Me and the baby mule deer, figuring it out. Theodore Roosevelt National Park, August 2020.
So last week I started teaching an introductory communication theory class to undergraduates at the University of Portland. I was referred by a friend from grad school, and other than having a recent master's degree in a communication field, the recommendation was enough to land a job as an adjunct professor without an interview or any formal teaching experience.
It's a last minute gig, and in theory it meets everyone's needs: The school needs someone with a communication background to teach the class, and I could use another steady source of income this winter. As well as a challenge! I've never done anything like this, and I figured I could white-knuckle my way through it, with the advice of professor friends, including my college roommate who won an award for her excellence as a teaching professional, and who gave me lots of advice on a syllabus.
But wow, what a scramble! I got hired on a Thursday, and my first class was on a Tuesday. I spent the weekend crafting a syllabus, quickly exceeding the 12 hours I'm supposed to spend each week on this class, according to my salary letter. I didn't have access to university email or the course management system until a few hours before class. I learned from a news report on the radio that the first two weeks would be virtual. I begged for a roster, and I hurriedly sent students an email from my personal account with my personal Zoom connection for the initial class.
This past weekend, I gave myself a crash course in Moodle, the software the university uses to administer courses. I asked the Help Desk if I could set up an appointment to talk things through, and they said nope! "Due to staffing constraints we currently do not have anyone available."
It all seems so haphazard, but maybe it's just the way everything is now. We watch some video tutorials and we ask for advice from our friends, and we muddle our way through it all. We keep a week ahead of our students with the reading. (My sister's advice as an educator.) We figure out a way to get it done well under the conditions that exist, not the ones we wish existed. Agility, always.
Yet I am in a tiny bit over my head. I thought I was teaching an introduction to mass communication – my expertise. But the sample syllabus the school gave me was heavy on communication theory, a different twist on the subject. I'm reading the textbook and all the other material along with my students, remembering things I'd long forgotten, and learning so much I never knew.
Apparently my inexperience came through loud and clear over Zoom. "I am also excited for the fact that you are a new professor at the university and I think that having the feeling that we are all going to be growing this semester together makes it more personal," one student told me, in the 350-word writing assignment I gave them the first day of class. Awww…thank you?
I got scared looks the first class when I told students I don't accept late assignments. Really? some students said. Really, I said. I told them they'll understand why when they read the syllabus. You're learning project management, I told them. We're working toward a long-term outcome by meeting iterative draft deadlines. Plus, I said over and over and over again, it is far better to turn in imperfect work that reflects your progress toward our final goal than nothing at all. (They don't know this yet but I'm an easy grader as long as they turn something in. Gotta scare 'em up front, though, right?) And yes, life happens sometimes, especially in a pandemic. Keep in communication and we can work something out. But don't let me know what's going on? Well, you're fucked. (I didn't use that word, because this is a Catholic university and no one has given me a handbook yet suggesting appropriate classroom decorum.)
Part of the reason they have to turn things in on time is that I'm a journalist. The news, I told them, doesn't start at 5:05. It starts at 5, I said, quoting one of my own college journalism professors. (Oh god, who am I?) But I also don't want to deal with people's excuses all the time. Life is short and my own bullshit is plenty enough. One student told me in his initial writing assignment that his goal for the semester was to "read the room better" and to learn when to stop talking. Yep, I told him, me too.
These kids seem so smart and motivated and self-aware. I nearly wept with the vulnerability many of them expressed in their first assignment. They are all such good writers in their own way, especially the student athletes!
Almost all of them were worried about balancing their course load with my expectations. Many had a really difficult time with online classes in previous pandemic terms, and were disappointed we weren't yet meeting in person. A surprising number told me they wanted to learn skills for having difficult conversations with people who don't share their values. Me too, I told them. One kid told me he was just along for the ride. Yep, I told him. Me too.
We'll all be okay in the end. All 22 of us will know more about communication theory than we did when we started last week. Me especially.
Love,
Erika
P.S. Got a teaching tip to share? Please send it my way! I’m especially interested in accessible curriculum about having difficult conversations.
Deschutes River, November 2021
THE NEWS
All the links…
Hardcore, Alana! I’m still puzzling out how I feel about the central relationship in the film “Licorice Pizza,” but I loved the scene referenced in this piece.
You can’t plan for the future based on the weather of the past. I say that a lot, but this interview about the recent firestorm in Colorado helped me clarify my thinking on climate risk even more.
Certain kinds of stuff attracts more stuff. I’ve seen this also described as “the incomplete upgrade,” when you get something new and have to get other new things to make it work.
Your yoga pant link of the week is that leggings aren’t going away anytime soon.
The gentrification of consciousness is already underway.
Life has deadlines. A bad first draft is better than no first draft. You can’t edit an empty page. Don’t let perfection be the enemy of good. Oft repeated advice to my scientific writers.
So happy for you! You might really enjoy this new experience!