reunions and wrong-side of the bed days

I woke up on the wrong side of the bed yesterday morning. I've learnt the hard way that there is nothing to be done on mornings, days like that. Best to just accept that the mood will not improve irrespective what comes at you during the day. Often on these kinds of days, if I can, by 12 or 1 o'clock I just get back into bed and sleep. But I didnt have this luxury yesterday. I spent the morning at UCT library, battling with paragraph and argument structures for the long-suffering paper I hoped I could have finished a long, long time ago. But never mind, I have a plan to get the paper into a presentable, proper draft 1 form by the end of the week. It's the holidays, but I'm going to alleviate my guilt doing at least an hour of writing work a day until Christmas. The plan is simple, 1 to 2 hours in the morning, rest of the afternoon on the beach or assigned to some or other Christmas chores. Perfect.

High jinx with Desiree. 

Then I found myself at my old high school in Silvertown at around 2pm. The school itself had a bit of a face lift so on the outside it didnt look anything like it did when I was a pupil there in the mid 80s. I bumped into people I knew, who went to school with me and as one would expect, the odd person who clearly knew me, but who I had absolutely NO CLUE who the hell they were - even after they gently, but enthusiastically provided some background information. I also managed to talk to two of my teachers, who at the time were very instrumental in supporting and nurturing me. We talked about the good grade I got for History (an A on the higher grade, thanks to the power of rote-learning) and that I was possibly the only person in my English  class that understood the matric Shakespeare play we were doing that year. They remembered my 17 year old-self better than I did. That fearlessness that once defined who I was. But these were two classes I really enjoyed because of the teachers who taught them. Today I'm off to another reunion of sorts, with my first cohort of technikon students. Some of them have managed to stay in touch with each other over the almost 15 years since they met, and they sort-of invite me to their get-togethers. Of course I'm deeply honoured and humbled that they still want to see me, and invite me into their lives. I'd like to think I'm that teacher that played a nurturing and supporting role at some stage of their learning lives

not teaching anymore

My teaching responsibilities have been 'revoked' - revoked isn't the write word, but I'm tired and don't feel like thinking about a word that might lessen the significance of this action or allow me to come across in a more polite, sensitive, considered tone. I won't go into the political motivations that brought on this decision or the fact that in this instance, I truly feel that I capitulated. I accepted my 'redeployment' (I word I used when explaining the new arrangements to my students) and breathed a sigh of relief for all the wrong reasons. Now when confronted with the reality I feel differently. I can't seem to ignore the symbolic resonances of this action. At the time I just wanted the problem and the stress to go away. Now I feel an amplification of the dissident position I embody. There is a hint of shame, again. Was it easier to say yes to not teaching, than deal with the fall-out of trying to confront the retrogressive and static approaches and attitudes to teaching and learning and student support? Teaching isn't a chore for me - it makes all the abstract theories I've studied for so many years, come to life. It challenges me to be critical about those very abstract theories that excite me when I read them, but are reconstructed differently in practice.

The point is, I'm disappointed and I wonder now, if I shouldn't have fought harder to retain a teaching role. Maybe I need to find other ways, other places to fulfill my teaching needs. Maybe! A residual feeling, a nagging thought at the back of my head keeps coming up though; Why do I continue to be the square peg trying to fit into a round hole. When will I find that freaking elusive square hole?

my students

With an assignment looming one suddenly gets to see your students in ways often hidden from direct view. This strange period in the academic calendar also offers the student an opportunity to seek out and engage with their lecturers in ways probably unimaginable when they first walked through the classroom doors. Over the past two weeks I've had some interesting encounters with my students - moments that have forced me to think differently about these individual human beings, their struggles, their experiences and their expectations. Here are short descriptions of some of these moments.

A rather proud Xhosa student of mine came to my office after class to tell me that his father had died the previous weekend in a car accident. I felt a slight sting of shame, as just 40 minutes before, I had rebuked him for not having done the preparatory readings for the session. He explained as best he could, while trying to maintain an emotionless disposition befitting of his status as the oldest son, how hard it was for him to have to inform his mother and sisters of his father's death. He was also preparing himself to be in the company of his mostly female immediate family as all the funeral arrangements were made and the eventual ceremony in the Eastern Cape attended. We spoke about the possibility of an extension and I explained what procedures he needed to follow for this request.

On the same day another male student of mine spoke to me about his rather tenuous accommodation situation. He was living in a single room in Khayelitsha in a house of a friend of his family. He didn't know the family personally and unfortunately it wasn't suitable - not least because of the travelling and the expectations that he had to help-out with the housekeeping - both these factors were impacting on this studies. He clearly needed to move out, but had not been very successful in securing alternative accommodation options. As a first year student, his chances of getting into a residence at this late stage were slim. This week I received an e-mail from him asking for an extension and explaining that he had to move out and was practically homeless.

During a remedial assignment preparation session I scheduled with my classes I sat with a group of about five mostly Xhosa students. They kept calling me Ma'am - something that had occurred throughout the term even though I specifically asked students to call me 'Lynn' at my first class. Again I said rather sternly 'Don't call me Ma'am, my name is Lynn'. Maybe because of the intimate setting, they immediately expressed their discomfort. 'We can't call you Lynn, it's disrespectful' someone said. Now, I know this, right? Most of my students have had 12 years of schooling, mostly in some or other township where authoritative rules always apply. They also come from a highly hierarchical socio-cultural environment where children, young adults and students need to know their place in relation to adults and especially lecturers at the university. Even in our department its very unusual for students to be on first-name terms with their lecturers. They lamented at how their parents would be most disapproving if they knew, their sons and daughters were calling me on my first name. We had a long discussion about the different ways in which respect can be shown. Through my attempts to convince these young people why it REALLY was ok to call me on my first name, I had to reflect on my own reasons and underpinning philosophies for this stance. I was reminded of my adult education inspired humanist values and how this simple (almost unthinkable) action so strongly attempted to signal an egalitarian approach to education. As a lecturer I really don't need a title to signal my status and power - surely its already conferred on me by virtue of the institutional structures which both my students and I are apart of? But of course while I know this, I'm also critical of this stance. The question for me of course is, shouldn't I be more accepting of my students, their socio-cultural background and find ways to alleviate their discomfort rather than accentuate it by insisting on these rather foreign naming conventions? Well no! As we discussed, different contexts call for different practices and we all have to get used to this in our daily interactions with people in different settings. They will have to come to understand that in my class calling me on my first name is not a sign of disrespect and doesn't in any way diminish my authority. Of course this rule might not apply to my colleagues and their classes and my students will have to change their approaches accordingly. As we ended our conversation one of the young men in the group sheepishly said 'Yes, Lynn' and everyone else giggled nervously. Later, thinking back on this short interaction which forced me to really consider an almost unconscious aspect of my classroom practice - I felt grateful that my students could help me reconnect with this practically hidden, but defining aspect of my teaching self.

Lynn the school ma'am

One thing I was really appreciating about my new teaching self was the fact that I've been so relaxed. Especially about the expectations I had about my students. In my previous teaching life, before the PhD, I was such a reactive teacher. Very demanded, critical and hard. Setting the bar very high and expecting my students to rise to the challenge. I often got 'upset' at them because they seemingly refused to do the right thing in class or take their learning seriously. At the time I had very clear motivations for this aspect of my teaching behaviour; motivations I thought (and in certain respects still do feel) were honourable and came from the right place. While today I still believe in the those underpinning values that drove certain aspects of my practice, I don't feel compelled to exert too much pressure on my students, or demand that they conform to strict rules of appropriate learning behaviour that I strictly enforce. It's their learning experience and they should be given the opportunity to exert as much control over what and how they learn (within the structures that the university has created).

On Thursday I felt all these new grand ideals slip from my grasp as I morphed into Lynn the school ma'am. As it happened I could hear the voice in my head say...'No! don't go there' and as with so many other moments like this in my personal life, I told the voice firmly to shut up and I went 'there' anyway.

It had been a frustrating lecture from the moment I stepped into the class. The students just seemed distracted and as the hour passed it felt like I had to stop every 10 - 15 minutes to get them to calm down, get them to concentrate on the discussion at hand, encourage them to participate in the discussion or respond to a question I had posed, or ask one or other group to stop talking. Then as I tried to talk through the last slide which outlined the small homework task, there was a rush of students to the front of the class, smartphones in hand taking photos of the slide. I make all my slides available on Blackboard either before or within an hour of the lecture. This sent me over the edge. I couldn't help but wonder if students at other, more prestigious, universities would react and behave like this in their lectures. And then I started my rant. Almost embarrassingly I turned into the delittling parent  - using their power to scold the child but at the same time seek retribution by transferring the blame back onto the child. Afterall it was the child's poor behaviour that had forced the parent to respond in ways that was clearly demeaning for the parent. Welcome back the old Lynn. I'd like to suggest that the frustrations of the multiple challenges I had to deal with during that hour were to blame for my outburst - but I think it's an easy response and one that all too quickly vindicates and absolves me from all wrong doing. But it is challenging teaching where I teach. It's even more challenging trying to maintain my learning and teaching philosophies that value and reinforce active and critical learning while also placing a humanist ideal at the centre of all I do in the classroom. So I didn't do too well on Thursday but I hope I can keep Lynn the school ma'am at bay...for now anyway.

a day of rest

During my PhD I had this unspoken rule that for at least one day in the week I would not work on my thesis. It was a rule I introduced to give myself the illusion of a breathing space, that would allow me to step away from the thesis that consumed my head, my being. I always imagined that I would never again be in a position where work would take over my life in this way. Now that I'm teaching again and trying to carve out a space to do writing work as well, I've quickly found myself in this position where the rules I applied to my PhD, especially about working on weekend, have been completely discarded. I'm working everyday of the week often until 10 pm at night and still not getting everything I need to do done. I keep thinking, as I did during my PhD, that I'm simply not using my time effectively. That I'm just inefficient. Unfortunately my default is always to blame myself, although I know a lot of the tensions I'm experiencing at the moment are reflected more deeply in how academic work is conceptualised in the vocational higher education sector in South Africa and the particular constraints I'm facing in my department. But on the face of things, I just cannot find more hours in the day to stay on top of all the tasks I need to do. And I'm becoming deeply resentful of how much of my supposedly free time I need give up to get my basic work-relate tasks done.I'd always imagined that working like this was reserved for my PhD and not my full-time job! At the moment I've basically abandoned any aspirations for writing this term and I'm deeply pissed off about it. I love being in the classroom again, I just wish there was a way that my teaching did not become the obstacle to my writing.

that immediate response

When your teaching goes right - the response is immediate. Your students connect with you, with the content you're trying to explain, with how you've designed the session to help make the content understandable. You feel a reassurance that everything needed to make your lesson engaging, active, interesting, understandable has all come together and for most of the students the desired effect has been achieved. Even if you have one of these 'connected' session in every term or semester, it's enough to give you the inspiration and energy to deal with all the other times when your lessons pass by uneventfully. I had one of these 'connected' sessions last week and the effect on my psyche and confidence was just so uplifting. So many behind-the-scene aspects related to my work conditions have played havoc with my sense of purpose and confidence in my role as academic, that having this very positive and immediate feedback from my students was just what I needed last week. While I fear this description of events and its effect on me is now bordering on the cliche, this simple classroom engagement has release an overwhelming feeling of hope and possibility - that maybe I still have something worthwhile to offer, even if  only to the unsuspecting 70 odd students who happen to have me as their Communications lecturer.

there is no fence around the university

Last week I asked my first year class in 'Communications' (I will have to say something more about this subject and its peculiar place in the university of technology curriculum landscape sometime) to write a very short narrative piece that described and reflected on their first few days at the university. What many students shared about their experiences in their written work brought into sharp focus how fundamental, awkward, weird and wonderful this move between school and university is for many students. Highlighted were many of the assumptions I made (and I'm sure many lecturers do too) about students' understandings and perceptions of university and their lived experiences of schooling. In many ways exposing the fallacy that high school in South Africa somehow prepares students for their life at university. Students marveled (and I'm not being condescending when I use this adjective) at the size of the buildings, the resources available (like the library, its books, the computer labs), the number of students and the fact that there was no fence around the campus or school bell - so they could come and go as they liked but also monitor the time for different lectures themselves. All of this has made me think that we really don't start at the point where students are at and make no allowances for the adjustment they need, just to the day-to-day arrangements and practices of the university, of the department. We just rush in with the content of our subjects as we know and understand it, thinking little of how all of this might be taken on and experienced by our students.

hello my name is Dr Lynn Coleman and I'm your lecturer

Is lecturing just like riding a bike - you never forgot how to do it? I felt completely self conscious about myself and what I was saying today. I met my students today - well they met me. I remember doing similar introductions to first years, in particular, in the course where I taught before the PhD but I don't remember feeling this self conscious about myself. I think the less than positive self awareness stems from the fact that I feel very much like a newbie myself. I've never taught in this course before, nor have I taught most of the content. Of course I know I CAN teach the content, it's just five years outside of the classroom (and deeply immersed in the role of a student) can alter your self confidence about your teaching.

Being a PhD student heightened my awareness of the student experience and I during my time as a student I was able to really reflect on some of my not so positive behaviours as a teacher. I'm determined not to make the same mistakes again and so I'm very mindful of my responsibility to be a good, positive teacher and role model. It did feel good to be in the company of young people again, even though I really struggle to identify with their taste in music, movies or having watching TV as a hobby. But hey ho! I suspect they might find it hard to identify with my lifestyle choices too.

being a teacher again

Next week I will once again become a teacher. I'm returning to the HE classroom after a five year absence. As I've been trying to work on my preparation for this move back into a role and identity I was most proud and happy to have, the complexities of how to embrace this old and familiar identity within the context of my current position in my department has been brought into sharp focus. Before I had almost complete autonomy over all aspect of the subject curricula I taught. I was the only person teaching the subject, it was my domain and I was indeed the queen of that castle. I could approach the subject content and its underlying philosophies and pedagogy in the way I saw fit. This year it's all very different. I'm one of three people assigned to teach the subject and it's not been easy negotiating for the opening up or creation of a space where issues related to the curriculum and pedagogy can be discussed. And I'm not happy with what I've seen. There are glaring omissions and misalignment in relation to issues related to choice of content, pedagogy, and assessment strategies and importantly to me, the lack of responsiveness to students and their needs and what they bring to the learning context. It hard for me to turn a blind-eye: in respect of my teaching I usually don't do half-measures, I don't easily settle for mediocre or anything other than active learning. I'm ruffling feathers because I'm asking questions about the nature of assessments, the lack of time devoted to orientation and induction into the subject content, the department, the institutional ways of being, the type of classrooms I'm required to conduct my lectures and practicals in, the validity of the promotion of a decontextual skills orientated philosophy to the course content. But next week I meet my students and I'm excited about that - I'm keen to see how my PhD experience will impact on my pedagogic practice and how the learner role I've occupied over the past five years will act to sensitize the teacher role I now have to step into again.