Not a Baker's Dozen

How appropriate! Today is Labor Day in Europe.

If you are not familiar with the term 'baker's dozen' it means 13 as opposed to 12. If you want to get sidetracked learning more about the term, click here after you finish reading this post.

On Thursday April 24, 2014 I submitted my letter of resignation to the powers that be at Eötvös Loránd University, Department of American Studies. My contract expires on August 31, 2014, but after that time, I will not be returning to the university. I have been teaching at the university for the last 12 years; hence, one year short of a baker’s dozen. No matter how you slice it, I just could not put in another year.

At the moment, I have no concrete plans; however, this does not mean I will be loafing around. I do have some half-baked ideas that need further time to rise before they get popped in the oven. Regardless, we will knead the dough, so until I find other work, we will have to crimp corners. 

I will be looking for new opportunities to toss around. Maybe I will whip something up that will mix well with my old and new ambitions and interests. When things get to a full boil again, I won't have to worry about things that may grate on my nerves. I want to be able to blend our zest for travel while folding in adventure.

If you have any ideas, batter up, score some points, and dash them off to me. 

What I intend to do:

• Seek out more freelance writing opportunities
• Provide freelance editing services
• Increase my coaching practice
• Explore online teaching opportunities
• Study the possibility of a research business
• Look at housesitting opportunities
• Investigate home exchanges
• Basically, anything that can be pursued without having to be tied to one location long-term

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• No need to knead

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I Remember...

This is always a tough time in the semester for students and instructors alike. Those students who are writing a thesis this semester have Monday, April 15th as their deadline. I offer a thesis writing class for students from either the American Studies or the English department so they can write their thesis under close supervision. There were 13 students in the class; this meant volumes of reading/editing/advising. 

Add to this the seven other classes I have this semester, I am ready to topple over. Thankfully, there is a Fulbrighter teaching one class under my name or I would have eight other classes.

To give the journalism students a bit of a break, I did something that our guest speaker, Dana Sachs did last year. I read the poem I Remember by Joe Brainard. Then I asked them to write twenty lines of their own ‘I Remember…’. I thought it was only fair that I Remember too and shared it with them. Here is mine.

I remember discovering there was an opening in the American Studies department at ELTE, just days after I voiced my desire to teach university once again.

I remember printing out my CV and taking a taxi down to the university to hand it in.

I remember my interview with Dr. Bollobás, who ended the interview with “I will call all the people I interviewed on Tuesday at 5pm. You will be home then won’t you?” She repeated the last sentence five times and then gave me her mobile number in case I had to go out.

I remember working with Aaron Hunter, who was much younger than me. He said “Don’t worry if students don’t come to your office hours. It could be your age.”

I remember having an office full of students who just wanted to hang out with me until their next class.

I remember Aaron being confused about all of the students who came to see me for no particular reason.

I remember students who were doing their student teaching when I was teaching Teacher Training. They came to my office crying about how rigid and unaccepting their mentor teachers were in the schools where they were placed.

I remember the department giving a written and oral exam before admitting students to the American Studies program.

I remember how I had to perpetually remind myself that English was the second language for these students.

I remember wondering if a Spanish, French, Russian, or Hungarian major in an American university gets off easy because it is not their first language?

I remember the joy and horror of having the same class for five lessons each week.

I remember assigning five essays a semester with each one having the opportunity for one revision while having thirty students in a class.

I remember not enjoying reading 2,620 pages of students’ work a semester, but I did it in hopes the students would learn something.

I remember discovering when the students accidentally disclosed that all they did for a revision was ACCEPT ALL CHANGES in the essay I returned to them for revision.

I remember learning to lock the essays so they could no longer do that.

I remember the first student who asked me to be his thesis advisor and how nervous I was about being up to the task.

I remember when he received honors on this thesis and how proud I was for both of us.
I remember the first six years of teaching at ELTE when students wanted to hang out as much as possible.

I remember holding coffee meetings twice a month on different days and times so students could come to practice their English.

I remember how those coffee klatches were meant to be an hour, but sometimes I was still there three hours later than planned.

I remember the time when twenty-five students showed up at one time. I was flabbergasted.

I remember the first group of students who gave me five books for Christmas. I cried so hard in front of the class; I was mortified while being humbled at the same time.

I remember the first student who asked if he could come to our home. He spent so much time there, we almost adopted him.

I remember when he left for the Kellner Scholarship; he was so concerned about us that he found a replacement student.

I remember wondering how we would deal with the loss and if this ‘replacement’ would fill his shoes.

I remember the day it occurred to me that we now had two adoptees, because both guys became our family.

I remember the joy I felt when I was able to get the ten computers donated by my friend’s business.

I remember writing the proposal for creating a writing center where students would aid students and I would be in the background as a guide.

I remember my department head deciding that these new computers were perfect for creating a journalism program and made it my task to develop it.

I remember when she told me to come up with 60 different courses that could potentially be our offerings, each with a few sentences detailing the course.

I remember spending days searching American universities websites for their course listings for ideas.

I remember the sense of relief I felt when I finished the task and turned it in with great pride in my achievement.

I remember her response “Wow, Ryan! You really put a lot of work into this, but we only needed about 10 courses worth 60 credits.”

I remember wanting to do damage to someone or something after that.

I remember not being thrilled about the changes in the university policy; we no longer were able to test students for admission.

I remember writing the curriculum multiple times and then having someone in the ivory tower refute something or other.

I remember asking other faculty for their willingness to teach courses within the specialization. Some were willing, others not so much.

I remember the class where they confided that they never paid attention to my editing comments and only looked at the grade.

I remember learning each semester how I had to be tougher if I really wanted these students to get educated.

I remember thinking it was only the credits that mattered to students in the end.

I remember a student telling me this was a true thought.

I remember questioning why I continued to care.

I remember when it dawned on me that I don’t need to care, but then it is time to move on.

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• I Remember by Joe Brainard - review

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Proud of the Pack

Last night my journalism students held their blogs and websites presentation; these are the ones they created for the class I teach. They start the semester with a blog and need to have eleven posts minimum. Half way through the semester, they have to create a website with 5 pages.  This is the 3rd year of the journalism program, but I must say, as a group, they really took the task seriously. 


I nearly fell off my chair when one of the students announced she had over 900 hits on her blog. That is amazing for such a short time. Others have had people writing them from various countries in regard to their contents from Hungarian cooking to explaining microbiology to the non-scientist. 


Considering I had sent an e-mail invite to the entire faculty, not just the American Studies department, I was sorely disappointed not one faculty member showed up other than myself. There were signs all over the school, I  advertised it in the two English newsletters, on the Creativity group website, Facebook page, and Twitter page. There were only ten attendees other than the presenters. 


Regardless, they presented like they were speaking to the masses. They did an excellent job. Here is a snap of their sites if you have time. If you do check one out, please comment on their site. It is encouragement for them to continue. If you click on it, it should be readable.

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Educational Culture Shock

In some past posts, I have mentioned that I was asked to be on the doctoral committee for the very first candidate to graduate from our American Studies doctoral program.


Yesterday was her dissertation defense, which I had to attend being one of her readers. After 8 years in the university system, I thought my days of educational culture shock were behind me. Being naive enough to think I had seen it all, they still surprise me. This is how it played out.


Setting: two extra-large rooms, the outer set up for a celebratory reception (what would have happened if this did not go well?), the inner room had fifty chairs for the observers. At the very front was a table with 5 places for the officiating committee, including a secretary who had to take notes. In front of this table on one side, sitting behind a smaller table was the doctoral candidate Julia. She was placed so that her left side faced the committee and her right side was toward the audience. Directly across from her at room's length were her two 'opponents' another professor from Szeged and myself.


This was only in English: The committee chair started by greeting everyone and then asked the secretary to read the introductions. This introduction was the candidate's biography giving date and place of birth, elementary school through university schools, awards, accomplishments, followed by her marriage and the names and dates of the birth of her children. I had to maintain my composure because scenes from the very old television show This Is Your Life continually streamed through my mind. I was waiting for the voice to come from nowhere with some cute antidote of Julia's past and have her 3rd grade teacher appear from nowhere. 


Once everyone knew the intimate details of her life sparing how many hours she spent in labor with each child, we moved on to the opponents text. Thankfully, they provided me with the dissertation report I had written as I was expected to read the entire 6 pages out loud to all. This was followed by my fellow opponent doing the same. The defender then responded to all questions and concerns presented like a champion. She is supplied with all of them prior to the defense. Granted, she did not take this portion lightly, so we spend another thirty minutes listening to her responses. 


The committee chair then opened it up to anyone to ask questions of the defending candidate. Fortunately no one from the peanut gallery asked anything, but the committee members felt obligated to comment or ask questions. This added to the validation of the defense, so I was pleased that Julia could answer anything thrown at her.


At this point, everyone but the committee members were asked to leave and we had a secret ballot vote on her final defense grade. She received six 5's (equal to an A) and one 4 (equal to a B), so she received a 5. They don't do plus or minus grades, which is a shame. The secretary at this point has to fill in a comprehensive form detailing the entire defense, which we all have input on and then sign it. 


Everyone is then called back into the room. The secretary reads the entire document that was just labored over, but in Hungarian only. Clap, clap, clap! Then the candidate gives a speech again in Hungarian, but I did recognize a dozen thank yous. She immediately switched to English when thanking the other professor and myself. This portion almost took as much time as her biography. 


Everyone adjourned to the outer room for a toast and reception. I have to admit I am so very proud to part of the first doctoral defense of the Eötvös Loránd University American Studies Department.

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One Reason Why I Love My Students

Today, I had a private lesson with my one and only private student. Before I left his place, he took green leaves out of the refrigerator and asked me what the vegetable was in English. 

I had no clue what it was. Smelling it, it smelled similar to scallions, but the leaves were open and broader yet only about 6 inches long. I thought maybe some time of leek, but there was no bulb at the end, only the greenery. 

For years, we rarely found celery here. What we found was celery root, but not the stalks. Around our 3rd Thanksgiving, we came across a pitiful stalk of celery in one supermarket and cringed as we paid close to $5.oo for it. We used it for the stuffing for the turkey. Many have told us that the stalks are fed to pigs.

These greens that Janos was showing me, made me suspect that they really cut away tossed the good part. It is only available for a short 6 week growing season. I had him write it down in Hungarian - medvehagyma. I know medve is bear, hagyma is onion, but this did not provide any clues to the English name.

My first year of teaching here, I set up a Yahoo group that all American Studies students had to join. Many moaned and groaned at the time, but I have received a zillion thanks since then. They communicate about everything as a system. The newer Bologna students have the option, but most do not want to be bothered. 

So, I sent out one e-mail asking what medvehagyma was in English. Within an hour, I had 27 responses giving me websites, translations, and so on. For the unknowing, it is called bear's garlic (not onion) in English, but also wild garlic, and ramson. I have never heard of it, never seen it before, and obviously never tasted it. The joys of teaching is learning something new every day. Today, not only did I learn about a plant, but the generosity of students, some of the responders were those I have never taught. They were my teaching partner's 'kids'.

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