Tag Archives: Erin

Am I the Indian You Had In Mind?

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At least twice a year, I reread Thomas King’s The Truth About Stories, which is an academic staple for students in my field, Aboriginal Studies. I’ve noticed every year, students tend to reference and gravitate towards the story “I’m Not the Indian You Had in Mind”. In this particular story, King, who identifies (at least on his book covers) as Cherokee and Greek, writes about his identity and how non-Native people have painfully racist expectations about what a Native person should look like (buckskin, feathers, the noble savage who lives on a reserve stereotype) based on popular culture.

About once a month, whenever I tell a stranger or classmate I am enrolled in the Aboriginal Studies program, they often respond, “Are you Native?” or “What band are you from?” or “Where up North do you live?”

Maybe it’s because I have an ambiguous look and straight, dark hair. Or maybe my penchant for vintage wool Pendleton bags (which I started wearing long before they became overpriced items associated with Opening Ceremony) act as a signifier (I honestly feel uncomfortable carrying the bags around school now). But I wonder, am I the Indian you had in mind?

The truth about my story is, I’m not Native. Not that I have ever pretended to be something that I am not. In fact, I come from a stock of the most notorious colonizers in Europe and Asia. But I find myself perplexed whenever someone asks me if I am Native after they have discovered what I study at U of T. It’s as though strangers have to justify to themselves why I am in this field of study. And to be honest, I find it a racist (and predictable) question. Everyone who has asked me this question has been White, including a professor abroad. In fact, I’ve actually never had a Native student ask me if I was Native. I can imagine why.

Native (and please excuse my use of this pan-Indigenous term I’ve been abusing throughout this piece) students are constantly scrutinized and judged unfairly on campus. Many people assume that Native students automatically get a free education (this is so untrue) based on the “fact” that they know one friend who is something like 1% Native or six degrees separated from Pocahontas, has a status card and gets major discounts and freebies (I’ve heard this popular tale told over and over again by non-Natives). Although some Native students get full funding for school from their bands, there are many who only get partial funding and some get none at all because there simply isn’t enough money around for their community to financially support them. Another issue is that when any discussion regarding Aboriginal peoples, culture, history or problems are being talked about in class, the non-Native professor and students will automatically look to the (lone) Native student with the expectation he or she have something to say about the topic of discussion. One Native Ph.D. student came into a class and briefly talked about how her actions were constantly misread in a university classroom. If the professor talked about residential schools and she got up to go to the washroom, other students would interpret her as the angry Native student leaving the class because she became upset or was protesting. My intention is to not speak for Native students on here because they can speak for themselves. I’m merely trying to point out how visible minorities and Native people on campus are categorized and stereotyped by others, which can be both exhausting, offensive and annoying.

I asked my light-skinned friends in African Studies and East Asian Studies if they are ever asked if they are African or East Asian (in the most general terms) once they tell someone their field of study. The answer is no. Most likely because they don’t “look” the part. They never have to justify why they are sitting in a particular class, people just grant them the status that they are interested in that particular field without question. When someone says they are studying biology, do we automatically follow up with the question, “Do you come from a family of biologists?”. From my recollection, the only time when students have ever voluntarily supplied information to me about their parents, it has been in the context of “my mommy/daddy is a doctor/lawyer”. But I wonder, am I not entitled to simply have an interest in Aboriginal studies without question? I think before you ask someone to declare their background after they told you their field of study, ask yourself why you are asking them in the first place and why does their heritage matter to you so much. It shouldn’t.

I guess the funny part is that I am also enrolled in the English program. And guess what? My mother’s side of the family is English. In fact, my great-grandparents had English accents and read English books! Yet, have I ever been asked once during my entire study at U of T if I was English? Never.

So now you know the truth about my story. What’s yours?

Erin

Double Double: Why two professors are better than one

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This year, something amazing has happened in three of my courses. My teachers have multiplied, meaning, I’ve had a number of classes with co-professors/instructors. Yes, two for the price of one. This seems highly unusual and has never happened to me before. In some cases, the co-instructors do not have a Ph.D. but their background and long history of working and living in the specific field the course is focused on makes their knowledge invaluable. Personally, I love when some of my teachers come from non-academic backgrounds. It reminds me of the rich and fulfilling world outside of academia that I sometimes lose touch with as I plough through endless readings and march back and forth between classes. Instructors from outside of the confines of university bring with them the prospect that there is life beyond these books and walls.

That's supposed to be a double double heart, not an advertisement for Tim Hortons' "lattes"!

For starters, you’ll probably end up bonding with one over the other. It’s like a toddler who has shown favouritism towards one parent. You’ll just naturally gravitate towards one, want to go to their office hours and if you need to approach them, you’ll end up giving way more eye contact to the person you most identify with. This is natural. Everyone has favourites.

Also, I’m not sure if you’ve ever been in a class and wondered if the professor would act or lecture differently if a colleague was in the room watching him or her speak.  I won’t lie. Once I sat in a classroom two days a week and watched a professor unenthusiastically read his lectures. I was actually shocked the stale lectures weren’t memorized because they sounded at least 30 years old and recycled every year. I remember how the professor would finally look up from his lecture notes when he was finished speaking and cooly ask what our opinion of the novel was, followed mockingly by a comment that our answer “couldn’t be wrong because we were simply stating our opinions”. He asked this question without fail every week. But what he really failed in doing was inspiring interesting dialogue among classmates.

Sitting in my desk, I often wondered, would this professor talk to his peers this way? If he was at a conference with his colleagues, would he crack a smile when he spoke? Would he speak with more passion and actually change the intonation in his voice? Wouldn’t he feel ashamed if his colleagues heard him speak to students in such a degrading manner? When another person in a position of power is present in the room, dynamics change which is the benefit of having two teachers, instead of one, present in the classroom. Whether or not they realize it, the two instructors are observing one another and taking note of their teaching methods which I think is a plus. I’ve heard stories about students who have felt insulted or offended by something a professor has said to the class. These students felt intimidated and did not want to jeopardize their marks by confronting the professor. I feel like if another professor was present they might be able to challenge the offender without consequences.

I also just like to watch how instructors and professors interact with one another. I’ve noticed in every class how they always sit together, side by side. They become magnets, inseparable BFFs. Sometimes, they talk in hushed tones to one another as though they are speaking a secret language only professors can understand while students do group work. They’ll joke and laugh. They seem to telepathically communicate through eye contact when they separate. They listen attentively to one another. They act polite and wait their turn to speak. And although they may not agree with everything the other person has said, I’ve never seen an emotionally-charged dispute or meltdown happen between two instructors (whereas I’ve seen this happen on several occasions between students who are clearly not listening very carefully to one another). Co-instructors show respect, not only for one another but students as well.

If only everyone in the classroom could joke and laugh and truly listen to one another and politely wait to speak. I feel like co-instructors are teaching us a hidden lesson that might not be the one we were expecting to hear or see that day. But the lesson is there. If you are lucky enough to have two instructors teach a course, pay attention. They are teaching us a coded language full of signs of respect. How to act towards one another. Treat one another. Listen to one another.

This sounds like a lecture but is not meant to be one. And although I love reciprocation and feedback from readers, I definitely won’t ask, “What did you think of my post? You can’t be wrong because you’re simply stating your opinion.” I just want you to know that hearing your opinion is always a treat and I appreciate any feedback.

And before I forget: I actually have a class taught by two professors that was cancelled this week! So it is a myth in thinking that a class taught by two people will never be cancelled because one will always be around. Oh, the odds.

Erin

 

 

To be sick, or not to be sick, that is the question

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Last week, I was sick. Upon coming home from school, I walked to my bed and passed out. Physically-deficient and mentally-drained, my poor health was legitimized by a doctor’s note saying that I would not be back until this week. I needed to rest. Sleep. Drink fluids. Take vitamins. Curl up into those overpriced Marimekko sheets that I really shouldn’t have bought and sleep for hours, nights, even days. REST!!!

Who wouldn't want to fall asleep in this Finnish bedding set? Apparently, me.

 

Yet I panicked. Particularly about two classes. One seminar course I am in has three students (I am included in this number). If I am absent, it’s pretty obvious. Not to mention that I made a pact with the two students to always go to class otherwise things could get awkward. Another course, Inuktitut, is a language class. If I miss one three-hour lesson I will be severely behind and then I really won’t know what anyone is saying (this is already a minor problem when I actually attend class).

 

I decided to drag myself to school. Be an active participant. Listen (although my hearing was a little off). Try to speak Inuktitut (in a nasal accent). Take notes (bad ones because of the blurry eyesight). I actually ended up sitting beside another student who was recovering from something else in Inuktitut. We shared the tissue box. Either way, I would have felt bad going or not going to school. Since my illness was not contagious, I didn’t feel like I was going to make my classmates sick although I think because my immune system was down I caught something new. I also feel like I wouldn’t have slept if I stayed home but would have been awake in bed obsessed with what I was missing.

 

This is the second time I have been ill this winter and my greatest fear is that my professors won’t believe me when I say I am sick (which is why I always get a pricey doctor’s note). Isn’t that terrible? But it’s true. I’m always paranoid that I might come across as a lazy student who can’t be bothered to roll out of bed and make a bad impression on faculty. So I usually push myself to do things I shouldn’t be doing to save face. A sad looking, exhausted face with sore eyes that can’t stay open. But face, nonetheless.

 

This year I am constantly surprised by how supportive and understanding my professors have been whenever I’ve confided or relayed any personal information about myself. When I told the professor who teaches the three person seminar that I was not feeling very well, she told me to not worry about missing a class. Since I’ve had her before, she knows that I have a solid work ethic and I don’t use excuses in order to get out of class or work.

 

I wish I listened to my body instead of guilty conscience (you can still walk, you aren’t that sick!) and overactive imagination (my professors will think I am skipping class because I am lazy!) because by Friday, after attending nearly all of my classes, I felt extremely horrible and was miserable at my father’s birthday.

 

If you have any concerns about missing school because you are not well, I really encourage students to contact their Registrar’s office. Also, get a sick note, if possible, from your doctor. And don’t be afraid of letting your professor know that you are not well and may not come to class. Professors get ill, too, because they are only human. I guess being sick reminds me that I am only human, too.

Erin

Monday, Monday

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I have a postcard stuck on my refrigerator. Surprisingly, I have no idea who sent it to me or where it came from. Yes, I know that sounds bizarre considering postcards usually make a point to express their origin story.

Thanks postcard! Not that I need reminding.

It’s true. I hate Mondays. In fact, I think the only way Rebecca Black’s song Friday could possibly be any worse is if she was singing about Monday. And if I held any power in this country, I would change Monday to Erinday and nobody would have to go to school. I especially loathe Monday mornings this semester because I have to go to the lifeatuoft blog meetings at 9 a.m. (the only time when all of the bloggers schedules do not conflict) and stay at school until 8 p.m. So, my Mondays will start with me jamming myself into the sardine tin called the TTC during rush hour and staying at school for 11 hours straight. I just reread everything I wrote and realize it doesn’t sound very “upbeat”, not to mention self-absorbed and spoiled. I also recognize the frightening reality I live as a student, when 9 a.m. sounds like a seriously abnormal time to make a public appearance. On a positive note, I like Monday because I know Tuesday will follow which is a day I can sleep in to whatever hour I desire and recover.

I’ve actually met students whose strategy is to purposely jam pack as many classes as possible into one day so they can have three weekdays off, meaning, they are at school for twelve hours with very few breaks. While this can work for some, it definitely doesn’t work for me. And although some students think the first week back to school is a time they can kick up their heels and just review the syllabus, I think the first week back to school is an opportune time to truly test out whether or not your schedule is working for you.

In order to give myself some options with my school schedule, I like to take the first week and sit in on as many classes I am waitlisted on as possible. Check out your department’s website to find out room numbers for a class you are still waiting to get into and slip into the lecture and eavesdrop. Although I admit first impressions can be totally inaccurate, I’ll at least get an idea of how the professor might lecture, the syllabus and the marking breakdown that will ultimately help me decide whether the class is a good fit. A lot of people tend to drop classes after the first week, so there is still a chance you can get in and nothing is worse than starting a class already trying to catch up.

I’m also thinking about ways to fill up the giant gaps I have on my Mondays, when hours will pass before I have to go to another class. Today (Monday), I had three meetings, a class and a lab. That’s a lot of sitting, so I made a point to hit the gym in between meetings. I also think eating well will help me get through the day and packed a bean and tofu salad (if anyone wants the recipe, leave a comment!). I remember I was in a similar situation my first year at U of T, when I was at school from 11 a.m. until 9 p.m., and I drank copious amounts of coffee to get through the day that made me feel horrible by my evening class. I actually received a mediocre participation mark in the evening class because although I was there in body, my mind was whirling around somewhere else.

I would also recommend that you listen to your internal clock. If you are lucky enough to be able to pick between morning, day or evening courses, choose the one (if you can get in it) that works when you feel most alert. If you aren’t a night person, why are you in an evening class? I guarantee it will end up being the most painful lecture to sit through and you’ll just want to curl up into a little ball on your warm laptop because the processor will start sounding like a cat purring you into a deep sleep. I’m really not a morning person and last year, I was in a year long course that started at 9 a.m. on Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Needless to say, I came to class late once a week.

And although I live close to campus, I’m trying to avoid going home and napping for an hour because I like to think of myself in university, not pre-school. However, there are places you can rest on campus, like at First Nations House.

If anyone has any survival tips for an extended day on campus, let me know! I’m really excited to be back and I hope to hear from readers. Also, Happy New Year, lifeatuoft! And, why not? Happy Monday, too!

Erin

Coming Full Circle in the Classroom

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Over the last semester, ENG 434 Cook the Books has garnered media attention from the likes of the Toronto Star and CBC Radio for its innovative approach to learning as students engage in food literature, a genre that has received very little academic attention, and then cook dishes inspired by their readings in the Hart House kitchen.

This course has made me bond with classmates on unprecedented levels for an English class . This week, my presentation group made a  three course vegan meal based on Jonathan Safron Foer’s Eating Animals and in preparation, we all went shopping together one Friday evening, tried out different recipes and sat down and taste tested everything over wine and conversation about life. This is far from the “normal” English course where students typically try to engage the professor more than their peers, sit in rows with backs turned to faces and rarely learn the majority of their classmates’ names. In Cook the Books, it’s not unusual to want to impress our peers with delicious meals, we share our personal stories about food and when we sit down to eat student cooked meals in Hart House, we relax a little. I have to say, the level of bonding  and personal dialogue I’ve experienced in Cook the Books is rare for an English course.

Serving ENG 434 vegan stir fry with tempeh and romanesco tofu salad.

But this approach to learning is actually the norm in a lot of my Aboriginal Studies courses. I remember sitting with our desks formed in a circle in ASB 250 Indigenous Environmental Education and Professor Erica Neegan saying it was alright if we ate during the lecture and emphasized that we shouldn’t separate our bodies from our minds (a Western view). At the end of many terms, it’s not unusual for Aboriginal Studies courses to have a feast on the last day of class to celebrate a semester well done. In fact, the similarities between Cook the Books and ABS300 Oral Traditions taught by Daniel Justice and Alice Te Punga Somerville is astonishing. But what I find even more astounding is that when Aboriginal Studies courses push the boundaries  of pedagogy with Indigenous ways of learning through food and storytelling, they rarely get the credit they deserve. In fact, the opposite happens and Aboriginal Studies courses often get a bad rap for being “bird” courses. This is far from the truth. In fact, the expectations that Justice and Te Punga Somerville (both actually come from academic backgrounds in literature) have are exactly the same expectations every one of my other professors have had for their classes. It’s the University of Toronto. Expectations are high.

In Oral Traditions, each week a student will share “kai” and bring in food and tell a personal story about the item they are presenting to the class. Through these stories, I’ve learned about goat slaughter in Pakistan for Ramadan, macrobiotic diets and German pastry and baking. Last week, my lovely classmate Rebecca brought in elderberry jam made from berries picked at U of T and wine made by her father, weaving in a story about her family who is Zoroastrian and a brief history of Persian winemaking.

Coincidentally, a poached pear recipe I had to make for Cook the Books called for both red wine and jam and I immediately thought of Rebecca as an amazing source. Not only is Rebecca’s wine and jam locally made and sourced from Ontario and campus (we actually get marked on where we buy our food), I can actually say that I know the story behind the product.

The poached pears turned out to be a success thanks to Rebecca. If it hadn’t been for Oral Traditions, I don’t think the pear desert topped with elderberry jam and shaved chocolate would have been nearly as special and unique. Now that I’m in my final year, I can look back and really see connections between different classes more clearly. It’s always amazing when stories, people and courses as different as Aboriginal Studies and English come full circle.

Erin

 

 

Erin’s First High Table

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As a Trinity student in my final year, I’ve never sat at “High Table” in Strachan Dining Hall. I’ve always imagined that the whole High Table experience was actually just glorified networking steeped in elitist tradition. So when I found out Trinity  Academic Dons Christopher Pugh and Elisa Tersigni were holding a Book History High Table, I had to go. Seriously. As a Trinity English Peer Counsellor, I felt obliged to attend this event. But I’m glad I did as it both dispelled and reinforced my High Table prejudices and I also discovered the printing press at Massey College which was amazing!

The evening began at 5 pm sharp at Massey, starting with a print demonstration at the printing press - a working library of 19th century printing presses. Although I had heard of the printing press’s existence on campus, I had no idea that it was located in the basement of Massey.  Unfortunately, a meeting with my professor ran overtime and I arrived 30 minutes late. Upon walking in, I immediately noticed that I didn’t get the dress code memo. The ladies were decked out in heels and skirts, the gentlemen in ties and dress pants while I had on pink sneakers, jeans and a wrinkled sweatshirt. Instead of blush and lipgloss, I was wearing four hours of sleep. I apologized for both my physical and late appearance and both Pugh and Terisgni were incredibly understanding.

Brian Maloney, the charismatic College Printer,  talked about the history of the press and we printed little keepsakes with red ink that looked so rich it would make a vampire salivate. We learned that the earlier period of printing, the formula for red ink was not perfected enough to use in the printing process, forcing book makers to go back over pages and add red ink by hand.  This process of adding red ink was called rubrication. Check out this video shot in Massey’s print shop to get an idea of what we did. I’ll warn you now, press mute!

Following the printing press demonstration, students, Dons and Brian left the pits of Massey to have a drink in a common area before heading to Trinity College. As we marched towards Trinity, I immediately felt like the conversation was taking a turn to pretentious when people started talking about (but not actually speaking) Latin. I thought my fear was coming true, that anything associated with High Table was going to be painfully highfalutin. However, I quickly recognized that I was just carrying a deep-seated prejudice and I probably sounded completely obnoxious myself when I talked about an Inuktitut class I would be taking next semester.

Since Strachan Hall was fairly empty, we broke the rules and didn’t wear the gowns. Depending on your take on High Table, the gowns probably make you think of either Harry Potter (cute) or Eyes Wide Shut (cult). I was sort of disappointed because I was actually looking forward to covering up my sweatshirt and jeans.

For dinner, I was served the vegetarian option: dry couscous, grilled vegetables and potatoes. For desert, there was a huge amount of refined sugar options available including ice-cream and cookies. Unfortunately, I had just come from my Cook the Books class that focused on the evils of industrial and processed foods, so I didn’t really have an appetite for deserts that probably won’t decompose with the rest of my body when I die. While the food was somewhat lacking, the conversation turned out to be incredibly informative as students talked about grad school and also their positive experiences at the university. For example, I found out that I was sitting beside the previous editor of the Trinity University Review, the college’s journal of arts and letters since 1880, who cherished his experience running the journal.

I suppose I entered the whole High Table dinner with a lot of pride (I think I actually liked rejecting all Trinity traditions) and prejudice (I expected secret handshakes, slimy networking, creepy cloaks and bad food, well, one of those is actually true) but I came out of the experience slightly surprised. The High Table was a great reminder to give everything a chance because you never know who you’ll meet and where a simple conversation might lead you.

If I knew Latin, I would sign off this entry with some seriously obscure phrase. But I don’t.

Erin

Above: My keepsake. I printed the red text onto the paper.

Apply for a Free, Non-Credit (and Non-GPA Destroying) Writing Seminar with Michael Winter

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This year, Canadian novelist Michael Winter is serving as the Jack McClelland Writer-in-Residence. You may be familiar with his fiction like The Big Why and This All Happened, or maybe you’ve seen him around campus as he has worked as the Acting Director of the M.A. Creative Writing Program for the Department of English. I write seen him on campus because Winter cuts a striking figure, he’s incredibly tall, a distinctive feature that makes him recognizable if you’ve ever watched fancy literary award broadcasts like the Gillers.

My own interaction with Winter is limited to once standing in the same mirrored elevator as him in the Jackman Humanities Building (we all know those elevators, it’s like they have delayed reactions to every button you push and sulk as they drag themselves to whatever floor you want to get to) where I overheard him talking to someone about soft foods like mashed potatoes being associated with old people (I feel like denchers were mentioned at some point). Although eavesdropping on a conversation about mashed potatoes and senior citizens in a prolonged elevator ride sounds torturous, Winter actually made everything sound incredibly hilarious and entertaining because he’s a storyteller. In fact, he would probably be a really good person to get stuck in an elevator with.

For U of T students who want to practice their own storytelling and fiction writing skills, I would suggest they apply for the creative writing seminar Winter will be running next semester. The seminar is limited to 15 students and will take place during the “S’ term, on Wednesdays from 6-8 pm.  The wonderful part about this environment is that students will not be under pressure to get an “A” as the course is non-credit. The reward is not a mark but is based on how much effort you put into the seminar and what you take away from the learning experience.

Winter was kind enough to tell me what he will be looking for in student applications and also what he hopes participants will get out of the course.

Q: The application process calls for a two-page sample of fiction. What are you looking for in those two pages?

Winter: Life, heart, style, a concrete image, drama, dialogue, something I can’t quite understand and yet isn’t abstract, humour, pathos, a voice.

Q: What should students expect if they are accepted into your non-credit creative writing seminar?

Winter: An examination of what makes good fiction, and an analysis of their own work.

Q: What do you hope students will take away from the seminar when it finishes?

Winter: If they rely on their private, deep-down voice — about what they see as true in the world — something good will occur on the page.

Q: Have you asked previous Jack McClelland Writers-in-Residence for advice or what their own experience was like in your position?

Winter: I have asked Barbara Gowdy to explain how the fireplace works.

Q: What do you remember about your own university experience?

Winter: It was mainly dull with about six courses by four teachers that blew me away. I’d say that’s about average.

Q: Since space is limited to 15, what advice would you give to students who apply and do not get into the seminar?

Winter: I have a limited range of skills so I’m going to choose students I  think I can help, to encourage a better story out of them. There will  be many students who are very talented whose work I might have to  struggle with to comment on because they are working in a form that I am not skillful at.  Their work is beyond my ability to critique. So they are better off without me. Anyone who doesn’t get in the class should feel this way.

Students who are interested in applying must submit a print copy of a two-page sample of fiction with a return U of T e-mail to Professor Nick Mount at the address below by Friday December 2, 2011. No cover letter is necessary.

Nick Mount
Associate Professor and Associate Chair, Department of English
Jackman Humanities Building
University of Toronto
170 St. George Street
Toronto, ON M5R 2M8

If you decide to apply, good luck with your application! And remember, this should be a pleasurable, non-stressful experience (unlike other application processes). Don’t overanalyze what you submit, just be proud of your writing and yourself for trying.

Erin

A Lesson in Asking for Extensions

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This is my back-up post for lifeatuoft, written during the honeymoon phase of the school year (September) when I am still madly in love with my professors, schoolwork and the predictable routine of university life. I wrote this post back in the fall, predetermining the fact that by the end of November, when tests, projects, presentations and essays are all due at the same time, my relationship with school may be on the rocks. About midway through the academic year (right now!), I’m fantasizing about a much needed break from U of T and won’t want to contribute to lifeatuoft at all. In fact, the last thing I want to do after a hard day of work is come home and have to dedicate more time and attention to you, school. Everything is too demanding. Too stressful. I thought it would be different. I love it. I hate it. I want to leave it. It’s not U (of T), it’s me.

Although I can’t accurately predict what my state of mind is today (this was written in September, after all), I am most likely dreaming of a professor suddenly granting my entire class an extension. This sympathetic gesture has actually occurred on rare occasions. However, this isn’t the norm. In fact, one friend told me that she asked for an extension from a particularly popular and celebrated professor on campus because her mother was dying of cancer and he said NO, as he had a rule about not making any exceptions for deadlines, and that he had to stick to it, however, he said he was sorry to hear about her mother (I should also add that this total lack of empathy towards students struggling with serious personal problems is also rare).

I once took a Contemporary British Literature course with Professor Fenwick (pronounced with a silent w) and she made it very clear that getting an extension is possible, under very special circumstances. Very special.

It was the first day of class, when people still think they will write their essays weeks in advance of the due date, and Professor Fenwick came to the part of her introduction we are all familiar with regarding extensions. Clearly, giving one person an extension isn’t fair to the rest of the class. I think we would all agree with this point. However, she noted that she has granted extensions before, like when she was a teaching assistant many years ago and a student sent her a letter (pre-email) explaining why he had not submitted an assignment. The letter said:

“I regret I was unable to come to class on Monday with my essay because a horse fell on my step-father in North Bay.”

The fact that Professor Fenwick had never been to North Bay, combined with the incredibly random specificities and bizarre nature of the excuse, made her conclude that it must be true. And let’s face it,  so much better than hearing about a sudden doctor’s appointment/delay on the Sheppard subway/printer ran out of ink run-of-the-mill excuses. However, when another student said she would be missing a test because she was attending the Calgary Stampede, Professor Fenwick was less lenient but noted that she respected the student for telling the truth, instead of a far-fetched tale of tragedy and turmoil.

In any case, Professor Fenwick makes a good point about what students should do when they ask for extensions. “I’d always rather students were honest than that they invent excuses. I’d far rather hear that their grandmother is visiting from out of town and that they want to spend time with her than that they invent blatantly untrue, embarrassing excuses.”

Just remember, each professor approaches extensions differently. While some are merciful, others will flat out deny you of a few extra days or weeks to complete your assignment, so be aware and proceed with caution.

Some other tips when asking for an extension:

First, ask yourself, is this actually a valid excuse for an extension? Are you asking for this extensions because you were watching too much TV? Poor planning? Putting your social life before your schoolwork? Terrible time management skills is not a solid reason for an extension.

Don’t ask for an extension the night before in e-mail. Professors are aware that there is a weird sudden illness that university students are stricken with the night before something is due. This mysterious illness almost always results in a high number of requests for extensions on the eve of a due date.

Talk to your professor, in person if possible, to explain your situation. Putting a face to a name is good. If you go to every class and participate, I’m sure the professor will recognize who you are and hopefully see you have been present in the lectures instead of someone who has skipped classes and realizes they can’t hand in an assignment because they have no idea what is happening in class.

Be prepared to provide a doctor’s note if you are sick. This is common sense. While some professors will accept a poorly scrawled doctor’s note, the University of Toronto requests that students have their doctors fill out this Student Medical Certificate form to provide evidence of illness.

Try to get an extension on only one assignment. Unless you are seriously ill, getting extensions on numerous assignments is dangerous because it will just make you procrastinate more and stress you out when the time rolls around again to hand everything in again. Do you really want to be spending your winter break writing essays?

And just remember, you are making an impression on your professor whether you like it or not. If you haven’t had much interaction with your professor, you could possibly be remembered for getting an extension. Be a standout student in other ways. Students who volunteer to present first in class are usually remembered and marked on a slightly different scale because they cannot be compared to anyone else. Your professor might also have higher expectations now that you’ve been granted an extension.

I guess my main point is to avoid extensions and awkward, pleading conversations with professors at all costs!

Now back to my essay writing. Do I sound bitter? I promise I won’t be, once I’ve handed all of my assignments in on time.

Erin

 

 

 

 

The Dreaded Science Breadth Requirement is Not So Dreadful After All

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This year, I am taking the dreaded science breadth requirement. The fact that I felt like I had to waste a credit to fulfill “Breadth Requirement Category 5: The Physical and Mathematical Universe” annoyed me and I avoided it like the plague. I mean, I’m in Arts and Humanities for a reason…I am not a fan of math and science. I’m probably not that good at math and science at a university level either.

Anyway, the time has come (meaning I want to graduate) so I decided the only two serious options I had were ENG287 H1 The Digital Text (a new course probably created for scientifically-challenged English majors like me) and ABS240Y (a course in its second year, probably created for scientifically-challenged Aboriginal Studies majors like me). I did not even consider any of the other science options as I have heard people taking Astronomy and coming out of the class with pitiful marks. After reading The Digital Text course description and seeing the words “computer-assisted analysis” and “digital programming” flash before my eyes (on my computer of course), I decided to go with ABS240Y because I spend enough time on my computer (cue sad violin music). I recognize now that I made a great choice because this was our classroom on Monday:

Yes, we spent the entire class in High Park, a crown jewel of Toronto’s park system that is home to the black oak savannah.

I’m happy to write that I’ve been pleasantly surprised by my science breadth course requirement despite the fact that it falls on a Monday and includes a three-hour lecture and two-hour evening lab (in a basement if we are not in the great outdoors). I’m sure if Canadian weather and technology would permit it, my instructor, Melanie Jeffrey, would probably hold most labs outside (we’ve also had lectures along Philosopher’s Walk and the DVP).

While I am learning a lot about the tensions, oppositional worldviews and differing approaches between Aboriginal and Western science, I am also learning that I shouldn’t write off a credit because I found math and science a creativity-destroying force in high school.  Who knew one could make pesto sauce out of Garlic Mustard that continues to invade and spread itself over the grounds of High Park? And have you ever tasted pine needles, packed with vitamin C, that First Nations peoples showed to European invaders so they would not die of scurvy?

I’ve literally come back from ABS240 and talked to friends about what I’ve learned in class and they say I sound like I’m reciting Colors of the Wind. Yet their reaction shows me that I’m absorbing the information, making use of it and feel excited about science. Science.

I guess my only recommendation would be to not leave your science breadth requirement until your final year and take a science credit affiliated with your field of study. I was petrified that I would be so unfamiliar with the literature we would be studying in class but there has been some crossover with other courses I have taken. It’s actually quite comforting to recognize the name of an author in a class that you thought would be speaking a completely foreign scientific language.

I’ll leave you with some images taken in High Park that will hopefully show you that a science class can actually be fun (we made dirt balls and whipped them into the savannah) and ridiculously beautiful.

Erin

Our guide Katie.

Garlic Mustard is an invasive species. It is not good for native plants but it is good for pesto sauce!

Edible pine needles are a good source of vitamin C.

 

Our instructor, Melanie Jeffrey.

 

ABS240 bridging the gap between learning inside and outside of the classroom.

Welcome to the savannah that is being revitalized!

The majestic Black Oak.

 

A natural cup that captures rain water that birds will drink from.

We made dirt balls containing seeds to throw into a fenced off area of the savannah that the park is trying to revitalize.

One of the best ways to learn is getting your hands dirty.

 

 

 

 

You Are What You Study?

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In my ENG 434 Cook The Books class, we’ve discussed the statement “you are what you eat” but I wonder, can the same be said for what you study? Hopefully, whatever field you’ve decided to specialize, major or minor in, will make an impact on the way you think but I do not necessarily think that your degree will define who you are and limit what you can be when you graduate.

On Monday, I went with Chad to see NASA Astronaut Drew Feustel speak at Hart House. Neither Chad, nor I, are in any way related to the U of T Space Program. Wait a second. U of T has a Space Program? Yes, that was our reaction, too. Nonetheless, everyone was welcome to attend and the audience was surprisingly diverse, ranging from a crying baby to the senior citizen with a hearing aid who sat in front of me to a person who felt compelled to ask,”Do you think humans can have a longer life expectancy in outer space because there is less pollution?” (Feustel responded that the stench of the recycled oxygen in the space shuttle is so gross that workers like to avoid going inside of the spacecraft after landing, therefore, is living in smelly, cramped quarters actually worth a longer life expectancy?). Uh, yeah. So we didn’t feel like aliens invading a space program lecture or anything.

Given the end of NASA’s space shuttle program over the summer, it was pretty amazing to hear someone who has visited the International Space Station not only once, but twice, speak about his unique experiences. While Feustel talked about his 8 minutes 20 seconds journey into orbit (the Space Shuttle Endeavour goes from zero to 17,500 miles an hour), he also mentioned his journey from university to NASA. Feustel revealed that he actually studied Geophysics and worked in underground mining throughout Canada and the United States. It’s safe to say that the jump from underground mining to outer space is a pretty far leap but Feustel proved he didn’t let his background in Geological Sciences define and limit what he can and can’t accomplish.

In fact, Feustel seemed to stress that being a well-rounded individual was the key to his success. Obviously, a Ph.D. in Geological Sciences added to his repertoire of academic accomplishments but in order to gain a competitive edge for NASA’s recruiting process, he built up his qualifications and became certified in scuba diving and learned how to fly a plane, personally testing and pushing himself to see if he felt comfortable in different environments.

While Feustel talked about his own unique carved path, I couldn’t help but think about when I tell people that I am a double major in Aboriginal Studies and English. There have been times when I have watched people process the subjects I have chosen and it becomes quite obvious that they do not recognize Aboriginal Studies and English as “safe” fields of study.

“And what do you plan to do with that?” “Where will those subjects lead you?” They quiz me. I’ve tried to stop giving a long-winded defense about why I have chosen this specific journey (quite simply, I derive pleasure from gaining knowledge and exploring ideas in these areas, it is my passion) and have also refrained from telling them that I will be okay. The thing is, I really do think I’ll be okay.

While I admit, very few people on planet earth will ever get beyond earth, Feustel shows that a Ph.D. in Geological Sciences didn’t restrict his dreams of becoming an astronaut. What I’m trying to say is that if you work hard enough, shoot high enough and dream big enough, it’s you, not necessarily your degree, that will get you places, perhaps far, far away. So be like Feustel. Enjoy life on earth but don’t forget to shoot for those stars.

Erin

NASA Astronaut Drew Feustel and his former professor, U of T's Vice President of Research, Paul Young.