It’s been a year

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August 1, 2023, was my first official day of retirement. I left after 27 years of teaching at a small community college in western North Carolina. Officially, I retired early, but I say I ended my career right on time. Some may say that I was burned out or that I had quietly quit years before, and perhaps both are true. All I know is that I loved teaching, what it really is supposed to be, too much to keep trying to do it with little academic freedom or shared governance. I couldn’t remain in a place that cared more about enrollment and data than individual students and their learning.

Writing and editing, separate from the scads of e-mails I wrote and student writing I graded, are the things that kept me going the last few years of my teaching career. This blog, started in 2014, was the first place I regularly vented my frustrations at the negative changes I saw at my institution. But I also kept my spirits up by writing about teaching itself, some of my victories in the classroom, my memories of great teachers and wonderful teaching experiences I had.

Then, in 2017, after publishing another short story and having published dozens of theater reviews and feature articles for the local newspaper, I realized that risking rejection and criticism by putting my work out into the world not only helped me be a better writer, but it also made me a better writing teacher. I wanted to offer a special kind of professional development opportunity to other writing teachers and Teach. Write. was born. Editing Teach. Write. has been one of the joys of my life and is even better now that I have time to devote to its improvement.

However, even with the blog and the journal, the pressure was getting to me. The worst part of all was realizing how powerless I was to effect any change as I witnessed the autonomy that I had enjoyed at the beginning of my career begin to erode. So, I turned to a writing project that began as a musical but had laid dormant for several years–a satire called CAMPUS.

When it started getting particularly rough, I turned back to CAMPUS and decided, I think with the help of my wonderful daughter, that I wanted to turn my musical into a novel and keep the musical element alive by podcasting it with music. How? How would I do it? First, my daughter, a sound technician, did research on the best podcasting equipment, told my sweet husband, who bought the equipment for me as a Christmas gift. It wasn’t long before I was podcasting this crazy, satirical story about higher education at a small college in western North Carolina.

But not just any college. This enchanted campus has elves, gnomes, moon people, fairy godteachers, vampires, zombies, and a boojum–kind of an Appalachian yeti–oh, and a nazi. CAMPUS is definitely out there, but its weirdness has allowed me to say things I never could have said out loud otherwise. I produced about 13 episodes.

You can go and hear them at most podcasting platforms. Just search CAMPUS: A Novel That Wants to Be a Musical and you will find them. Don’t get too excited–the production value is low because I have no idea what I’m doing, but you know, I’m kind of proud of those episodes. I’m proud of myself for completing them, taking a chance. They helped me survive those last few years of teaching and the isolation of teaching during the worst of the pandemic years.

I want to get back to completing CAMPUS when I finish the other big writing projects on my plate right now, but until then, I will leave you with one of my favorite scenes from CAMPUS, when the discouraged, burned-out faculty makes their debut “Down at the Diploma Mill.”

DOWN AT THE DIPLOMA MILL

At that, in true musical fashion, a slow droning chant arose from across the quad as “They” began to come in. The slow heavy beat of the prison blues, the stomping of feet like the striking of a heavy hammer on a stake. THEM, teachers in ragged clothes and carrying old worn-out books came onto the quad.  And they chanted:

ONCE WE WERE SOME BRIGHT YOUNG TEACHERS

ONCE WE WROTE ENGAGING LESSON PLANS

ONCE WE LOOKED INTO THEIR SHINING FACES

OUR STUDENTS WERE OUR INNOCENT LITTLE LAMBS

BUT NOW

BUT NOW

BUT NOW

CHORUS

WE’RE WORKIN’ DOWN AT THE DIPLOMA MILL

LOOKIN’ FOR SOME BRAIN CELLS TO KILL

WE NEVER MEANT IT TO BE THIS WAY

BUT WE GOT NOTHIN’ LEFT TO SAY

DOWN AT THE DIPLOMA MILL

ONCE WE HAD SOME GOOD IDEAS

ONCE WE TRIED TO CHANGE OUR WAYS

WE ALL SHUNNED STANDARDIZED TESTS

TRIED OUR BEST

TO NOT BE LIKE THE REST

BUT NOW

BUT NOW

BUT NOW

WE’RE WORKING

AT THE DIPLOMA MILL

WE’RE WORKING DOWN AT THE DIPLOMA MILL

LOOKIN’ FOR SOME BRAIN CELLS TO KILL

WE NEVER MEANT IT TO BE THIS WAY

BUT WE GOT NOTHIN’ LEFT TO SAY

DOWN AT THE DIPLOMA MILL

ASK AN ESSAY QUESTION

DO A PROJECT INSTEAD

BUT THE DEAN SAID IT WASN’T ASSESSMENT

WE SHOULD GET RETURN ON OUR INVESTMENT

IF IT’S NOT SOMETHING WE CAN CALCULATE

OR THAT’S EASY TO REGURGITATE

THEN IT’S SOMETHING YOU CAN’T DO

DOWN AT THE DIPLOMA MILL

The group begins to hum as they mount the stage and form a line of disgruntled burned out teachers. An old professor in a ragged tweed jacket with torn leather patches on the shoulder, holding a pipe comes to the mic. There is no sign of Dr. DAG. He’s gone off to Dog Hobble to that expensive restaurant only a few residents and the tourists can afford.

The old professor takes the mic as the group hums on. He speaks:

I’ll tell you what I want.  Huh, come to think of it, what, exactly, do I want?  I used to want to be published in exclusive journals, solicited to speak at prestigious conferences, overseas…in Europe…in Paris, all expenses paid.  I wanted to be so valuable to the college I could thumb my nose at the presidents and VPs and deans and especially department chairs like Dr. C. J. Hamilton, who just had to lord over me his award-winning dissertation, the title of which he doesn’t let anyone forget– The Reawakening of Chartism and the Writings of Thomas Carlylse in the Post-Victorian/Pre-Edwardian Epoch.

Do you know what he said when I told him that I had my students all meet me at that great vegan restaurant in Asheville?  He said it was stupid! Yeah. My innovative idea!  A lot better than sitting around on a bunch of hard chairs in straight little rows listening to Dr. Hamilton drone on and on about Sartor Resartus and Queen Victoria’s increasing seclusion and her fat son’s sickening perversions.

 My idea was great!  We had a good meal, raised a few organic brews, and it was off to search for the famous O’Henry plaque embedded in the sidewalk near the cafe. We found it. I didn’t tell them that when O’Henry came to Asheville, he was a penniless drunk.  How could I tell a group of 20-somethings in a creative writing class that I knew all their dreams would come to nothing?

But then we all drove together over to the Grove Park Inn to find the F. Scott Fitzgerald room.  They all wanted to see the place where Fitzgerald didn’t write while he waited for Zelda to slowly lose her mind.  We found the room, but I think we had all underestimated the effect of that many beers, organic or not, on our critical thinking skills. We had a hard time finding the room, and when we did and got in there… How did we get in there?

The concierge wasn’t too happy that we barged in on those German tourists.  At least one of them was German because I recognized certain select vernacular.  Anyway, before the burly one threw us out, I did get a glimpse around the room, a nice room, but ordinary, nothing special about it at all really. I mean why should there be?  Fitzgerald just sat there, day in and day out, not writing and drinking himself into mind- numbing oblivion. On second thought, although I can’t tell you what I want, I can tell you what I don’t want.  I don’t want to do this anymore. 

Then the others joined him in the rousing chorus.

CHORUS

WORKIN’ DOWN AT THE DIPLOMA MILL

LOOKIN’ FOR SOME BRAIN CELLS TO KILL

WE NEVER MEANT IT TO BE THIS WAY

BUT WE GOT NOTHIN’ LEFT TO SAY

DOWN AT THE DIPLOMA MILL

The old professor sings

WHY DID I SPEND THAT MONEY TO BE A DOCTOR

WHEN ALL THEY REALLY WANT IS A PROCTOR?

WHY BOTHER CALLING ME A TEACHER

WHEN I’M JUST A FACILITATOR

FESTERING IN THIS STINKING DIPLOMA MILL?

SO, I DON’T EVEN WANT TO TRY

THE STUDENTS SAY MY CLASS IS TOO BORING

TOO MUCH GRAMMAR OR LIT STARTS THEM SNORING

I NEED TO TRY TO ASK THE GOOD QUESTIONS

NOW I CAN ONLY HIDE MY FRUSTRATION

IT’S ALL I CAN DO TO KEEP THEM FROM TEXTING

DOWN AT THE DIPLOMA MILL

And the others join in the final CHORUS

WORKIN’ DOWN AT THE DIPLOMA MILL

LOOKIN’ FOR SOME BRAIN CELLS TO KILL

WE NEVER MEANT IT TO BE THIS WAY

BUT WE GOT NOTHIN’ LEFT TO SAY

DOWN AT THE DIPLOMA MILL

Teaching Again

All they did was ask me to do a 15-minute devotional at my church’s drama camp, 3rd-8th graders and young high school and college-aged counselors, but I felt like I was back in the classroom again. The camp leader said I should talk about perseverance and use our verse for the week–James 1: 2-4.

2 Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters,[ a] whenever you face trials of many kinds, 3 because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. 4 Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.

I was ridiculously excited to put together this little lesson. Just like in the old days, I tried to consider my audience–a wide range of ages, more girls than boys, artsy theater kids, not easy to engage–a challenge. Yes!

The first think I did was choose a PowerPoint theme with some interesting graphics and give my talk a title. I chose a presentation template called Pheasant and called it “If at first you don’t succeed.” I know what you’re thinking, PowerPoint is so passe, how can that engage? What a corny title, how will that grab kids’ attention? I didn’t know how. I just went with my gut–just like in the old days.

First thing good teachers do is review, right? So, I reviewed the verse, emphasizing how perseverance helps us grow. Then, as an example, I did research on some young actors who went through adversity before they made their breakthroughs and settled on Millie Bobby Brown, who started trying to get commercials and roles at a very young age. She and her family were about to give up when she got the role of Eleven in the hit Netflix series Stranger Things, for which she won a Screen Actors Guild Award. My thinking was that trying to get roles and failing would resonate with kids who the day before had auditioned for the little plays we would do at the end of the week. Not all of them received the roles they had set their hearts own. My strategy worked. This rowdy bunch of kids were quiet, listening, engaged.

Next came the question for the audience: Have you ever failed at something? Raise your hand. Many of them raised their hands? Give me one word to describe how you felt? The answers came–sad, depressed, bad, heart-broken, mad. Just as in my classrooms before, I wanted my talk to be interactive. I continued to ask questions of the group as we proceeded.

The camp leader had asked me to share a little about my background as a playwright and writer, so in this context, I decided to share about my failures–how in 40 years of working to be published I had about 30 short stories published and four plays produced at a community college. If that sounds like a lot, I said, it isn’t. After about ten years I quit counting my rejections. I had reached 200 by then and since then had had hundreds more.

By this time, I could have heard a pin drop. I had them! I told them that none of that mattered. That success as a writer, an actor, a musician, is in the doing. I told them that I express my heart through my writing and need to write. I can’t not write, I told them. The striving and the working to become better and better makes the tangible successes that much sweeter.

Now was time for the pièce de résistance

I showed a short video of when Heather Dorniden, now Kampf, raced in the 600m, fell flat on her face, got up and came back to win the race. This part of the talk especially seemed to speak to the older girls; some of them were athletes, some had seen the clip before. But all the kids were mesmerized. You can see the race for yourself:

I had done some further research on Kampf and found an interview where she explained in more detail about the race and some of her experiences, good and bad, that happened in her running career after that incredible race. When I explained Heather’s background and the victories and hardships throughout her career, the point was made. The last slide read:

I don’t know if those drama campers will remember my talk, but I will never forget how this old, retired teacher felt that familiar fire as I looked into those young faces and could see hope and inspiration there. No, I don’t want to go back to grading endless comparison essays in overcrowded online classes or deal with all the bureaucratic and political crap I had to put up with over the years, but I sure do miss that feeling.

It was good to get it back once again, even if just for fifteen minutes.

Please Don’t Be a Helicopter Parent!

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Twelve years ago, when my husband John and I took our daughter to freshman orientation at Converse College, then an all-women’s college, now a co-ed university, the administration, very wisely, oriented the parents as well as the students, together and in separate groups. When parents met with faculty, staff, and administrators, the first item on the agenda was viewing a little animated film about “helicopter” parents, you know, the ones who are overly involved in the lives of their children. These parents tend to be overprotective and cloyingly attentive, often micromanaging their children’s activities and decisions.

The video was followed by some tips for avoiding helicopter parenting. “Try,” said one administrator tentatively, “not calling or texting your daughter for the first week and limit contact after that.” I felt the collective gasp by the parents in the room. Even though, as an English instructor, I had been on the other end of helicopter parenting for many years, I felt a little quake in my heart. A week is a long time when I am used to talking with my kid almost every day, I thought. I like my kid. I want to talk to her.

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But I knew the administrator was right. My daughter needed time to figure out things for herself, to feel the power of making her own decisions, good or bad, and the learning experiences that brings. To deny her that might satisfy me and keep me from worrying and empower me as the one she ran to with all of her questions–me, me, me–but that wouldn’t help her. So, as hard as it was, we kept our distance during that orientation week and thereafter. And guess what? She did just fine without us. SHE did more than fine, actually, even though she had to navigate some pretty rough waters, including loneliness, anxiety, and heartbreak, she also gained insight into herself, conquered some of her fears, and learned how to persist through it all.

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Of course, we were still active in her life. We were fortunate enough to live close and were able to attend her recitals and other activities. I loved getting to hear her sing in choirs as well as operas and even watched her fence! She came home for special occasions, and we would go visit, often eating at her favorite place, the Monsoon Noodle House. We didn’t abandon her. When she needed help, she asked for it, and we helped her, but she rarely asked. She liked making it on her own, and we loved watching her mature.

If you are parents of college students, don’t miss out on the wonderful opportunities they have to grow by being too involved. Please! Stay out of their classrooms, leave their professors alone, let them fight their own battles, or not, and let them learn to solve their own problems. Not every obstacle should be removed. Not every path should be made smooth. If you have learned to listen to your children, you will know when you must step in to protect them. It’s scary, but it’s necessary.

And it’s normal.

Herein lies the problem of helicopter parenting, I think. It seems to have become much too common for parents to blame a child’s educational institution for normal human development. Simply put, your adult children, whether they go straight into the workforce or choose college, are going to be different than you imagined they would be. If you are one religion, they may choose another or at least a different denomination. Perhaps they will choose no religion at all. They will likely have a different lifestyle, outlook, or political ideology. This is natural.

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It is also normal that loving parents will be concerned if they watch their children take different paths than they had desired for them, especially if they turn away from the belief system in which they were raised. However, I have seen students time and time again turn away from their parents and their values only to turn back again as they moved through the rebellious period of youth. That’s natural, too.

What isn’t natural and is inevitably harmful to students is when parents and some in society blame educational institutions, especially instructors and professors, for “indoctrinating” students one way or the other. Don’t misunderstand me. I know that there are many valid concerns about some educational institutions that stifle certain points of view or claim inclusion but only for certain races, religions, and ideologies. That is an argument for another day.

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What I’m saying is much more basic than that. Increasingly, instructors and professors face interference and even harassment by parents who wish to micromanage their offspring’s education. For example, it is common for parents to not only question course grades but also grades for individual assignments, not just failing grades either. Some parents, especially those of younger, dual enrolled or early college students will demand that their child get an A instead of a B and claim, with no evidence, some wrongdoing by the teacher as a basis for their complaint. Sometimes, parents will question material that has long been part of an instructor’s curriculum, calling it “woke” or claiming that it violates their family’s beliefs. I know of one faculty member who was reprimanded for doing something that some parent told some board member who told someone high in the administration. The faculty member never found out what she said or did but was accused and now has a reprimand on her permanent record.

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Educational institutions should value all students and be inclusive of all, no matter their race, religion, gender, or ideology, but if any student has an issue with an instructor or professor, that student should be the one to approach the faculty member, not a parent, regardless of the student’s age. At the college level, parents have important support roles, but the day to day, course to course, grade to grade issues should be up to the students and their teachers. Furthermore, barring serious ethical concerns, the teacher should remain the primary authority in the classroom for the sake of all students’ healthy intellectual and emotional growth–the goal of any college education.

The Dramatists Guild Foundation and Me

The Dramatists Guild Foundation won a TONY!

Why do I care?

The Foundation is now an independent organization but was an arm of the Dramatists Guild of America, which I have been a member of since 2006 when I applied. I submitted my one-act play Green Room, a social satire that takes place in the green room of a sleazy talk show. The play had been produced at Blue Ridge Community College in Flat Rock, North Carolina, where I taught for 27 years and from where I retired Aug 1 of last year.

The Foundation continues to strongly support Dramatists Guild members, and I receive regular communications from both groups. Towards the end of my final year of teaching, the Foundation announced it was offering, for the first time, a national virtual fellowship for Dramatists Guild members living outside of the New York area. Being accepted was indeed a long shot, but with the help of my theater friend and mentor at the college, who had directed all of the four plays I had produced there, I decided to apply.

I submitted sample pages and music from my play A Carolina Story, applying for a position as a musical theater fellow. The play, a re-telling of the Story of Job set in Western North Carolina during the depression, had been produced at Blue Ridge about ten years ago, but I have long wanted to revise and revive it. I also thought it was the best fit for the national fellows program as it represents Appalachia and its unique often misrepresented culture. Quite a few months went by, my retirement began, and I thought nothing more about the fellowship. Then, in November I found out I was a finalist, by December, I was in!

Since January, the fellows from all over the country have been meeting for two-hour workshops as well as critiquing each other’s work and encouraging each other. I have exchanged my play with four talented playwrights so far, learning so much from just reading their works, but also getting invaluable feedback about my play. Best of all is being around people who are so different but are united by the love of words and the theater.

Being a fellow has put me back in the position of a student but has also allowed me to use the teaching skills I worked so hard to develop as a college instructor, especially when giving feedback to the other fellows. Discussing my work with other professional playwrights was at first intimidating; I thought I was out of my league, but now I realize that although my play needs improvement, it holds its own. It has promise.

I am honored to be a part of the Dramatists Guild Foundation’s inaugural 2024-2025 National Virtual Fellowship program and congratulate the Foundation on receiving its well-deserved TONY!

Distractions

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We suffer from distractions. It’s not only the high tech, although that is definitely a problem – our phones and computers and endless entertainment sources and open AI and, and, and. More than anything else, we are distracted by our concerns. No, our worries. Perhaps it makes us feel virtuous to worry, to endlessly bemoan the failings of others and how they are leading us all down the path that leads to destruction. After all, if we can distract ourselves with how the world is going to hell in a handbasket, maybe we won’t have to look into our own souls and search for the true sources of our problems.

Lord knows I’m guilty. If I worry enough about how this current election will affect education and talk about it enough with friends, then I can distract from the fact that I promised myself I would finish my teaching memoir this first year of my retirement and that I would work diligently on making the most use of the Virtual Playwriting Fellowship the Dramatists Guild Foundation awarded me.

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Of course, I don’t call it worrying; I am “concerned,” so my worry becomes something good, right? My other distractions, including social media, are being used, I tell myself, to help raise awareness and guide people toward good things. And it is good if I stay focused, but if I’m honest, I don’t. I start out with those good intentions and slip on down the road to you know where.

In Book XII of C. S. Lewis’s great satiric epistolary novel, The Screwtape Letters, the uncle demon Screwtape advises his nephew Wormwood about the value of distractions to keep the new Christian, no longer in danger of the fires of hell, from being too effective.

He says:

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You can make him waste his time not only in conversation he enjoys with people whom he likes, but in conversations with those he cares nothing about on subjects that bore him. You can make him do nothing at all for long periods. You can keep him up late at night, not roistering, but staring at a dead fire in a cold room. All the healthy and outgoing activities which we want him to avoid can be inhibited and nothing given in return, so that at last he may say, as one of my own patients said on his arrival down here, “I now see that I spent most of my life in doing neither what I ought nor what I liked”. The Christians describe the Enemy as one “without whom Nothing is strong”. And Nothing is very strong: strong enough to steal away a man’s best years not in sweet sins but in a dreary flickering of the mind over it knows not what and knows not why, in the gratification of curiosities so feeble that the man is only half aware of them, in drumming of fingers and kicking of heels, in whistling tunes that he does not like, or in the long, dim labyrinth of reveries that have not even lust or ambition to give them a relish, but which, once chance association has started them, the creature is too weak and fuddled to shake off.

You will say that these are very small sins; and doubtless, like all young tempters, you are anxious to be able to report spectacular wickedness. But do remember, the only thing that matters is the extent to which you separate the man from the Enemy. It does not matter how small the sins are provided that their cumulative effect is to edge the man away from the Light and out into the Nothing. Murder is no better than cards if cards can do the trick. Indeed the safest road to Hell is the gradual one—the gentle slope, soft underfoot, without sudden turnings, without milestones, without signposts,

So, whether it be pleasure or worry that distracts us, in the end all that will matter is that we have not acted as we should have or wanted to. It is right that we be concerned about extremist candidates running for state superintendent, about school board meetings becoming violent, about indoctrination coming from the right or left, about unwarranted censorship or the lack thereof, but it is wrong of us to see problems where there aren’t any or to let our fears and worries distract us from what you (talking to teachers now) are supposed to do–TEACH.

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Until the last two years of my teaching, I worried constantly about ambiguous mandates coming down from the administration. Often, they didn’t apply to me but nevertheless distracted from my teaching. I would get upset, argue, discuss whatever it was endlessly with my colleagues in their offices. The thing is I didn’t need to worry because most people in the administration were simply passing on what had been mandated to them, having little hope that, for example, yet another restructuring of developmental education would fix the problems that the previous restructuring just a few years before had not fixed or made worse.

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All my “concern” did not help me teach those developmental classes effectively. The only thing that helped was buckling down and embracing any sound ideas and finding ways around the silliness, or simply ignoring it. For example, when the state mandated that instructors should not use fiction or essays written in first-person to teach reading and writing, I was flabbergasted, ready to fight this nonsense tooth and nail at the conference I went to explaining the new curriculum. However, low and behold, almost every session at the conference included sample readings that were either essays written in fir st person or fiction. These teachers were fantastic, and their lesson ideas were great. I adopted some of them. No one seemed to notice these teachers were ignoring the mandate, including the people who had cobbled together the new curriculum. I didn’t have to fight.

Now that I’m retired, I can see that I wasted a lot of time and caused myself undo stress by allowing myself to be distracted by administrative bloat and broad, ambiguous criticism. All I can do now is say to young educators, please don’t be like me: don’t turn your teaching world upside down with every pedagogical or andragogical wind that blows. It’s not worth it. Pick out the good ideas and incorporate them, change when you need to, learn new technical skills that enhance your teaching, use old ideas that have worked for you before, and trust yourself.

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Teaching is a craft. You should always be open to improving it; however, teaching is also an art, most successful when it is creative and engaging, when it takes risks, when it moves onto the fringes and beckons students into the glorious realm of ideas.

Baby Brother

As a much older, bossy sister, it is hard to admit that my baby brother has been such an influential teacher to me for half a century. But, the past few weeks, as he has endured serious health issues, including emergency open heart surgery, I have been reminded of some of the strengths he’s demonstrated time and time again, including adaptability, persistence, and most of all, resilience.

My brother hasn’t chosen the easiest path to make a living: he breeds and trains working German shepherds. He started the business when he was still in undergraduate school at Auburn University and grew it through many years of struggle as he was working on his master’s in liberal arts at Auburn University-Montgomery. While there, he focused on media and computer studies that have all been helpful in conducting his business, which included creating and maintaining his website: Schwarzerhund.com. His dogs are some of the most intelligent, powerful, and beautiful creatures you will ever have the privilege to meet.

My brother is no stranger to adversity. On April 27, 2011, less than two weeks after the death of our sister Ronda and the evening of the day he defended his master’s thesis, Rob’s trailer, right next to my parents’ house, was destroyed by one of the EF-4 tornados to strike Alabama during the historic super tornado outbreak that year.

What was left of the trailer after the tornado–photo by Katie Winkler

Around 10:00 pm, my brother had fallen asleep in front of the television and did not hear the news of the approaching tornado. He did, however, hear the tell-tale sounds of wind rushing like a locomotive bearing down on his vulnerable home. He and the young German shepherd he was caring for sprinted across the lawn to my parents’ house. My mother, also unaware of the approaching tornado, had just locked the door when Rob started pounding on it, yelling, “Mom, you’ve got to let me in or I’m going to die.”

He made it inside, but as soon as my mother closed the door behind him, the tornado struck. My brother recalls how they could hear the roof creaking and giving way as half of it was sucked up into the vortex. Somehow, they made it to the hallway, where they met my father, who had mobility issues due to diabetic neuropathy, coming out of his bedroom. They headed to the bathroom and stood huddled in the tub waiting for the storm to pass, which it did shortly after.

They were safe. That was the main thing.

The family home after the tornado

However, the damage was extensive; my brother knew that, but he didn’t have time to fully take stock of everything that happened. Once he made sure my elderly parents were in an undamaged room of the house and safe, he found the house’s insurance information, but of course the phone lines were out, and at that time, cell coverage was spotty at best in that area of Chambers County, one of the poorest in the nation.

So, he called his big sister. At first my husband and I couldn’t hear much, but made out the word tornado, and looked on the Weather Channel’s website to see the news of the huge storm. The radar showed the cells all over Alabama. We were helpless, though, until Rob was able to navigate around all the fallen trees and drive close enough to a town to get cell reception. Because of Rob’s quick thinking, I was one of the first to call and inform the insurance company of the disaster, so my family was able to quickly receive help.

About two months into the rebuilding–June 2011

Rob made a few other essential calls and then headed home. When he drove up to the house, the dog that had followed him from the house across the yard, that he thought was lost in the storm, came running up to him unharmed. She must have been able to get under the house. That was the first of many miracles that kept him going in all the many months following the tornado.

To my credit, I did do my share, helping out as much as I could, especially with my parents by securing a place for them to live while the house was being rebuilt and visiting as often as I could, but it was my brother who adapted his entire life in order to manage the property and his business after the storm. He stayed at the farm, at first sleeping under the carport in a recliner with a shotgun to ward off looters while protecting and caring for his beloved dogs. Of all the dozens of animals he cared for at the time, he didn’t lose any in the storm itself, and only two died as a result of injury and trauma–A miracle that such a powerful storm did not take more lives.

The Family Home Today

To my discredit, however, I did try to play the big sister at one point. I admit that I got pretty bossy and critical during that time, and my little brother finally had enough. He told me, “Katie, you’re going to have to make a decision. You’re either going to have to come down here permanently and run the show, or you’re going to have to trust me to do it.” I learned two valuable lessons that day: Number 1–Little brothers grow up and become men. Number 2–People have to be given a chance to handle things their own way–they have to be trusted.

That last lesson really helped me as an instructor to adult students. I learned that I was actually hurting my students if I gave them too much direction, if I didn’t allow them to discover things on their own, even if they had to experience painful trial and error. That’s the only way we really learn anything. During the years of recovery, my brother made some mistakes, but he pulled through and has brought the farm and his business back from the devastation of the tornado, a credit to his tenacious spirit.

One of Rob’s beautiful puppies.

This last trial that my brother has been through, enduring sextuple heart bypass surgery, has once again proven his persistence and resilience, his ability to adjust and adapt his best laid plans. Also, in the midst of that, he has maintained an optimism that defies his circumstances. He has shown humility and gratitude, allowing medical professionals, friends, and family to enter into his private world and help him. This is easier said than done for an independent introverted bachelor, but he has done it and has grown as a person as he has adapted to his new reality.

I took Rob to his first doctor appointment with his primary physician following the surgery, and his nurse read from the cardiac ICU report. It said, “Robert Whitlock is a 54-year-old male and a very nice man.” An understatement. He’s also the best little brother anybody could ask for.

And he’s not a bad teacher either.

Print copies of 2024 spring~summer edition of Teach. Write. available for purchase

You can order print copies of the 2024 Spring~Summer edition of Teach. Write. at Lulu.com. Here is the link. If you are interested in submitting to the journal for the 2025 Fall~Winter edition, please go to teachwritejournal.com to see the submission guidelines.

photo of pile of papers
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The publication of the print copy is always great, but one more exciting thing is coming up that some of you might be interested in, especially if you live in North Carolina. I’m going to be a guest editor at the North Carolina Writers’ Network spring conference. I will be one of the “Slush Pile LIve” panelist. I was honored that they asked me, and you can be sure that I will take copies of this most recent edition!

Here is more info if you are interested: Full Schedule with Descriptions | North Carolina Writers’ Network (ncwriters.org)

The new edition of Teach. Write. is Here!

March came and went without me posting, but it wasn’t like I was just sitting around! No, I was spending every waking moment working on the new edition of Teach. Write. And taking walks with friends and playing with my not so little kitten. Going to Alabama to help take care of my mother. Working on my play as a Dramatists Guild Foundation National Fellow And spending ten glorious days in Germany to celebrate our 35th anniversary and my brother’s retirement.

Yes, Katie’s been busy NOT teaching. Without the pressures of preparing lessons and grading essays, I was actually able to take my time and truly enjoy the editing process. I’m happy with the results; hope you will be, also.

So, head on over to teachwritejournal.com and have a look!

Education should begin with education

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I’ve probably written this in a post before, but it bears repeating. One of the best teaching professors I ever had said, “The goal of any good teacher is to become increasingly unimportant.” To me, that meant teachers are successful when they help students learn how to be independent, critical thinkers–self-starters who can be trusted to troubleshoot and problem solve yet still ask for assistance when needed–people who aren’t afraid of a challenge or obstacles or even failure. My goal was to give my students tools to meet those challenges and overcome obstacles, to learn from failure and become resilient. I wanted to equip students for all of life, not just work.

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But here in North Carolina and elsewhere in our country, education has become more of a means to an end. The general attitude seems to be “get those general ed classes out of the way” (I heard that ALL the time). They seemed to say to me, “Those classes, especially English and math, are just annoying steps a person must take to be pumped into “the pipeline” and “enter the workforce.” Gaining an education that helps people live better lives, no matter what they do for a living, or if they choose to stay home and raise children or pursue their art, has been replaced with training for a particular, specific field with a goal of employment, not life-changing education.

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So many of the intangibles that occur when students are truly engaged in an educational experience are lost when the emphasis is on training for local, narrowly focused workforce development based on current trends that will shift and change with every economic bubble that bursts. In the last few years of my teaching, I yearned for the days when so many of my students actually enjoyed going to school, who relished simply learning something they never knew about before. They built relationships with their classmates, studied and ate meals together, listened to music, played video games between classes and had spirited discussions in and outside of the classroom. I remember the days when students would work together, pouring hours of work into extra-curricular activities like producing a play, some of them spending hours in rehearsal on top of all of their classes and after school jobs, but they did it because they wanted to–they had a passion for it, even if they had other long-term vocational plans.

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There was a time at the college where I taught when all students in the college transfer program were required to take a literature class. There they had a chance to stretch themselves by reading complex texts that are at the foundation of not only ours but the world’s culture and government. Now, a student can get either an Associate of Science or even an Associate of Arts degree without having to take a literature course at all. How can that be?

In addition, more and more in our community colleges, three disturbing trends have taken hold–asynchronous online learning for developmental English students, high school students earning high school and college English credit for the same college-level class, and so-called accelerated classes. I helped to develop some of these courses and taught them, so you would think that I would be a proponent, but in my defense, I was misled in all of these cases into thinking the situations were temporary or that only advanced students would be taking these classes. I feel like a fool. That’s an understatement.

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I am mortified.

In my and the college’s defense, the developmental co-requisite English class that I had developed, which was part of North Carolina’s third iteration of developmental education in less than a decade, was not intended to be an online program. The plan was that all developmental classes be taught in the classroom. Then, in March of 2020, when we were soon to roll out our new co-requisite English classes, the pandemic hit. All classes, including the co-requisite English courses, were forced to go online.

It didn’t go well.

Come back soon and I’ll explain.

Why Certify K-12 Teachers?

In North Carolina, as in many other states, those who teach in kindergarten through twelfth grade are required to meet certain qualifications to teach in the public schools. Being a certified teacher means

  • Receiving a bachelor’s degree, including certain courses in education, depending on the institution. Appalachian State University, for example, requires 44 credit hours of general education for its English Education (secondary) degree, plus 24 hours of education courses, including
  • Completing, in addition, three credit hours of a foreign language, and of course, to teach English a student teacher must have a significant number of courses in the subject area, 43 credit hours, including six hours of British literature, six hours of American literature, six hours of world literature, three hours of Shakespeare, three hours of literary criticism, genre studies, or creative writing, nineteen hours in language, writing, and pedagogy, as well as two cognate courses, Psychology Applied to Teaching and Reading Instruction in the Senior High School, for a total of 120 credit hours. All of these courses require a C or better to count towards the degree. The average cost of a degree at App State is close to $48,000.
  • Passing two national standardized tests including the Praxis Core Academic Skills Test (required to enter most education programs) and the Praxis II test for every subject area to be certified. These tests are administered by the very large, supposedly non-profit Educational Testing Service (ETS), which has been widely criticized for the monopoly it holds on testing for teachers and students and for its continued non-profit status despite its huge profit margin (OlixAlex) Potential teachers pay out of pocket $90 to $210 for each exam.
  • Maintaining Licensure is also required. Every five years North Carolina English teachers must have completed either eight Continuing Education Units (CEUs) or 80 clock hours of professional development to maintain their certification. Most teachers pay for CEUs out of pocket.

Question for the North Carolina Public School System:

Why does North Carolina require certification for K-12 teachers when there are two major groups of non-certified teachers, not counting private school teachers, who can teach freely in North Carolina but are not required to have the same qualifications as K-12 public school teachers?

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The first group I will discuss is parents. Here are the requirements to teach children between seven and sixteen in a North Carolina homeschool, according to the North Carolina Department of Non-Public Education Homeschool Handbook:

  • A high school diploma or its equivalency, no minimum GPA is mentioned.
  • A notice of intent to operate a homeschool
  • Operation under either Part 1 or Part 2 of Article 39 of the G.S. 115C as a religious or
    non-religious school
  • Operation of the school on a regular schedule for at least nine calendar months, excluding
    reasonable holidays and vacations. Who checks this?
  • School disease immunization and annual attendance records for each student, although the parent is the one maintaining these records and there’s little oversight
  • Administration of a nationally standardized achievement test administered annually to each student. Parents get to choose which test from a recommended list, and not all of these exams require a proctor. There is no minimum score required.
  • Notification to DNPE when the school is no longer in operation

That’s it, folks! Oh, the state encourages those who homeschool to talk to professional educators from time to time, but this, of course, is voluntary, because, I mean, what do those certified teachers know?

The other group that is not required to achieve and maintain certification is community college instructors teaching dual-enrolled students. I was a relatively rare community college instructor who had taught at the high school level and been certified to teach grades 6-12. At one time or another I was certified to teach English and German in Alabama, Georgia, Ohio, Colorado, and North Carolina. Although instructors must have a minimum of a master’s degree in their subject area, few of them have had education courses or have studied adolescent psychology and classroom management because most of them never dreamed, not older faculty anyway, that they would be forced to teach 14-, 15-, and 16-year-old high school students.

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And yet, more and more, not only are community college faculty expected to teach high school students within their classes on campus, but also online classes, and even in the high school itself. That’s right. More and more full-time college instructors are expected to leave the college campus and go to the high school to teach high school students exclusively, regardless of their level of training, experience, and comfort working with large groups of young teenagers in a high school environment. Believe me, teenagers in groups can be intimidating and even cruel. Not everyone can handle it. I couldn’t.

That’s one of the reasons I left teaching high school and got a job at a community college where I was happy until I was forced to teach large groups of young teenagers again. I retired early for a lot of reasons: teaching more and more high school students who were not prepared academically or emotionally for college-level work was one of the big ones. Don’t even get me started on the pressure from parents and administrators to lower academic standards for high school students.

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One-on-one or in groups of two or three, I did just fine, they did just fine, especially if the parents allowed the students to navigate the course as a college student should, without interfering. I love teaching teenagers under those circumstances. However, I know my strengths, and teaching groups of teenagers is not one of them. Dealing with parents, no matter how well-intentioned, is also not one of my fortes. However, it didn’t matter how many times I talked to the administration about how faculty were more and more frustrated with teaching high schoolers in large numbers and having to go to the high school to teach. Because the college is making money, because high schools and parents are saving money, this dubious educational process continues. In the end, it’s the high school students who lose sometimes two years of life experience they could have had learning to be independent thinkers if society would only think about the students first and find better ways to lower the costs of higher education.

Do you see what the problem is? It’s the incongruity. The state puts so much emphasis on testing and licensure, so much seeming concern about the qualifications it has for teacher education. “We only want the best, fully vetted teachers for our kids,” they opine. Except when it’s politically or socially inconvenient for the powers that be to have standards and fully vet the teachers. Or fully pay them.

Side Note: Of course, certification isn’t the answer either. Little supervision happens with any licensure program because it’s mostly bureaucratic hoops to jump through to provide data so politicians, school administrators, and the public can pretend they care about the quality of instruction. In reality, very few people truly care about the quality of education students receive, says the cynical retired community college instructor.

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I can see the political gears turning: “Oh, I know, more people are mad at the schools and teachers than ever. They think their kids are being indoctrinated, so let’s take money away from the public schools that require teacher certification and give it to parents so they can start homeschools that have few standards, where the “teacher” only has to have a high school diploma or equivalent and the students have no minimum score to reach on a yearly national exam that may or may not have an outside proctor to administer it.”

And then there are the dual enrollment programs, Career and College Promise in North Carolina, Again, because it’s convenient and saves money, got to save the money even if it is bad for education, let’s just throw our oh so important teacher education courses out the window and toss our unprepared college instructors into the high school classroom, those who never planned to teach high school and often resent having to teach an age group that they may not have the aptitude, or attitude, to teach.

Oh, we’re so worried about those big bad liberal high school teachers out there that we want to pull our kids out of the public school and homeschool them, but by golly, if I’m gonna save some bucks on the kid’s college education, then let the indoctrination by those free-wheelin’, gender pronoun talkin’ professors begin.

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Or not.

“If I don’t want my 15-year-old kid, who is going to bypass her first two years of real college, reading To Kill a Mockingbird, then I’ll just march down to that college and complain to the president.” Or “I don’t want my child feeling bad about slavery, so I’m just going to ask the professor not to make my baby read that slave narrative. The teacher just has to give him an alternate assignment. I mean, we just skipped all the history and literature that made us feel icky when we homeschooled him, and he still graduated.”

Of course, he did. Aren’t you so proud? Let’s just see how everything pans out when your baby wants to become a teacher (you should talk him out of it) and has to pay for and take the Praxis I exam and pass with a minimum score in order to get into the education program. Of course, I hear there are lots of Praxis prep courses he can take, only $399–a steal.

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