Taking a brief vacation break (before we eventually get on a plane) to note that the NPR “Rate my Professors” story did run today. I’m interviewed near the end of a four-minute piece. Here’s the link to the audio.
Merry Merry to all.
Archive for December, 2006
For the fourth consecutive year, my last post of the year is the famous and loved AA Milne poem. My mother recited it to my brother and to me throughout our childhood; I will recite it to my own kids someday.
A very Happy Hanukkah, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to all. Look for posting to resume on or about January 7. Remember, bloggers, consider coming up with your own top five or ten posts of 2006. Here are mine.
King John’s Christmas, AA Milne
King John was not a good man –
He had his little ways.
And sometimes no one spoke to him
For days and days and days.
And men who came across him,
When walking in the town,
Gave him a supercilious stare,
Or passed with noses in the air –
And bad King John stood dumbly there,
Blushing beneath his crown.
King John was not a good man,
And no good friends had he.
He stayed in every afternoon…
But no one came to tea.
And, round about December,
The cards upon his shelf
Which wished him lots of Christmas cheer,
And fortune in the coming year,
Were never from his near and dear,
But only from himself.
King John was not a good man,
Yet had his hopes and fears.
They’d given him no present now
For years and years and years.
But every year at Christmas,
While minstrels stood about,
Collecting tribute from the young
For all the songs they might have sung,
He stole away upstairs and hung
A hopeful stocking out.
King John was not a good man,
He lived his live aloof;
Alone he thought a message out
While climbing up the roof.
He wrote it down and propped it
Against the chimney stack:
"TO ALL AND SUNDRY - NEAR AND FAR -
F. Christmas in particular."
And signed it not "Johannes R."
But very humbly, "Jack."
"I want some crackers,
And I want some candy;
I think a box of chocolates
Would come in handy;
I don’t mind oranges,
I do like nuts!
And I SHOULD like a pocket-knife
That really cuts.
And, oh! Father Christmas, if you love me at all,
Bring me a big, red, india-rubber ball!"
King John was not a good man –
He wrote this message out,
And gat him to this room again,
Descending by the spout.
And all that night he lay there,
A prey to hopes and fears.
"I think that’s him a-coming now!"
(Anxiety bedewed his brow.)
"He’ll bring one present, anyhow –
The first I had for years."
"Forget about the crackers,
And forget the candy;
I’m sure a box of chocolates
Would never come in handy;
I don’t like oranges,
I don’t want nuts,
And I HAVE got a pocket-knife
That almost cuts.
But, oh! Father christmas, if you love me at all,
Bring me a big, red, india-rubber ball!"
King John was not a good man,
Next morning when the sun
Rose up to tell a waiting world
That Christmas had begun,
And people seized their stockings,
And opened them with glee,
And crackers, toys and games appeared,
And lips with sticky sweets were smeared,
King John said grimly: "As I feared,
Nothing again for me!"
"I did want crackers,
And I did want candy;
I know a box of chocolates
Would come in handy;
I do love oranges,
I did want nuts!
I haven’t got a pocket-knife —
Not one that cuts.
And, oh! if Father Christmas, had loved me at all,
He would have brought a big, red,
india-rubber ball!"
King John stood by the window,
And frowned to see below
The happy bands of boys and girls
All playing in the snow.
A while he stood there watching,
And envying them all …
When through the window big and red
There hurtled by his royal head,
And bounced and fell upon the bed,
An india-rubber ball!
AND, OH, FATHER CHRISTMAS,
MY BLESSINGS ON YOU FALL
FOR BRINGING HIM
A BIG, RED,
INDIA-RUBBER
BALL!
The LA Times has an article this morning on teachers and student gifts.
Finding the perfect gift to express the holiday spirit is never easy, but students and their parents have been known to bestow on favorite teachers tokens both weird and lavish.
They have included the practical — homemade bread, body lotions and pricey gift certificates; the eclectic — handmade noodles from a father who owns a noodle factory and custom-made CDs recorded at one family’s home; and the plain eccentric — a ceramic urn engraved with the phrase “teacher’s ashes.”
As teachers receive their umpteenth coffee mug imprinted with a red-suited Santa, colored Hanukkah candles and other mementos of the season’s festivities, many say a heartfelt note of thanks is what’s most treasured.
Well, I won’t argue with that last sentiment. When I was in elementary school, I regularly gave my teachers a small Christmas gift. (And like most folks, I can name all of my early teachers, from kindergarten through fifth grade.) As I recall, the practice became much less common in junior high and high school, but some favorite teachers still got small presents. Of course, once I was at university, the practice stopped almost entirely. I never knew anyone at Cal who gave a professor a gift; it was occasionally, if rarely, done for TAs. And though I TAed for seven quarters in graduate school, I only got one or two small gifts. (The biggest was a bag of ground coffee.)
But since coming to Pasadena City College, I’ve found that gifts for teachers are much more common. I’m not entirely sure why it’s so much more widespread a practice at the community college than it was in either my high school or university experience. But I’m in my fourteenth year of teaching here, and if I were to collect all the gifts I’ve ever been given in one place, I’d have quite a pile.
In the last five years, the most common and most appreciated gift is the Starbucks gift card. The amounts on the card range from $5-$20, never more. My students are well aware that I consume caffeine in extraordinary proportions, and I am grateful that some are willing to support my addiction. But before the coming of gift cards, I got a wider variety of gifts. Only a small few were clearly inappropriate.
The rule at the College is that gifts of nominal value may be accepted as long as they are not factored into evaluation. Any gift large enough to be considered a bribe should be rejected. I can think of only one or two that fell into that category. Years ago, I had a student whose father was a jeweler. The son wore what seemed to be a Rolex, and once asked me if I liked it. I told him, offhand, that it was a very fine watch. Not long thereafter, he showed up in my office hours and offered it to me. He was a borderline student who seemed frustrated that an A wasn’t coming easily to him, but he made no explicit connection between the Rolex (which may well have been faux) and his grade. The implication seemed clear enough to me, and I politely told him I couldn’t accept it. He seemed to think that this was a rejection of the brand, not of a sizeable gift, and listed for me other pricey watches he could give instead. I told him “You’re very sweet to offer such a lovely gift, but I am afraid I can’t accept anything of significant value.” He seemed somewhat disappointed, but didn’t try again; he left the class with the B he earned.
The most memorable gifts have been anonymous. In my History 1A course, I spend some time every semester going over the story of the Trojan War and the judgment of Paris. As students of mythology know, Paris is given the golden apple of discord; inscribed with the words “For the Fairest”, it is to be given to one of three goddesses. The students may forget some of the details of the Athenian city-state, but they always remember the myths. And about ten years ago, at the end of one semester, I found a stunningly heavy, gorgeous, solid crystal apple in my box at school. It was elegantly wrapped, and it had been engraved “For Hugo, the Fairest Teacher.” It was obviously more expensive than what I ought normally have accepted, but it was given anonymously. I still have the apple today, and still don’t know who gave it to me.
And yes, when I was younger and single, I was (very occasionally) offered a different kind of gift. It was only blatantly proferred a couple of times; at least once it was heartbreaking. One young woman, a single mother who had missed a substantial amount of class and was in danger of failing the course, came to my office in tears. She offered to go to a motel room with me and do anything I wanted. The offer was brazen, but she made it with trembling lips and teary eyes. I gave her a tissue, told her I would issue her an incomplete that would allow her to make the work up the following semester, and recommended she see a counselor. It was a rather shattering moment for both of us.
I don’t expect gifts from my students. If they’ve appreciated the course, I do enjoy hearing about it from them. A sincere thank-you, given after the grades have been turned in, is always welcome. It does mean something to me to know that I am having an impact, that my work is meaningful. I am so grateful to do what I do — and to be paid to do what I would honestly do for free. That’s my great good fortune, and I need no gift to remind me of how blessed I am. But the cards and the notes are always welcome.
Though I’m not holding my breath, I’m told that it’s very possible that the NPR story on “Rate my Professors” (featuring an interview with yours truly), will air tomorrow (Tuesday) on the “Day to Day” program. If you miss it, it will be available online by tomorrow night. I’ll update once again when I know more.
UPDATE: Nope. Not today. No doubt it will air at some point when I am out of the country.
I learned today (h/t Feministing) of the National Student Genderblind Campaign. Founded by students at Guildford College and Clark University, the NSGC:
The National Student Genderblind Campaign is a student-initiated, grass-roots organization working to achieve gender-neutral collegiate policies. By engaging students from colleges and universities across the nation, the National Student Genderblind Campaign strives to serve as a comprehensive source of information for those who wish to implement gender-neutral policy of their own.
Currently, as an emerging grass-roots organization, the NSGC focuses, primarily, on dorm room policy, and secondly, on bathrooms.
That last sentence makes me happy. Don’t ask why. The NSGC opines:
Gender-neutral housing policies provide options for transgender students, students in the process of discovering their gender identity, gay or bisexual students who feel uncomfortable with rooming with members of the same sex, intersex students who do not wish to be identified by any sex, and students who feel that they would cooperate better with a roommate of the opposite sex. The NSGC believes that current policies, without gender-neutral options, reflect a time of institutionalized heterosexism that marginalizes countless students today.
My first thought, writing as someone nearly two-decades removed from undergraduate life, is that we’ve really come a long way; if the most salient form of oppression that young feminists and their allies can find is the absence of gender-neutral bathroom policy, then we have much for which to be thankful. My second reaction is to wince at the earnestness of these young folks, particularly because I know how easily their ingenuousness will be handled by the conservative media.
For those folks who are intersexed or transgendered, having gender-neutral bathrooms does make life easier. I know from my “trans” friends that rude treatment in public restrooms is all too common. But it seems that the NSGC isn’t just interested in protecting intersexed folks; they’re interested in protecting the rights of those who feel that they would cooperate better with a roommate of the opposite sex. That’s the part that grabbed me.
Part of being a young feminist woman or pro-feminist man is learning to live at odds with cultural expectations for femininity and masculinity. While feminism doesn’t have a mandatory dress code, or a stated policy on hair removal, or a blanket prohibition on loving NASCAR or football, there’s little question that in order to live as a feminist, one has to reject certain aspects of a profoundly sexist culture. To a very great extent, particularly for young collegians, most of whom are just finishing adolescence, embracing feminism or pro-feminism is a dramatic rejection of broader cultural norms. To be a pro-feminist man is to choose to “not be one of the guys”; to be a feminist woman is to choose to be publicly and privately critical of sexist expectations for the “fairer sex.” And that kind of rebelliousness means encountering a lot of hostility from one’s own gender.
Anecdotally, I hear the same thing from young feminists of both genders: “It’s easier to get along with the opposite sex.” Many of the young folks I work with have spent years being ostracized and judged for failing to adequately live up to the standards for their gender; their same-sex peers have humiliated and hurt them deeply. In their woundedness, it’s not surprising that many of them find other-sex friendships (which presumably are less competitive and judgmental) to be much easier to find and maintain. And the students at NSGC seem to be arguing that students like this should be able to live together as opposite-sex roommates — an attractive option to many young feminists/pro-feminists in particular.
I have no moral objection to opposite-sex roommates or coed bathrooms. (My freshman year at Cal, I had an off-campus apartment of my own, but basically lived with my friends in a coed dorm. Sharing a bathroom discomfited only a few, and only for the first few weeks. Using a urinal with women walking past became comfortable very quickly.) But I do think that there is much to recommend same-sex roommate policies.
As I’ve written before, I struggled for years to develop friendships with other men. I wrote a few years ago:
Until I was in my 30s, I had very few close male friends. I was raised surrounded by women, and as I went into adolescence and early adulthood, I tried to make certain that women were always around me. It wasn’t just romantic or sexual relationships that I was seeking; it was emotional support. Through high school, college, and graduate school, I prided myself on the large number of women who were close to me, with whom I had mutually supportive, generally non-physical relationships. Of course, the real truth was that I was absolutely terrified of intimacy with men. Men were colleagues and rivals, but never friends. I made all sorts of excuses as to why I didn’t have more male friends; the most frequent one was that “most American men are sexist pigs, and I can’t relate to that.”
The few good male friends I had were the roommates I had in college. My freshman year I lived off-campus by myself; my senior year I had a single room in a co-op; my sophomore and junior years, I lived in a triple with other guys. If I had had my druthers, I would surely have felt “safer” living with platonic female friends. I did fear being judged, and I did worry about what these guys would think of me. But I had no choice but to live with two other guys (actually, over the course of two years, about five other guys). My brother and I had not shared a room growing up, so those two years of my life were the only two years I’ve had sharing a room with other men. And though we had our share of roommate squabbles over radios and open windows and girlfriend sleepovers, we bonded tightly. I learned that I could live as a man with other men and be respected by them. I learned how to practice non-sexual intimacy with other guys, and push myself through my fear of whether they would declare me to be “insufficiently masculine.” Tim, Dave, John, Patrick, and Danny played a vital role in helping me to grow more comfortable with my own maleness. I am damned grateful they were there for me.
Do I think coed bathrooms are a good idea? Well, it’s not high on my list of priorities to fight for, but I’ve got no objection to ‘em. Do I think roommates of the opposite sex are a good idea? No, at least not for first-year students living away from home for the first time. Learning to practice same-gender intimacy is an important skill. For young feminists and other aspiring “gender outlaws”, learning to overcome one’s fears about competition and judgment is vitally important. Let the older students pick their roommates across gender lines, but require the frosh to live with their own sex for a year. It may well work wonders.
I’m fighting a nasty, end-of-the-semester cold. I’m sitting in my office, taking a break from grading.
Yesterday, I stayed home sick and watched movies. And back-to-back, watched two of my favorite films of the past decade: The Apostle, and The Widow of St. Pierre. I’ve seen both films many times, and never fail to be deeply moved. The latter film features not only the brilliant Juliette Binoche, but also Daniel Auteuil, who, from the standpoint of this straight (albeit vaguely metrosexual) married man, is perhaps the sexiest man alive. “Widow” (make sure to watch it with subtitles, not dubbed into English), is a marvelous meditation on many things: fate, redemption, marriage — and, of particular interest to me, masculinity. It is at or near the top of my “all-time favorites” list.
Another post soon.
I finally have a Flickr photo account, and I’ve started adding to it. Just a few pics so far, but you can see each of our six new chins.
More photos will appear eventually, especially after our Christmas season travels.
Lauren not only designed this blog, she’s inspiring two posts from me today. Yesterday, our Indiana friend posted about her own church camp experience. She talks at length about one particularly creepy counselor, a man who was regularly and stunningly sexually inappropriate. Lauren shares some anecdotes, and notes that he acted out in full view of
other adults, all of whom were, as mentioned, too nice to say anything about how grossly inappropriate all of this was.
That strikes a nerve with me. I’m a veteran church youth volunteer; I help lead Wednesday night and Sunday afternoon teen groups. I’ve gone on many, many weekend retreats. And I’ve written at length about the importance of good, loving boundaries with teenagers. (See here, here, here.)
But I’m also prone to bouts of niceness. Yes, I watch my own behavior around teenagers very carefully; I make sure that I get regular feedback from other adult volunteers who see me hug and pat and “love on” the boys and girls with whom I interact. But reading Lauren’s post, I am struck by how trusting I am of my fellow volunteers! Let me be clear that I have absolutely no reason to doubt the integrity of any of them. I’ve never witnessed any inappropriate behavior — yet on the other hand, I’m not as zealous about checking up on my colleagues as I am in monitoring my own interactions with the teens. And like many people, I don’t like confrontation one bit. Challenging a peer — or a church leader — would not be easy. But I’d like to think that if I saw an adult behave inappropriately with one of our teens, I would intervene quickly. I’m hoping my desire to protect the vulnerable would trump my eagerness to maintain a “nice and pleasant” atmosphere.
In a comment below Lauren’s post, Thomas writes:
I’m very concerned at accounts I have read over the years about people knowing of and ignoring adults with a history of sexually charged behavior with and access to children. It is my experience that people can turn their heads more easily when nobody requires them to take responsibility. I recommend the following question:
“Will my child have contact with anyone here that you have reason to believe may be sexually attracted to children?”
Anyone with a brain knows that if they have been ignoring the rumors about Mr. Davis, and they say no, then their ass is now on the hook in both a moral and likely a legal sense.
It’s a tough question for a parent to ask, but I’d be pleased if a parent asked it of me or any other youth leader at All Saints. Thinking of my fellow volunteers and youth pastors, I’m completely confident I could give a hearty “no”. I wouldn’t be offended by the question at all, even if was directed at me personally. Asking direct questions like this set a clear tone: it makes it evident that the protection of children and teens is more important than avoiding putting adults on the spot. It makes it clear that parents expect that the adults to whom they entrust their young people will do more than simply refrain from harming their kids. A parent who asks the question Thomas suggests makes it clear that he or she is holding those of us who work with youth accountable. And I welcome that accountability, and am committed to living it out.
We had our final youth group meeting of 2006 on Wednesday night. We had a Christian rock band, Transistor Radio do a gig for the teens. We had tacos and Christmas cookies and a gift exchange. And we had lots of laughter, lots of hugs, and a bit of gentle “moshing” as the band performed. And when it came time to say goodbye until 2007, there was a lot of hugging. As I’ve written before, I don’t foist my embraces on anyone — but when hugged, I hug back with warmth and exuberance and enthusiasm. The kids I work with know that if they need to be held, I will hold them. They know that if they need me to keep my space while they talk, I can do that too. And I know that whatever I’m doing is seen by the wider community, and I welcome their queries or concerns. Lauren’s post reminds me that I can’t forget I also have a job to lovingly watch how my colleagues interact with our kids, and be fearless about challenging anything that seems out of place.
A meme from Lauren:
1) Harken back to your archives.
2) Collect the first sentence you wrote every month for the whole year.
3) Entertain us.
December: I’m at home, working on a book proposal and watching coverage of women’s college soccer.
November: I’m gonna push a button or two with this one: Tuesday afternoons, I meet with Stephanie, my Pilates trainer, at 5:30PM.
October: Lots and lots of good discussion in response to the post a week ago about why some young women reject the feminist label (and, indeed, many of the most basic tenets of feminism).
September: Returning to an FRT with eight of my songs and two from my wife’s collection.
August: The summer session is almost over. In my women’s studies class yesterday, we were talking about obstacles to identifying as feminists.
July: My father’s service on Sunday afternoon was a very moving and, if this is the right word, satisfying occasion.
June: There’s a personal story behind my love for this medieval Japanese poem by Lady Ki No Washika.
May: It’s May Day, the start of a new week and a new month. I’m hoping it will also usher in the return of regular blogging from Hugo.
April: I note that UCLA — my graduate school alma mater — plays for the national championship in basketball tonight.
March: Before I forget, I need to add Susan Russell’s blog to my links list. Susan — who I am happy to say reads this blog — is the president of Integrity USA and a leading spokesperson for the rights of gay and lesbian folk in the life of the church.
February: I’ve got an 8:00 class four mornings a week during the winter intersession, and most mornings I’ve had time for a quick post before it.
January: Friday night, my wife and I got back from a long, happy, and delayed honeymoon.
Gosh, that’s a bore.
I’ve got lots of grading and other end-of-the-semester tasks to get to, but I thought I’d share this little bit about myself — not something most people know.
I love airplanes. When I was a small child, my favorite place to spend the day was at the tiny Monterey Peninsula Airport. When my father came up for his regular visits, I would beg to be taken to the airport, to watch the planes land and take off. Given that in the 1970s, there were only three or four commercial flights a day, this could mean a lot of waiting. Monterey has a great observation deck, slap above the terminal and just feet from the runway. We would stand out on the deck, staring off to the east, straining our eyes to see the first sign or glimmer of an approaching plane. (In the ’70s, Monterey was briefly served by real jets, mostly United 727s). I loved the landing, the taxiing, the elaborate directions given by the ground crew as they guided the plane to a stop. My late father, endlessly patient, would sit with me as the plane unloaded, loaded, and departed — and though landings were nice, take-offs were the most exciting part of my whole day.
I still love airplanes and airports. I have mixed feelings about flying, mind you; it can be a physically uncomfortable experience. But the process of going to the airport, of getting on the plane — I still adore that. Obviously, long-haul transcontinental flights are considerably more interesting, not least of all because of the excitement surrounding a vacation or a family visit. But while boarding a 747 or an A340 for a ten or thirteen hour flight around the globe is still very exciting (all the more so when one isn’t flying economy, thanks be to God), I still get a little tingle each and every time I climb on a short Southwest flight from Burbank to San Jose.
A lot of our discretionary income goes into travel. I’m lucky that my wife’s passion for seeing the world exceeds my own. (She’s a good deal less excited about the planes themselves, and more excited about the destinations.) We’ve traveled enough to accumulate some serious frequent flyer miles; for those who know I’ve got BA “silver” status now and am closing in on getting “gold” before too long. We’re traveling abroad again over the Christmas and New Year’s Holidays; I’ll let you know exactly where when we get back. (We’re not leaving for another week and a half, and will be back on January 7. We have chinnie sitters arranged to guard the home front.) I will say that we’ve booked a very odd way to getting where we’re going; we’re going to end up flying nearly 22 hours to get somewhere that should only take a little more than half that time going “the other way.” I’ll explain when we’re home.
So when we’re not traveling, we’re planning our next trip. And while my wife is thinking about hotels and restaurants, I think about planes. I think about the various merits of 747s and 777s and the larger Airbuses*; I read the major commercial airline magazines (this is my favorite) and spend time on the airliner and travel internet forums and bulletin boards. One goal for the near future: a “round the world”, using several different airlines, following the sun.
I haven’t posted about my love of flying for a couple of reasons. One, I know it’s a black spot on my environmentalist record; I know jets contribute to global warming. I support Richard Branson’s efforts to reduce aircraft emissions, and am eager to see new ideas developed to mitigate the damage wrought by so much flying. But I’m not willing to give up seeing the world. I may have stopped buying leather, I may be a full vegetarian, I may give to a lot of animal rights and environmental charities, but, dear Lord, I’m not willing to give up the short hops and the long hauls. I’m too addicted still to filling my passports (UK and American) with stamps and visas.
Two, though I don’t go into detail about how much money is being spent on all this, folks can figure it out. It seems rude, somehow, to talk too much about a hobby that is out of reach of so many. So I don’t post “trip reports” on my blog, though I do do so on some of the airliner forums (though not always under my own name.) I figure it’s grating to have to read “Oh we went here, and stayed at this lovely place” when that isn’t really the purpose of this blog.
I haven’t traveled abroad since my father’s death in June. He was a fairly accomplished traveler himself, and he was very indulgent of my great and early love of aircraft. When my wife and I walk into the Tom Bradley International Terminal later this month, I’ll be thinking of my papa. And as I look out at the jumbos lined up at the piers, ready to go to London and Paris and Taipei and Auckland, I’ll mist up with excitement and with a keen sense of missing my Daddy. This I know.
*Unless you can get on to the “upper deck” of a 747, or into the nose, I prefer the A340 to the biggest Boeing planes. I’m in a distinct minority among frequent travelers on that one.
I’ve been asked to post the following:
CALL FOR SUBMISSIONS!
BEYOND MASCULINITY:
Essays by Queer Men on Gender and Politics
http://www.beyondmasculinity.com
———————————–
Gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer men’s gender identities often exist somewhere outside the traditional categories of “masculine” and “feminine.” Sissies, drag queens, and leather daddies alike play with gender in a way that cannot be accounted for in traditional understandings of maleness. This collection — part blog, part anthology, part audiobook — aims to shatter traditional understandings of maleness and point towards a new understanding of how queerness and gender intersect.
Visit Beyond Masculinity for more details!
I want to get back to the topic of teaching and self-confidence. In yesterday’s post, I cited an article that claimed that 94% of University of Nebraska faculty considered themselves to be “better than average” teachers when compared to their colleagues. If the word “average” is to have any meaning at all, somethin’ must be wrong with their self-assessment. Even if the best teachers in the world are all to be found in Lincoln, it’s still more or less impossible for 94% to be “above average.”
In the comments, Sally writes
That’s really interesting, because I have a friend who does teaching evaluations at her university, and she says that grad student teachers consistently underestimate how good they are. She says that grad students will claim to be utter disasters in the classroom, and then when she comes and observes their teaching, they’re perfectly fine, if not particularly exceptional. I wonder if something changes between the grad student and professor levels?
Well, I know something sure changed for me between the grad school and professorial levels! My first teaching experience happened in the spring quarter, 1991. I was TA-ing a Classics survey course at UCLA. Before meeting my first section, I went to the bathroom in Bunche Hall and threw up; I was overcome with terror. I was not-quite 24, and though I had years of background in drama and was the son of two college professors, I felt like an utter fraud who was about to be exposed. And in my first few quarters of TA-ing, I had some awful moments that left me despondent. I would not have ranked myself highly, back in the day. So yeah, one’s confidence grows with time.
I’d also say that the degree to which one worries about being liked diminishes with time, and that helps. When I was a TA — or even in my first few years here at the college — most of my students were only a few years younger than I. I saw them as slightly junior peers, and it’s generally the case that we are particularly anxious to win approval from our peers. Being liked, being perceived as competent, being thought interesting; all of these were wrapped up together. Today, I am still very much concerned with being competent, and I am hopeful that I am still found interesting — but the anxiety about winning approval has dropped. And I find that the less anxious I am about winning approval, the more likely I am to have self-confidence. Part of self-confidence, at least for me, is rooted in a sense of one’s own skills; it’s also rooted in a willingness to be unaffected by the capricious judgments of others.
I don’t believe good teachers are born that way. Good teaching is like any other skill — it’s something we learn, and something we get better at with practice. When we’re novices, our anxiety about our teaching serves an important function: it spurs us to improve. One hopes that that anxiety will diminish with time. In a few, unfortunate instances, it is replaced with apathy; more often than not, it is replaced by a quiet confidence in one’s own mastery of the material and of the classroom. And of course, in most cases, we are eager to continue to refine our craft. Mastery is not the same as perfection, and in my case (and I’d like to believe in the case of most of my colleagues), we’re aware that we’ve got room to improve.
In the Price article, one thing he wrote really hit home:
Some college teachers try to avoid a real analysis of their strengths and weaknesses—
and working on the weaknesses—by deciding that they play a particular
role within their department, and that only some dimensions of good teaching are
relevant to that role. A veteran professor might decide that because other faculty in
the department use cooperative learning techniques and provide a variety of pedagogical
activities for their students, it is in his students’ interest for him to teach a “good old-fashioned college course,” featuring nothing but heavy doses of lecture, textbook reading, and traditional exams. Alternatively, in a department full of such veteran professors, a freewheeling young assistant professor might decide that her primary role should be to “model critical thinking in the classroom” by doing little other than discussing controversial issues.
One problem here is that, as discussed above, college teachers often don’t have
a clear idea of what’s going on in their colleagues’ classrooms and therefore have little
basis (beyond their own preferences) for choosing their roles.
Dang, I’m definitely the “veteran professor teaching the good old-fashioned college course”, at least when it comes to my Western Civ survey courses. I’ve made the conscious decision to emphasize good lecturing over other forms of teaching, largely because I am firmly convinced that lecturing has been woefully underemphasized. To quote myself from nearly two years ago:
I am sick and tired of having folks with doctorates in education (Lord help us) tell me that “lecturing is an outdated teaching style.” Well, it’s still a damned effective teaching style if it’s done well. I put a lot of time and energy into crafting articulate, interesting, lectures, largely because I believe that for most students, it remains the most effective and memorable way to learn. I do invite discussion and debate in some of my classes, and I welcome questions — but I cling tenaciously to the old-school notion that my job is to be an interesting, compelling, and provocative deliverer of information. (And along the way, raise up young feminists and pro-feminists.)
So, is my self-confidence misplaced? I don’t think so. Could I be a better teacher? Sure, of course. Am I better than my colleagues? I have no idea, because I’ve only seen a handful of them teach, and most of those whom I have seen teach were junior faculty early on in the tenure process. But in the absence of evidence, I’m happily confident that the majority of my colleagues are wonderful teachers, and I am happy to be “average” in their company.
This is the penultimate Thursday Short Poem of 2006, and it’s another famous one. Most American lit majors have to deal with it at one time or another. I’m including it because it’s an old favorite of mine; my mother, who introduced me to the poem, often talks about her “jar in Tennessee”. The jar is what imposes order and structure. It reminds me of my childhood attitude to nature; as a kid, I loved formal French gardens and topiaries that demonstrated a complete mastery of wildness. As a grown man, I like chaotic English gardens best. Anyhow, whether that makes sense of not, here’s the Wallace Stevens classic.
The Anecdote of the Jar
I placed a jar in Tennessee,
And round it was, upon a hill.
It made the slovenly wilderness
Surround that hill.
The wilderness rose up to it,
And sprawled around, no longer wild.
The jar was round upon the ground
And tall and of a port in air.
It took dominion every where.
The jar was gray and bare.
It did not give of bird or bush,
Like nothing else in Tennessee.
In October, I posted about my own circumcision. I also wrote about the ongoing research into the link between circumcision and the reduced risk of HIV infection; at that time, studies were still in progress.
The New York Times reports today that the National Institutes of Health is convinced: circumcision works, and they are now formally recommending the procedure. This is powerful and important news.
Let’s get to snippin’.
In return for my union dues, I get many benefits. I get, for example, the semi-annual publication of the NEA: Thought and Action. The current issue has an article by Paul C. Price (only available in PDF): Are You as Good a Teacher as You Think? It begins:
A survey of professors at the University of Nebraska a number of years ago showed that 94 percent of them thought they were better than average teachers at
their own institution. Assuming a reality that puts the true value at somewhere
near 50 percent, this survey suggests a rather stunning lack of self-insight among
the professoriate.
That opening made me chuckle. This phenomenon is not limited to the Cornhusker nation; anecdotally, I’m fairly certain that close to 94% of my colleagues at Pasadena City College would consider themselves to be “better than average.” Having participated in the evaluation process many times, and having read the “self-evaluations” that my colleagues are required to produce every few years, it seems that we too have a generous and optimistic sense of our own capabilities.
Of course, “ratemyprofessors” aside, students here at PCC seem to think most of us are above average too. On the old evaluation forms that we used back when I was tenure-track, students were asked if their teachers were “Outstanding/Excellent”, “Above Average”, or “Average.” College-wide, about 65% of the faculty were ranked “above average”, indicating that grade inflation seems to flow both ways!
When it comes to evaluating my own teaching, I think about it on several different levels. I would certainly say I’m an above average lecturer. I haven’t used notes in, oh, at least a decade. I can tell stories well, and structure a compelling narrative. If part of being a good teacher is being a good raconteur, then I’m certainly a talented teacher. But I know full well that I can still learn some new techniques, and that I have miles to go in terms of developing my patience.
But thinking about this abundant, no doubt deserved high self-esteem among the American professoriate, I find myself thinking about the only vaguely related question of how we evaluate our own attractiveness. I’m not just thinking about professors, of course, but of people in general. I remember, back in my freshman year of college, staying up late in a dorm room conversation — and being floored by one brave young woman, who insisted that each of us answer the question “Do you think you’re good looking? Why or why not?”
It was a tough question. But she asked it because she wanted to have a frank conversation in which we could all take the risk to be honest. We had been raised in an adolescent culture where self-praise invited a smack down; saying that you thought you were attractive was an open invitation to criticism, while claiming that you hated how you looked was seen as a none-too-subtle attempt at “fishing for compliments.” My friend in the dorm room challenged us to move past that dynamic, and, lubricated by beer and wine coolers and hash, we did so. There were perhaps eight of us in this triple room in Norton Hall, an equal number of boys and girls of varying degrees of socially acceptable attractiveness. And we listened respectfully and without judgment as each person shared how they “rated” themselves. It was revelatory.
I write about this because my feeling is that we live in a culture where we are expected and encouraged to “toot on our own horns” professionally. Whether or not we are actually over-flowing with self-confidence, the culture of resumes and college essays and self-evaluations invites us, indeed forces us, to insist on our own uniqueness, our own exceptionalism, our own “above-averageness.” But while trumpeting (and often exaggerating) our professional and academic qualifications is de rigueur, to talk frankly and honestly about how we see our looks is something very different. It’s a fascinating question to ask people, even now:
“When it comes to your physical attractiveness, how do you think you compare to your peer group?”
Of course, I don’t run around demanding answers to this awkward query. But as someone who has written endless self-evaluations focusing on my intellectual and pedagogical accomplishments and shortcomings, I’m intrigued by the disconnect between our contemporary willingness to celebrate our professional abilities while remaining mute about our own self-appraisal of our looks.
Thinking about my own life trajectory, I can say this much with confidence: As I age, my looks are fading. But as I age, I also grow spiritually and professionally. My ability in the classroom continues to grow. It grows not merely as a function of time, mind you; not all teachers automatically become better with experience. It grows — and there is still room for much more — because I am eager to find ways to be more effective, to be more relevant, to be more compassionate. I am happy to say that I see that same commitment in most of my colleagues.
I’ll post on this topic again soon. In my second post, I’ll muse on the question of whether or not a high degree of self-confidence does correlate well with teaching competence.
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