Tag Archives: teaching assistant

Reflections on Being a Teaching Assistant

I can’t remember exactly when I made the decision to become a teaching assistant—it just sort of happened. I don’t think there are many of them in undergrad. Or at least not many who ARE undergrads. I believe this makes me a unique breed. I appreciate every moment I have gotten to spend as a teaching assistant, because I have taken away more from the experience than I would have gotten from simply being told how to teach.

At the beginning of my second semester as a teaching assistant, I was grading reading quizzes on d2l when I noticed something funny. Two of the quizzes, one by a male student and one by a female student, were submitted at exactly the same times with near exactly the same answers. It was an obvious case of cheating. I looked over each question on both quizzes multiple times, and then zeroed out the quizzes entirely; I left feedback for both students in question explaining that they had received zeroes because their answers were the same; even though it was a take home, online exam, the students were still expected to complete it alone. The male student came to me within a day or so to inquire about the zero; he was upset with the grade and wanted to know why it was considered cheating. It occurred to me then that perhaps this was not a case of them working together, but more a case of one of them copying answers of the screen next to them in the computer lab. In the back of my mind, I assumed the male student was the one who had cheated. Unconsciously, I formed a slight prejudice of this student early in the semester.

As the semester went on, he proved me wrong; this student taught me that, for reasons I am uncertain of, I tend to have a bias against male students. The female student stopped showing up to class in the first month of the semester, and the male student, while he wasn’t producing the highest quality work, kept showing up. And best of all, he kept trying. He did every extra credit option that was available to him, and he stepped up his game on both exams and papers. I believe he will pass. This student changed the way that I will view students from here on out; because of him, I made more of an effort this semester to pull for male and female students alike. This situation is also the perfect example of how black and white my thinking is, from people to grades to life in general. To me, things have always been either one way or the other, with no middle ground. As I have grown in my teaching, from my first class to my last, this is just one of many lessons I have learned.

The first real class I ever taught, aside from church related things, was a beginning theater class for five to eight year olds. My aid for the class could probably testify to the fact that I had absolutely no clue what I was doing. I had observed the class under another teacher, so I had a basic idea regarding how things should go. But I had come in expecting a curriculum filled with the right answers and what to do and arrived to find nothing but a roster and a theme: Robin Hood for tiny humans. It was my first experience flying by the seat of my pants. I like to think it worked out well; I then taught for the company for the next three years. But that first class has always been my favorite. I felt like a teacher when I was in front of their semicircle, all of them sitting cross-legged and staring up at me, waiting for me to tell them what to do. However, I will never forget the moment when they walked onstage for the end of session performance and were able to say their lines and do the choreography without me. They were independently acting, wearing their construction paper Robin Hood hats (that kept falling off on the stage). Maybe they weren’t perfect, but they were pretty darn great. They displayed the things they learned in class, and I had had a part in that, however small. To me, that was what being a teacher was really about. Being a teaching assistant has given me so many new skills that I can deploy in a wide variety of classrooms. As a teaching assistant, I have received many opportunities to learn more about teaching and I how I will approach my eventual goal of teaching college composition. Between my two sections as a teaching assistant, I have helped write and grade exams, craft discussion questions for both verbal and journal discussions, attend student conferences, grade proposals and papers, and lead class discussion. My second semester, I also created a paper proposal assignment that I hope I can use in future classrooms at other institutions.

I was very into the idea of being a teaching assistant going in my first semester; my mistake, however, was that I thought it would be easy for me. I came into it with more than two years of teaching drama on my own, I thought it would be nothing to share a classroom, that I would be able to transfer all of the skills I had learned over and automatically be amazing. I was wrong. It was exceedingly difficult for me to have to watch someone that I greatly respected and wanted to learn as much as I could from, stand up in front of the classroom and be amazing—and to know that she would expect me to do the same. I didn’t know how to live up to that, and as a result, my first teaching day during my first semester was a disaster. I planned out an awesome activity that had a lot of potential, but a series of technological failures as class was starting left me feeling uncertain and flustered. The class didn’t respond to me the way I wanted; they had never been people who liked to talk, but it still threw me. I failed to properly tie my activity in to the day at hand, fallacies, because the students weren’t talking and I got nervous. I was not effective that day; I immediately turned to the professor to bail me out. I wanted to never come back after that day. I assumed at the time that the flop was because I hadn’t planned solidly enough. But now I think it’s because I wasn’t confident. The professor told me after class that I needed to “get back on the horse.” A teacher cannot teach without having confidence, or, at the very least, being able to act like they do. I didn’t that day—but I do now.

My second semester as a teaching assistant went a lot better in so many ways. I had many successful activities throughout the semester that I plan to save and reuse in my own classroom. The first was an activity on how to create a thesis statement. I had the students write their thesis on down on the essay we had read for class that day. While they were writing, I put six different thesis statements on the board that were incorrect. When they were done, I had them set the paper aside. We discussed what comprised a good thesis and what would make a weak thesis. When I thought that the class had a good grasp on good versus bad based upon the answers they were giving me, I moved to the next stage of the activity. I broke the class into six groups and assigned each group one of the bad thesis statement that I had written on the board. I asked them to discuss in their group what was wrong with the thesis statement and then rewrite it to be a stronger thesis. I circulated throughout the room during the activity, answering questions and helping the groups to stay on track. When all the groups were done, I had them read their original  assigned thesis, the issues they found with it, and their revised version out loud. My original intention when creating the activity was to then go back to their original thesis statements and have them discuss what made them either good or bad, and then correct them if need be, in their groups. However, there was not enough time left in class to fully complete the activity. We had just enough time for them to identify whether or not their thesis statement were acceptable before it was time for them to leave. I feel that the activity went well as a whole. One major flaw in it was that the sample thesis statements that I came up with confused the students slightly—they were issue based instead of reading response based. If I ever repeat this activity at this level, I will make sure that the two types of thesis statements—the examples I give and the ones the students create—agree. Had I had more time, I would have fully debriefed them regarding what they had learned and how they could re-approach their original thesis statements from the beginning of class. This step is a step of teaching that I have always had trouble with; in teaching drama, I refer to it in my head as reapplication. I did not account for the time I would spend differentiating between good and bad thesis statements, which left me without the required time at the end of class to complete the activity. This was another moment that taught me I need to remember that all students are different, and allow myself to adjust accordingly so that they still get the maximum amount of knowledge out of whatever I am teaching. 

I was able to apply this knowledge on several different days throughout the semester, but the smoothest teaching day I had was the day I taught profiles. I used profile day as a two-fold day. One, to teach the profile genre, and two, to help clarify what I was looking for with the proposal assignment I had created. I started the class by reintroducing the ideas of the rhetorical situation and how they would function within the proposal. I then broke the class into groups (after royally messing up the math and making them count twice), and had them break down the an essay in a backwards proposal fashion. By asking each group to find the thesis, sources (and their function), introduction importance, conclusion importance, intended audience, and rhetorical strategies, I was able to show them the elements of a paper proposal in a less confusing fashion than a mere bullet-point list by explaining how the information they gathered was exactly the brainstorm they would have done to form a paper proposal were they the ones creating the given essay. I feel like the students had a greater understanding of what I was looking for in the proposal. On my next go-round with this assignment, I would definitely place this activity on the same day as my proposal assignment day to give them a larger understanding from the get-go.

The second part of this day, I focused on profiles. First, I went over the things that are included in a biography. Then I transitioned to go over the basic elements of the profile and the different things it could be used to describe, explaining that the profile contains all of the elements of the biography and then some. This seemed to confuse them; they were quite stuck on the idea that biographies are boring. To counteract this, I gave each group a sample profile written by a student, and had them talk about what elements that profile contained and how those elements functioned within that profile. When we were done, with the little time we had left, we compared those elements to show that profiles can use different tools and still tell a story about their subject.

I think this activity went over very well. As a matter of fact, I think that I did quite well on this day. If I had to list the best thing, it would be that I actually got the students to talk, to each other and to me. I was also able to alter the lesson plan I had made on the fly, which is something I have always struggled with in the past. The strange thing is, I noticed that being willing to deviate from my “script,” so to speak, actually made me more comfortable and easy-going in front of the class than I have been on past teaching days. Being able to drift where they wanted to go while still staying in the general area I wanted to be in allowed me to get my point across strongly at the same time as allowing them to fully engage. I also really like using student profiles of all different sorts. Not only did this really drive home to them that there are many different ways to craft a profile, it also drove home the idea that they, too, could write a profile. I think they found the pieces I gave them easier to work with than pieces we’ve assigned in the past because they were written by students; this allowed them to connect to the pieces on a new level.

My biggest negative for the day was time management. I wish I would have had a little more time at the end of class to compare all of the different elements of the different profiles they picked. All in all though, I think that this was my best teaching day of the year. It was the closest I came to feeling as comfortable in the English classroom as I’ve felt in my drama classroom; it was also the first time where I was not thinking so much about what the professor was thinking about what I was doing as about whether the students were with me and understanding the material that I needed them to understand. I was confident in who I was in front of the classroom as well as what I was teaching, and I was not relying on someone else to give me that confidence. I produced it on my own.

I am different now than I was my first semester as a teaching assistant. Or, rather, I’ve been different this semester, and am therefore coming out of this with a different impression. I’m more confident. I’m better at planning out what I’m going to do, and I’m better at being flexible and adjusting on the fly, planning at the last minute. I’m a better teacher because of both of these things. The thing about teaching is that there really isn’t any one right way to do it. I know that now. All of my life, I’ve looked to others to tell me what to do and I live for the right answers. I need them. My teaching style has evolved into a mix of the people around me; I’m not the drama teacher on her first day anymore, and I’m not the teaching assistant who makes stupid mistakes. I’m the woman who watches, who absorbs, who learns and grows. I have watched my own professors, both those I’ve worked closely with and those I haven’t. I have read the comments they put on my papers, looked at their rubrics, and figured out how they grade. Through that, I have begun to figure out where I lie on the scale of teachers. My grading style is a mixture of many; I tend to be more tough than I need to be, but I am learning how to be less black and white. I am figuring out a line of balance wherein I can be available to my students but also have time for myself. I have decided that I will implement the flipped classroom, wherein the students will read the material before class and then come in and help steer the discussion. I have gotten to work with students and their writing on a daily basis through my various positions. Nothing is more rewarding for me that moment when a student gets the skill that I’m trying to teach and can do it by themselves. As much as I love being able to teach, I also love that moment when the student I am working with doesn’t need me anymore. That moments means I have been successful in the work I set out to do. I feel that the experiences I have had as a teaching assistant will make me a powerful asset to any institution because I already know both how to conduct myself in front of the classroom and how to communicate with students.

Had I gone into graduate school without this practical experience as a teaching assistant, I think there’s a good chance I would have failed; I was not confident enough before this. I was not ready to be a teacher, because I thought I still needed to be taught how to teach. I was wrong. How to teach can’t be taught—it just happens. It’s a skill that comes with confidence, with loving what you do and wanting to share what you know. This is the number one lesson that I learned from being a teaching assistant.

And I’m ready now.

 

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And Then Teaching Made Me Very, Very Sad

My reasons for writing this are two-fold. One, I am procrastinating. Two, my day has blown literal chunks, which means I must turn to reflection to plow through it.

One of the most common questions I get is, “What are you going to do with your degree?” My general response is, “Well, I’m going to write.” It seems fairly obvious—a Creative Writing MFA, a writer. My sort of math. But then there is the ever-present looming threat that exists for all writers—what happens if I don’t make it, if my writing doesn’t sell? 

I have always assumed I would teach.

See, I love teaching, and I always have. (Or, at least, since I started doing it.) 

I am both a teaching assistant and a supplemental instructor (SI) this semester. These are two fairly different, yet similar, jobs. I do more as a teaching assistant in the actual class than I do as a supplemental instructor; as a supplemental instructor, I am expected to…well…supplement. I’m supposed to help facilitate the students to a point of learning independently. In a way, this is also what I do as a teaching assistant, even though I am less involved as a supplemental instructor. As a teacher, and this is part of my formal teaching philosophy, I believe that the most important moment in the teacher/student relationship is that independent moment, that moment where the student no longer needs the teacher. While I’ve had good moments this semester, I have received a totally different perspective on teaching that I have teaching theatre, and I have arrived at one simple conclusion: there are a LOT of students who either just plain don’t care or don’t know how to care. I have a hard time digesting that, because I, as a student, care much too much.

Today, the professor I SI for couldn’t be on campus. In traditional me form, I said, “Okay, let me help in all the ways I can.” I volunteered myself for four hours of open assistance for papers, portfolios, or any course related questions. Now, where I know all of the students in my TA section, I do NOT know all of the students in my SI section—I don’t SEE all the students in my SI section. So, when I was walking across the campus to get to the place where I told the students I would be, imagine my surprise when a girl came running up to me, yelling, and waving a paper over her head. I froze when she started yelling, as I had never seen her before and was unsure whether or not she was talking to me. But the answer to that question became blatantly apparent when I heard “You need to explain to me RIGHT NOW WHY I GOT A MOTHER-F$&*@(G C!” I didn’t know what to say. I told her to slow down, speak more calmly. Her friend came running up after her, and the girl said again, quite loudly, in the middle of the main through-fare, “WHY DID SHE GET AN A WHEN I GOT A F@#%$&G C?!?” I asked her to see the paper, and she handed it to me. A quick scan made it quite obvious why she had gotten a C; she was missing one of the two main components of the paper—a personal response. I showed that to her on the rubric checklist she was holding in her hand. She blew a gasket and starting calling me all sorts of lovely names and asked again how her friend got an A. I asked the friend to see her paper. Flipping it open, the personal response was apparent, interspersed throughout the entire piece. I read one section of it out loud. The C student literally EXPLODED. “I CANNOT WRITE A PERSONAL RESPONSE. THIS IS A MOTHER F#$%^&G ACADEMIC PAPER AND SHE DOES NOT GET TO KNOW MY PERSONAL LIFE AND THOUGHTS. THIS IS F$%^#$G BULLS$%T!” I stumbled over my words, and she asked how she was supposed to personally respond to her thesis about the color of the seven rooms in The Masque of the Red Death. I took her paper again and gave it a second scan, and then told her that, with her thesis as it stands, she would need some major revision in order to incorporate that personal response. She started screaming again about how she shouldn’t be expected to be personal, and it was ridiculous and all that jazz. I tried one more time to explain to her that she didn’t necessarily need to give the intimate details of her life story in a personal response; she just needed to PERSONALLY RESPOND to the text. She snatched the paper away and clenched it in her hand, crumbling it, and then she was suddenly raising a fist towards my face. I didn’t have anywhere to go, so I ducked. I was legitimately afraid that I was going to get hit. I didn’t. While her fist was still hovering in the air, I backpedalled and told her she needed to calm down and take some time to think about both the comments on the paper and what I had told her before she came back to talk to either me or the professor again. She walked a few steps away, her friend apologized for her, and I bolted.

I don’t know how the professors do it, how they deal with the students all the time and get into these situations. I didn’t know how to deal with it, so I just did the best thing that I could think of at the time. Maybe it wasn’t the best thing, but it was the only thing. The student’s behavior was inappropriate, as several have been since receiving their various papers back over the course of the semester, but this particular behavior really crossed a line with me. I addressed a blanket email to the entire class, all seventy students, that basically informed them I was not their punching bag and that they needed to treat me with the same respect they would a professor. I don’t know how many of them read it; I don’t know if she read it. Honestly, I don’t care, because it needed to be said.

My internal debate regarding my feelings teaching has been an ongoing thing this semester. The section that I TA for is filled with brilliant students who don’t know how to be students. They are some of the brightest minds I’ve seen at their level, but they just don’t care. Or they don’t know how to care. And I care about them. Every single part of me want them to wake up, to do the awesome work I know they can do and be the amazing students I know they can be. But they won’t. They’re making a choice. One of my favorite students, a student capable of writing more beautiful than many people years ahead of her in their educations, has stopped turning in her work. She’s stopped caring. Maybe it’s personal problems, maybe it’s something else. But even though she is physically in class, she has stopped showing up. She is giving up. It makes me sad. My students, all of them, make me sad. I want to be better for them; I wish that I could make them want to learn, make them want to be better. But I can’t. Again, they are making a choice.

These are the two types of students I’ve encountered this semester: those who treat me horribly and those who don’t care or know how to be students. The good moments, the moments when I work with students who genuinely get it, the moments when I have students who turn in beautiful writing, or have done their reading, or do all the extra credit that they possibly can, the ones that want to be better…those are getting harder to see. And when I do see them, I need to hold on to them. Because those moments are the reason that I want to teach, for those students who care. But what if those students are becoming fewer and farther in between? What if we, as a society, are raising people who don’t care, people who just want to glance on by? I’m sad tonight. I’m sad because I see these students who could be better and choose not to be, and these students who want to blame everyone else for their own lack of understanding. I don’t see initiative in these students; I just see a lot of righteous indignation that the world isn’t being handed to them on a silver platter. 

Most of all, I’m sad because I’ve realized that, as a teacher, maybe I won’t have the impact that I want. There will be students that I won’t be able to reach. There will be students that will fail, even though they shouldn’t. Even though they COULD be better, there will be students who choose not to be. I haven’t reached a point yet where I am capable of separating myself fully from my students. I care too much.

I can’t decide if it’s a product of the semester or just a fact of life, but what today has told me is that I’m not sure I love teaching anymore. And I don’t know how to handle that.

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The Right Answer (On Being a TA) — Rough Draft

One of my advisors once told me that she lives for the moment where her students no longer need her and can be independent. I love that moment. I wish it could occur every day; I also wish that I could not be sad when it doesn’t. I’ve heard that feeling, that sadness, does go away for some. But I don’t want it to, not really. When it does, I’ll know it’s time to stop teaching.

*

The first real class I ever taught, aside from church related things, was a beginning theater class for five to eight year olds. My aid for the class could probably testify to the fact that I had absolutely no clue what I was doing. I had observed the class under another teacher, so I had a basic idea regarding how things should go. But I had come in expecting a curriculum filled with the right answers and what to do and arrived to find nothing but a roster and a theme: Robin Hood for tiny humans. It was my first experience flying by the seat of my pants. I like to think it worked out well; I then taught for the company for the next three years. But that first class has always been my favorite. I felt like a teacher when I was in front of their semicircle, all of them sitting cross-legged and staring up at me, waiting for me to tell them what to do. However, I will never forget the moment when they walked onstage for the end of session performance and were able to say their lines and do the choreography without me. They were independently acting, wearing their construction paper Robin Hood hats (that kept falling off on the stage). Maybe they weren’t perfect, but they were pretty darn great. They displayed the things they learned in class, and I had had a part in that, however small. To me, that was what being a teacher was really about.

*

I can’t remember exactly when I made the decision to become a TA—it just sort of happened. I don’t think there are many of them in undergrad. Or at least not many who ARE undergrads. I believe this makes me a unique breed. 

I received an email from professor towards the middle of my second year of undergrad. She was looking for a dedicated student to work as a supplemental instructor. It wasn’t really teaching, per say. Supplemental instruction more revolves around reviewing material with the students and teaching them how to learn independently. But I still had a blast with it. It was a completely different feeling than being in front of the kids and teaching drama. I looked forward to doing it in future semesters. Then it came:

We don’t have enough Psych 101 instructors that want SI next semester, so we won’t be able to use you.

I was told that if I could find a professor willing to work with me, I could possibly do SI for that professor instead. So I put out a Facebook status and tagged every professor I was friends with. I got a bite:

I’m very interested. Let’s chat.

I was very interested in working with this professor, N, but it turned out her course didn’t have a high enough failure rate to require a supplemental instructor. It wasn’t in the budget. I still desperately wanted the opportunity to learn from her.

Behold. The idea to TA was born.

*

I often get asked what I do as a TA. It’s a lot; it’s too much to list. And my duties have evolved. I attend class, I talk. I grade, I lead. I comment, I assist. I get to draw on the board and occasionally play Vanna. It just seems to work.

Last semester, I went into the first day as a TA quite overwhelmed; I wasn’t sure how it would be to “share” a classroom, so to speak. I wasn’t sure where my place was, how I fit, what I was supposed to do. I didn’t know when to speak up, how to make things work as a person in front of the classroom but not in front of it at the same time. In a classroom of 18 year old and up people as opposed to tiny humans. 

I don’t think I spoke the first day. I possibly didn’t speak the second either. I panicked when I realized there were 28 students and I couldn’t remember their names. 28 seemed like so many more than 16, the largest size theater class I’d ever taught. And the first time I taught as a TA, I did a lot of things wrong. I had an activity planned that involved my laptop, but I had never used my laptop with the projector before. I didn’t realize everything would automatically show when I plugged it in; I failed to take into account the fact that I had student grades up on my screen, as well as failed to remember that my wallpaper was a picture of my dead son. When the class didn’t respond to me, I forgot that they weren’t really talkers to begin with and began to panic and rush through things. I expected N to bail me out rather than try to bail myself out; I immediately looked to her. And while she did save me, she at the same time made me keep going. When no one would really converse with me regarding the video clip I had shown, I started calling on random people. I didn’t give them enough time to think. I was scared to wait them out. And then I didn’t fully connect my segment to the main theme for the day—fallacies.

I cried driving away from campus that day, because I couldn’t focus on the good things that had happened—that the students liked the video clip, that they did eventually engage, that they gave me the correct answers. I could only focus on the fact that things didn’t go precisely the way I’d planned, and the fact that I would never be a teacher.

Even at the end of the semester, when I had a lot of TA wins under my belt, I thought back to that first day, that day I screwed up. But the focus started to change when I realized that rather than continually calling myself a failure, I wanted to be better. I wanted to grow.

I’m different now than I was that first semester. More confident. I’m better at planning out what I’m going to do, and I’m a better TA for it. I talk to the class, and they talk to me. This semester, I’ve even (somewhat) created my own assignment for the first time, a composition design proposal that I will assign in class this week. Things seem to be going better. I’m not sure if it’s that the class is more talkative and better as a whole, or that I’ve learned. 

I like to think I’ve learned.

*

I had a student once named A. A was very quite and shy. I had a hard time getting her to engage with the other kids. She didn’t want to sing solos or talk in front of people, but she loved me. Every week she would bring me a small gift, from a construction paper drawing of “her teacher” to a valentine, to a photo of her new puppy. It was wrong to have favorites, but she was definitely one of mine. Not because of the gifts, but because I understood her. I was shy too. 

“Do you ever get afraid in front of people?” she asked me one day after class.

“A,” I replied, “I think everybody does. It’s okay to be shy, but performing can be different. An escape from being scared. You can be whoever you want to be.”

“Okay,” she replied, and then skipped off to meet her older brother.

She disappeared from classes for a while after that session, but when she turned eight she auditioned for and was accepted to her first show. When she came onstage as one of the orphans in “Annie,” I cried. It was the moment I realized I was meant to be a teacher.

*

I have never been so grateful for the chance to work with someone as I am to work with N. Not because I work with her now so many days a week and get to do all the things. Not because of the load she carries and the way she’s taught me to balance, though her load is enormous. And not just because she’s awesome, though she definitely is. It’s because of the little things. The fact that she spends an hour on grading a paper other people might dismiss for being poor work, just so she can maybe help the student become just a tiny bit better. The fact that she spends her entire break preparing her classes and looking back on activities to enhance them and make them better each semester using suggestions from students. The fact that she opens her office and her email and her time to help her students and make them not just better students, but better people. She has done that for me, without a question. That N has taken the time to work with me has made me a better teacher as well as a better person. Not many people get this chance, but I did. And I’m doing well at it. I more than make it work. I’m becoming more confident. Growing. Learning.

During student conferences, which she let me sit on, I watched N handle an especially promising student who was not doing so well—a student that I might have written off were the decision left to me. Despite the problems this student has had, N was still willing to work with her. She was able to see past that and see the student underneath, and I could tell that she wanted to break through. I believe that she can, whether it be to that student or to a different one. Even when she doesn’t know the right answer, she figures it out.

I want to be that teacher someday.

*

The thing about teaching is that there really isn’t any one right way to do it. I know that now. All of my life, I’ve looked to others to tell me what to do and I live for the right answers. I need them. My teaching style has evolved into a mix of the people around me; I’m not the drama teacher on her first day anymore, and I’m not the TA who makes stupid mistakes. I’m the woman who watches, who absorbs, who learns and grows. I watch all of my professors and the way they handle their classrooms; I read the comments that they put on my papers and I look at their rubrics, and I figure out how they grade. Through that, I have begun to figure out where I lie. My grading style is between two professors, N and D. I’m less black and white than I used to be, but I still have a hard time calculating grades without actual numbers in front of me. I enjoy the way T makes herself available to help students in whatever way she can. I love the way they all flip the classroom, the way they make me think, and the way they have taught me to have my own ideas and stand on them. I have learned so much from all of my professors, about teaching and about simply being. And I am grateful for every last opportunity.

I started writing this thinking that my teaching was a little piece of all of them. But I’m beginning to realize that it’s a lot of me too. And that that’s the right answer.

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