Hello, ladies and gentlemen. I would like to draw attention to the fact that I only fell asleep once during this reading. For that momentous achievement, I would like to thank my Keurig which diligently worked to keep me conscious. So without further ado, thank you, dearest Keurig. I would not have made it this far in academia without you. I look forward to many more academic battles with you by my side.
All hyperbole aside, this reading was actually not the worst I’ve ever encountered. Parts of it were actually quite thought provoking and intriguing. I just want to hash out a few thoughts I had and figure out if I’m on the right track.

First, Batholomae claims that “teaching students to revise for readers…will better prepare them to write initially with a reader in mind. [This] depends upon the degree to which a writer can imagine and conform to a reader’s goals(8-9).” He goes on to say that students are aware of academic language, but do not have the expertise to use it properly. In my experience, the best way to become comfortable with academic language is to read it. I can mimic an academic tone because I have read many, many “scholarly sources.” Mimicking academic language is like when you watch too much BBC and start thinking/talking with a British accent or when you read a book written in a certain dialect and then start thinking with that slang (I really hope I’m not the only one who does this). Shaughnessy calls it “the melody of formal English (19).” In order for students to learn how to “control” the language of scholars, they have to get the melody stuck in their head. They have to immerse themselves in it, see how professionals use it, and then begin imitating that style. It won’t happen overnight. I mean, I’ve looked at the research papers (if you can call them that) which I wrote during my freshman and sophomore years and I cringe at my forced attempts to sound scholarly. I looked like an impostor. I was an impostor. Sometimes I still feel like an impostor.

Secondly, I (possibly) agree with Bartholomae that students must be given a voice and made to feel that they have authority. Still, shouldn’t we consider where that authority comes from? Is it a title or feeling that can be bestowed upon an individual by a professor like a knight being dubbed by a queen? Or is it something that originates from a more intrinsic source? In other words, are authority and knowledge directly related? As knowledge grows, doesn’t authority on that knowledge rise with it? You can’t just walk up to a 2 year old American and bestow upon him or her the privilege to speak authoritatively on Pakistani politics if they know nothing about Pakistan or politics or talking. The authority to speak on those issues is connected to an individual’s knowledge and relationship to those issues. Similarly, I don’t think a student would feel comfortable writing authoritatively, using academic phrasing and terminology if that student does not have the knowledge of how that style of language works. This goes back to my first point: that students should be immersed in academic languages, so that they can understand its use, potential, and discover ways to make it their own.

Anyways, I sort of feel like a hypocrite in that I tried to write authoritatively about Bartholomae’s (I love that name) essay, when I’m not sure that I have the knowledge to do so. I understand his perspective, but it’s going to take a bit more convincing for me to buy into it.

Hello, my name is Catherine Wilcox. I’m a proud lit and history geek with an emphasis in all things BBC. If it’s a Friday night and everyone is hitting up the bars, I’m usually down to Downton Abbey. 

My story and identity is very much situated in settings of schooling and learning since education has defined and impacted my life in a different way than, I believe, it does for most people.

From kindergarten to 2nd grade, I was homeschooled. In 2nd grade, my parents sent me to this super small private school. When I say small, I mean 19 kids (at the school’s peak enrollment) from kindergarten to highschool, all learning together in one room with one teacher. We sat together in large, group desks according to grade and age. There was one other girl in my grade.

I went to this school for 4 1/2 years (2nd-6th grade). This unique learning environment impacted me tremendously because I was able to eavesdrop on the lessons of both younger and older kids, giving me review of past things I’d learned while also giving me a glimpse of more advanced material and allowing me to connect both perspectives to what I was learning in my own classes. It was a rather poor school, so there wasn’t much playground equipment. Instead, my friends and I would take the things we were learning in our classes and make games out of them. We set up businesses selling toys we didn’t want anymore for nickles and pennies, applying our newly gained math skills. When playing hide and seek, we’d count to twenty in Latin. We organized into “nations” and reenacted episodes we’d learned about in our history classes. None of these activities was suggested by adults. Each “game” was an example of how learning can “transform the social structure in which it takes place” (Werner, 2000). For example, learning was a social event because we carried the lessons outside of the classroom and made them an integral part of our lives and social norms. We learned and enjoyed learning because we were able to situate the knowledge and skills within our lives, even if only through play. 

In seventh grade, for financial and educational reasons, my parents decided to again homeschool my brothers and I. Suddenly being isolated from the friends and tight-knit community that had defined most of my remembered existence was not easy. Still, there were undeniable benefits to it. I became a very independent learner. I relied on reading, watching videos, and googling explanations. Although the copious amounts of free time often felt more like solitary confinement than a recess, they allowed me to progress at my own pace in each subject and graduate a year early. The six years of homeschooling are mostly a blurry, monotonous void in my memory, yet they showed me that students are capable of learning on their own if they are given the tools to do so. Because of this, I see teachers less as givers of knowledge and more as guides to knowledge.

The first time I ever sat in a real classroom complete with tiny desks, a professor, and students whose names I did not know was when I was 18 and enrolled in my first class (English 1A) at Yuba Community College. I remember being SO EXCITED when the professor handed out the syllabus and I got to pass the papers backwards down my row. I’d only ever seen that done in movies! The novelty soon wore off. After two years of the purgatory that is community college, I transferred to Chico state, majoring in English Ed. and minoring communication studies. As wonderful as Chico is, I decided I’d lived in the Nor Cal bubble too long, so I spread my wings and flew away to England where I studied abroad for a year. There’s no better way to experience and understand situated learning than taking a Shakespeare class in England and then bouncing over to London to watch one of his plays at the Globe theatre. Now, with fresh perspectives and an open mind, I’m back at Chico state to finish my B.A. and head towards a Master’s Degree in English with an emphasis on Literacy.