Grammar

Grammar has long been my enemy. I was just never a fan of it. In my opinion it was a tool with which to express myself (the screw for building stories or papers, while the words themselves were the screwdriver). Yes the rules of grammar were important, but as long as I could express myself, in the end just communicate effectively, then I didn't care much whether I used contractions, (or parentheses), or the word "I" quite a bit. English was what we made it- not what some dead guy thought of it.

These days my perceptions have changed slightly, but my basic point remains: grammar should be secondary to fluency and creativity.

So how do I incorporate grammar into my teaching, while conveying this important belief? Is grammar something for elementary school students only or are we expected to teach it in secondary?

The readings for this week have touched on the many rules, on the misconceptions, and on the overall scope of grammar. But the questions remain. And I really can't find any answers.

Simply put, where is grammar's place in English?

Why do you want to be a teacher?

Recently in my Practicum class, we were asked to write professional statements, in preparation for future interviews and the like. The first part of it contained a section titled “Why do you want to be a teacher?

A dozens of reasons ran through my head- everything from good hours, to decent benefits, to receiving money in general, to getting the summers off... I'm reminded of that quote from the Breakfast Club "You took a teaching position, 'cause you thought it'd be fun, right? Thought you could have summer vacations off...and then you found out it was actually work...and that really bummed you out."

But of course these weren’t the real reasons- and as I began to seriously ponder, I traced back my path to this unique profession. Below, I include the first part of this professional statement and I encourage others to think over the same concept seriously, as it is the most basic and yet important question: Why?

Why I chose teaching as a career:

What do you want to be when you grow up? This question dominates the mind of every child in America and I was no different than any of the rest. We were taught, from a very young age, that we could achieve absolutely anything if we set our minds to it. But what should we achieve? What should our lives be about? The choices were all exciting, each profession amazing in their challenges and rewards- to be a movie star, a professional athlete, an astronaut, the President.

But after a while, the glamour began to fade as I thought of the reality. I pondered the uncertain future and took a deep hard look at each and every dream, unable to decide. I did what any other student did, I took the tests, I tried different things, I examined my strengths. What was I good at? What did I love?

I enjoyed many things, but reading and writing were on the top of the list. But I thought that there could never be an instance when I could take this love and make money off of it. I didn’t dare hope that my meager writing would ever be published in any way. And I couldn’t just spend my life analyzing good literature could I?

Only in the summer after my senior year did I realize that I could indeed… I could become a teacher. It was a position that was so often belittled and dismissed as unimportant or boring. It had certainly been ignored for the longest time by me. I will admit that I had never considered it before. It was something so common, so difficult, so unexciting.

Yet it was also something amazing. The more I thought, the more I realized how much I loved school and had enjoyed time within it. It dawned on me that I genuinely enjoyed teaching others- everything from the rules of Ultimate Frisbee to the order of Die Hard movies (arranged by best one-liners of course). I would love instructing the youth of the world about reading and writing. It may not have been the glamorous choice. It may have made my friends smirk every time I told them I wanted to be a high school English teacher. And of course, it may have ensured that I will be underpaid for the rest of my life. But by becoming a teacher, I will be performing a service. I will be acting as an advocate and guide. And I will genuinely enjoy being there for the youths of the world, leading them toward their own dreams, facing all the challenges that come with this task and reaping all the rewards that come from knowing you made a difference.

A slice of my draft

I decided to follow the advice of our fellow peers and post the opening to my latest draft. Let me know what you think:

A Writing Memory

My earliest memories are of stories. Many of these cherished tales were read to me by my parents- they would snuggle with my brother and I upstairs in their big bed, reading Doctor Seuss or Grimm’s Fairy Tales aloud to us in those precious minutes before bedtime. Other memories of stories, however, would come from a different source. They would be of my mind and my imagination- of the adventures and characters I created.

Of course, I was five or six at the time, a wild creature, barely into my schooling, and so it was not an entirely lonesome endeavor to create these tales. I did all the hard work; most of the real action would take place inside my head throughout the day. There would be battles with imaginary monsters, a discovery of hidden treasure, an induction into the ranks of my favorite superheroes, or simply an exploration to a mysterious land. These were the busy imaginings of an active little boy, hardly unusual, and not really concrete. But every night, writing would take place because the setting down of all these stories, the wonderful happenings of my head, would come through the help of my parents.

After dinner each night, I would drag them to the basement and push them toward the computer. That little subterranean space was such a mess; there was the bar that my dad turned into a work station for his various hobbies, smelling of paint, metal, and freshly cut wood. A narrow space next to it was filled with all the kids’ junk- old Halloween costumes, toys, and blankets. Ringing the space were shelves upon shelves, each filled with CD’s and books- all stacked so haphazardly that it was unusual if one of the piles didn’t crash to the ground thunderously each night. Buried amidst it all, in the darkest, most cluttered corner of the room was this big computer, huge even back then, an old Window’s ’95: gigantic and boxy, tucked away into a snug little place. This piece of ancient technology was more than just a machine, it was the symbol of power; it had the ability to make the imaginary come to life, to turn something silly and simple into a living thing, to turn the pretend into the real. I would sit on my parents’ laps or at a tall stool and dictate my stories to them as though I were Pharaoh laying down edicts with imperial authority.

My Bad Papers

This is a post about failure.

Not Epic Failure (just search that term on youtube and you realize how many people want to forget certain events happened)- but instructive failure.

Often times the word failure simply implies that we have gained nothing, yet I think people fail - pun intended- to remember that we learn most often from our mistakes. I'm thinking of "Batman Begins" quotes here:

Alfred: Why do we fall Master Bruce? So we can learn to pick ourselves up again.

You can say it in a million different ways- everything from getting up on a horse to looking for more fish in the sea but the bottom line remains the same: you try again. And often you try harder then you did before, and you remember that failure or that mistake and correct it the next time around, until at last you have success.

I talked about this a little bit in class and Amy has posted about this in her blog- but I think portfolio's should also include instructive failures. Too often I only save the good papers, the A plus works. What about that C- I was so angry about Sophomore year that it drove me to confront the teacher? He radically changed my writing style and I am eternally grateful for it, and it was all because of that C- (which was deserving cause that essay was really awful I just wouldn't admit it). In many ways I can point to that paper as a more important milestone, as something meaningful to me, as a piece of an essential portoflio.

We have to remember to look at the bad, along with the good, to learn anything at all.

Alex Rummelhart

Late Post

As it is 7AM on one of my busiest days of the week, I see I can admit that I have not prepared to write this blog. In truth, I forgot all about it until I woke up this morning, with a cold, feeling exhausted, having to go to Practicum, then class, then more class.

Where do I find inspiration to write? What emotion does it stem from? Fear- a little bit, because I'm afraid I won't get my work done, so I'm driven to the task. But also courage. I am willing to wade blindly into the blizzard, hacking my way through the thick snow, hoping to find my destination without too much trouble.

How can I inspire others to write? What if they, like me their teacher, occasionally slip up and have to do something last minute? How do I keep it from being total garbage? How do I get them to actually try, despite all the odds?

I don't have all the answers, actually I have barely any of them, but I think I would tell them to be courageous. I would tell them, don't be afraid to charge in, sometimes blindly, in order to seek your goal. You just might find something useful.

Alex Rummelhart