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Certified

As of this date, I am officially certified to teach in the province of Ontario and am a member in Good Standing of the Ontario College of Teachers.

In honour of the occasion, I thought I'd relate to you a little joke celebrating just what I've gotten myself in to. Enjoy.

After being interviewed by the school administration, the teaching prospect said, "Let me see if I've got this right: You want me to go into that room with all those kids, correct their disruptive behavior, observe them for signs of abuse, monitor their dress habits, censor their T-shirt messages, and instill in them a love for learning. You want me to check their backpacks for weapons, wage war on drugs and sexually transmitted diseases, and raise their sense of self esteem and personal pride.

"You want me to teach them patriotism and good citizenship, sportsmanship and fair play, and how to register to vote, balance a checkbook and apply for a job. You want me to check their heads for lice, recognize signs of antisocial behavior, and make sure that they all pass the EQAO exams.

"You want me to provide them with an equal education regardless of their exceptionalities, and communicate regularly
with their parents by letter, telephone, newsletter, and report card.

"You want me to do all this with a piece of chalk, a blackboard, a bulletin board, a few books, and a big smile. You want me to do all this, and then you tell me.............. I CAN'T PRAY?"

Editor's note: We here at Saedigh.com believe that this is a funny joke, even though we're not all bent out of shape over prayer being taken out of the public education system. If it's offended you in some way, you take life much too seriously for us to be able to do anything about it.

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Graduation Day

Today the graduates of the Faculty of Education class of 2009 will be walking across the stage to pick up their shiny new degrees. I will be there in spirit, if not in body. I am taking the gamble that I will get a call to supply in the next ten minutes. I didn't want to waste money on a gown rental, and then not be able to wear it. (You read that right: after spending over six grand in tuition and student fees alone, Queen's makes you rent your own graduation gown at the end of it all.) I am hardly going to turn down a paycheque for the chance to drive 206 km to Kingston one last time.

I didn't go to my first graduation from Queen's either. They have this ridiculous policy of finishing classes in April, and then not convocating you until June. When I finished my first degree, I was flat broke. I had enough money to either pay rent on my apartment for 1 month and hopefully find a job before I became homeless, or rent a storage locker for several months, swallow my pride, and go be unemployed in my parents' place in Newfoundland with the hopes of continuing my Ontario job search from there. Being more than a little risk averse when it comes to finance, I did the pride swallowing. Thus, I was a little too far away and a little too poor to make the trek back to Grant Hall for the convocation ceremony.

But rest assured, dear readers, I have indeed been granted my degree. I crossed all my Is and dotted my Ts, and managed to get honours wherever possible despite my inability to conceptualize.

I am now a teacher. An underemployed, unlicenced teacher, but these things take time.

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Weak

Until today, "weak" was an adjective that had never before been used to describe my brain. My upperbody? Most certainly. My singing voice? On occasion. My affinity for interpretive dance? "Weak" probably isn't a strong enough term. Granted, my I.Q. may not be particularly Hawkingesque, but never has anyone used "weak" when referring to my intellect or cognitive functions; that is, until I met M.L.

Dr. M.L. is a sociology professor here at the Faculty, charged with teaching us about social justice in eduction. The main assignment for this pass/fail course module was the production of a digital story using Microsoft's Photo Story 3, or iMovie if you're a Mac and not a PC. The instructions for the story were simple enough:

"Students will prepare a digital story, three minutes in length, of their choice; addressing one Social Justice related issue, as it exists within one specific context. Within your story, you must demonstrate the ability to describe, synthesize, analyze, and critique your chosen topic. The story must be connected to the course through the concepts developed in the readings, discussions, presentations, and the Social Justice Approach of this Module of the course."

So simple, only a witless dolt such as me could screw it up. Almost twice. My first submission lacked narration. Not being a fan of hearing my own voice as others do, I thought I could instead opt for stirring music and text laid over images. I was wrong. Apparently, I had missed the entire point. It seems that Dr. M.L.'s life, and my assignment, would not be complete until the emanations of my vocal folds were recorded for posterity. Dr. M.L. chose to notify me of this fact 10 weeks after I had submitted the assignment, in an e-mail with the subject heading "S.C.: Impending Failure".

Somehow, I managed to maintain my composure long enough to ask what more was needed for me to receive a "pass" on the assignment, and reproduced my Photo Story with the text stripped out in favour of my narration. I resubmitted the story the very next day. I subsequently received the following e-mail from Dr. M.L. (and remember, she's talking about what is basically a high-tech version of a film clip no more than three minutes in length):

"While I have given you a Pass on your Digital Story, your text remains very thin and not conceptually informed. Nevertheless I have accepted it."

How gracious of you, Dr. M.L. In speaking with the esteemed academic, I was informed that I am a "weak conceptualizer", that it should be something I really work on should I wish to go any further in the field of education theory, and that likely my classroom techniques suffer as a result.

Luckily I have only had to inflict my weak conceptualization abilities on fewer than one hundred students so far. Hopefully, in doing so, I spared them being educated by the M.L.s of this world.

Maybe I should re-engineer my graph to reflect an 11% contribution from negative student-teacher interactions?

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Antepenultimate Assignment

We were asked to render an image or object explaining our journey to becoming educators. Here's mine.

Next!

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The fine art of procrastination

I had a paper due last Friday. My action research paper, a mandatory component for my degree. I had the research done by Christmas...the first one in my class to have finished, actually. But sitting down to write it? I haven't gotten around to that part yet. Never before in my life have I ever handed anything in late. I usually finish things well in advance, not even waiting until the last minute. I didn't even cram for exams. I barely studied at all, actually, but I certainly didn't do it all in one go at 4 a.m. the day before a final.

The funniest thing is that I'm not even stressing. I likely should have been diligently working on it all this week, it being March Break, and me having ample time to sit down at my laptop and wax academic. However, I instead chose to indulge in some much needed down time. I went to my parents' place and let my dad spoil his granddogs with steak breakfasts while I took my mom out for lunch and shopping. She got a very nice spring outfit and I found a dress for the two weddings I am going to this summer, as well as the cutest pair of size 10 women's Kamik rainboots you will ever see. (Walking dogs in the spring can be messy business. It's either wet, gross, or both. Inspired by my niece's footwear, I decided I, too, should step out in style on grey Spring days.)

The puppies and I got home in time for dinner on Thursday. On the way back from the dog park dropping off my paperwork for my police record check on Friday, I noticed that the theatre downtown was playing Watchmen. Knowing that Capt Mike is not a fan of the comic book turned film genre, I dropped the puppies off at home and walked down to the theatre. It was practically a private screening, with only a handful of other adults in the theatre to see the matinee, and not a child in sight. I was surprised. I knew the movie would not be family fare, but usually you get a few idiots who think it's a good idea to show up with a kiddlywink or two in tow. So, I ate my extra small popcorn and miniature bag of Swedish berries in peace while watching the Watchmen.

By the time I got home, Capt Mike's car was in the driveway. He was home early, which was a good thing, but too early for me to have effectively hidden the birthday present my dad had packed for him. (His birthday is in August), which is a less good thing. But we did enjoy the remaining daylight hours by walking the puppies and having a barbecue. We barbecue year-round, but it's most enjoyable when you're not wading through knee deep snow or swatting giant Canadian blackflies and mosquitos. Those times are limited up here, and to be cherished for sure.

And so ended my first March Break as a pseudoteacher. I guess it's time I started on that action research paper. Or I could start writing my essay for the Olympic Torch relay...

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The more things change

I can remember my first go round with academia. I thought myself fairly lucky, finance wise. I worked part-time during the school year, full-time each summer, received partial student assistance, and was able to make ends meet thanks to help from my parents. I kept my grocery bills to between $15 and $25/week, hardly ever went out for drinks or meals, and considered a $3 movie at Dunning Auditorium a big night out. I also squeezed myself into the same pair of Gap jeans for 4 consecutive years, almost every day. (Not being able to spend a lot of money on groceries helped on that front.) I was certainly nowhere near as well off as some of my fellow Life Scis, but I was better off than a lot of my friends. Money wasn't as big a stress in my life as it was in theirs, and for that I am very thankful.

Over the past few months back at Queen's, I have noticed that the average student seems to be a whole lot better off than I or any of my friends were when we were in school. I could never have afforded to buy a pair of Ugg boots (not that I'd want to even now...they're hideous) or Coach handbag, regardless of how little I was willing to spend on Mr Goudas brand canned goods. Yet, I see them all over Main Campus today. I literally can't look in any direction, a full 360 degrees, without seeing someone sporting a multi-hundred dollar accessory. At first I thought that maybe my perspective was a bit skewed, or perhaps these kids have a great line on where to get awesome knock-offs. Then I read this Op Ed piece in the campus newspaper, The Journal. May I direct your attention to the following paragraphs (emphasis mine):

"As far as I can tell, university students’ lives may change the least out of any segment of the population. This is partly because we aren’t working full-time, but also because, in a lot of ways, we’re already partying like it’s 1929...
...I’m aware that most of us aren’t exactly living in squalor, but extravagances are treated as just that—extravagances. For every overpriced bag or Smartphone purchased, there’s a textbook bought second-hand and a hundred nights spent shivering in under-heated apartments eating Kraft Dinner."

If you thought the average Queen's student circa 1997-2001 was over-priveleged, you haven't been to Kingston lately. For me, buying second-hand textbooks was de rigueur. It was a cost-saving measure so I could afford to pay my heating bills, not so I could buy an iPhone 3G (had they existed at the time). And I am pretty sure that anyone who lived through the crash of '29 would tell you that living in cold apartments and making meals of tea and toast while still not being able to afford a pair of shoes were not choices, but realities.

I worry about the modern University student. I worry that they are about to graduate into "the real world", and have no idea about what is a necessity versus a luxury. I worry that their expectations about consumption and instant gratification will further perpetuate the already dismal credit crisis. Mostly though, I worry that their Blackberries and Burberry will ultimately cost me.

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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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