Call me...humbled...

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about my “teaching ethos” (mostly because the leader of my teaching mentor group has asked me to do so); and after reflecting on my first year teaching composition during my MA program, I’ve decided to publically apologize to my former students.

During the years between my programs, I worked as an assistant director at a learning center. Here, I worked with students (and their parents) from different backgrounds with different ability levels. Although these students had various learning (dis)abilities, they had one thing in common: they needed someone to tell them they could be good in school, not another person telling them exactly what they sucked at.  [I also learned that many kids cannot comprehend what they are reading and nobody has cared (or noticed) that they couldn’t comprehend—but that is a different post.]

I think the biggest mistake I made as a pretend professor was forgetting that as freshman they were not college students or college writers yet. I had wrongly assumed that they could handle criticism without feeling hurt and that they should be able to do college level work and think at a college level (they were in college after all). I was angry and saddened by their lack of ability, and I interpreted this as apathy.  However, what I discovered later was that none of my students had really ever been asked to think or express their opinions. I was also frustrated by my personal lack of support…I had no idea how to “fix” my class and I did not have the resources (nor did the university) to help me figure out a solution.  After my experience, I was ready to give up teaching—basically because I thought I sucked.

After working at the learning center, and being able to help students, I realize I did not suck, but I did have the wrong perspective. I had these visions of what it mean to be a “Professor”—I thought I had to be tough, be intellectual, be…I don’t even know what I thought it meant. But really, being a professor is being a teacher and remembering that these are just kids trying desperately to be college students but who do not know what that means yet. I asked myself: what do I need from a professor? I am, after all, still a student—a reminder that I needed to humble myself.

A recent quote sums up my newfound teaching goal: “The writing teacher must not be a judge, but a physician. His [her] job is not to punish, but to heal.” –Donald Murray.

Although there are those students who are apathetic and don’t want to try, rarely do students try to write terribly on purpose... or because they hate me.

*** I feel like the time between my posts gets longer and longer, and I am determined to shorten those gaps! Therefore, I’ve decided to post on Tuesdays. All of the reasons why we started this blog are still things I think are important, especially now that I am re-school-a-fied (basically, I’m back in school), and I want to keep our conversation about literacy and books and all things bookish going.

Looking out for the Ladies -- Jacqueline Kelly's The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate

The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate by Jacqueline Kelly is a timeless ode to girls, especially those with an interest in science.  Needless to say, I loved it.  As the daughter of a science teacher (and the sibling of an honest-to-God rocket scientist), I have spent my life surrounded by the joys of discovery.  While I can’t say that I know all the elements listed on the periodic table or understand all of what Stephen Hawking writes, I get the appeal of the scientific method – to discover something completely new and life-changing would be the greatest moment of one’s career. 

Kelly frames each chapter with a brief excerpt from Darwin’s The Origin of Species to connect the action of the story – a look into the year of a twelve-year old girl named Calpurnia (or Callie) Tate at the turn of the 20^th Century.  Faced with a decision whether to follow her parents’ desires to be a typical lady or to learn from her eccentric grandfather – Civil War hero, retired pecan farmer, and naturalist – Calpurnia struggles to balance all of her family’s expectations.  However, even in the midst of all the adventures with moth specimens, wine-making, and the discovery of what may be a new plant species, the book really isn’t just about science.

            Instead, the story gently tries to reassure all girls who differ from society’s vision of femininity that, someday, they too may eventually be accepted with a little effort on their part.  From Callie’s studies of the natural world, she sees everything has a role to play, no matter how odd or different from the other animals they may be.  For Callie, her difference comes in the form of her tomboyish, nerdy scientific nature, which her mother, her girly best friend, and her other female mentors are painstakingly trying to eliminate from her personality.  As much as Calpurnia’s grandfather encourages her to keep him company while traipsing around rural Texas backcountry, even he isn’t too confident she will make it as a scientist.  By the end of the novel, the girl is starting to be deeply troubled about her future.  To this reader, Callie would be well-placed in any time period – she’s a feminist waking up to the world.   

Finally, to Kelly’s credit, she does not sugar-coat the ending, with Callie striding off into the sunset with a future clear of difficulty for the budding naturalist.  Instead, the novel ends relatively soon after she gets a Christmas gift of the ironically titled nightmare The Science of Housewifery, making Callie feel as if she is condemned to knitting, cooking, and piano lessons for eternity.  While I won’t give away much about the semi-ambiguous final chapter about New Year’s Day in 1900, I will say I was left thinking about a quotation offered a bit earlier by Calpurnia’s grandfather, “The lesson for today is this: It is better to travel with hope in one’s heart than to arrive in safety.  Do you understand?” (233). Yes, we women do understand, and that’s what makes this novel a great example of historical fiction.