Reflective Essay
This semester, my primary goal was to have the students in our two sections of ENGL395 leave with some sort of deliverable, whether that be their personal statement & CV, their research review, campaign funding proposal, or public health campaign. This is a more focused version of what I wanted from this experience in my first semester. I initially aimed to be a liaison between Justin and the students- mitigating any ambiguity and conflict, and making sure each party understood each other. While that’s not a goal I have given up on, I’ve become increasingly frustrated with the general lack of investment that Justin and I see from our classes. I do understand that most (if not all) of the students are only there because they have to be in order to fulfill a professional writing requirement for the university, that doesn’t necessarily mean they have to just go through the motions of this class and not truly benefit from it. I’ve mentioned this in discussions before: our first assignment for 395 is to write your personal statement/cover letter and CV/resume- this is not something offered in many other classes on campus, regardless of professional writing status or not. Additionally, a vast majority of our students are upperclassmen who can use these materials in their professional applications within a year or two, sometimes even shorter.
With that being said, I provided comments on half of the class’ drafts for that assignment. While I did review a number of good ones, I ran into some that were lackluster- not just in terms of quality of work, but rather it seemed filler, it felt disingenuous. I especially felt this way with one student in particular- I won’t say his name in the interest of confidentiality, but one look at the student’s resume and it became very clear: this student is remarkable. A 3.9 GPA as a Neuroscience/Physiology major, years of research experience in a lab, EMT certification- this student was, almost literally, the ideal applicant to medical school. However, the application the student turned in was, to put it delicately, trash. One thing to keep in mind is that when saying this, it is not a slight to their character, but rather their work ethic. I had two theories: one, the student was very book smart and just truly didn’t know how to write. The second, and the one I was leaning towards: the student thought himself above a university-mandated class, and didn’t want to put in the work. Sommers’ paper on responding to student writing became very salient to me in this example- the CV the student turned in was organized so horribly that I would have rather they’d submitted a bullet point list. I could’ve spent the entire hour just critiquing format and sentence level ideas (there was certainly enough material to warrant this) but in the end, that wouldn’t help the student. The dichotomy that Sommers describes between "This is what I want to say," and "This is what you the teacher are asking me to do” is a delicate one to balance. I didn’t want the student to format the paper properly just because I asked them to- I wanted them to genuinely apply themselves. Sommers mentions this concept where an instructor’s comments “suggest to the students that writing is just a matter of following the rules.” This student’s stellar accomplishments aside, if they submitted the draft they sent me to medical schools, they would be promptly rejected. I didn’t want the student to blindly follow the rules we laid out for them, but rather recognize that there are conventions to writing certain materials (particularly applications) and deviations are often not met with success. This encroaches upon Vershawn Ashanti Young’s drive for people to write in “they own English” and code-mesh (as well as Murray’s Implication no. 3: The student uses his own language). I certainly see the merit of encouraging students to push against and challenge systems of oppression and privilege, but as a minority in many respects I also recognize that there is utility in adherence (to a point) as a means to an end.
I expressed these conflicts and frustrations to Justin, and I went home questioning myself: why was I so invested in this? What’s the point of having students put in extra work if going through the motions of the assignment was enough for them to pass? I would be lying if I said I haven’t done the same thing in a number of my classes in the past. My reflection last semester elaborated upon this: I really, truly resonated with Ken Harvey in Mike Rose’s “I Just Wanna Be Average.” I’ve known what I wanted to do in life since I was just 13 years old- it’s nearly been a decade since then. I’m exhausted with certain aspects of our education system: things like prerequisites and university or major-required classes that won’t affect my career, but things I have to endure as a means to an end- my degree. With all of this aversion towards school, I still saw so much use in ENGL395. In the midst of this exhaustion, I was still able to recognize the deliverables handed to me on a silver platter- I could use this professional application package in a year when I apply for graduate school! I’ll have three different people review it and I have an opportunity to revise it after my professor reads it! I’ll admit that students don’t often view class assignments with this sort of enthusiasm, but I think I bring up a valid point when I say that this specific assignment has true and immediate utility to the students in 395.
I’ve been reexamining what my role as a mentor, leader, and scholar look as of late. I am a freelance photographer, and one thing I often pitch to people who inquire is that I can teach them to do everything that I do with a camera in one hour. I’ve had 12 people take me up on this, and I’ve never needed longer than 53 minutes for any of those lessons. I enjoy teaching about photography because it’s something I’m personally invested in, it removes the stigma surrounding photography’s lack of access and feasibility, as well as disseminates information. I’ve often found that in creative circles, people tend to hoard information, usually to establish a level of hierarchy or to prevent competition- something I resent about many creative communities. I have found solace in being creative at times when I was struggling the most, and I enjoy being able to empower others to explore their creative side as well. I’ve known that I want to go into the sciences for a career, but the humanities will always carry a special weight for me. Being able to immerse myself in this different side of knowledge has been invigorating and therapeutic for me. In recognizing all of this, I also began to question a number of things- even though I feel like I could teach about writing, photography, feminism, healthy masculinity, self-care, and a number of other things, should I? I’m not a professional in any of these things, nor do I offer anything so novel that students couldn’t just look up the same information on the depths of the internet. What more can I offer that isn’t already out there? Why should I bother teaching anything?
I can’t pretend to have the perfect answers to those questions (they certainly weren’t rhetorical), I have thought of ways I can at least justify myself teaching in the interim. Looking at Chickering and Gamson’s Seven Principles for Good Practice in Undergraduate Education, some of them can be accomplished by outside resources. However, who on the vast lengths of the internet practices active listening? How can a program develop reciprocity and cooperation between students? We have certainly seen examples where the internet does not respect diversity in talents and ways of learning. The internet doesn’t understand my desire to be average, nor does it resonate with my exhaustion from jumping through academic hoops. While I may not be a professional writer, I have enough experience to my name that I can provide insight and promote the accessibility of professional writing to students in my class. And that’s all I could ever really want.
With that being said, I provided comments on half of the class’ drafts for that assignment. While I did review a number of good ones, I ran into some that were lackluster- not just in terms of quality of work, but rather it seemed filler, it felt disingenuous. I especially felt this way with one student in particular- I won’t say his name in the interest of confidentiality, but one look at the student’s resume and it became very clear: this student is remarkable. A 3.9 GPA as a Neuroscience/Physiology major, years of research experience in a lab, EMT certification- this student was, almost literally, the ideal applicant to medical school. However, the application the student turned in was, to put it delicately, trash. One thing to keep in mind is that when saying this, it is not a slight to their character, but rather their work ethic. I had two theories: one, the student was very book smart and just truly didn’t know how to write. The second, and the one I was leaning towards: the student thought himself above a university-mandated class, and didn’t want to put in the work. Sommers’ paper on responding to student writing became very salient to me in this example- the CV the student turned in was organized so horribly that I would have rather they’d submitted a bullet point list. I could’ve spent the entire hour just critiquing format and sentence level ideas (there was certainly enough material to warrant this) but in the end, that wouldn’t help the student. The dichotomy that Sommers describes between "This is what I want to say," and "This is what you the teacher are asking me to do” is a delicate one to balance. I didn’t want the student to format the paper properly just because I asked them to- I wanted them to genuinely apply themselves. Sommers mentions this concept where an instructor’s comments “suggest to the students that writing is just a matter of following the rules.” This student’s stellar accomplishments aside, if they submitted the draft they sent me to medical schools, they would be promptly rejected. I didn’t want the student to blindly follow the rules we laid out for them, but rather recognize that there are conventions to writing certain materials (particularly applications) and deviations are often not met with success. This encroaches upon Vershawn Ashanti Young’s drive for people to write in “they own English” and code-mesh (as well as Murray’s Implication no. 3: The student uses his own language). I certainly see the merit of encouraging students to push against and challenge systems of oppression and privilege, but as a minority in many respects I also recognize that there is utility in adherence (to a point) as a means to an end.
I expressed these conflicts and frustrations to Justin, and I went home questioning myself: why was I so invested in this? What’s the point of having students put in extra work if going through the motions of the assignment was enough for them to pass? I would be lying if I said I haven’t done the same thing in a number of my classes in the past. My reflection last semester elaborated upon this: I really, truly resonated with Ken Harvey in Mike Rose’s “I Just Wanna Be Average.” I’ve known what I wanted to do in life since I was just 13 years old- it’s nearly been a decade since then. I’m exhausted with certain aspects of our education system: things like prerequisites and university or major-required classes that won’t affect my career, but things I have to endure as a means to an end- my degree. With all of this aversion towards school, I still saw so much use in ENGL395. In the midst of this exhaustion, I was still able to recognize the deliverables handed to me on a silver platter- I could use this professional application package in a year when I apply for graduate school! I’ll have three different people review it and I have an opportunity to revise it after my professor reads it! I’ll admit that students don’t often view class assignments with this sort of enthusiasm, but I think I bring up a valid point when I say that this specific assignment has true and immediate utility to the students in 395.
I’ve been reexamining what my role as a mentor, leader, and scholar look as of late. I am a freelance photographer, and one thing I often pitch to people who inquire is that I can teach them to do everything that I do with a camera in one hour. I’ve had 12 people take me up on this, and I’ve never needed longer than 53 minutes for any of those lessons. I enjoy teaching about photography because it’s something I’m personally invested in, it removes the stigma surrounding photography’s lack of access and feasibility, as well as disseminates information. I’ve often found that in creative circles, people tend to hoard information, usually to establish a level of hierarchy or to prevent competition- something I resent about many creative communities. I have found solace in being creative at times when I was struggling the most, and I enjoy being able to empower others to explore their creative side as well. I’ve known that I want to go into the sciences for a career, but the humanities will always carry a special weight for me. Being able to immerse myself in this different side of knowledge has been invigorating and therapeutic for me. In recognizing all of this, I also began to question a number of things- even though I feel like I could teach about writing, photography, feminism, healthy masculinity, self-care, and a number of other things, should I? I’m not a professional in any of these things, nor do I offer anything so novel that students couldn’t just look up the same information on the depths of the internet. What more can I offer that isn’t already out there? Why should I bother teaching anything?
I can’t pretend to have the perfect answers to those questions (they certainly weren’t rhetorical), I have thought of ways I can at least justify myself teaching in the interim. Looking at Chickering and Gamson’s Seven Principles for Good Practice in Undergraduate Education, some of them can be accomplished by outside resources. However, who on the vast lengths of the internet practices active listening? How can a program develop reciprocity and cooperation between students? We have certainly seen examples where the internet does not respect diversity in talents and ways of learning. The internet doesn’t understand my desire to be average, nor does it resonate with my exhaustion from jumping through academic hoops. While I may not be a professional writer, I have enough experience to my name that I can provide insight and promote the accessibility of professional writing to students in my class. And that’s all I could ever really want.