Teaching Online

          Teaching online classes has been a decidedly odd experience for me.  I'm used to being in front of a classroom.  It's almost a kind of stage up there, in front of a room full of staring faces.  They have no choice but to listen to me.  And if someone thinks that these students, even college students, are actually looking down texting or glaring at their computers, the glow shining off of their faces like spotlights, let me assure you I'm too loud for that.
     
          While I may be loud, I hope I haven't given the impression that I'm obnoxious.  Some of my students may disagree, but I am really good at my job.  Some students aren't really there to learn, and let's face it, I couldn't reach them no matter how much money I was paid or how much technology we used.  If a person doesn't want to learn, then they won't.  I don't worry about the ones who aren't really interested in learning; I can't reach them anyway.  For those who do, however, I have excellent strategies I've built over time that help students understand the basics of writing and literature.  I can turn abstract concepts into concrete building blocks they can apply.

          I worried at first whether or not I could be just as effect online, and I have to admit, I'm really not as effective a teacher.  There is something about what I can do in front of a classroom that is almost magic.  I've found that I don't have the same presence online, but rather than being a total failure, I've found a way to be successful at this, too.  Students who take online classes have to be more motivated because they don't have an instructor standing over them turning what is abstract into something concrete.  These students have to read the material and understand it for themselves.  I am pleased, however, that I can post little nuggets of information each day that help them.  If they read them.

          There are more pluses to teaching online.  When students become irate because I won't take a late paper, or when they become incensed because I won't give them A grades for F effort, I find that it doesn't bother me as much.  I can laugh it off because I don't know them, and they don't know me.  I can really grade fairly because I can't see them so I can't get to know them and start showing the inevitable favoritism.  I have less stress with online classes.  So maybe I don't get to see their faces everyday and assure myself that I'm making a difference, but I still get to do what I love, without most of the stress that comes with teaching in front of a classroom.

CS

A New Place to Hang my Hat

"It takes at least a month to move, and to get everything settled."

I did not believe this statement.  I was so sure, so confident that I could move more quickly than that, that I did not pay any further attention to that statement or any of the other advice I received.

"Pack bathroom and kitchen last; unpack them first."

I had a better way, a better system and, having never packed up all my worldly belongings before, was confident that I knew better than anyone else.  I began moving September 26, 2011, and now on November 16, 2011, I can confidently tell you that I am almost completely settled in to the new place.

I'm a little sad that the surreal feeling I had the first couple of weeks is all but gone now.  Distinctly, I can remember walking through this house, thinking it so enormous, feeling as though I was an intruder.  I kept waiting for the real tenants to show up any minute, demanding I leave their house.  Even as I began placing my things into their new places ("Everything has a place; everything in its place" is an adage that was more like law when I was growing up), still I felt like I didn't belong here.  Not in a house as nice as this.

I guess there is still some part of me that expects it to all be taken away.  It's a silly feeling to have; we are only renting this house.  It's not like we own it.  But the house were we used to live, the duplex, was so small, that it really only had a couple of rooms.  I could walk from one end to to the other in just a few steps.  It had...other problems...as well.  I am confident that had we not called the property management company about the toilet, it would have sunk into the floor one day, possibly with me on it.  The tiles in the shower were likewise succumbing to the lure of gravity.  And the linoleum, so old and so yellow--it reminded me constantly of "The Yellow Wall-paper."  It was in the kitchen, too, this linoleum.  No amount of cleaning, mopping or scrubbing could ever make that floor look clean.

If truth be told, the floor wasn't the only thing I had given up on in that house.  We also had two cats, and in a space that small (less than 500 square feet), cat hair was a constant.  My husband, Raven, also has a large book collection, which itself collected cat hair and dust.  I gave up dusting after a while, too.  I lived there a long time, too long really.  As a kid, I moved every three to four years, and that became something of a habit.  Then I married Raven, and became antsy and anxious when three years became five, then seven, then nine.  I don't think I've ever stayed in a house that long, and that was not the house for it.  It was impossibly hard, it seemed at the time, to live in that house.  I don't think I ever really lived there.  No, it was more like I existed there.  Nothing could ever look clean, and no amount of straightening could ever make it look uncluttered.  Too much stuff for such a small space.  To Raven's credit, he did throw out more things than I ever thought him capable of, but a lifetime of possessions can fill up a house in no time.  I didn't live in a home; I lived in a storage facility.

Every time I would try to do anything in the kitchen, something would invariably fall on my head, whether from the one kitchen cabinet (with one drawer) or from the makeshift pantry (an end table set on top of the fridge).  Look at your kitchen now.  Can you imagine having just one cabinet, with just one drawer?  Either you know what I'm talking about, or you couldn't possible fathom it.  It wasn't just the things, though.  We also had too many pets: three dogs and two cats.  Combine them with two people and less than 500 square feet, and we had a potential disaster on our hands. 

I spent my 20s in that house, and as much as I hated it, I can't seem to remember now why that hate was so strong.  It seems now that I can only remember the good things about that house.  I learned a lot about how to live like an adult in that house.  That place, which always felt more like a storage facility than a home, is the place where I built my marriage.  It was where I learned what a reasonable number of animals means for my family.  Growing up in the country, I never learned that two dogs is enough for me.  I learned there that one's surroundings go a long way in establishing one's identity.  And I learned that one should never move bit by bit.  The best way to move--pack it all up, move it in a day, and then unpack. 

While the surreal feeling is gone, the feeling that I don't belong, it is gradually being replaced with other feelings, deeper and less fleeting ones.  This is a real house, and I can live here.  My days of just existing are behind me.  I can't stop thinking about the future and wondering if someday all of this will be taken away, and someone I'll end up back in that tiny duplex, or one just like it.  Living in the present is something that has never been easy for me, but for the first time, I have the space to try.

Just how much space?  Well, I've spent countless minutes wandering around this place, looking for my phone.  I think I may have even lost a couple of pounds, walking from one side of the house to other.  I can breathe here.  I can read and concentrate here.  Who knows what else I'll be able to do here?  If living is better than existing, is there something better than living?

It's All in a Name

I've had several people ask me why I chose "The Sweet Choice" as the name of my blog, and I believe it might require some explanation so people don't get the wrong idea.

When my husband was a child, his family had a Boston Terrier dog named Dolly.  I don't know if you've ever had a Boston before, but they are the most amazing dogs.  Like most dogs, they are loyal to a fault, but Bostons are also highly intelligent.  They were originally a cross breed of Bulldogs (English and French) and the English terrier, which is now extinct.  Please correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe they were originally bred to be fighting dogs, like Pit Bulls.  When they bred Bostons, however, they didn't get much of a fighting dog because Bostons have wonderful and sweet dispositions.

When my husband's parents got her, they named her Dolly: The Sweet's Choice, which is cute given that their surname is Sweet.  Sweet was not originally my last name, of course; I got it when I married into the family.  And when I did, my husband's parents gave us each a book for our wedding.  In the inscription in mine, they wrote that I was now "The Sweet's Choice."

I feel so very lucky and blessed to have (1) married a man with the last name of Sweet, and (2) married into such a warm and loving family.  I always had this thought in the back of my mind as I was growing up and thinking of my wedding day, even before I met my husband, Raven--if my soon-to-be-husband's last name was something I didn't care for, I was going to keep my maiden name and just tell him that I was all about keeping my own identity as a woman.  I'm not sure what feminists may think of that because the second I knew Raven and I were going to marry, I knew I was going to take his name.  How could I not?  Candy Sweet?  It was too good a name to pass up!

Raven's mom and dad have been so very wonderful to me over the few years we've been married.  And while his dad, Frank, has passed away now, I still remember him quite fondly.  I am tearing up now thinking about how warmly and kindly he accepted me into the family.  When he wrote in the book that I was "The Sweet's Choice," it was like they had all chosen me, not just Raven.  I wish now I had told him how much that meant to me.

So that is the reason for the blog's name.  It's my way of reminding myself how much I am loved by a family that is so kind and loving.

We have a Boston Terrier of our own now, Geddy Lee Sweet, and he, too, is "The Sweet's Choice," just like me.

He even has his own twitter account:  @Geddy_of_Boston.

All People Matter

Someone recently asked me if people matter.  Do all people matter, or are there some people that the world would just be better off without?  My initial response was—of course, all people matter!  But I try to teach my students that a statement without evidence is just an opinion.  Something that is fact is much stronger than a mere opinion.  (This I learned from Mortimer J. Adler:  The Radical Academy).  My gut, my heart, tells me that each and every person matters, but I need evidence before I can say that opinion is fact. 

I like what John F. Kennedy wrote in Nation of Immigrants:  “The contribution of immigrants can be seen in every aspect of our national life.  We see it in religion, in politics, in business, in the arts, in education, even in athletics and in entertainment.  There is no part of our nation that has not been touched by our immigrant background.”  People who are different matter because all of society is enriched by diversity. 

I have a certain kind of personality, and that personality helps to color the way that I see the world.  I was in New Orleans for a concert once, and because of how horrible our hotel was, I was spitting mad.  Ready to go home.  I walked the streets of New Orleans and saw it as an ugly, evil, hateful place, until a guy stopped me on Bourbon Street and gave me a pretend ticket for “Not partying hard enough.”  He was working for the food bank collecting donations, but his easy smile and delightful demeanor helped me to change my attitude, and then I saw New Orleans in a whole new light.  It’s like the city morphed before my eyes.  Was the city one way, and then it became another?  No, it was always the same city, but I couldn't see it at that time.  I needed another person to help me.  

I also have a set of life experiences that I filter the world through.  No one is capable of seeing the world as it truly is because we do not have limitless attention to be able to see all aspects of the entire world.  We filter things out simply because we cannot see it all, and we filter things out based on who we are and what we have seen.  The world doesn’t always fit into the scripts we create for it, and that is when we feel frustration, because we do not know the world or our place in it.

If we only read a certain type of literature or watch a certain type of television show, then we skew what we see and know of the world in a specific and limiting way.  Each and every person matters because they can tell us what they see of the world and in the world.  When we add that to what we already know, then we can start forming a clearer picture of the world.  The more we know, the more we can see how it fits together.  We learn more about ourselves and our place in the world when we truly understand the experiences of others. 

We are deprived when people are silenced, whether it is because they are killed or because their voices are silenced.  And we silence people way too much.  Poverty silences.  Denying people the right to vote silences, whether through actual legislation or through practices that make them feel as though voting would be a waste of their time.  Lack of education silences.

All of these things must be fought at every instance.  If we could know the perspective of everyone in the world, then we could see the world as it truly is.  If we could know everyone’s experiences of the world all at once—I think this might be the mind of God.

Blogging Again!

I wasn't entirely sure that blogging was for me until someone posted on my facebook wall that they actually enjoyed my blog.  I hope that one day I can give someone else a gift as special as that one was to me.  The end result is that I plan to keep at it.

One of the reasons I wasn't so sure that my words were important enough to try to reach people was that I didn't have a special topic that I was writing on, like kids or cooking or something like that, and I'm not sure how often I would keep reading a blog that bounced around from one topic to the next.  How important are my musings anyway?  But I have decided to persevere anyway, and perhaps a specialized topic like one of the above will reveal itself, and my blog can evolve.

Until then, I hope you will bear with me, and leave me some comments (I think I finally have the setting correct) so that I know what works and what doesn't!

So that reading this post isn't a complete waste of your time, I just learned that the appropriate phrase is "bear with me" when you want someone to show you a little patience because "bare with me" would be an invitation for them to undress with you.

A very important distinction, no?

Vigilante or Just Justice?

As I understand it, a woman in Oklahoma had her life threatened not because she murdered her own child, but because some else (allegedly) did.  She had the great misfortune of looking like Casey Anthony, and if you don’t know who she is, then you’ve been living under a rock; I couldn’t even go on vacation without seeing it on the news.  What is it about this particular woman and this particular case that had people so riled up? 

Perez Hilton

Huffington Post

People have been comparing Casey Anthony to O.J. Simpson who (allegedly) killed two people.  I remember distinctly when he was acquitted.  I was in school when they announced the verdict, and we were all in the main building watching it on tv.  Because I was young, it didn’t really bother me or affect me because I was deeply self-centered at the time, as most teenagers are.  What is clearest in my memory is a fellow student, a young man a year or two older than me, walking down the crowded hall as we all filed back to class singing, “The Juice is Loose!”

I don’t remember clearly if people threatened Simpson’s life after he was acquitted, but Anthony wasn’t even out of jail when people started began threatening her.  Are people really so quick to throw their own lives away to get what they perceive to be justice for someone else?  The little girl wasn’t their little girl, so why are they so quick to seek justice for her?

I suspect that much of the threats are simply words, with no real threat of intention behind them.  It is terribly frustrating to empathize with a little girl who never even had the chance to live a good life and to see a mother who appears to want only the freedom of having no strings attached to her apron.  That much empathy demands that something be done, but it appears that our justice system has failed us and our emotive need to see this precious child avenged.  For most people, simply being heard is enough; they only want someone to hear and understand their frustration as they vent it in chorus and in unison. 

That is not to say that Anthony’s life is not in danger because there are those people who would like nothing more than see justice—vigilante justice.  I have loved Batman for as long as I can remember, but even I do not believe in vigilante justice.  There is no longer any Wild West, and I do not see the reason to bring back a form of justice that ends up turning on itself.  We have government to protect the weak from the strong, and very often, those in power will do whatever it takes to keep that power for themselves, and carrying out vigilante justice is an awesome power.  We have a series of checks and balances in our government to prevent any one branch or any one person from gaining too much power.  Vigilante mobs do not.

I believe that in this very difficult case, people should focus not on the part of our justice system that doesn’t work, but on the part that does.  I do not believe we should sacrifice innocent people to death row just to get at the few that are able to slip through.  “Better that 10 guilty persons escape than that one innocent suffer.”

Here is today’s Fight Question:

Should the news have funded Casey Anthony’s defense?  Is ABC news actually responsible for this miscarriage of justice?  Is her acquittal a miscarriage of justice? 

Who Paid for Casey Anthony's Defense?

How to Effectively Attack the Elderly without Really Trying

If one of my goals is to become a better writer, and becoming a better writer takes practice, then I am already at it by writing.  But another one of my goals is to connect with other people, and I see no better way to do that than with a good fight.

I delivered a paper at the Purdue Comparative Literature conference in 2010, and it was not the public speaking that terrified me the most; it was engagement with my ideas.  I was also afraid to defend my Master’s thesis because for some reason, I can get unsure of myself when I am having to make a claim and defend it.  I did end up doing well at both, but I still tend to avoid religious and political debates.  I think the reason for this fear stems from not knowing as much as about any given subject as I’d like to, but then again, I want to have complete knowledge and understanding, which is, of course, not possible. 

Let me give an example.  We have heard recently in the news that if the US government doesn’t raise the debt ceiling by the beginning of August, we’re in for some serious consequences.  For instance, President Obama has said that Social Security checks won’t go out unless an agreement can be reached.  When asked my opinion on the matter, I didn’t really know what to say except, “Well, I don’t really understand how the government works in terms of financial matters.  I’m lucky if I can get my own checkbook balanced (which I don’t even actually do), so I’m sure that there is all kinds of stuff going on behind the scenes that I don’t know, and that’s why everyone is freaking out.” 

Even as I gave that answer, I knew it was a coward’s cop-out.  Even I know that you have pull in at least as much money as you spend, or you go into debt.  I also know that many of our elderly depend upon those checks to live so to take them away without having anything to replace them is…I don’t even want to finish that thought.

So, to that end, here’s today’s Fight Question:

When President Obama or anyone else says that Social Security needs to be discontinued (it was after all supposed to only be a temporary measure in the Depression), is that in effect an attack on the elderly?  Let’s face it; many of our elderly are not as mobile as they used to be, and they are not in as good of health as they used to be.  Do we really expect them to march to Washington in protest?  And if they are not as able to make their voices heard by peaceful assembly, then it seems like Congress would be able to do whatever they want to do against the weakest among us. 

Debt Ceiling

I never hear Congress threatening to lower their own salaries; they always go after education, Medicare and Social Security—children and the elderly. 

Is our government going after the weakest among us whenever there is a money crisis?