Month: June 2015
Imagining life without my front teeth
When I was in 4th grade, I was in a bicycle accident with my friend Erica. My jaw broke in several places, and a few of my front teeth came out, roots and all. The oral surgeon tried to save the teeth, but one did not make it.
I’m continuing to deal with the ramifications of that accident over three decades later, which is slightly sucky, but today at the dentist’s office, I kept thinking how lucky I am.
Okay, the truth is, I was kinda miserable at the start of today’s appointment. I was having my front bridge replaced for the second time, and it is not a pretty sight or a pretty process. Being injected with novocaine hurts, and I needed a lot of it today. But worse for me was the way I felt when my bridge was out.
I felt ugly.
Now all of us can feel ugly at some points, so it’s not like I haven’t felt ugly before. But missing-your-front-teeth ugly is a very particular kind of ugly. It’s the kind of ugly that would affect my everyday interactions if it were a permanent condition. Without my front teeth, I would likely face negative judgments, disrespect, avoidance, devaluation. Seriously: I can picture the scenes, almost as if I were George Bailey, except instead of seeing an alternate universe without me in it, I see an alternate universe without my front teeth in it.
I’m in line at the grocery store and a toddler is looking at me from the cart in front of me, so I begin playing peek-a-boo. The parent looks at me and smiles, so I smile back, showing that I’m not a weirdo but just someone who enjoys begin silly with kids. The parent’s smile fades slightly. Thirty seconds later, the child in the cart is pushed ahead of the parent, and I wonder if it’s because of how I look. How many times will this happen before I stop goofing around with little kids?
I’m at an academic conference. I’m in line at a Starbucks / on an elevator / looking for a seat at a crowded panel. I always make small talk. Sometimes I initiate it and sometimes other people do. But what do I do now? Do I initiate? Or do I work on keeping my mouth closed as much as I possibly can to maintain my professional appearance?
I’m meeting with my children’s teachers. I have always gotten along well with teachers. But this time, I feel like they don’t take me seriously. They say my children are doing well and don’t answer my concerns. I try to press: Is the math challenging enough? Are there ways the writing prompts could be answered outside the 5-paragraph theme? My questions are deflected. I’m hurried out of the room.
I’m at a bar ordering drinks. People see me, see my lack of teeth, and turn away. I love bars. I love the light, stupid banter that makes me laugh and feel connected with people. I don’t know how to connect with people through light, stupid banter now that my teeth are gone. I have jokes to make, but they aren’t funny when no one is listening.
I could go on. It would suck.
So, sure, I felt lucky that I could have my bridge replaced and not go through life without my front teeth. But, more importantly, I felt lucky that I was reminded of what we all already know.
I am still the same person whether I have front teeth or not, and that person is worthy of respect. That person should be valued and listened to. Yet the me-without-front-teeth may have a lot of negative encounters and thus may not be as open or as positive or as ready to banter as some of us.
You see what I’m getting at? I’m not lucky just because I have a bridge to cover up my gaps. And not just because people usually treat me in warm and respectful ways. And not just because thinking it through helps me feel grateful.
I’m also lucky because I was reminded to examine my own biases. To think about the times I turn away. To consider how I may show disrespect—almost instinctively—based on signs that are culturally interpreted as “less than,” “not worthy,” “not good enough.”
And to realize that people who have been disrespected for a good percentage of the time are probably going to behave in different ways than people who have been shown respect, so I gotta be careful with my tendency to judge behavior as well.
It may not always be missing front teeth. It may be an outfit, a hairstyle, an odor. It may be lots of things.
And I guess these thoughts are some of the more positive ramifications of that bike accident from way back when I was 10…and not at all what I was expecting when I was heading to the dentist’s office this morning.
P.S. If you want to see the ugliest pic of me from today, scroll way down. It includes some bloody gauze, so my daughter didn’t want to see it, but I feel like part of my point is to expose how I look when I’m not at my best, so I want to include it for the brave….
7 lessons tae kwon do has reinforced about teaching writing
I started tae kwon do classes a couple months ago, and I am not a natural. As I struggle and learn, I think again and again of how helpful it is for me to engage in an activity that is difficult for me. After all, many of the students in my first year writing classes have difficulty with writing, and it’s helpful for me to teach with some understanding of their perspective.
Each week, I’ve been thinking of those students—the ones who struggle—and here are some of the important reminders I’ve received. The tae kwon do instructor, Brent, is a great teacher, so he has helped me think about my own teaching.
1. Repetition is crucial.
I’ve always been a good student, but I often cannot remember how to do a move, even if I’ve just seen Brent demonstrate it clearly. Somehow, when I try, the move doesn’t translate the way I’d like it to.
I also often don’t remember what we learned from one week to the next. It’s not that I didn’t pay attention. It’s just that a lot is new to me, so it’s tough to retain it.
Being told something or shown something once is not enough. Repetition is key. Eventually, I pick it up. But it’s rarely a one-and-done teaching & learning approach.
I shouldn’t expect my students to know something simply because I’ve said it or they’ve read it.
2. Ongoing feedback is vital.
Each time Brent shows us something, we immediately put it into practice. He then visits each pair or group and offers praise as well as corrections and reminders.
Some of these reminders and adjustments are specific to me: “Turn your shoulders more when doing the roundhouse, Laurie. It will help add force.”
Some feedback is directed to the whole class. Brent will interrupt practice if he notices that he has to give similar advice to several people: “I notice many of you are stepping, but that’s going to throw your balance off. Keep your feet planted. This move should rely on your upper body exclusively.”
The most useful feedback is given as students write and practice—not when their writing is being graded.
3. Praise helps.
It’s embarrassing to learn. The class I participate in is a mixed-level class, so there are people at advanced levels, and I feel incompetent as I get things wrong or use poor form. Of course, I know that failing is part of learning, but it is still difficult to struggle in front of other people.
Brent praises what each of us does right. He also praises us for sticking with it and making the effort to learn: “You are actually picking this up quickly. This isn’t easy. People take a lot of time when the material is new to them.”
I need to explicitly recognize the gifts students bring to their writing—whether creativity, strong organization, or habits of mind that will lead to success.
4. It helps to both practice what we should do and understand why we do it.
While much of the class involves being shown a technique and then practicing it, Brent also explains why we step in a certain way, or he has us explore the difference between moving our legs in one way versus another way. Learning happens more quickly when the directives are clearly meaningful rather than willy-nilly.
Also, the rationales behind the techniques help me to remember and apply the lessons. It helps me feel like I’m part of tae kwon do as I understand the principles behind the movements.
I should connect any discussions of writing and rhetoric with actual writing the students do. And, often, I can ask students to think through why certain conventions are expected for particular genres so they become part of a discourse community of writers.
5. The learning process sometimes looks messed-up.
Often, Brent will give me advice that I will try to apply. In the process, I am very self-conscious, and I am very focused on a precise change—perhaps moving my feet to face in a specific direction. In the meantime, other parts of my form go haywire and become unnatural. I often lose my balance while I’m trying to improve a technique, and as I correct one part of my form, other parts of my form go out of sync for a time.
That is all normal when learning something new. It is not a sign of laziness or lack of care. I need to be patient with myself when learning.
I need to be patient with students when teaching, and I need to help students learn patience with themselves. What appears to be regression is often simply a sign that new growth is occurring.
6. It’s smart to break things down into small steps and recognize patterns.
When something is tricky or has many parts, it makes a huge difference to practice one step at a time, with each new part incorporating the earlier part.
It’s also useful for me as a learner to notice patterns, like my tendency to struggle with a particular movement. Brent also regularly points out patterns: “For this sequence, always step with the same hand you use to block.”
It is helpful to have students break their writing down into steps—not necessarily discreet steps of the writing process, but perhaps using a series of assignments that lead to a full research project.
It also helps to notice patterns of writing within particular genres or rhetorical situations; to notice patterns across genres; and I also try to focus on patterns of error at the sentence level when helping students proofread and edit.
7. Using consistent & vivid terms helps.
We practice wrist locks, and Brent calls one movement that is used in several sequences “slingshotting the hand up.” That term helps me remember the move because it’s metaphorical, and I can easily transfer it to new sequences when appropriate. This technique fits with point 1—it contributes to a helpful repetition.
I love writing analogies, and I love when students create their own analogies for writing. I can be even more conscious of reusing certain phrases that will hopefully help students remember and apply writing techniques that will make their writing more effective.
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I’m sure there are more things I’ve learned, but these have been the reminders that have most clearly crystallized so far.
I also need to point out that I’m learning tae kwon do classes because I choose to do so. The same is often not true for my writing students. There’s thus a whole other level of work I do when teaching writing that is meant to help motivate students and help them recognize that writing is a gift that we can appreciate and enjoy.
I may also share this post with students so that they know that I’m willing to be vulnerable and take risks so that I can learn something new. I hope they will have enough confidence and willpower to do the same.
And if they don’t quite believe me, maybe I’ll show them a couple of my moves….
Laurie Mac Reads 