I think I can accurately classify myself, in regard to Pink's six different types of people, as a shining example of "STORY."
A recent example will explain my conclusion better than anything else.
I do most of my thinking, the serious kind where I plan papers, make lists for what I have to do, think about weighty philosophical questions, and basically organize my life, in the car. Driving to Cortland for classes and workshops, driving to Vestal for work and (gasp) shopping allocates just enough time for me to think about everything.
Last night on the way home in the snow (which conspicuously stopped after Richford...to find this town think small, and then discover that Rockafeller was born there), I was thinking about one of three courses I'm planning on teaching with Jacqueline in January: short stories. There are just some stories, themes, moments, ideas, that truly stick out in my memory, and planning on which stories to teach, I knew I needed to access years of college material, both in literature classes and in creative writing. I think I remember the creative writing stories better because we were always mimicking form and style, but that's a whole other story.
I came up with quite a few stories from college study, and it seemed that one story I LOVED eluded my grasp. I very distinctly remember it being about an Irish sniper who takes aim to kill an enemy over rooftops in Dublin, shoots the man, and discovers it is his brother he has killed. Not bad of a synopsis. I even recall something of the author's name...Liam Flaherty. The story, of course, I remembered the name "The Sniper." Just to make sure, when I got home, I looked up the story and the author. The only thing I
didn't remember was the "O" in the author's last name (O'Flaherty). I was very proud of myself.
And then, it came to me...this story had been stuck in my memory for much longer than my stay at Binghamton. We read this story (only once) in high school. NINTH GRADE, to be specific. I guess the whole point of this brief story is to show how, as a linguistic learner and student of literature (even before I knew that's what I was), literature had a hold on me, and I guess it just keeps on holding, even past a span of 10 years. I shared this with my husband last night, and we were (honestly) fascinated by the idea. Of course, there are stories and books that I've read, and can only vaguely remember, but it is the ones that hold emotional ties or represent my own fascination with the idea of "story" that stick with me.
I thought sharing this revelation poingant, since we are all going to be teaching "English." I think that teaching is an amazing endeavor. Even when preparing lessons and content, I am still learning...not only about the subject, but about my own intricate relationship with the written word.
It's a little scary to think how much literature my mind holds on to (images, ideas, characters), refusing to let go...what is it that you have held on to from literature that makes you strive to be a passionate teacher?
A recent example will explain my conclusion better than anything else.
I do most of my thinking, the serious kind where I plan papers, make lists for what I have to do, think about weighty philosophical questions, and basically organize my life, in the car. Driving to Cortland for classes and workshops, driving to Vestal for work and (gasp) shopping allocates just enough time for me to think about everything.
Last night on the way home in the snow (which conspicuously stopped after Richford...to find this town think small, and then discover that Rockafeller was born there), I was thinking about one of three courses I'm planning on teaching with Jacqueline in January: short stories. There are just some stories, themes, moments, ideas, that truly stick out in my memory, and planning on which stories to teach, I knew I needed to access years of college material, both in literature classes and in creative writing. I think I remember the creative writing stories better because we were always mimicking form and style, but that's a whole other story.
I came up with quite a few stories from college study, and it seemed that one story I LOVED eluded my grasp. I very distinctly remember it being about an Irish sniper who takes aim to kill an enemy over rooftops in Dublin, shoots the man, and discovers it is his brother he has killed. Not bad of a synopsis. I even recall something of the author's name...Liam Flaherty. The story, of course, I remembered the name "The Sniper." Just to make sure, when I got home, I looked up the story and the author. The only thing I
didn't remember was the "O" in the author's last name (O'Flaherty). I was very proud of myself.And then, it came to me...this story had been stuck in my memory for much longer than my stay at Binghamton. We read this story (only once) in high school. NINTH GRADE, to be specific. I guess the whole point of this brief story is to show how, as a linguistic learner and student of literature (even before I knew that's what I was), literature had a hold on me, and I guess it just keeps on holding, even past a span of 10 years. I shared this with my husband last night, and we were (honestly) fascinated by the idea. Of course, there are stories and books that I've read, and can only vaguely remember, but it is the ones that hold emotional ties or represent my own fascination with the idea of "story" that stick with me.
I thought sharing this revelation poingant, since we are all going to be teaching "English." I think that teaching is an amazing endeavor. Even when preparing lessons and content, I am still learning...not only about the subject, but about my own intricate relationship with the written word.
It's a little scary to think how much literature my mind holds on to (images, ideas, characters), refusing to let go...what is it that you have held on to from literature that makes you strive to be a passionate teacher?
3 comments:
To answer your last question--story--of course.
Pink says we lead storied lives which of course is true...we invent those lives in and through story. Our classrooms are storied--interestingly, one of my favorite ed philosophers (Foundations!), P. Freire, says education suffers from "narration sickness."
What he means by that is in a traditional classroom the teacher is the storyteller, the "narrating subject"--and the students the passive audience or the "objects" of the teacher's narration. If you're unfamiliar with Freire, start with ch. 2 of "Pedagogy of the Oppressed." Very much worth reading...and blogging about.
Freire is one of those minds that shaped my evolving classroom over years...
Hooked on plot here, Karen
I would like to have the chance to live a thousand different lives. But it's not possible. Growing up, most of us experience one distinct childhood, one dominant culture. We cannot live in Japan and in Argentina or in Paris and London. We have a very limited set of experiences. That is why I depend on literature, why language and creativity excite me, and why I choose to define fiction as the truth of imagination.
Reading and writing allow me to understand my own experiences while giving me the opportunity to partake of other's imaginations.
I must say that when I was younger, I was so intensely involved with stories; more so than I am now. I could vicariously be the people I was reading about who were so much "cooler" than me. Now I've moved beyond mere pleasure of story and read them differently. I'm not sure if I like this or not... Plus, without over analyzing my love of literature, I simply love stories. It's really an art to be able to tell one. My favorites were the dark ones: Poe's short stories, The Lottery by Shirley Jackson, The Most Dangerous Game. It's always fascinated me to be able to explore the dark side of humanity. It's all about shared knowledge/experience.
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