Five times. Yes, I admit it: I took College Algebra five times. Of course, I dropped three times out of the five attempts: dropped on the last drop date possible because I kept trudging along hoping against hope that something would click. It didn't. The fifth time I took College Algebra, I was largely pregnant, and spent the entire semester running out of the math classroom with severe morning sickness. I suspect that the math professor gave me a few points for effort. I had never been so proud of a C- in all of my school days. Really.
But that wasn't the end of my math adventures. No indeed. The universe has ways of playing sick jokes on me. With my newly minted PhD degree in Literary and Cultural Studies, I adjunct taught at ITT the summer before I started working full time at a college. I was hired to teach English Composition. However, the assistant dean came to me in a panic. He wanted to know if I could teach Problem Solving and Theory too. When I asked him what that entailed, he said "critical thinking." Imagining something along the lines of the old analytic part of the GRE, I readily agreed. You know, I pictured the farmer had to get the fox, the chicken, and the seeds across the river type of problem. So a week later, the week classes begin, I receive the book. To my chagrin, I realized the bulk of the class focused on math! The course description said it drew from science, psychology, sociology, English, and math. I panicked! How could I teach math?
Fortunately, for me, I married a math whiz. He answers geometry questions on demand without a pencil! Physics and trigonometry are child's play to him. Also, he has a latent talent: teaching math. The night before class, he explained the math concepts to me in such a way that I understood. He answered all the "whys" and "hows" that my other math teachers could not answer. Then, I explained it back to him to see if I understood it on that basic level. My new math abilities were pleasingly surprising -- truly serendipitous even.
The next day, I found myself at the whiteboard with mad math skills. I was working and solving problems from the previous night's homework as if it were natural. When my back was turned to the class, I smiled slyly as I thought how every math teacher I had from the seventh grade onward, every College Algebra professor, would absolutely stand there with dropped jaws if they could just see me then. I wished one of the students would have known how to appreciate what they were witnessing and photographed or recorded it to post it on youtube under "Miracle."
I didn't work all the problems though, because the learning process taught me that I must actually work the problems to understand and remember the steps. So after I modeled a few problems, I turned to the class and demanded volunteers. "Come on," I said, "I'll be here every step of the way helping you out." They eagerly came to the board, worked the problems, and explained them back to the class. We had fun. We connected. I loved teaching math!
No worries, though, your children are safe. I'm not changing careers. However, from that math class, I did learn something about teaching: board work is a productive learning tool. It gives the students a chance to apply the skills I want them to learn. But how can I incorporate board work into my English Composition courses?
I am teaching five sections of English Composition this semester. These students are just fresh out of high school, and many of them have not had a proper introduction to the thesis statement. After teaching the narrative essay and what the thesis statement for their narrative essay should incorporate, I looked out at the class only to see scared faces looking back at me. I was frustrated. I didn't know how I would teach them how to write a proper thesis statement before they turned in a paper. I knew if the thesis statement was not formed correctly, the paper risked running a muck along the regions of the lower lands of the grading scale. Call it PTSD or what, but in that brief moment of bewilderment I flashed back to my math class: board work!
I told them that their homework was to carefully review the narrative essay instructions, re-read the narratives that had already been assigned in order to pick out a thesis statement, then they were to write their thesis statements for their own narratives. "Mandatory! Required! For a Grade," I said, using fragments for emphasizes.
The next class meeting, I brought five colored dry-erase markers. I placed them in the tray of the whiteboard. I turned to the class and said, "The first five volunteers get extra participation points if they come up here and write their thesis statement on the board." There was not a mad rush immediately. They looked around at one another until all eyes eventually landed on the students who had been the most vocal. Feeling the pressure, they reluctantly rose from their seats and slinked toward the whiteboard. They wrote. I had them take their seats.
The thesis statement sample was perfect: most were a mess, but there was one that was nearly exemplary. With a marker in hand, I asked the class to lead me through correcting the grammar errors. Then we examined each and every statement -- weighing them against the characteristics of an effective thesis statement and the assignment's purpose. Together, we revised them until they were correct. We compared the revision against the original, compared the bad against the good, until the students understood what exactly makes an effective thesis statement.
I called for five more volunteers for extra participation points. This time, there was a rush to the board. I do this for every paper now. Eventually, even the quiet students sitting along the wall all semester hoping not to be noticed have gotten up too and have written their thesis statements on the board! Teaching win.
Three writing assignments in, and the students have come to expect this peer-like workshop before each paper is due. They love it. So, I've had to adjust the syllabus slightly. But guess what? The thesis statements are getting better! We are having to revise them less and less. Also, I, along with the rest of the class, have discovered writers among us. There are some students who can use wit and puns to whip up a thesis statement revision on demand. They are a strong asset to the class. But the biggest win is seeing students who initially struggled with forming thesis statements really nail it right. They beam with satisfaction. I beam back with pride.
In addition to teaching the thesis statement, this classroom exercise allows me to teach grammar rules, teach punctuation, and model sentence revision. But most of all, it has helped us bond as a classroom community.
So, I suppose I owe my twelfth grade Algebra teacher an apology when, behind her back, I grumbled to my friends, "When will I ever use this stuff as an English teacher or writer?" Not only have I had to use Algebra since then, but I also have learned from the Algebra classroom technique of putting students at the board in order to learn a concept. I also should go the extra-mile, too, and thank my math teachers for such a useful model.
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