Journal Response #5: History and the Social Science Teacher

Journal response to:  History and the Social Science Teacher.  (Fall 1988).

I opened the great omnibus of History and the Social Science Teacher with fear and trepidation.  The other journals I had read were of magazine size, shape, and appearance.  This was a huge hardcover text with several issues of the journal inside, and I wasn't sure where to begin.  Start from the first issue?  No, that would leave me studying the turn of the century.  At least I had been born by 1988.

Like The Social Sciences, History and the Social Science Teacher is a recognizable academic journal.  All the formal trappings are there: the white pages, the organized layout, the polysyllabic jargon, the shamelessly self-explanatory titles, the scholarly references upon scholarly references upon scholarly references.  It was unbelievable how many texts it had taken to produce five pages of a single essay.  There were sometimes more than three pages of secondary sources filed neatly into two columns per page.  Even though I'm somewhat of an academic journal connoisseur now having spent over five years at university in an English program (where if your essay doesn't have at least ten secondary sources, six from scholarly journals, you're not going to graduate.  Honestly, the only department to require more secondary source research that serious students of literature are Philosophy, which is gradually becoming English, and History), I was spoiled by Teaching History somewhat, and I was dismayed to see that I was in for another long period of silent study, pouring through pages of some dated academic writing.

There were more pictures and charts provided in History and the Social Science Teacher, and they were all as plain, simple, and formal as the writing that accompanied them.  There were also case studies, which were a pleasant surprise, no matter how dated they were.  The other two journals I examined this week didn't contain case studies, and it was nice to see some official research instead of just lesson plans that happened to provide starting points for articles.  Again though, these case studies provided more reflection that suggestion.  Most were cautionary tales for teachers, lessons to avoid or improve upon rather than to implement.  Worse, their datedness made some inappropriate for contemporary classrooms.

I do appreciate the return to academic writing; truly, I do.  The summaries and side-comments are too informal for my tastes, drawing comparisons between youth magazines instead of journals.  Nevertheless, those very side-comments assisted in my understanding of the article as a whole, meaning that I didn't have to spend precious time pouring through pages of study.  I knew what the point was, and I was prepared for it.  More importantly, as I write this response, I'm starting to confront my academic snobbery even more.  In English, I advocate that there is no such thing as high literature or capital-L Literature.  It's a matter of the reader's preference and the way they respond to the text.  But formal writing does provide a certain amount of information that informal colloquialisms can't.  It accommodates  case studies and statistics, quantifiable evidence instead of personal responses.  While emotions are important to consider in being a teacher, they do not make for a great journal overall.  Neither does something published in 1988, but I suppose that can't be helped.

Journal Response #4: The Social Studies

Journal review of:  The Social Studies.  101.6 (Nov/Dec 2010).

Now this is a style that I'm familiar with!  Oh, I thought I'd lost you forever, academic writing.  Not that I really missed you all that much what with Teaching History giving me all these great ideas in a new formt, but still, I needed reassurance that you still exist in the teaching profession.  Thanks to The Social Studies, I'm confident that I will survive this profession with my close reading and critical thinking skills in tact; Teaching History was so easy to ingest, I was ready for something a little more academically challenging.

The Social Studies provided good, solid, academic writing and research in its pages.  There are no diagrams or illustrations, just writing and lots of it - loads of print and secondary sources all culminating into brilliant and beautiful articles that require time and energy to ingest.  The essays covered a lot of information and were well worth the read in most cases.  The first essay alone covered Spanish history but provided descriptions of French and British history as well.  The journal also provides lesson plans and activities for implementation in the classroom, but unlike Teaching History, these were largely reflective rather than informational.  That is, they were used more as points of discussion than ideas for implementation.

Overall, I was pleased to discover that academia wasn't dead, but I have to admit, it comes as a bit of a sour loss after reading Teaching History.  I liked the creativity that went into that issue, the very creativity that The Social Studies lacks.

Journal Response #3: Teaching History

This is a response to the journal:  Teaching History.  140 (Sept. 2010).

Rather than simply read one article, I decided that my review really should constitute the entirety of the journal.  This is partly because I feel my last two posts have failed to constitute the breadth of articles contained within the entire journal, but mostly, I really enjoyed reading through Teaching History.  I found it to be a very engaging text, and I will likely sign-up for a subscription to it, regardless of what I teach.

This was not my initial reaction: not in the slightest.  The second I opened Teaching History I immediately closed it again so that I might check the title page.  Inside, I had beheld colours, shapes, diagrams and word banks.  I found colloquial summaries of whole articles on every page.  Where were the crisp, white, text-laden articles?  Where were the plain formalities of academia?  I thought I had grabbed a Scholastic Weekly by mistake, or worse, some kind of parenting journal.  The format confused me entirely, and I felt vaguely hurt by Teaching History's complete lack of pretention.  I'm a university graduate.  I don't need colourful blocks telling me the articles main points or illustrating lesson plans.  The only information I care about needs to be presented in essay format with a thesis, subtopics, and concluding statement.  It should be arranged with an Abstract at the beginning, contain only important images and figures, span at least ten pages in length, have five words I don't understand in the first paragraph alone, have a boring title, and should be authored by someone with the letters PhD accompanying their name.  Thank you very much.

Once I had confirmed I was reading the proper journal (and worked through some of my academic snobbery), I actually took the time to read the subtitle printed on the cover: Creative Thinking.  The whole issue - in fact, the entire journal - was devoted to parting with the stuffy traditions mandated by academic journals and developing new ideas not just for teaching but for communicating in general; hence, the illustrations, figures, word banks, summaries and definitions.  The journal wasn't being patronizing in the slightest.  In fact, its layout spoke to multiple intelligences, and as I began to read with an open mind, I found myself retaining more information thanks to the new, bold format Teaching History had to offer.

I was still disappointed somewhat in the language.  I do believe that academic writing should be formal, and the contributing authors in Teaching History used mostly colloquial language.  I realize that this is a part of their 'thinking creatively' mantra, but it is possible to use formal writing and be engaging with an audience.  In fact, and perhaps this is just my snobbishness speaking, I believe it takes a better writer to use formal language and still hold the audience's attention.

However, the layout grew on me.  It was rich with information, provided important context in a few short spaces rather than several paragraphs, and really helped me retain a lot more information than I would have if I were simply reading those white academic pages I had been so desperate to see.  Best of all, the magazine offered a lot of ideas for lesson plans and activities to use in the classroom, and rather than write out the lesson, the illustrations clearly explained the expectations.

The use of popular culture was also a nice touch in the journal.  I'm a huge advocate for using popular culture in the classroom, so seeing music, movies, and television series not only mentioned but employed as teachable materials was really helpful and gave me some great ideas for my second placement.  I've often lamented the Ivory Tower's disavowal of pop culture for the sake of the classics; thanks to Teaching History's emphasis on creative thinking, I no longer have to.  This was a wonderful journal, and I really enjoyed it.  It was engaging, fresh, and original, which compensated for its decided lack of academic rigor in some respects.

Notable articles:  using Bob Dylan music for lessons.  Beautiful!

First Podcast!

Loud.Mel and I recorded our first podcast together today.  I'm just going through the lengthy process of re-recording it to my computer and editing it.  If all goes well, we should be on the net by this weekend!

Teaser Post for the Ross Rifle

I recently received an e-mail from my dad informing me of two very awesome things:

1)  He's going to send me pictures of his Ross rifles.  Unfortunately, they're not in perfect condition.  Both have been sportized, a process that I don't completely understand, but I know it decreases their value and will require some explanation when I finally post the pictures on the blog.

2)  He's also planning on giving one to me, provided I learn how to fire a rifle proficiently - which will also require me to overcome my debilitating phobia of loud noises - and actually get my firearm's license this summer. 

I'm very excited the share the photos though. Not so much for the loud noises.

Journal Response 2: Ontario History

This is a response to Elizabeh Jane Errington’s article “Suitable Diversions: Women, Gentility, and Entertainment in an Imperial Outpost” from Ontario History 102.2 (Autumn 2010): p. 175-97.   In it, Errington describes the life of cultured gentlewomen in nineteenth century Upper Canada including preferred forms of entertainment and social structures. 

I was disappointed with Errington’s abstract for the article.  An abstract is supposed to summarize the entirety of the article and should include a hypothesis, research, evidence and conclusion.  Errington’s abstract reads like the summary of a historical romance novel.  Her description is vague and somewhat redundant, for anyone even remotely familiar with social practices from the nineteenth century would know that women preferred to spend time in the comforts of the domestic sphere.  The fact that they chose their friends from the same socio-economic level is equally obvious.  Errington should have provided an explanation for her paper if she couldn’t think of an argument.  Her abstract failed to answer the most important question in academic discourse: so what?  I already know how women structured their social lives around the domestic sphere with women from a similar socio-economic class.  I want some specific examples as to what women did for entertainment besides not go to taverns. 

A reader would have to read through Errington’s entire article to find out what women did for entertainment in Upper Canada, and normally, I wouldn’t complain, but Errington’s article again reads like a historical romance novel.  Publishing this article elicits the same sickened reaction from me as insisting a Phillippa Gregory novel is historically accurate.  Errington might use fact, but she presents it in such a pithy, prosaic manner that it’s boring to read.  Academic papers should be succinct and to the point.  Historical romance requires meandering.  Errington provides the latter.  

The More Delicious Part of History

When I first confirmed that I would be attending Lakehead University, my parents' first recommendation - before telling me to wear flip-flops in the shower stalls, avoid walking across campus alone at night, don't leave my drinks unattended in a bar, get lots of sleep, do my homework, or not to skip class - was to go to the Hoito and eat pancakes.  It took me three years to finally go, but once I did, I understood why the one thing my parents, two Lakehead university graduates with plenty of good advice about surviving postsecondary - thought to tell me before leaving home was that the pancakes at the Hoito were a freaking delicious, life-changing experience. 

A field trip to the Hoito would therefore be incomplete without a late lunch of pancakes.  True, I missed my opportunity to climb to the top of the Finlandia Hall, but the desire for pancakes is impossible to ignore, especially against a rickety ladder and an almost debilitating fear of heights. 

When the pancakes look this good, rickety ladders don't stand a chance.

Besides, I had a pair of cameras with my that day and one of my classmates was kind enough to take on up to the uppermost reaches of the Finlandia Hall and took the following pictures.

While everyone else was upstairs, Dr. Devine, Mel, and I went downstairs for some delicious, Finnish food from the Hoito restaurant. 

Dr. Devine and Mel smiling because we're in the Hoito waiting for food.

The Hoito menu.  Dr. Devine graciously indicates what he is going to order: the Mojakka.

Dr. Devine approves of this trip to the Hoito.  Mel does too.

The drinks arrive!

Dr. Devine turns the camera on me!  Fie!  A pox upon him!

Mel is not happy that I'm taking pictures of her while she's eating.  She will probably ask me to take this picture down. 

Dr. Devine is not nearly as disgruntled that I am taking pictures of him while he eats.  I blame the deliciousness of the Mojakka.

Janelle joins us for brunch!  She survived the ladders!

I realize that part of this response was supposed to centre on the Finlandia Hall.  I can say that Dr. Devine's impersonation of Walter Epp was beautiful, as was his recitation of "Fire and Ice." 

Dr. Devine and his Epp-personation.

Nevertheless, I do think that my excursion to the Hoito for a pancake brunch constitutes an engagement with history, even if it is only a personal one.  I went to a restaurant that both my parents went to when I was their age, that, had their parents gone to post-secondary school, they would have also gone too.  The Hoito has existed in Thunder Bay cultural consciousness for generations, and the fact that it is connected with the Finlandia Hall makes it a part of the same history we were discussing.  It's just the more delicious part of that history.