One of the questions on the first day questionnaire asked students to name 2 aspects of writing they are good at, and at least 3 they need to work on. I plan to make a chart and keep track of these things throughout the semester, so that students feel they are improving on whatever they listed as needing improvement. I also plan to give the first day questionnaires back to the students on the last day of class, when I have them complete a final reflection/ review of the class. That way they can assess how much they put into improving whatever they mentioned on day one, and they can think about the ways the class did or didn't match their expectations, in positive or negative ways.
After collecting first day questionnaires, I had students divide into pairs and interview one another. After the interview (15-20 minutes), I had them stand in front of the class and introduce one another. I put a list of questions on the overhead (do they speak any other languages, how many states/ countries they've visited, what they're good at, hobbies/ interests, etc.). My reasons for doing this were: 1) to help them get comfortable speaking to each other and in front of the class, 2) to get to know them a bit more and work on learning their names (I'm bad with names, but knowing names is a sign of respect; it's important to earn students' respect early in the semester), 3) related to two, ice-breakers like this can seem empty, but I think it's important to create an atmosphere of trust and openness. I often think of teaching as being like coaching. A team can have great individual athletes, but if the overall dynamic of the team doesn't gel, they will not achieve success. Obviously teaching is similar in that the dynamic of the class--something hard to pin down--can be relatively set in stone over the first few weeks. It's important to establish expectations, but also to create the right atmosphere.
I'm admittedly not great at that. I spend a lot of time in my own head. I enjoy literature in part because it's an activity that rewards that type of borderline solipsism. Somewhat paradoxically, teaching literature (and writing) requires the exact opposite personality. I continue to work on balancing teaching as a performance (which it always is, and I'm not great at performing) and being the type of casual, laid back person most people seem to enjoy being around.
In my 3 o'clock class, everything I did above took the entire 50 minutes. In the 5 o'clock class (an hour, 15 minutes), I also assigned a "Where I'm From" poem to dovetail into the first essay assignment, the personal narrative. I suppose I did not have to include the personal narrative as an assignment this year, and it barely meets any of the goals/ objectives for Core 101 (new objectives settled on this past semester), but I've taught it for a long time, and I enjoy teaching it because it's more like creative writing than the argumentative essays we write later.
I borrowed the "Where I'm From" poem from George Ella Lyons, an Appalachian poet. It's a fun (I think), easy assignment, in part because there are templates (similar to madlibs) that allow students to just fill in the blanks and create a pretty interesting poem. The goal or objective of the assignment is twofold: one, it helps me and the students classmates get to know each student better; two, it leads into the personal narrative, where using strong verbs and precise description is important. I use the poems to talk about how interesting, specific details that appeal to the senses and describe what is happening instead of merely telling the facts or listing the actions draw readers into the story.
These details help provide the reader with a clear understanding of why an experience is meaningful and help the reader to visualize the experience. Readers may vicariously experience the feelings of the characters (and the narrator) and even feel like they are there. As a result, readers connect with the writer’s personal experience and reactions to it. Or at least that's the hope.
Here's my sample poem (I grew up poor in Fries, VA, a small Appalachian mill town that basically died economically when the mill shut down in the 80's):
Where I’m From
I am from
RC Cola and moon pies.
From the banks of a mountain creek
Threading through
a dark hollow, cold and clear and strong.
I am from morels breaching ground
after spring rains, from the chinquapins
My grandmother gathered
in Dollar General bags.
I am from factory towns and calloused hands,
from Orpha and Ocie.
I am from “life is but a veil of tears”
and “‘til the good lord calls me home.”
I am from a cinderblock church
on a gravel road, a garble of tongues
I never understood.
I’m from the Line-berries and the Burchettes,
Englishmen turned mountain settlers.
I am from creasy greens sprinkled
bacon grease.
from the finger my dad lost
to the drop clipper at Chesnut Creek veneer,
and from the will it took to rise each day
and toil for next to nothing.
I am from the rough-cut cedar chest
in my father’s room (a storehouse
of memories)—a leather belt
imprinted with flowers and my father’s name
that his own father made while in prison, his only gift to his son;
a tattered fragment
of quilt his grandmother stitched by hand;
photo albums filled with faces I never knew,
but are part of my blood.
In one, my great-grandfather stands
In front of an elderberry bush—
A solitary moment that will never come again,
and yet
he stands, hands on hips, neither smiling
nor frowning, eyes straight ahead
as if staring across a gulf of years
to witness who I am becoming
and tell me who I will always be .
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