I'm reading my guide to compositional pedagogy (which is a fancy way of saying teaching writing) and the essay I'm reading is talking about critical pedagogy and democracy. In reading it I have become painfully aware of 2 things. Well, maybe more, but 2 right this second.
1 is that I am one of very few students who are in school just because they want to learn. I find that comical because I've gotten by with straight B's and no real dedication to being an overachiever in the classroom. But the book suggests (I think correctly) that students at the university level are in school as consumers and their expected output is a job in their chosen field. I'm having an incredibly hard time making decisions about what I want to do next year in part because I never expected college to necessarily give me the skills I need for one certain job. Partly because I've always planned to go on in my education beyond a BA, but also because I just like school. So I readily accept whatever my professors purport to be imparting upon me in a class because I have no real expectation beyond gaining some kind of knowledge from the past four years.
2 is that I have readily accepted the idea that education was a means to escape without really thinking about what that really means. What do people escape from and where do they escape to? Really education is just another system, an institution that is as flawed as the government and every other man made institution. What are we promising students, especially students that are perceived as repressed or disenfranchised in some way when we tell them education is the answer? Especially when there are so many dissenting examples, examples of people who follow the path and earn degrees and still fail. people who never graduate and are wildly successful. Varying opinions about success and various exposure to success just make it very difficult to truly believe in the so-called power of education.
So maybe I'm finally having that whole freshman year of college sudden disillusionment with the world around me. Or maybe I'm thinking too much.
With love
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Monday, February 21, 2011
One Less Bell to Answer
I've been writing for hours but I haven't written anything worth reading. But isn't that the life story of the English major? This sounds conceited, so take it at face value. I know I'll get an A on this paper. It's pretty good, and undoubtedly way better than most of the other papers that will be turned in tomorrow at 2:00pm. But I know the truth - it's mediocre at best. With time and a little more concern from me, it could be great. Right now, at 12:30am, if I have to write one more sentence about perfume I'll kill someone. So I'm taking a break. And writing something else. But isn't that the life story of the English major?
I haven't been much of anywhere. I fancy myself really cultured because I took art history in elementary and middle school and because I listen to NPR and because I read... but the sad truth is that I've spent most of my life tucked away into a corner of Alabama in a corner of Southern America in a corner of the world.
What I have done is driven down highway 280 about 100 times since my freshman year of college. Sometimes I talk on the phone, sometimes I listen to music. But tonight I rolled down my window and turned off my radio and I rode with my thoughts and the wind that rustled between assaulting my cheekbones with cold sharp jabs and gently brushing the front locks of my hair across my nose. I was somewhere between Dadeville and Alexander City when I saw a baby deer standing on the side of the road. I've heard that there are lots of deer in Alabama on the roads and such, which explains those deer crossing signs, but I don't think I have ever noticed one just standing on the side of the road like she was. I say she. Maybe he. But something about deer and her eyes that looked mournfully at me as my squeaking Nissan glided past and probably the American partiachal tradition of the powerful man and the innocent woman, with a dash of a childhood viewing of Bambi all make me think she was a girl. Although now that I think about it, I'm not entirely sure if Bambi was male or female. She was just standing there and by the time my heart jolted at the prospect of this deer escaping whatever made her eyes look that way by dashing in front of my car and dashing the rest of my semester... she was just a reflection in my 'objects may be larger than they appear' mirror.
The rest of my ride was uneventful, unless you count being tailgated by a Lexus SUV. I drove the speed limit. I tried not to text. I shed a few tears that I'll blame on the sting of the air as the time grew later and Mother Nature remembered that it's supposed to be February, even in Alabama. I sang a little, maybe outloud, maybe to myself, because it's all the same when the wind is covering your voice and only the occasional deer is around to listen.
Now I'm going to finish my paper. It will be done before 2am, at least the content. If not, there may be an addition to this post in an hour.
With Love
I haven't been much of anywhere. I fancy myself really cultured because I took art history in elementary and middle school and because I listen to NPR and because I read... but the sad truth is that I've spent most of my life tucked away into a corner of Alabama in a corner of Southern America in a corner of the world.
What I have done is driven down highway 280 about 100 times since my freshman year of college. Sometimes I talk on the phone, sometimes I listen to music. But tonight I rolled down my window and turned off my radio and I rode with my thoughts and the wind that rustled between assaulting my cheekbones with cold sharp jabs and gently brushing the front locks of my hair across my nose. I was somewhere between Dadeville and Alexander City when I saw a baby deer standing on the side of the road. I've heard that there are lots of deer in Alabama on the roads and such, which explains those deer crossing signs, but I don't think I have ever noticed one just standing on the side of the road like she was. I say she. Maybe he. But something about deer and her eyes that looked mournfully at me as my squeaking Nissan glided past and probably the American partiachal tradition of the powerful man and the innocent woman, with a dash of a childhood viewing of Bambi all make me think she was a girl. Although now that I think about it, I'm not entirely sure if Bambi was male or female. She was just standing there and by the time my heart jolted at the prospect of this deer escaping whatever made her eyes look that way by dashing in front of my car and dashing the rest of my semester... she was just a reflection in my 'objects may be larger than they appear' mirror.
The rest of my ride was uneventful, unless you count being tailgated by a Lexus SUV. I drove the speed limit. I tried not to text. I shed a few tears that I'll blame on the sting of the air as the time grew later and Mother Nature remembered that it's supposed to be February, even in Alabama. I sang a little, maybe outloud, maybe to myself, because it's all the same when the wind is covering your voice and only the occasional deer is around to listen.
Now I'm going to finish my paper. It will be done before 2am, at least the content. If not, there may be an addition to this post in an hour.
With Love
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