Author: Katie Philip (Page 2 of 3)

Society views ability as the norm and dis/ability through a deficit lens. Goodley and Runswick-Cole explain in the article Becoming Dishuman: Thinking About the Human Through Dis/Ability, “the prefix dis indicates negation, lack or deprivation: to deprive something of its power. We feel this when we disagree. To negate is to nullify, invalidate, render null and void, make invalid, neutralise, cancel out, undo, reverse, revoke, rescind, abrogate, overrule, overturn, avoid and retract. To dis is to trouble.” That is, we place value on one’s ability and if you don’t fit in this category you are seen as less than.

We are challenged to view dis/ability, not as the binary, abled vs. disabled, good vs. bad, but as a range of differing abilities and opportunities to contribute in unique ways to our society. We have to recognize that regardless of ability, everyone’s experience is different due to the many components that make up one’s identity. When thinking of dis/ability, we have been socialized to think that their experiences are all the same. We are focused on finding a cure or how to restore one back to the normal state of being. In the article Stolen Bodies, Reclaimed Bodies: Disability and Queerness, Clare explains, “Disability activists fiercely declare that it’s not our bodies that need curing. Rather, it is ableism—disability oppression, as reflected in high unemployment rates, lack of access, gawking, substandard education, being forced to live in nursing homes and back rooms, being seen as childlike and asexual—that needs changing.” (2001).

We need to disrupt the narrative that disabled bodies as wrong and “move to a time when thinking about the human will always involve thinking about disability” (Goodley & Runswick-Cole, 2016), that is to think of all the opportunities and possibilities that that person has to offer rather than at what they cannot do.

References:

Clare, E. (2001). Stolen bodies, reclaimed bodies: Disability and queerness. Public Culture, 13(3), 359-365.

Goodley, D & Runswick-Cole, K. (2016) Becoming dishuman: thinking about the human through dis/ability, Discourse: Studies in the Cultural Politics of Education, 37:1, 1-15, DOI: 10.1080/01596306.2014.930021.

In this post, I will compare self stories shared by classmates on the topic of Class, Socio-economic status, intersectionality, and meritocracy.  

I) NORMATIVE NARRATIVES

I found similar normative narratives to my own blog post, Self Story #3: Shiny and NEW, in Annissa’s post. In Self Story #3, Annissa describes a time in her childhood where she fell in love with a ballet skirt but had to settle on a less expensive one that she disliked. Years later, when she was selling her old dance things, a young girl had the same reaction to this old skirt as she had with the brand new one and it made her feel shameful knowing that something she didn’t think was good enough was all that this girl could hope for. I also saw commonalities in Kelsey’s blog post, Writing the Self 3: Breakfast, as she describes having breakfast on her first day back to school. She fills up on a hearty breakfast and rushes off to school in her new outfit, wishing there was whipped cream for her waffles and that she hadn’t eaten so much. She is puzzled by the idea that her friend has breakfast in school. I can relate to both of these stories, as I also didn’t always have the opportunity to have new or expensive things like my friends in school, and I wasn’t always grateful in the moment for what I had. In my blog post, I describe receiving an old car in high school that I wished was new and looking back now, I realize that even though it maybe wasn’t as nice as I had imagined, it was more than enough, and certainly more than others could have had.   

The common normative narrative in all of these stories is that we believed that everyone had the same opportunities and therefore, it was assumed that we would have the same things as others. We thought that this was the way it was for everyone, as if there is a level playing field. We also all had the class privilege of knowing our basic needs would be met. We didn’t have to worry about where the next meal comes from or if there will be a warm place to sleep at night. We all had material items, were involved in extracurricular activities, and had supportive families around us, that not everyone has. These stories support the idea of meritocracy where we believe that everyone succeeds on their own effort, or merit and no one has more advantage than anyone else.

One last common thread between the three stories is the gender roles played out by our  mothers as caregivers in each of our homes. In Annissa’s story, her mother is taking her shopping, in my story, my mother is doing household chores, and in Kelsey’s story, her mother has shopped for her and is cooking her breakfast.

II) CREATING COUNTER-STORIES: DISRUPTING THE NORMATIVE NARRATIVE

Jean Luc’s story counteracts the normative narrative that working or middle class is the norm. In his story Status in Society, he describes two different ends of the class system. First, he explains his luxury sales clients that “spend more in one an hour than I make in a month, and can afford to”. These people represent another normative narrative that upper-middle class people have more money than brains. On the other side of the coin, Jean Luc also discusses his interaction with a lower class man living in poverty. He was a homeless man, sleeping in the recycling bin behind the shop, and never knew where the next meal would come from. This story helps to disrupt the normative narrative that middle class, materialistic life was the norm or even an option for all. This allows us to see a different perspective. In comparison to the above stories that are all working or middle class who are unsatisfied with what they have, this shows that not everyone is on the same playing field, there are things in society that keep the poor trapped within that class. In Chelsea Vowel’s The Level Playing Field Myth post, she explains “There is no ‘level playing field’ when it comes to the access of equal rights. Not for Indigenous peoples, and not even within the wider Canadian public. A host of barriers exist, preventing millions of Canadians from accessing the same rights and resources as other Canadians” (2014).

Linda Tirado explains in her essay, “We know that the very act of being poor guarantees that we will never not be poor. It doesn’t give us much reason to improve ourselves. We don’t apply for jobs because we know we can’t afford to look nice enough to hold them” (2017). This allows us to debunk the common misconception about class, which is that “anyone who wants a job can get one” (Sensoy & DiAngelo, p.170). This man does not have a home, address, shower, or means of transportation  So there are many challenges that he would have to overcome before being hired for a job.

Finally, this story also disrupts the narrative that lower class people are uncultured or uncivilized. Jean Luc describes his performance as “a rhythmic tempo that was reminiscent of thunder. Then a melody layered in like rain”. Contrary to the belief that you must be high class to be cultured, this man is talented and musical and lives his life dedicated to his art.

References

Sensoy, Ö, & DiAngelo, R.J. (2017). Is everyone really equal?: An Introduction to Key Concepts in Social Justice Education. New York, NY: Teachers College Press.

Tirado, L. (2017, December 6). This Is Why Poor People’s Bad Decisions Make Perfect Sense. Retrieved from https://www.huffpost.com/entry/why-poor-peoples-bad-decisions-make-perfect-sense_b_4326233

Vowel, C. (2014, July 9). The Level Playing Field Myth. Retrieved from https://apihtawikosisan.com/2014/07/the-level-playing-field-myth/  

“Do you want to sit on the patio for a bit before we head back?”, he asks. We just checked into the hotel and are finishing up lunch. I’d really like to relax in the sunshine and I know it’s going to be a long day. I quickly do the math in my head. The wedding is in 2 hours. That means I have an hour and a half before we have to leave for the church. I need to shower, shave my legs, deep condition, wash, cleanse, exfoliate, blow-dry, and curl. Then I have to moisturize, apply primer, foundation, concealer, brow pencil, brow powder, eye primer, highlighter, contour, blush, bronzer, setting powder, eye shadow, eyeliner, lash primer, mascara, lip liner, lipstick, gloss, and setting spray. I also haven’t decided what to wear and would like a fresh coat of paint on my nails. “I’d better head back. I’ll see you in a little while”, I reply and as I walk away, I can’t help but feel a little left out.

When he finally comes back to the room, I am in the final stages of getting ready, trying on multiple dress-shoe-bag combinations. “Which do you like better? I ask, holding up both pairs of shoes that would go with the dress I finally chose, trying to hurry the process along. “I don’t care”, he says and I wonder if that’s really true.

Meanwhile, he jumps in the shower and out again, dressing in the same suit he’s worn to the past 5 events (or more) and he’s ready to go in 15 minutes. “You’re not ready yet?” he asks. The same question he always asks, I think, rolling my eyes. “Just about! I will be sooner if you help me decide”, I plead with him. “The shiny black ones,” he says, and I secretly cringe. I know those will look the best, but they’re also new and I haven’t worn them in yet. No better time than now, I suppose. I pack my clutch with what I need to re-apply throughout the night and I’m ready for the wedding. It shouldn’t really matter, I think to myself, it’s not my wedding.

It’s only been about an hour and already I can feel the faux leather of my new shoes digging in. As the night goes on, I perch myself in between a few friends and enviously watch the dance floor, cursing myself and my shoes. This really will be a long night if all I can manage to do is sit here. A friend comes over to see if we want to dance and when we all decline he asks me why. “My feet are killing me, I wish I hadn’t worn these shoes”, I explain. “No one’s looking at your feet”, he says with a smirk and heads back out to the crowd.

When the band is finished playing and everyone is heading home, we start the walk back to the hotel. Before we get 10 steps out the door, I stop. I’ve been waiting all night for this. I unbuckle and kick off my black, strappy heels to reveal swollen and blistered feet. The feeling of relief is overwhelming and the cold pavement feels like heaven as I limp back to our room.

It’s a quiet night at home on the farm. I can hear my mom bustling around the house, cleaning or organizing something, or making lists of things she wants to clean or organize. I’m the only one left at home which means I get free reign over the TV and I’m not sad about it. Finally, I don’t have to fight with all my sisters. I have a day off from running for baseball or volleyball and I get to stay home. As a teenager, you’d think I’d be excited to get out of the house and see friends but the farm is 20 miles from anywhere and I don’t have a car. So here I sit.

Mom calls out, “Dad’s home,” and I’m not sure why she’s announcing it. It’s late in the day, dark outside already and it’s not out of the ordinary for Dad to be out farming late. I peel myself away from the TV and come out to the kitchen to see what the fuss is all about.

She’s watching me as I walk in, the floor creaking under my feet,  and I’m beginning to think something’s up. I’m starting to ask as Dad walks in, grinning. Well now I know something is going on, my dear old Dad is not the kind to go around grinning for no good reason. “Do you want to come and see the new car?” he asks. My skepticism turns to excitement and I start dreaming of a brand new, shiny set of wheels. New car I think to myself in disbelief, we’ve never had a new car for as long as I’ve been around, or new anything for that matter. I’m so used to hand-me-downs and second hand that this is a shock to my system. “Well, new to you”, he replies, as if reading my mind. I’m automatically disappointed, and I know I shouldn’t be. But wait, he said it’s mine?! I gotta see this, I think as I push past him and out the door, barefoot.      

I’m excited to check it out. He found a great deal at the auction sale today, only around 150,000 kms, new tires, and a decent price. I struggle to see it in the glow of the yard light but coincidentally, amidst the rust I see it’s my favorite colour, too.

I’m sure they’re just tired of me stealing his truck to drive down prairie trails with my friends or her car to run to practices, but I don’t care. I don’t have to ride the bus for an hour to school and back and I can drive myself to work instead. I have a glimpse of freedom. I’m so thankful in that moment, and little did I know then, but I would continue to be grateful for that dusty, old car right through high school and into adulthood. It was worth its weight in gold.

We gather in the tiny community hall to celebrate the upcoming wedding of a family friend. The air is thick and still, the space just large enough to fit all of the family, friends, and older ladies of the community. Outside, the sun was shining with only a slight breeze and I can’t help but think of all the things I’d rather be doing on this gorgeous Spring Saturday as I take my seat in the stuffy space with my sister and her son sandwiched between us.

The bride and the women in her immediate family are all seated at the front, dressed in their best, while the rest of us sit around tables, ready to shower her with gifts and well wishes for her upcoming nuptials.

After the gifts have all been opened, the appropriate amount of oohing and aahing has finished, lunch is served. Rows of cookies, bars, and crustless sandwiches are lined up on a table at the back, the smell of coffee fills the air. It’s always around this time during the event that the adults circulate and catch up while the teenagers roll their eyes and the kids pull at their parents’ clothes, roll around on the floor, or at the very least try to find something to entertain them until it’s time to go home. I can relate. This is the last place I want to be too. Of all the traditions in my small town, this is not one of my favorites. The conversation is full of forced chitchat and hollow, probing questions. Just smile, you’ll get through this, I think. I hate talking about myself, I feel more like the antsy kids than the moms that are circulating the room.

My sister gets up for a coffee refill, leaving my nephew beside me. Panic. I feel exposed. Now I’m fair game for the adults to stop and chat.

An aunt of the bride stops by and sits across from me, her teenage daughter takes a seat on my side of the table next to my nephew. I haven’t seen them for years, and I’m in awe of how grown up and beautiful the chubby, little, awkward girl I used to know has become. The small talk continues.

My nephew, who I assume is feeling bored and restless, leans over with a determined look on his face, and stretches out his tongue. He takes a long lick of the girl’s bare arm, from her elbow to as far up as he can reach. He turns to me, with a puzzled look on his face, “She doesn’t taste like chocolate…”.

My eyes are wide and my mouth drops open but nothing comes out. I can feel the heat instantly rise up from my core, burning my cheeks as they must shine red, matching the flowers at the center of each table. He gets an eye roll from the teenager as she wipes off her arm. We share an awkward laugh and a few mortified comments about what comes out of the mouths of babes then the small talk is soon moved on to another table.

The back door opens and slams shut, surprising me and stopping me in my tracks. Its early – 6:00pm, the sun is still shining through the open window and I’m not expecting him home, not at this time of year. The lazy winter days have gotten longer and turned into what seems like infinite hours of work in the wide open fields that surround us. But today, the afternoon rainfall has put a halt to the progress and I’m happily caught off guard and thankful for the opportunity. Change in plans, I think to myself, curious to see what might happen.  

“Drop everything, let’s go for a drive”, he says, and heads back out to wait in the mud splattered truck in the driveway. Instantly annoyed, I hurriedly put things away and change clothes. I know by now I should be used to this life; ready at a moments notice to help out, move trucks, or take advantage of a rain day. I’m torn between feelings of disruption and intrigue, but only for an instant before I rush to catch up.

I close the door behind me, feeling the cool, evening air hit my face. Outside, the trees are starting to look alive again, waking up after their long, frozen slumber. The roar of the diesel engine blocks out any sounds but I pause to wave to the neighbor next door as he cuts the grass for the first time this year, revealing new growth, green in color. The smell of dampness and fresh cut grass fills the air. Our street is abuzz with kids throwing baseballs and hanging from a backyard swing set. I see a neighbor in the garden and another at their barbeque. Everyone is taking advantage of the relative warmth from the changing season. It’s finally time to get outdoors and do the things we’ve been longing for. This fills me with a sense of excitement for the days ahead.

We ease out of town and make our way down a dusty side road that hasn’t seen gravel in years. It’s half covered in grass, with trees closing in on either side. We bump along the beaten trail and I’m forced to hold on to keep in my seat. We make our way to an opening in the barbed wire fence that runs the length of the winding path. Without missing a beat, we turn and creep through the open space towards the untamed lakeshore and pull to a stop.

The strong Saskatchewan wind has finally died down and the water is glass. The ground is soggy beneath our feet. We’re just in time to watch the endless prairie sky light up. The sun slowly sets on the horizon, mirroring a gold, crimson, and fuschia reflection across the water. We stand in silence, besides the soft sounds of wildlife in the distance. There’s no one around for as far as the eye can see. Nothing else matters in this moment. We are at peace.

Today was the last day of pre-internship for this semester. It was a bittersweet feeling having accomplished this milestone, and yet I know I’m only halfway finished with pre-internship as I come back in March for 3 weeks.

I started my morning in the Grade 7 classroom. The students had a presentation the day before, teaching them about gaming and gambling. The first thing they had to do today was fill out a quiz about their own gaming habits. After they finished their quiz, they were asked to work on a blog post reflecting on their results. The students were asked if they were surprised by the results, how it made them feel, and if their self esteem was affected by their gaming experiences. The results were varied, some students had very low scores and others quite high, reporting that they play video games every day after school and their parents don’t care if that’s all they do.

Grade 7 is a different world than what I have gotten used to. I was met with skepticism from the students as I roamed around and interacted with them. I had one student outright ask me “Who are you and why are you here?”,  some pushed back for having to do any work at all and others who were receptive to me and shared their blog openly.

After recess, I was back to my home base in the Grade 1 classroom. I was met by multiple hugs and high fives as I walked in the door, which reminded me of why I love being with the early elementary years so much. They are so enthusiastic!

My teaching partner taught her lesson on ELA where the students learned about a new word family. They really liked this, it was a fun activity where they had to roll a set of special dice to form the words with the AM word family. Then they colored the picture that matched the word. Great activity for the students that are struggling with their printing, they could still be really successful with the activity and have fun while learning.

After lunch, some of the students went off to the SLP while the other students practiced their spelling words on their personal whiteboards. After they worked on these for a while, they played Go Fish with their number cards with a partner until everyone came back together.

This is when I taught my math lesson. My professional goal today was to focus on giving clear directions and setting up expectations. I had a couple of activities so it was a good goal to practice on. We watched a 2 minute video on subitizing that the students loved. They got to review subitizing of tallies and dice before we started our lesson with Dominos. Each student got a handful of Dominos. They picked one out of the pile and drew the number of dots, wrote down the numbers on each side and created a number sentence with the total number of dots. This allowed the students to work on subitizing the numbers, counting on, and the early stages of addition. Everyone seemed to do a great job with this, I was able to move around the room and help out where I needed. When the students finished their sheet they could pick a partner and play a game together. The game was basically War with Dominos where each partner would choose a Domino from a pile and whoever had the biggest number of dots kept the pair. This was the first time they had played this so it was a little tricky with the rules, but most kids have played War with cards before so once they figured out that concept, they had lots of fun playing.

I was really proud of my lesson today. Not that it was overly complicated, but it was easily adapted to the different skill levels and was great for many different learning styles. The kids got tons of number sense practice and had fun doing it. I will definitely keep this activity in my toolbox for future lessons.

This has semester flown by so fast! Now that I have the last 7 weeks under my belt in the field, I am anxious to move on to the 3 week block in the classroom in March. I can’t wait to see how much the Grade 1s have learned and changed over the next few months. Stay tuned to hear about my first unit planning experience!

This week during pre-internship, our cooperating teacher was away so she had arranged for my teaching partner and I to spend the day with the Grade 1 class next door. I was a little nervous going into the week, unsure of what their class would be like and how they behave during my lesson.

As it turns out, my lesson went great, maybe even my best one yet! I read the book Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day and taught the Grade 1 class how to make text to self connections through a think aloud. Afterwards, we had sharetime to talk about what connections the kids could make to their own life and then I asked them to draw a picture and write a sentence with the prompt “I felt like Alexander when…”.

The Grade 1s did a great job with this. A couple of students made surface level connections such as “I felt like Alexander when I was sad”. While others were able to think of deep connections to their personal lives when things didn’t go their way. One student shared a heartbreaking story that they felt upset when no one is there for them and drew a very specific picture (and described to me in detail) about how her Mom is always on her cell phone during her dance recitals. Nothing gets past these kids! They are so perceptive at this age.

We visited the school’s music teacher where the Grade 1s excitedly started working on their Christmas Concert songs followed by French class with another teacher where they sang more songs. I’m impressed by how much French these students know already. Their teacher does a good job incorporating songs and games into their short time together.

In the afternoon we spent time with teacher in the Grade 5 Math class and got to pick her brain while her class went on to Music.  I’m glad we experienced that, I learned a lot from her and she turned out to be somewhat of a math guru. I need all the help I can get in that area!

It was a great day of new experiences. I loved being able to compare the two different Grade 1 classes. This age group changes so quickly and soak up knowledge like a sponge. Next week will be our last week in the classroom this semester, I’m looking forward to being back with our class.