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Practicum prose

I have been a bit of an absentee blogger lately because for the last three weeks I have been on my first practicum block at a high school in Belleville. Even though I am only taking on an active teaching role in one class during this block, I've been kept plenty busy. Busy enough to have to prioritize marking and lesson planning over blogging. :-)

During this block, I've been sitting in on a grade 9 academic science and grade 12 college chemistry, and teaching the molecular biology unit in Grade 12 university biology.

It seems that in the 11 intervening years since I was in high school, Ontario decided that (a) we only needed 4 years to get through high school (with which I agree), and (b) that "advanced", "general", and "basic" stigmatized kids too much, and "college", "university", and "workplace" don't. With this, I do not agree so much. In grades 9 and 10, kids are now streamed into "academic" or "applied" courses. From there, in grades 10, 11, and 12, they are further streamed into "workplace", "college", or "university". This is meant to represent their predicted post-diploma pathway. I can see the utility in streaming; however, the name choices of the different pathways are no less stigmatizing. Everyday, I hear kids in my college chemistry class refer to themselves as "stupid" or "dumb". I have not yet heard anyone else refer to them in this way, but they're getting the idea somewhere, right? I am certain it's a view someone has expressed to them somewhere along the way.

I can remember when I was in highschool, it was pretty much unspoken but generally understood that the "smart" kids took advanced courses and went to university, the "dumb" kids took general and went to college. It was not an opinion I held, but it was certainly the vibe you got from other students and even some adults. Kids who took advanced and OAC and then decided to go to college instead of university were seen as sort of a disappointment. I never understood that. Some of the most successful people from my graduating class were the ones who went into college programs. Of the ones who went to University, very few ended up employed in the field in which they studied. I certainly didn't.

Had I known myself and how I learn best then as well as I do now, I would most likely have chosen a more applied/hands-on program than Life Sciences. If someone had told 18-year-old Sarah that my four years at Queen's was likely going to net me a job sitting in a cubicle, you wouldn't have seen me for dust. Why it is assumed that a high IQ score means an increased ability to sit still for long periods of time is a mystery to me.

I suppose there is one disadvantage to Ontario getting rid of the 5th year of highschool though. Instead of asking 18 year olds to map out the course of the rest of their lives, we're asking 17 year olds to do so.

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Why Chemistry: The Finished Product

The final draft of the paper I handed in to be marked by a grade 11 chemistry class.

Why chemistry? Good question. Had I not been sitting pretty much where you are 15 or so years ago, I would probably try to convince you that chemistry is important by listing a bunch of the trivia you might be expected to memorize by the end of the course — that the structure of a Buckyball is a geodesic dome, that there really is a compound called “megaphone”, or that dihydrogen oxide is lethal when inhaled in small quantities, but not when ingested — you know, things you’d really only find useful as a future contestant on Are you smarter than a former Canadian comedian? Maybe I’d rhyme off a list of glitzy, high-paying careers that require at least a basic understanding of chemicals and their interactions — forensic pathologist, pharmacist, high school science teacher. Perhaps I’d even try to lure you in with some sort of exciting, exploding demo — potassium in water, for example. As a final plea, I might even try to appeal to your inner hippie, and tell you how chemistry is all around you, that it makes you one with the universe — the Eggo you burned for breakfast, the Sun in the sky on your way to school, the Post-It you used to remind yourself to bring your gym clothes home for a wash, the bubbles in the beer you’re much too young to drink.

I am not going to do any of that.

No, instead I am going to tell you the short, simple truth. To be blunt, I think chemistry is awesome.

The universe is big. Really, really, really, mind-numbingly big. To even try to think about how immense it is could quite probably cause your head to explode. To figure it all out, we’ve had to cut it up into more managable, bite-sized pieces. The Biologists look at all the living things, many of which are pretty slimey; the physicists look at all of the non-living things, a lot of them way too far away to actually see; and the chemists... they get to see the really fun stuff. Chemists see the whole picture.

Chemists understand why your Eggo burns when it gets stuck in the toaster and someday, fingers crossed, will build a better, burn-resistant waffle. It was Chemists who figured out why the Sun’s rays damage your skin and a way to protect you from UV while still giving you that nice, healthy glow you want for March Break. If that weren’t enough, Chemists can always be counted on to come up with the coolest party tricks — google “how to freeze a beer in seconds” if you don’t believe me. See? Awesome. Oh, and we get to blow stuff up, too.

So, how does all this translate into why you should study chemistry? These are all reasons why chemistry is important to me, why I found it interesting, right? The real reason that I think you should study chemistry is not what you learn, but the way you learn it. Trends in the periodic table? You’ll probably never need to know those beyond your grade 12 final exam. But the skills that learning those trends taught you — problem solving, critical thinking, looking for patterns, making an educated guess about what’s going to happen next — those things will stick with you for a long time, even if you never take another chemistry class again. Those are the skills of successful people, whether they’re doctors, soldiers, plumbers, or even high school science teachers. And that, dear student, is what makes chemistry truly awesome.

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Why Chemistry?

This is the title of the paper we've been asked to write in our Chemistry Curriculum class. The purpose it to persuade a high school student to study Chemistry. Said high school student will also be the one assigning us our grade. They'll mark us on grammar, style, voice, content, and organiztion, all on levels 1 to 4. For example, for voice, level 4 is "Individual and powerful", whil level 1 is "This paper made me yawn." Yeah.
So here's my first attempt. Feedback is welcome, particularly if you're an Ontario high school student or at least pretending to be an Ontario high school student.

Why Chemistry?
Or How to be Awesome When You’re Still too Young to Vote

Why chemistry? Good question. Had I not been sitting pretty much where you are 15 or so years ago, I would probably try to convince you that chemistry is important by listing a bunch of the trivia you’d be expected to memorize by the end of the course—that the chemical formula for table salt is NaCl, that the atomic mass of Silicon is 28.09, or that John Dalton’s model of the atom was nicknamed “the raisin bun”—things you’ll only really find useful as a future contestant on Are you smarter than a former Canadian comedian? Maybe I’d rhyme off a list of glitzy, high-paying careers that require at least a basic understanding of chemicals and their interactions—forensic pathologist, pharmacist, high school science teacher. Perhaps I’d even try to lure you in with some sort of exciting, exploding demo—potassium in water, for example. As a final plea, I might even try to appeal to your inner hippie, and tell you how chemistry is all around you, that it makes you one with the universe—the Eggo you burned for breakfast, the Sun in the sky on your way to school, the Post-It you used to remind yourself to bring your gym clothes home for a wash, the bubbles in the beer you are much too young to drink.

I am not going to do any of that.

No, instead I am going to tell you the short, simple truth. To be blunt, I think chemistry is awesome.

The universe is big. Really, really, really, mind-numbingly big. To even try to think about how immense it is could quite probably cause your head to explode. To figure it all out, we’ve had to cut it up into more managable, bite-sized pieces. The Biologists look at all the living things, many of which are pretty slimey; the physicists look at all of the non-living things, a lot of them way too far away to actually see; and the chemists... they get to see the really fun stuff. Chemists see the whole picture.

Chemists understand why your Eggo burns when it gets stuck in the toaster and will someday, hopefully, build a better burn-resistant waffle. It was Chemists who figured out why the Sun’s rays damage your skin and a way to protect you from UV rays while still giving you a nice, healthy glow for March Break. If that weren’t enough, Chemists can usually be counted on to come up with the coolest party tricks—google “how to freeze a beer in seconds” if you don’t believe me. See? Awesome. Oh, and we get to explode stuff, too.

So, how does all this tell you why you should study chemistry? I suppose it doesn’t. These are all reasons why chemistry is important to me. But maybe, just maybe, if I’ve done this right, you’ll be tempted to find out how chemistry could be important to you, too, even if it is just for the cool party tricks.

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Out of the mouths of babes

Perhaps the most interesting assignment I've had so far was for my Focus class on youth at risk. In groups of 3 or 4, we were asked to informally go to a neighbourhood near a school or schools and ask the people who live and work there their impression of the neighbourhood, school, and (or) people in the community.

The neighbourhood we went to is considered the worst/poorest/most dangerous neighbourhood in Kingston. It's definitely a rough-looking part of town, and certainly most of the people living there are on very limited incomes--pensions, welfare, disability, or employment insurance. They were also some of the most approachable, accomodating people I've ever spoken with. No one brushed us off as not having the time to talk to us. No one seemed suspicious of us being "outsiders". We spoke with mothers and fathers, employees and employers, adults and children. People who were just filling in for the day, and people who had lived there most of their lives. We listened as they told us about the problems in their community. Drugs. Violence. Absentee parents. A lack of discipline both at school and at home. A lost sense of community. Feelings of hopelessness for their children if they lived there much longer. An anger at the city for putting so many people with problems together in such a small area; for creating a place where so many children have so few positive influences or role models. No one had to pause a moment for thought. These concerns were foremost on their minds. It was as though they had been waiting for someone to come along and just ask them what they thought, and once someone, us, did--the floodgates opened.

At one point we were talking to a group of 7 young girls, all aged 12 or 13. We were asking them what sort of opinion people not from their neighbourhood seemed to have of that community. They told us how people from the so-called other side of the tracks called them trash, or told them they had no future. How they were made fun of for the way they dressed, or the fact that Children's Aid and the Police were such frequent visitors to housing development. I asked them if that made them angry or upset, or if it made them want to somehow prove all of those people wrong. The response I got from one of the girls was one of the most powerful statements I have ever heard:

"I don't have to prove them wrong. I'm not doing anything to prove them right."

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Hot for teacher

That's what the t-shirt Capt Mike wears to my graduation is going to say. We've already started looking for one. That's how confident we are that I am going to survive this year.

It's been a hard transition though, from career woman back to student. It's a very different type of school and learning from what I remember of my undergrad years. The biggest difference is the lack of pressure. I mean, I have work to do, and I want to do it well, but not because I need to earn a certain grade. The Faculty of Education has a pass/fail system. I either get my B.Ed., or I don't. You have no idea what a huge difference that makes to my ability to learn and retain the information I am being given on a daily basis. It's wonderful. I am still incredibly busy with work, readings, and assignments, but it's because I want to be, not because I feel like I have to be to accumulate percentage points.

The classes are all pretty much set up as seminars. There are very few lectures, and lots of collaborative learning and discussion. There is zero competition. Most of the major assignments are done in groups or in pairs. The idea of collegiality is strongly reinforced in all of our classes. That is a stark contrast to the win-at-all-costs mentality that was so pervasive in the Life Sciences program.

Yes, returning to school was probably the best (though also the scariest) decision I've ever made. I just wish it left a little more time for blogging.

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I thought I signed up for Writing, not Women's Studies

I submitted an abridged and proofread version of Every day a little closer for the Travel Writing portion of my correspondence writing class, and I got a 70%. Aside from my prof's comment that she couldn't understand why I would set off to climb Kilimanjaro from Tanzania instead of Kenya (she's not a geography professor, she's a history professor, like that's any excuse), the comment that really struck me was that she wanted to know why I didn't explore how climbing Kili made me feel as a woman. See, I explored how it felt as a person.

Why must my writing reflect the fact that I have ovaries? Why must my experience climbing one of the seven summits be defined by my gender? Why must the two be related? No one has ever asked Mike what it felt like to be a man climbing a mountain. Does climbing mountains come somewhat naturally to men, and not to women? (Anecdotal point: All of the people I saw being hauled down the mountain after succumbing to altitude sickness were men.)

Why is the adjective necessary? How exactly does it serve to empower me to constantly refer to myself as a female student, a woman copy-editor, or a girl wonder?

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