, Part 2. The members of this class are a fascinating mix of age, race, nationality and subject specialties. One student requires a dog and 2 interpreters -- and is a very active participant in the class. Two of my friends from the 2001 Missouri Writing Project are in there with me, and we've noticed and discussed the different levels of understanding that our classmates bring to the class. Four weeks ago, we spent much of the entire class period discussing the syllabus in minute detail. Several students were very vocal about the many ways that completing the final project would be impossible in their field of study. Two people are gathering data in other countries, so I can see how they may need special accomodations and altered expectations, but many of the concerns seemed to be blown out of proportion for the task at hand. Our professor was patient, articulate and diplomatic throughout this proceedure, and offered to meet with anyone still confused outside of our regularly scheduled class time, but the questions continued, eroding what was left of our class time. I began to worry that I had somehow misunderstood the gravity and scope of task at hand, but a brief check for clarification revealed that my understanding of the project was clear, and on target. If that was the case, then why were my classmates behaving as if they had little ability to read and understand the goals/objectives/project directions/expected outcomes stated on the syllabus? How had they made it this far, academically? Given their level of confusion, how did they operate a moving vehicle or roam out in the world without a keeper? Had one of Hulu's alien representatives gobbled up most of their brain? Were they only capable of processing auditory information in 60 second chunks?My hypothesis is that a small percentage of the students were truly puzzled--and since some of them were operating in L2, their confusion was understandable. However, I think others continued to ask questions to delay a discussion of our reading assignment. If I wanted to be mindful about this, I'd say that I noticed that my classmates had so many questions about course requirements that our class time was consumed in the Q & A process. If a deeper analysis was required, I'd note that our different cultures and subject expertise impacted understanding in a negative way. When I talked with my friends after class, we concluded that some of our classmates understood the assignment, some needed clarification, and the rest were just wasting our class time because they felt like being disagreeable.
meta-observation?
Last Friday--11:50-12:50 Young Writers Conference in Townsend Hall/Mindful Writing for TeachersThe plan was for me to offer an hour long seminar on mindfulness and writing, with extra time to construct meaning with other forms of media. I arrived in 303 A with my rolling cart of stuff and several auxillary bags. I was delighted to offer this service, as I truly believe in the power of mindful writing--and was also going to get paid for this session-- enough to buy a new set of ink cartridges for my printer, which has separate color cartridges that run dry at the most inopportune times. I soon found out that my class could begin only after introductions had been made, and two other people briefed everyone on this summer's Missouri Writing Project offerings and opportunities for professional development in other places. We were finally able to begin. I asked everyone to make a list of wishes. I advised them that these were wishes if time and money were readily available--or at least not roadblocks. After the lists were finished (about 4-5 minutes worth of writing) we listened to a mindful breathing exercise. The room grew very quiet, and people seemed to be complying with the idea of sitting calmly and breathing deeply. After meditation, I asked them to focus on one wish and write down an action list--a way to make it happen. While everyone else wrote, I did too, planning my studio in our walk-in attic. Instead of a vague dream/wish, I have a floor plan of what I'd like to put where, and how I want to arrange my many supplies for my hobbies. I'm one step closer to making this wish a reality. After everyone seemed finished writing (and they didn't take long--maybe 4-5 minutes again) I attempted to get them to talk about what they had just experienced, and they looked back at me with "I'm not going to tell you anything" looks--two people eventually spoke up, but everyone was still very tightly strung. I can understand tension with a new experience, but some of these folks seemed almost hostile to the idea of meditation. This was a very different reaction from last year's group, and I don't know why it was so. I know people are on edge from the economy but I would think they would welcome the opportunity to set aside their tension, if only for a few minutes. We moved on to supplies. I brought all the stuff I brought to our class, plus painting supplies--but guess what? No one wanted to paint. I think there must have been trauma involving tempera in their childhood, because no one would risk putting a brush to paper. They were a little better with the art supplies, but looked at me doubtfully when I assured them that they would not be judged--they weren't buying the "this is a mistake free exercise" reassurance. Eventually, supplies spread out and they began to relax a little. Someone had chocolate, and passed it around, which helped. About the time everyone finally, finally got in the multi-modal groove, it was time for them to rejoin their students. One of my former students stayed to help me clean up, then hurried off to claim her students. Why was it so difficult for these teachers, who are familiar with the learning process, to allow themselves to learn something new? Was it my presentation? I am a bit succinct at times, but I think I told them enough, reassured them enough, and smiled enough that they should have loosened up sooner and more completely. Next time, I need a bigger list of the benefits of meditation and writing--splashier somehow, or more convincing. Do I need a commercial with a spokesmodel to advise them that this is truly the thing to do? Surely not. Is this too woo woo for teachers in small towns? It shouldn't be, but it did seem to disconcert them, which was certainly not my intention. What was with the aversion to paint? Worried about getting messy? Worried that they will look foolish? Was it just an unwillingness to drag a dripping painting back home? Thinking about this experience is valuable, because I've generated concrete examples of what to consider to make the next lesson as close to flawless as possible: I want to edify, electrify and imbue them with enthusiasm for the whole mindful writing process.

Teaching vs. Helping students learn

Both of my parents taught school in Oklahoma City and American Samoa, and I've listened to them talk about their students my entire life. They are both retired now, but every so often, my mother agrees to substitute because she misses having a regular group of students. It surprises me that they aren't both teaching night school, because they did that, too, and liked the challenge of helping students earn their GED.

I had the great good fortune, or extremely bad luck, to have both of my parents as teachers --my mother was also my fifth grade teacher at Fia Iloa, and my father volunteered to teach at Samoana, my high school, so that I could have the benefit of his in-person teaching, instead of his televised lessons beamed all over the island to village school children. Was I appreciative? Not really--I think it warped me for life. I was, however, able to observe up close and in person the teaching styles of both parents and in later years chose their best techniques to use in my own classroom.

The biggest difference between them was their teaching style--my father could lecture for hours without notes on any of the historical times we studied, disclosing juicy tidbits about historical figures and helping all of us think about and understand what motivated the people in history to behave as they did--and how their behavior changed the world for better or worse.

My mother's approach to teaching was more individualized, but less engaging. My father cajoled us into learning by letting us peek behind the curtains of history. My mother didn't cajole. We all had work to do, and we'd better get to it! We churned our way through the fifth grade textbooks and in our spare time individually worked our way through the box of SRI reading resources. We finished the spelling book by Christmas, so we started on the 6th grade book and were more than half-way thorough it by the end of school. We did do several art projects, and it wasn't entirely grim, but I would have much preferred another teacher, as my friends complained bitterly to me when they were in trouble for not doing their work. My mother's philosophy towards classroom behavior/finished work was consistant throughout her whole teaching career--but fortunately, she had not yet implemented the pink chair cure. Looking back, there should probably have been sanctions against pink chairs in the documents drawn up by the Geneva Convention, but this form of torture somehow escaped notice. Her pink chair method was simple: when she taught first or second graders, anyone in trouble was required to sit in a pink chair outside while everyone else enjoyed recess. She had three pink chairs. Strangely, this method of behavior modification seemed to work. Only one child needed a second pink chair experience--once was enough for everyone else.

How is this relevant to English 1000? I've noticed that teaching undergraduates is not much different from teaching middle or high school students--and while pink chair use is verboten, there are "tricks" you can do to engage students in their own learning, even though they balk at active participation with more resistance and energy than would be required to successfully complete the assignment. Somehow, students may feel that their job is to be a funnel head--and my job is to pour information into the funnel while they check their e-mail, text their friends, and mutter to their classmates about how much effort it will take to finish assignments. I think part of the problem is that teachers do not continue to learn and grow with their students--and do not see the need to vary their methods of information delivery in order to help all learners learn.

My plan to observe an English 1000 class this morning fell through, so it will be my next/final observation. For now, I'm going to write about my Q2 course--Qualitative Analysis, Part 2. The members of this class are a fascinating mix of age, race, nationality and subject specialties. One student requires a dog and 2 interpreters -- and is a very active participant in the class. Two of my friends from the 2001 Missouri Writing Project are in there with me, and we've noticed and discussed the different levels of understanding that our classmates bring to the class. Four weeks ago, we spent much of the entire class period discussing the syllabus in minute detail. Several students were very vocal about the many ways that completing the final project would be impossible in their field of study. Two people are gathering data in other countries, so I can see how they may need special accomodations and altered expectations, but many of the concerns seemed to be blown out of proportion for the task at hand. Our professor was patient, articulate and diplomatic throughout this proceedure, and offered to meet with anyone still confused outside of our regularly scheduled class time, but the questions continued, eroding what was left of our class time. I began to worry that I had somehow misunderstood the gravity and scope of task at hand, but a brief check for clarification revealed that my understanding of the project was clear, and on target. If that was the case, then why were my classmates behaving as if they had little ability to read and understand the goals/objectives/project directions/expected outcomes stated on the syllabus? How had they made it this far, academically? Given their level of confusion, how did they operate a moving vehicle or roam out in the world without a keeper? Had one of Hulu's alien representatives gobbled up most of their brain? Were they only capable of processing auditory information in 60 second chunks?

My hypothesis is that a small percentage of the students were truly puzzled--and since some of them were operating in L2, their confusion was understandable. However, I think others continued to ask questions to delay a discussion of our reading assignment. If I wanted to be mindful about this, I'd say that I noticed that my classmates had so many questions about course requirements that our class time was consumed in the Q & A process. If a deeper analysis was required, I'd note that our different cultures and subject expertise impacted understanding in a negative way. When I talked with my friends after class, we concluded that some of our classmates understood the assignment, some needed clarification, and the rest were just wasting our class time because they felt like being disagreeable.