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In her essay, “Smarts: A Cautionary Tale,” Valerie Lee writes:
“Historically, African Americans often have shaped knowledge from different interpretive frameworks. Most academic units have written and shared notions of what excellence in teaching, research, and service means. Prior to the times when scholars of color presented their calling cards at the academy’s door, faculty memberss were pretty smug about the meaning of such words and phrases as “canon,” “rigor of thought,” “cutting edge,” “the educated mind.” Contrastingly, a survey of African American folk stories and literature reveals a distinction between education andedumacation. The space betweeen the two concepts is a contradictory space, as most complex spacces are. That is, even as most African American communities have praised literacy and education as the way to freedom and success, there has always been another discourse that says you have to watch out for white folks’ education, derisively called edumacation. In Ebonics, the extra syllables indicate poposity, extremity, as when Langston Hughes’s character, Jesse B. Simple, calls worry “worryiation.” Worry can stress you out: but worriation can kill you.Edumacation is academe’s corruption of smartness. Edumacation is what folks at home think you are getting when they start asking, ‘Now how long have you been in school? What degree did you say are you working on now? ‘Edumacation calls into question many of academe’s ironclad canons” (Royster and Simpkins, Calling Cards: Theory and Practice in the Study of Race, Gender, and Culture, 98). Reading this passage makes me murmur “Amen.” I’m fortunate to have a family that has always recognized my academic ambition, something Mom and Dad observed when I jumped out of bed on my first day of school and assumed the school bus would be picking me up within the next ten-minutes. They don’t question me alot, at least not to my face, and I am grateful that I don’t have to contend with verbal insinuations that I’m here getting a Ph.D to get “edumacated.” But lately, I’ve been having my own fears about getting too “edumacated”? I don’t have these fears often, but lately I’ve been having an eerie sense about my ultimate “arrival” at a Ph.D. What if I get there and I don’t like it? Sure that day is far away. But since I’m nearing the end of course work and trying to prepare myself for that transition, thoughts like these have began to linger. See, I’ve always taken breaks between degrees, dipping in and out of the academy, per se. After undergrad, I took a job as a Proposal Writer, and within two months I knew that wasn’t my career. That following year I’d started an M.A program, and within a month of beginning, my job down-sized my position. So I started teaching, and loved it for a while. The combination between theory and practice was great. The kids were a blessing. But even as I was plugging away at my masters, I knew that the high school classroom would not be my career-home because I wanted more, and the college classroom seemed to offer it. These split appointments between the academy and the career world worked well for me because any time I wanted to leave one dimension I could take refuge in the other. But now I’m plugging again, working towards the carrots of completing course work, exams, a dissertation. Working towards the carrots of publishing an article, giving a good conference paper, creating and teaching classes that are functional and true to my scholarly interest. Working towards the carrots of spending a Saturday night somewhere other than my office. I’m trying to try savor how much better I feel this year than I did my first year, and still trying not to stress about “staying on time” or focusing more on the forest than the trees in front of me. Instead, I’m trying to focus on the pages of my life instead of the chapters, or the whole story. But seeing the pages are tough when you’re a carrot-type of gal like me. And really tough when you go home and see your friends and family “living”. So tough in fact, that I look down at my books sometimes, or out the window at this week’s snow and I wonder, will my carrots taste good? ~I have spoken~
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I must be a glutton for punishment. Seminar paper season is around the corner and although I have narrowed down my topics, I anticipate some difficulty. My project for Contemporary Rhetoric is one that I look forward to and feel an important passion about. Given the task of researching an important contemporary figure to the field of rhetoric, I chose Geneva Smitherman. While working on my masters, I became interested in her discussions of African American Rhetorical traditions. Since then, I’ve come to understand her contributions to the field I claim, her continued work to promote language equality, her fire and passion. She’s bad ya’ll. It’s surprising to me that there is so little scholarship about her. Someone needs to do the work.
It’s that need that stresses me out. What do you do when you feel strongly about a topic or a figure that few people seem to be talking about? What if you identify with them? If you’ve met them? Respect them? I know I can only do so much in a seminar paper, but given that I am arguing for her consideration and recognition within the vast field of “contemporary rhetoric,” the pressure I feel to make the most compelling argument is high. I’ve got to bring it. Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m too passionate. I don’t know. I just know I feel an extra responsibility with this paper. And here’s where the gluttony comes in. My other course for the semester is Ancient Rhetoric. I looked forward to this class, welcoming the chance to read the ancient texts. It’s been tough though. I’ve struggled with some of these texts. After speaking with my professor, I came up with a potential idea for a paper, and after I spent all night Wednesday night researching it, I’ve decided to research Aeschines and Rhodian rhetoric. Why would I pick a topic that no one has heard of? Why wouldn’t I just write a paper about Augustine, or Quintillian? I asked myself that as I woke up at 4 am to finish the proposal. Why Tamika? Why do you keep picking these types of projects? Well, in this case, I found Rich Enos’s Article on Rhodian rhetoric to be one of the most compelling pieces I’ve read so far. My problem is that there are no records about Rhodian rhetoric. Even though there are a few scant references to it, Rhodian rhetoric was overshadowed by Athenian rhetoric. I do know that Aeschines, the sacred orator, opened a school at Rhodes, and I may be able to find information about his life, but other than that I’ve got to look at the one figure that seemed to speak the most about Rhodian rhetoric; Cicero. Isn’t fate cruel?. But, because I think it Rhodian rhetoric might have some kind of influence on our concept of Cultural Rhetoric, I am interested in it enough to try. When I look at the types of projects I try to undertake, I wonder if my colleagues are as ambitious. Are you? Cause if it’s just me, it will be a long November. ~I have spoken~ For the last two days, I’ve spent the afternoons at Panera Bread Company. In addition to the free Wi-Fi and the Asiago Cheese bagels, I’ve found Panera pretty conducive to studying, especially on sunny days when I need to get out of the house. Since I slept in this morning, I threw on a typical grad student outfit (oversized sweatshirt, sweatpants, and glasses) and headed out. When I got here the place was packed, and for the first time I had to settle for one of those table/booth combinations. There was a free tabooth near the door, but since someone had left their newspaper and coat on the seat, I had to slide a few things over before I sat down. Whatever, I thought, and slid the stuff over, unpacked my bags, and got to work. The elderly couple sitting across from me just stared.
About three hours later, I was still working, toiling, struggling, sweating. I wish I knew what it was about Cicero’s text that challenges me so. He is a verbose writer, but that’s par for the course with these ancient texts. I understand that. Still, something about the elaborateness of the dialogues in this text exhausts me. Granted, I have been sick some this semester, and at points, finishing my readings has been really difficult. But damn, I feel better today than I have in a long time and Cicero is still humbling me. I’m a little nervous. Shouldn’t reading become easier in your second year? About a half-hour ago, I was coming to the end of book two, and wading through Antonius’ discussion of arrangement and memory when I must have dozed off. I woke up to the sound of a Panera worker coming through the door beside me and a fresh batch of senior citizens looking at me. Since I was thirsty, I went to get a drink. When I got the counter, the Panera worker that passed my tabooth earlier was working the register. I stepped forward to order my drink, and after I said “A large fountain drink, please,” he just looked at me and said, “it’s free.” “Free? Are you sure.” “Yeah, you look like you can use it.” Damn. Did I look that exhausted and mentally spent? Did he see my copy of De Oratore and take pity? Don’t get me wrong, free is still free, and I’m grateful for that good samaritan. But damn Cicero. Damn. ~I have spoken~ I’m still recovering from my first trip to 4Cs, but overall the conference was a great experience. My paper “You don’t know me: the implications of ethnography and ‘thin slicing’ within the multicultural American classroom on the field of composition studies” was well received, despite the fact that it has an anti-ethnography tint to it (I’m still working through those issues).
I saw a number of fascinating panels, most notably Singing, Preaching, and Teaching in a Strange Land: Composing Community and Building Coalitions through African-American Religious Language as Literacy Practices which featured three dynamic scholars whom I hope to work with in the future. Who knew you could have “chuch” at 4Cs? I suffered temporary paralysis when I saw Geneva Smitherman checking into the hotel, Keith Gilyard at the bar, Jacqueline Jones Royster at breakfast, Carol Mattingly on the elevator, and Beverly Moss at a buffet. Fortunately, each one’s warm demeanor shook me out of my first-year state of awe. I saw Chicago for the first time, and I’m eager to go back. I laughed so hard with D, E, and even AB. I was not invisible. (contact me if you want to know what that means). I met some fine scholars with whom I hope to stay in contact. I learned that there can be peace in any situation. Because I missed my 9 am flight Saturday morning (as well as the 1 pm, 4 pm, and 6 pm flight) I was told that I would not be able to leave Chicago until Monday. When I finally opted for the 14 hour train ride home and began the trip from the airport to th train station, I met two nice strangers that helped me navigate through the journey. Jean, who was also in town for a conference, rode with me on the city train and talked with me about her work. Cam, an impressive young college senior who will be working on Wall Street in the fall, personally escorted me from the city train to the station, ate dinner with me, and walked me to the line. Since I’m always leery of strangers, I was very thankful for them. As I rode the train Saturday night, serenaded by the tunes on my beloved i-pod, a peace fell over me – one so strong that despite the tragicomic elements of my day, I was pleased. And so… I can’t complain. |
Shouts, Blogs, and SnapsThis mash-up page contains some of my favorite posts from my blogging days over at "I Have Spoken" (IHS) on blogspot, and my "Begin Again" blog on Wordpress. There's also some shout outs, and snapshots here. To show history, I've kept some of the original dates from my blogposts although I did not carry over the original comments. Archives
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