Thursday, March 26, 2015

ICUCOW 2015

          Earlier this week, I had the privilege and honor to be the guest alumni speaker at the Illinois College Undergraduate Conference on Writing, sponsored by the Campus Writing Center and affectionately known as ICUCOW. I presented all four years I attended IC, and I helped organize the event when I worked in the CWC. When one of my graduated students asked me if I'd be willing to speak at the event a few months ago, I was elated -- I couldn't believe I could go back and be a part of that awesome community of writers again.

          Each year, students from all disciplines at IC submit their work -- academic papers, nonfiction, creative pieces, poetry -- and the CWC staff selects the best for presentation. During this year's 18th annual ICUCOW, twelve IC students read their work, and I was in awe. These writers are thinking big thoughts, writing meaningful and moving pieces, and will soon be joining the ranks of adults influencing the world. I told the readers and audience that when I sat in their seats, I don't think I realized I sat among such greatness.

          As the guest speaker, I served as the bookends for the conference. I opened with a piece I wrote as a senior at IC in 2007 for an application to present at the Sigma Tau Delta National Convention in Pittsburgh, PA. That year, the conference theme was confluence, and we were asked to merely write a one-page paper on the word. I won a monetary prize for this particular paper, and I felt it was a good way to explain to the audience why this once-English major is now teaching math:

Confluence: Sigma Tau Delta Convention Theme Paper 2007
            It is not surprising that in educational theory, the mathematical/logical multiple intelligence is not directly linked to the verbal/linguistic one. Many people love either numbers or words. I love both.
            After beginning to study both English and mathematics, I have seen many people furrow their brows and ask, confused, why I chose both disciplines. Nothing, they insist, links the two. I beg to differ; if nothing else, other English/math students and I are the link. Our multiple intelligence combinations, the unique ways we think, are the confluence of the two disciplines.
            For a time, I thought English/math students were the only link, but as I delve deeper into the studies of these disciplines, I realize they have countless crossovers. The principles and thought processes of math apply to English, and vice-versa, but it is difficult to recognize them without working actively in both. In proof-based math courses, I learn how to explain in words why mathematics works the way it does. As I learn the mathematical concepts behind each theorem I prove, I must focus on aspects of my writing such as clarity, focus, organization, and word choice and consider whether or not my audience will be able to follow the steps I am providing. Thus, each time I sit down to my geometry homework, my writing skills improve a little more.
            As I analyze literature and discuss it with other English students, I also find myself applying mathematical methodology as I prove my point. I use generalized examples, similar to ones I use in proofs, to explain a connection among stories’ themes and counterexamples to explain why I disagree with someone else’s interpretation. I have even explained Claire’s behavior in David Auburn’s play Proof (2001) by identifying a flaw in her logic that is similar to many novice mathematicians’ mistakes. She assumes that her sister is insane and then uses that assumption to prove that her sister is insane. All of her evidence for her sister’s insanity is a result of her assumption that her conclusion is true, thus making all of her evidence irrelevant.
            After working in both disciplines, I clearly see how studying English literature relates to studying mathematics. The confluence of the two creates a unique frame of reference for me and allows me to see both disciplines in a rather untraditional and unexpected manner.

***

     After hearing twelve amazing student pieces, I then read an old favorite of mine, which I feel shows that my passion for working with students outweighs my love of either words or numbers. I've posted it here before, but here it is again:
  
What I Want for You
Eight times now,
I've stood before 100+ students
for the first time,
their names still crisp on the Skyward roster,
my voice steady, poorly camouflaging my butterflies.

Eight times now,
these students have become my kids,
Mine.

Some like me; some don’t. That’s not required.

Over nine months or so,
we get to know one another, the good and the bad,
and the crazy woman up front
develops not only expectations for you –
but hopes for you as well.

This is what I want for you:
To know how nice it feels to hear someone genuinely ask how you are today.
To learn how you’re wired, so that you can use your strengths and improve your weaknesses.
To always, always, know there is room to improve, to grow.
To live life full of joy and find ways to pass it on.
To respect everyone, even (perhaps especially) those you don’t like.
To realize you are more than capable of success, and to see that the effort really is worth it.

To find your passion, what makes you want to get up every morning, just as I have found mine.

***

         After I finished, my graduated student presented me with a spiral-bound copy of all four of my ICUCOW presentation pieces from 2004 through 2007 and this year's addition. I was honored that my student and my former CWC director felt I was qualified to speak at the event; I was touched that they would create such an awesome keepsake for me. 


Sunday, March 8, 2015

Why I Continue Teaching

NPR recently posted two articles about the decreasing number of people going into the teaching profession, and ended with a call for why current teachers continue in such a difficult career. Here are links to the articles and my response to NPR.




I just read your articles, "Where Have All the Teachers Gone?" and "There Are Fewer New Teachers. And No One Seems Surprised," and as a high school math teacher, I wanted to weigh in on why I continue teaching. 

My answer is simple and yet increasingly complex: I stay for my students. 

Every day I enter my classroom with plans to help my students improve in one way or another. They deserve to have someone in their lives who is dedicated to fostering their improvement. Over the last eight years of my career, I've found I'm good at that, and I don't want to let my kids down. They need me. 

When I think of the big picture, my students need me for far more than answering questions on study guides, helping them graph polynomials and calculate their derivatives. They need me for far more than helping them prepare for the next Common Core assessment or the ACT they'll take as juniors. 

They need me to help them understand how to problem-solve, how to think for themselves, how to take responsibility for their words, their actions, and their lives. They need me to coach them in persevering through whatever problems they face; they need me to remind them that their self-worth is not tied to a test, but that not giving their best on any assignment is cheating themselves out of the rewards of triumphing over the challenges of life. They need me to hold them to high expectations and help them believe they can actually reach them. 

The students I teach today will change our world tomorrow.  By committing to fostering their success and improvement, I have hope that the change they bring will be positive. 

So I suppose I stay for more than just my students. I stay for the future of our society.

The problems we face as teachers -- aligning to new standards, spending an inordinate amount of time testing when we could be learning, working 10+ hour days even during our vacations for pay that is a mere fraction of other professions' -- may plague my colleagues and me for my entire lifetime, or they may change. One facet of our career will remain steady, though: our students will need us. My students need me, so I stay.