Golf Ain't A Sport, And Neither Is Turkey Farming

I stumbled upon a good catalyst, if you will, for class discussion regarding critical thinking. This past Thursday I was attempting to engage my class in a discussion on that particular topic by asking them what they thought constituted critical thinking, in the first place, and when they have been called upon to practice it. Unfortunately, and as usual, they were not forthcoming in offering any opinions and/or ideas on the matter, which left me looking out on a bank of faces so devoid of interest--intellectual, practical, or otherwise--that I was half-tempted to line them up and, one by one, show 'em both sides of my hand, in a manner of speaking. Instead, I asked how many of them were sports enthusiasts, either as participants, fans, or both. Naturally, most of them showed some sign of assent, even if they maintained their vigilant reticence. Venturing further, I asked if any of them were baseball fans, in particular. Again, many of them gave some indication that they were. "Good," I said. "How would you feel, then, if I told you that baseball isn't a sport, it's a game?" A small thing, really, but I shit you not, the room erupted in a cacophony of dissenting voices.

This may sound silly to some of you; I don't know and I really don't care if it does. But I was simply excited that I had finally said something to elicit impassioned responses from most of my students. From that point forward, I basically played devil's advocate by hammering their every emotional objection and logical argument against my declaration. This led to questions like, "Well, what about Nascar? Do you consider that a sport?" No, I don't consider it a sport because it's not one. "But it takes a lot of physical and mental endurance to drive those cars and those guys are drained when it's over." So? My old man was an over-the-road truck driver, driving sometimes halfway across the United States in a single run, at the end of which he had to unload his own truck. Needless to say, it took a great deal of physical and mental endurance, and he was surely wiped out at the end of his working day, but he was also drinking coffee and chain smoking the whole time. Would you consider truck driving a sport? "What about golf? Walking 18 holes carrying a golf bag is hard." Yeah, well, turkey farming is more physically demanding than that, and probably more exciting to watch than golf is, but you probably wouldn't consider that a sport, would you? "Of course not, that's stupid." I exacerbated the issue by conceding that, in my opinion, competitive ballroom dancing is a sport, as well as competitive cheerleading. And so on.

The trick to all of this, of course, is that eventually you have to come full circle by demonstrating how this constitutes critical thinking. For instance, there was one girl who got (I thought) unreasonably heated about my contention that baseball is a game, not a sport. So I challenged her to consider why she was so upset, especially since I had never once intimated that being a "game" was in any way a discredit to baseball. In fact, I had up to that point lauded baseball for its complexities in spite of having already stated that I find it boring as hell to watch and don't otherwise like it. I asked her why she was so married to this term "sport," and to ask herself whether or not one term or the other in any way affected her appreciation of the game. Moreover, I challenged the class to identify any assumptions they might have about those two terms and to consider, specifically, what differences exist between them. For instance, are all sports also games, and/or vice versa? Or is sport simply a sub-category of games and, if so, what criteria must be present to qualify as such? Blah blah blah, you get what I'm getting at. Mostly I just wanted to put this out there as an idea you might resort to in a moment of desperation for class feedback, and from which you can derive a pretty substantial lesson on critical thinking.

Critical Review as Transition

Instead of jumping straight from the Memoir to the Textual Analysis (TA), I've chosen to include a transitional assignment in the form of a Critical Review (CR). By doing so, I am basically trying to employ (among others) Gerald Graff's thesis that we all have vernacular interests that, if carefully utilized in the classroom, can be successfully translated into a valuable academic experience. So, according to the criteria for this assignment, students are allowed to choose a short story, poem, CD, movie, etc., that they already either passionately like or dislike. Subsequently, they must then compose a review (850-1000 words) either recommending or condemning their choice by focusing their critique on two to four of its key elements (i.e., plot, character development, diction, imagery, cinematography, score, and so on). I think this is a relevant and beneficial lead-in to the TA for obvious reasons, not the least of which being that it challenges them to begin thinking critically (via analysis) about their chosen "text" in order to justify whatever opinion(s) they already have about it. Likewise, the CR is also helpful to the extent that students bring with them a fair amount of enthusiasm; that is, like most of us, they are relatively eager for an opportunity to share and discuss a vernacular (i.e., non-academic) interest about which they feel strongly, even if they have not yet made much effort to examine the precise reasons for their feelings.

As further preparation for the TA, then, I also required that they find and bring to class a published review of the sort they think they might do for the assignment (i.e., movie review, CD review, etc.). Then I had them get into to groups of three and analyze each other's published reviews with regard for the following: thesis, tone, assertions, evidence/support, and concrete examples. In this way, then, they gained some preliminary experience in formal textual analysis and acquired at least one potential model for their own reviews. Rough drafts aren't due until Thursday, though, so I don't yet have any concrete evidence to suggest whether or not this is going to work as well I hope it does. If nothing else, I think it will help mitigate the abrupt shift from the personal style of writing we encourage for the Memoir to the more strictly academic/formal approach and style of writing required by the TA.

More Vigor & Zest

Two class periods into the spring semester, I don't find myself having much to say in the way of issues related to composition and/or rhetoric. (That is what this is all about, right? My brain seems to be missing on at least a couple cylinders lately.)

I can say that I've become suddenly and acutely sensitive to how bored my students appear to be while...well, pretty much during the entire class period. Granted, it's basically understood that many, if not most, undergraduate students are generally going to be uninterested in and/or resistant to their required (i.e., general education) courses, but my students' lack of immediate and abundant interest in 110 feels somehow personal. It (probably?) isn't personal, of course, but now that the seeds of this particular insecurity have been planted in my over-active head, I find myself increasingly concerned with trying to contrive ever more fanciful means of engaging my students. This is ridiculous, I know, and made more so by the fact that while I'm teaching sometimes I'm actually thinking about how I am not actually this dull (I hope)--that if I were attempting to convey this exact same information outside of class it would be with more vigor and zest. Instead, I've begun to feel like a vaudeville comic whose talent, charisma and good-looks aren't translating so well to the big screen. And that's all I've got to say about that.

Sara Biggs Chaney: All things to All Students?

I’ve not yet taught a composition or basic writing course, so I’ve no first-hand experience of a situation like Sara Biggs Chaney describes in “Study of Teacher Error: Misreading Resistance in the Basic Writing Classroom.” And I hope that I don’t have that kind of experience, either, even if I recall one of my father’s favorite sayings as I type those words: “Wish/want/hope in one hand and shit in the other, then tell me which one fills up first.” (I think that was his course way of teaching me that hoping against hope and wanting what you cannot have is foolish and/or a waste of energy.) That said, I found myself sympathizing nonetheless with Chaney’s sense of disappointment upon learning that Amber had plagiarized much of her final paper for the BW course, especially after Chaney described becoming personally invested in helping her student, Amber, achieve the so-called “critical gesture.” I also admired her thoughtful and critical reflections about how she may have been able to better assist Amber. However, I found myself becoming somewhat irritated the more Chaney went on about how she felt she’d failed Amber by being “guilty of a misreading” the student’s expressed resistance to the academic institution, generally, and to composition, specifically (33). Not because I don’t appreciate her desire, as both an instructor and a caring individual, to help each of her students achieve academic success, because I really do. Rather, I am not convinced that she failed Amber in any sense of the word. Her solution didn’t work, sure; but that doesn’t mean it shouldn’t have worked, or that it wouldn’t have worked in a similar scenario with another student. Chaney’s article, at least for me, begs the question: Can an academic institution and its constituent programs (like Basic Writing) be all things for all people? Or more realistically, should they even try to be all things to all people? I don’t want to be misconstrued here as cynical and/or unsympathetic, but the fact of the matter is that educators cannot win them all, as the saying goes, no matter how sincerely or desperately they may want to. So while I truly appreciate the critical and rhetorical paths of inquiry (and their pedagogical relevance) Chaney followed in her search for answers to the Amber conundrum, it seems to me that ultimately an educator has to recognize that a student’s membership in the university classroom is elective, regardless of her educational experiences and socioeconomic status. She does not have to be there, she chooses to be there. Thus I’m kind of baffled when Chaney says that Amber “does not value academic essay writing, has no internal motivation to excel at it, and is nonetheless compelled to practice it by an institution that insists on a universal value for academic writing that she just doesn’t buy” (33-4, emphasis mine). It sounds like Chaney is indicting the institution as somehow oppressive by forcing its students to practice academic essay writing. She lends credence to this notion later when she rather absurdly remarks, “it was unfortunately not within my power to stop assigning writing in the writing classroom and take up some other topic Amber found more practical” (35). Really? It was unfortunate? What about the other students in that class? Besides also being so-called basic writers, did they find the practice of writing in a writing course impractical? Because, I mean, that really is a damn shame to make students write in a basic writing course, especially if one of those students thinks it’s “worthless.” Now I’m not suggesting that placing a universal value on academic writing is good or bad, right or wrong, or whatever. But it is the status quo of most liberal arts institutions and, so far as I know, enrollment is not compulsory. All educators can really do is give their students the best shot possible, working with individuals when they can, but in the end doing what’s best for the greatest number of them. What is “best” will change, of course, with experience and knowledge; but educators cannot be all things for all students. Though it’s good to reflect on relative successes and disappointments, learning what works and what doesn’t, Chaney should accept that she did for Amber what she thought was right at the time. It didn’t work, true, but that’s a far cry from “failing” her student.

Chaney, Sara Biggs. "Study of Teacher Error: Misreading Resistance in the Basic Writing Classroom." Journal of Basic Writing 23.1 (2004): 25-38.

"Paradigm Clashes Among Basic Writing Teachers: Sources of Conflict and a Call for Change."

Above is the article I am recommending.

The title pretty much says it all but, basically, this article looks at sources of paradigm clashes (i.e. the linear narrative of writing ability, basic writers aren't basic thinkers) among BW teachers, discusses sites of resistance, the BW teacher's role, and suggests breaking down walls between different belief systems for the benefit of BW students.

Del Principe, Ann. "Paradigm Clashes Among Basic Writing Teachers: Sources of Conflict and a Call for Change." Journal of Basic Writing 23.1 (2004): 64-81.

Something Apropos, I Don't Know

In "Literacies and Deficits Revisited," Jerrie Cobb Scott offers her definition of literacy as "ways of knowing, accessing, creating, and using information" (207). Though this is a rather broad definition—perhaps to the point of being nebulous—I find it valuable nonetheless in that it allows for the notion that all students come to the classroom already literate. Granted, many students are not literate in any ostensibly traditional or academic sense; but it is relatively safe to assume that every student has and employs ways of knowing, accessing, creating, and using information in his/her daily existence (per Scott’s definition), and is thereby literate. Understanding literacy thusly, Scott seems to suggest that the challenge—or at least one challenge—is to develop a pedagogy that not only acknowledges these kinds of literacies but also utilizes them as a means to academic literacy. This reminds me of an article by Gerald Graff ("Hidden Intellectualism") wherein he describes a similar scenario but with slightly different terms. Graff doesn’t speak to literacy or its various definitions per se, but rather argues that the root of the problem is the pervasive tendency of educators who, operating from positions of traditional pedagogy, fail to utilize or even acknowledge the implicit intellectualism their students have already developed as a consequence of their participation in non-academic, or vernacular, culture. In other words the problem is one of pedagogical theory and application since he believes that "inside every steet-smart student (which is to say, every student) there is a latent intellectual trying to break out" (23; emphasis mine). Thus the burden of responsibility rests firmly on the shoulders of educators to develop teaching methods that take advantage of "the extent to which adolescent lives are already often ‘steeped in argument’ and ‘critical theory’" by virtue of discussion and debate about so-called "philistine pursuits" (i.e. music, sports, film, fashion, etc.) (22). By using students’ vernacular knowledge as a vehicle for their acquisition of academic knowledge, Graff suggests that education will better facilitate the development of student voices that are both recognizable and effective within the public domain. Similarly, Jeffrey Duncan-Andrade advocates what Lawrence Grossberg refers to as a "pedagogy of articulation and risk" (334). This is a multi-cultural teaching approach that "values and learns from the cultural literacies students bring to the classroom and assists them as they expand those literacies and develop new ones" (334). In fact, Duncan-Andrade’s is a more comprehensive approach to solving Scott’s complaint about "the recycling of deficit pedagogy in basic writing," if only because it "believes that a rigorous multicultural curriculum should be a marriage of the student’s culture and canonical culture" (Duncan-Andrade 331-2), as opposed to Graff’s, i.e. merely flirting with the student’s culture as a means of seducing him or her into the canonical bed. I would encourage anyone interested in this subject to take a look at either or both of these articles, though both have their flaws.

Duncan-Andrade, Jeffrey M. R. "Your Best Friend or Your Worst Enemy: Youth Popular Culture, Pedagogy, and Curriculum in Urban Classrooms." The Review of Education, Pedagogy, and Cultural Studies 26 (2004): 313-337.

Graff, Gerald. "Hidden Intellectualism." Pedagogy: Critical Approaches to Teaching Literature, Language, Composition, and Culture 1.2 (2001): 21-36.

Scott, Jerrie Cobb. "Literacies and Deficits Revisited." Landmark Essays on Basic Writing. Mahwah: Erlbaum, 2001.

Mountaineering *(and a picture for TW's delight)

After reading Mlynarczyk’s "Personal and Academic Writing: Revisiting the Debate," the question I found myself asking was: Poetic, Expressive, Transactional—what difference does it really make to the basic writer? I don’t mean to sound condescending or glib (ala Matt Lauer to Tom Cruise), but ultimately isn’t it engendering a familiarity with the conventions and practice of writing that is the underlying purpose of the basic writing classroom? If it is, then any or all of the above kinds of writing are not only relevant but important, too. As someone who has toiled quite a bit in all three categories of writing throughout my college tenure, I’ve found that though each of them presents certain unique challenges in terms of structure, style, tone, and etc., the writing skills one develops in the process of any one them are not mutually exclusive of the others. That is, becoming more familiar with the composition of, say, more prosaic forms of writing (i.e. fiction, memoir, etc.) will in all likelihood positively inform one’s ability to compose transactional/academic writing—if only in that it enables the writer to recognize when s/he strays from the intended style. I mean, how many of us have read and/or written essays that come across as more prosaic than academic, when the latter is the goal? Probably all of us have at some point or other been a reader/writer of this kind of essay. So then a reasonable question to ask in a case like that is: Is this a consequence of the writer’s inability to construct academic prose, whether due to a lack of experience and/or training? Or could it just as well be the consequence of the writer’s inability to distinguish between what constitutes academic versus prosaic styles of writing? The answer, at least in part, is probably a combination of both. Thus I agree with Sarah (who modestly refers to herself in the blogosphere as "Creation’s Crowning Glory") when she advocates instilling an appreciation of the entire mountain range rather than only one or two of its peaks. After all, it may be that memoir assignment or that poetry exercise that sparks a more passionate interest in mountaineering, generally. As any climber or mountaineer worth his/her salt knows, you must be practiced in many terrains to excel in the one terrain you prefer above all others. (Okay, I carried the metaphor too far, perhaps, but you get what I’m saying.)




*(TW: How'd you know?! -->
You were right, ol' boy.
It was a dragon. And St. George, knowing that time machines are not only implausible but also quite unreliable, simply used
a wormhole conjured by simple 4th Century sorcery
about a year prior to his persecution and subsequent decapitation. I wanted to warn him but I was too busy admiring my new beard, to say nothing of my concern that doing so could initiate a time paradox and the whatnot. I thanked him, though, and encouraged him not to watch the end of Braveheart while he was here.)