STUDENT/TEACHER ROLE AND INQUIRY EXPERIENCE DURING STUDENT TEACHING By KATHERINE L. KISS A DISSERTATION PRESENTED TO THE GRADUATE SCHOOL OF THE UNIVERSITY OF FLOR IDA IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY UNIVERSITY OF FLORIDA 2006
Copyright 2006 By Katherine L. Kiss
iii ACKNOWLEDGMENTS Great star! What would your happiness be , if you had not those for whom you shine! (Nietzsche, 1955) Teaching is a relational process. Without anÂ“other,Â” educating cannot happen. Â“TeacherÂ” without Â“studentÂ” is a meaningless co ncept. First and foremost, I would like to thank the teachers who so generously and openly shared the thoughts, joys, complexities and confusions of their stude nt teaching experience with me, especially Â“Ann,Â” Â“Bea,Â” Â“Dave,Â” Â“Eve,Â” and Â“Rich.Â” Without their collaboration, this work would not have happened. RichÂ’s idea of teaching is that it changes philosophies, attitudes, and has the potential to subtly change lives by leading to growth and refinement of ideas. In that sense, the participants in this study taught me a lot. Listening to and reading their words reminded me of old questions, generated ne w ones, provoked reflection and created new knowledge for me about teacher education: Th ey have given me new insights into how teacher education can, should and might be. The professional curiosity that prompted them to work with me should stand th em in good stead in their careers. I am most indebted to my doctoral committee for their help in this process. Danling Fu introduced me to many of the foundational ideas that inform this work, and helped me to finally understand Vygotsky. From my first class with her in my first year in Gainesville I have been enriched professi onally and intellectually by her challenging questions, clear ideas, deep intellect, and her commitment to fostering awareness of diverse life experience in teaching and learni ng. From the first day in class with Diane
iv Yendol-Hoppey I realized that teacher educa tion and advisement of new teachers can diverge from the norm and reach high levels of professional and pe rsonal excellence if we pay attention to the hear t as well as the mind. Without Harry Daniels my ideas about metaphor and theoretical framing and ma pping might never have emerged from a penumbra of confusion. I am also indebted to him for his feedback in helping me realize how to write and organize an academic text mo re clearly. I also very much appreciate his Â“do-overÂ” stance. Another person whose help was instrumental to this finished work, even though she was not a member of my committee, is Linda Behar-Horenstein. The excellent feedback, advice and encouragement she gave me duri ng a course I took with her in July, 2005 made my first three chapters finally happen. Th anks to working with her in that class on those three chapters, my theoretical and con ceptual frame finally became clear to me. Most importantly, I am indebted to my chair, Jane Townsend for many things but most of all for engaging with my ideas (in a nd out of class), for providing feedback that provoked and clearly directed reflection, and for allowing me space to develop my own ideas. I thank her for her perpetually inquisitive se lf. It is a great skill for a teacher to step back and allow a student to grow. I benefite d greatly from her ideas, our collaborations, and our individual and collaborative wonde rings about the classroom and beyond. I had the great fortune to work with her from the time I arrived in Gainesville, and that collaboration has made me a better pr ofessional. I hope it will continue. Other colleagues have also been indisp ensable to successfully completing this project. From my first semester in Gaines ville, Xenia Hadjioannou was always a mentor, a friend, a colleague, and an invaluable guide. Sharing an office with her for a time was a
v great joy. Her positive outlook, ability to re solve any problem, her always professional and available self, and her pri celess political, intellectual and logistical advice have been an essential part of this e xperience and made it so much richer, not to mention easier! My experience was also immeasurably enri ched by the friendship and collegiality of Jennifer Graff. Her ever positive self, th e intricate wonderings we pursued together, the occasional commiseration, and not least impor tantly her logistical help at the end of the process are deeply appreciated. Any professional self is embedded in the normal self. People in my non-academic life have also been fundamental to my arriva l at this point. Without the constant faith, encouragement, and intellectua l challenges of my family, I could not possibly have done what I have done. In particular my father has always nudged me to go beyond in search of a higher capacity. Because of him I have de veloped the habit of al ways pressing a little further. In this project (a nd in everything) the support (spiritual, physical and economic) of James and Jeanne Marie Kiss has b een and are my psychic home base. Last but not least, I cannot imagine the last five years without Daniele. He appeared in my life just as I began this Ph.D. advent ure and without him beside me I am sure my life path would have been distinctly diffe rent. Especially at the end, his patience, creativity, and endurance have made it possibl e for me to finishÂ—without his presence, I doubt I would have made it these last yards. I am indebted to him for everything he has brought to my life, for helping me to see ne w colors and dimensions, for reminding me of the olive trees outside my window, for sharing ev ery step of this pro cess whether easy or difficult, for finding solutions, and for reminding me to lift my eyes to the universe that continued, continues, and will continue to exist, ignorant of Ph.D. studies.
vi TABLE OF CONTENTS page ACKNOWLEDGMENTS.................................................................................................iii LIST OF TABLES.............................................................................................................xi LIST OF FIGURES..........................................................................................................xii ABSTRACT.....................................................................................................................xi ii 1 INTRODUCTION........................................................................................................1 The Self....................................................................................................................... ..1 Statement of the Problem..............................................................................................1 Purpose of the Study and Research Questions.............................................................8 Definition of Terms......................................................................................................8 Significance of the Study............................................................................................15 Limitations of the Study.............................................................................................16 2 REVIEW OF RELATED LITERATURE..................................................................18 The Nature of Self......................................................................................................20 Bakhtin and Others..............................................................................................23 Conceptual Model...............................................................................................26 BrunerÂ’s Narrative and Paradi gmatic Ways of Knowing....................................28 Effective Teacher Education.......................................................................................30 Preparing For Diversity.......................................................................................31 Language.............................................................................................................32 Metaphor..............................................................................................................33 Dispositions.........................................................................................................36 Inquiry in Teacher Education.....................................................................................37 Teacher inquiry as a psychological process.................................................39 Traditional sources of teacher inquiry..........................................................39 Teacher inquiry as research paradigm..........................................................40 Teacher inquiry as stance.............................................................................41 The Classroom as an Open System............................................................................42 Applied Empirical Phenomenology............................................................................44
vii 3 METHODOLOGY.....................................................................................................46 Philosophical Foundations..........................................................................................47 Transcendental Phenomenology..........................................................................48 Existential Phenomenology.................................................................................49 Methodologies: Applied Phenomenol ogies for the Human Sciences.................49 Psychological phenomenology.....................................................................50 Empirical or hermeneutic approach es in psychological phenomenology....51 Pedagogical phenomenology: an app lied psychological phenomenology...53 Research Design.........................................................................................................59 Phases of Data Analysis......................................................................................59 Phase I: Data Â“generationÂ”...........................................................................59 Phase II: Data collection..............................................................................64 Phase III: Initial data analysis-listening, su mmarizing, initial member checking....................................................................................................65 Phase IV: Narrowing the analysis-tra nscribing, reducing, final member checking....................................................................................................66 Phase V: Writing up the report.....................................................................70 Going Beyond the Descriptions Given................................................................72 Setting, Participants, and Researcher..........................................................................73 Setting..................................................................................................................73 Participants..........................................................................................................76 Six Individuals.....................................................................................................77 The Researcher....................................................................................................81 Qualifications...............................................................................................81 Biographical background.............................................................................82 Establishing Trustworthiness......................................................................................86 Controlling Researcher Bias................................................................................86 Extended long-term engagement with the research phenomena..................86 Keeping my own themes present.................................................................87 Reducing Possible Perception of Power Differential..........................................88 Crystallization: Another Word for Triangulation................................................89 Multiple data sources...................................................................................89 Multiple data analysis procedures................................................................90 Self-monitoring............................................................................................90 Member checking.........................................................................................91 Rationale for Choice of Data Analysis Methods.................................................92 Secondary Data Analysis: Cr itical Discourse Analysis.......................................93 Consistency..........................................................................................................96 Generalizability and Transferability....................................................................97 Definition of Terms Relating to Methods and Methodology.....................................97 4 RESULTS (1) SITUATED STRUCTURAL DESCRIPTIONS FOR TEACHER, STUDENT, ROLE NEGOTIATION AND INQUIRY DURING STUDENT TEACHING..............................................................................................................101 Five Lived Experiences.....................................................................................103
viii Ann....................................................................................................................104 Bea.....................................................................................................................110 Dave...................................................................................................................116 Eve.....................................................................................................................124 Rich....................................................................................................................133 5 RESULTS (2) GENERAL STRUCTURAL DESCRIPTIONS...............................142 RQ1: What Do Interns Believe to Be Their Role/s and Functions while They Are in a Nine-week Placement?....................................................143 RQ2: What Is the Experience of Thes e Interns as They Negotiate Their Changing Role Identity . . . ?..................................................................147 RQ3: What Does Inquiry into Teaching Practice Mean, According to These Student/Teachers?........................................................................149 RQ4: To What Extent Do Student/T eachers Feel Free to Inquire into Their Own Practice?...............................................................................150 6 CRYSTALIZATION: A SECOND PERSPECTIVE...............................................152 Critical Discourse Analysis (CDA): Textual, Intertextu al, and Context Analyses..153 Textual Analysis: Linguistic Ch aracteristics of the Discourse..........................154 CDA step 1: The content and organization of each participantÂ’s language..................................................................................................155 Semantic choices as indicative of genre.....................................................157 Intertextual Analysis: Structure of the Speech Event........................................157 Interviews or conversations?......................................................................158 CDA step 2: The gross structure................................................................159 Context analysis: Power relations..............................................................160 CDA step 3: Context and power relations..................................................160 Individual Interview Interpretations.........................................................................161 Text, Intertext, Context, and Roles and Functions............................................161 AnnÂ’s interview/conversation/story...........................................................162 BeaÂ’s conversation/interview.....................................................................169 DaveÂ’s interview/conversation...................................................................177 EveÂ’s interview/conversation.....................................................................185 RichÂ’s interview/conversation....................................................................192 Text, Intertext, Context and Inquiry..................................................................201 Support from Secondary Analyses for Phenomenological Meanings...............204 ParticipantsÂ’ Construal of the Speech Event and Context.................................206 Â“OwnershipÂ” of the interaction..................................................................207 Power sharing.............................................................................................209 Summary Interpretations: Textual, Intertex tual and Contextual Discourse Features211 7 INTERPRETATIONS: POWER, META PHOR, LANGUAGE AND BALANCE212 Further Interpretations..............................................................................................212 Experiences of Power and Status in the Context of Student Teaching.............213
ix Conceptual Metaphor........................................................................................215 Explicit Metaphor..............................................................................................217 Student/TeachersÂ’ Insights on Language and Roles..........................................218 Seeking Balance................................................................................................220 Summing Up Results................................................................................................221 8 UNDERSTANDINGS, IMPLICATIONS , LIMITATIONS and FUTURE DIRECTIONS...........................................................................................................222 Discussion of Understandings: Theoretical and Practical Implications for Teacher Education..............................................................................................................223 Theoretical Implications....................................................................................224 Creating and developing the professional self...........................................224 Role models................................................................................................226 Situationality..............................................................................................227 Knowledge-of-practice...............................................................................229 Mis-education?...........................................................................................230 Teacher space.............................................................................................231 The ideal and the real in confrontation.......................................................232 Constructing each othersÂ’ diverse narratives.............................................233 Dispositions................................................................................................235 Doing and being.........................................................................................237 Looking from the Outside-In While Encouraging Looking from the InsideOut..................................................................................................................239 Getting a second opinion............................................................................241 Self-evaluation and self-assessment...........................................................242 Practical Implications........................................................................................243 Boundaries..................................................................................................244 Multiple s/elves..........................................................................................245 Entering the community.............................................................................245 The supervisor............................................................................................247 Permission to Â“do-overÂ”.............................................................................247 Who decides...............................................................................................247 A Â“regularÂ” teacher.....................................................................................248 Respect authority........................................................................................248 The real authority.......................................................................................249 Authorship of inquiry.................................................................................249 Collegial inquiry.........................................................................................249 Limitations of the Findings.......................................................................................250 Sample Size.......................................................................................................251 The Student/Teachers Who Â“DisappearedÂ”.......................................................251 Limitations of Phenomenology.........................................................................253 Limitations of Critical Discourse Analysis.......................................................254 Language Dependence.......................................................................................255 Future Directions......................................................................................................257
x 9 CONCLUDING THOUGHTS.................................................................................260 Composing Public and Private Selves...............................................................260 Components of Self-as-Narrative......................................................................262 Pre-Service Teacher Knowledge.......................................................................262 Field Experiences..............................................................................................267 Professional Roles and Functions......................................................................268 Part of a System.................................................................................................269 Multiplicity, Contradiction and Energy.............................................................269 APPENDIX A INFORMED CONSENT LETTER..........................................................................272 B THE INTERVIEW PROTOCOL.............................................................................274 C RESEARCHER QUALIFIC ATIONS: BACKGROUND........................................276 D EXAMPLES OF PEDAGOGICAL PHEN OMENOLOGY: STEPS 3, 4A, 4B......278 E A SITUATED STRUCTURAL DESCRIPTION OF MY OWN MEANINGS (I.E., ANSWERING MY OWN QUESTIONS.)......................................................282 F EVEÂ’S TEXT............................................................................................................286 LIST OF REFERENCES.................................................................................................288 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHÂ…Â…Â…...Â…Â…Â…Â…Â…Â…Â…Â…Â…Â…Â…Â…Â…Â…Â…Â…Â…Â…Â…299
xi LIST OF TABLES Table page 3-1 Comparison of three approaches to phe nomenological data analysis: key aspects and differences.........................................................................................................52 3-2 A comparison of possible methods sequences in applied (as opposed to philosophical) phenomenological research..............................................................57 6-1 Life-world (i.e., Â“everydayÂ”) versus form al lexical choices in speakersÂ’ texts as indicative of formal, informal, or mixed genre......................................................156 9-1 BrunerÂ’s (1991) components of narrative c ontrasted with the Â“self-as-narrativeÂ” model......................................................................................................................263 D-1 Example of thematizing from EveÂ’s analysis...........................................................278
xii LIST OF FIGURES Figure page 2-1 Theoretical framework................................................................................................27 4-1 AnnÂ’s graph of perceived role during student teaching.............................................105 4-2 BeaÂ’s graph of perceived role during student teaching.............................................114 4-3 DaveÂ’s graph of perceived role during student teaching...........................................121 4-4 EveÂ’s graph of perceived role during student teaching.............................................130 4-5 RichÂ’s graph of perceived role during student teaching............................................133 6-1 Proportion of different turn le ngths in Kate and AnnÂ’s talk......................................167 6-2 Proportion of different turn le ngths in Kate and BeaÂ’s talk......................................173 6-3 Proportion of different turn le ngths in Kate and DaveÂ’s talk....................................183 6-4 Proportion of different turn le ngths in Kate and EveÂ’s talk......................................190 6-5 Proportion of different turn lengt hs in Kate and RichÂ’s talk.....................................198 6-6 Overall Â“ownershipÂ” of interview time.....................................................................208
xiii Abstract of Dissertation Pres ented to the Graduate School of the University of Florida in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy STUDENT/TEACHER ROLE AND INQUIRY EXPERIENCE DURING STUDENT TEACHING By Katherine L. Kiss August 2006 Chair: Jane Townsend Major Department: Teaching and Learning This empirical phenomenology explored the extent to which student/teachers who participated in a nine-week field experi ence actually experienced themselves as Â“teachers,Â” or were acting from within the role of Â“stude ntÂ” standing where the teacher stands. It also explored how they negotiate d the transition from st udent to professional within a professional preparation prog ram. A second purpose was to explore student/teachersÂ’ meanings for and experi ences of inquiry during student teaching. The theoretical framework was constructivi st and social-constr uctionist. Self was conceptualized using a se lf-as-narrative model. All participants were at the end of a one-year, 36-credit masterÂ’s program for secondary language arts teachers. All were in their early 20Â’s and had recently completed a B.A. in English with a minor in educati on. None had previously worked as a full-time classroom teacher, although two had wo rked as a substitute teachers.
xiv Five student/teachers were interviewed for approximately one hour using a semistructured interview protocol two to two and one half m onths after the end of their internship in a public middle or high school in central Florida. To crystallize the meanings elaborated during the interviews, artifacts from course work the students had produced during their student/teaching seme ster were compared with interview transcripts. The interview transcripts were re-analyzed using C ritical D iscourse A nalysis to consider how text, intertex tuality and context played a ro le in the creation of their meanings. Results of the phenomenological analysis were supported by the critical discourse analysis and indicated that these student/t eachersÂ’ first experience as classroom teachers was one of multiplicity and contradiction, a time of juggling multiple and sometimes contradictory roles and functions. For most of them, their student role was predominant, which created frustration for the se lf who was trying to be a teacher. The results also showed that all of thes e student/teachers demo nstrated an inquiry stance and their inquiry process was often systematic and methodical. However, there was also evidence that this tendency may have been suppressed by the pressure to perform according to specific behaviors they were required to demonstrate for successful completion of the course. Some practical imp lications for teacher education are offered based on these understandings.
1 CHAPTER 1 INTRODUCTION When teachers study and write about their work, they make their own distinctive ways of knowing about teaching and lear ning more visible to themselves and others. The questions about practice that prompt furthe r inquiry, the aspects of school life that teachers regard as eviden ce, and the interpretive frameworks that teachers bring to bear on . . . data alte r what we know about teaching and learning. (Cochran-Smith & Lytle, 1993, p. 115) The Self What is the self? It is the answer to the question: Who am I? Traditional conceptualizations of the self have rega rded it metaphorically as a physical object, thereby allowing entailments of cause/effect and linear mechanical functioning. Answers to this question often take the form of a list of roles: human being, brother, sister, teacher, lawyer, husband, wife, and more. Each of th ese words connotes a series of shared understandings that allows communication, and each of us has our own unique set of understandings. Bruner (2004) and Polki nghorne (1991) suggest an alternative conceptualization of the Â“sel f as narrative.Â” Following Ri coeur, Polkinghorne suggests that the cognitive process of Â“emplotmentÂ” configures events as episodes of an individualÂ’s life making a whole that is mean ingful to him or her. It is what we understand as Â“our life,Â” and as our unique construction of Â“selfÂ” in that life. Statement of the Problem In an increasingly globalized 21st century that is daily both more uniform and more diverse, teacher educators wo rldwide are considering alternative theoretical bases and epistemologies for preparing future teachers (Reid & OÂ’Donoghue, 2004) that can
2 accommodate this contradiction. They are mo tivated by the desire to educate teachers with the knowledge, dispositions and skills to effectively prepare children to live and work in this world (Darling-Hammond, 2000; Cochran-Smith & Lytle, 1999). To be successful, we need to evaluate our current processes and purposes of education. This includes considering (new) ways of framing traditional conceptions of the teacher education knowledge base in favor of a postmodern idea of multiple knowledges and skills that can be creatively synthesized to meet individual studentsÂ’ diverse learning needs. Concern about the quality of education for all children is daily brought to our attention prompting multiple efforts to im prove it, and unresolved debate about the impact of teacher quality on student lear ning. Policy makers have responded with standardization and testing at all levels. The concern has also drawn attention to the nature of quality teacher preparation and its reform (Korthagen, 2004; Rennert-Ariev, Frederick, & Valli, 2005), and generated possi bilities for alternative routes (i.e., not university based) into teaching (DarlingHammond, Berry & Thoreson, 2001; Goldhaber & Brewer, 2000, 2001; Walsh, 2001; Wayne & Youngs, 2003). Policy and legislation in many states and at the federal level are provi ding ways to circumve nt teacher education programs altogether by facilitati ng alternative certification rout es for career changers or subject matter specialists, thereby avoidi ng Â“barriersÂ” supposedly created by teacher education (Darling-Hammond, 2000). Following these routes, people often enter the classroom directly as teachers with little or no peda gogical preparation. Over the past two and a half decades, we ha ve seen an upsurge in research seeking to identify basic competencies that can be considered best pedagogical practices.
3 ShulmanÂ’s (1987) idea that peda gogical content knowledge shoul d be part of a teacherÂ’s knowledge base stimulated a wealth of res earch aimed at identifying what effective teachers do and how they think (e.g., Cochran-Smith & Lytle, 1999; Grossman, Valencia, Evans, Thompson, Martin, & Place, 2000; Hamachek, 1999; Korthagen, 2004; Ross, Lane, & McCallum, 2005; Shulman, 1987; Wilson, Floden, & Ferini-Mundy, 2001). This research has given us lists of observable beha viors and dispositions th at have been useful in teacher education. This immensely rich ar ea of research has al so provided grounding for instruments that guide and assess the su ccessful performance of such behaviors in pre-service teacher educati on (e.g., Pathwise Teacher evaluation system, Educational Testing Service, 1994; Teacher Education Inte rn Rating Sheet (TEIRS), University of Florida, College of Education, 2000). However, basic competency approaches to teacher education and standardized assessment procedures for students or student/t eachers can only go so far in raising the quality of teacher preparation: They are still rooted in thi nking that essentializes human action and assumes it can be law-like and pr edictable. These approaches to raising teacher quality do not problematize the underlying epistemology and theoretical bases of the construct Â“effectiveÂ” teaching. Although they provide useful information, they can limit the role of teacher to Â“technician,Â” a nd may even have the opposite effect to what was intended (Hughes, 2004) and Â“dumb downÂ” teaching by reducing the need for practitioners to think. Alternate certification routes are not a solution either, as they are also based on the metaphor of Â“teacher as technician.Â” In this case, the novice teacher is conceptualized as an Â“apprenticeÂ” who is socialized into the existing institution by Â“master techniciansÂ”
4 who act as mentors (Reid and OÂ’Donoghue, 2004) . But, the mentoring does not always happen (Darling-Hammond, 2000). Emerging empirical evidence suggests that the implementation of standards-based approaches and alternative routes to certification are not as effective for student learning as well-planned teacher education programs (Darling-Hammond, 2000; Delandshere & Petrosky, 1994). Approaches to raising the qua lity of education based on standardization of any type suppose listable knowledge and a static context. Sp ecifically in teache r education, they imply that we can identify a set of Â“best pr acticesÂ” that Â“work,Â” abstracted from time, place or group composition. Research-based knowledge about the performance and attitudes of effective teachers is no doubt us eful but does not automa tically help teachers work any more effectively in the unpredi ctable and ever-changi ng reality of real classrooms. Raising the quality of teach er education requires rec onceptualizing the work of educating (see definitions at th e end of this chapter), both in our nationÂ’s schools and in our university teacher education classrooms. What our children need most is teachers who are prepared to deal quickly and eff ectively with unique conditions and diverse learning needs (Darling-Hammond, 1992, 1997). This argues for educating teachers who are inquisitive about all aspects of their pr actice, and who are not complacent or reliant on any pre-determined list of good practi ces or store of common sense wisdom. Recent research suggests a responsibility fo r teacher educators to prepare teachers philosophically and practically as Â“researcher sÂ” who are focused on processes rather than behaviors, and who are in the habit of syst ematic, active, goal-directed problem-posing (Braun & Crumpler, 2004; Cochran-Sm ith-& Lytle, 1999; Darling-Hammond, 2000;
5 Fendler, 2003; Loughran, 2002). Such teachers ar e attentive to the unique characteristics of the specific context in which they are acting and feel empowered to adjust their practice appropriately. We need to prep are teachers who can draw on the accrued knowledge of the profession, and yet contextuali ze and act on Â“tensionsÂ” they perceive in their immediate work place: Teaching for problem solving, invention, and application of knowledge requires teachers with deep and flexible knowledge of subject matter who Â…can organize a productive learning process for students who st art with different levels and kinds of prior knowledgeÂ…and adapt instruction to different learning a pproaches. (DarlingHammond, 2000, Â¶ 3) Inquiry-based teacher education is important for educating teachers who are able to construct their own knowledge of each of thei r classrooms as its individual characteristics emerge. Such an approach requires bette r understandings of what inquiry classrooms look and sound like, including pre-service teacher inquiry (Fecho, 2000). This approach is rooted in a growing recognition by the acad emic/scientific community that traditional deductive-nomologic knowledge (Polkinghorne, 1983) is not the only valid source of learning. In theory, offering the student teaching experience (i.e., internship, see definition) at the end of our secondary M.Ed. program is meant to help students marry theory with practice in real setti ngs. After one or two semesters of methods courses in our program, students finally go into the schools to Â“try th eir wingsÂ” as teachers for nine weeks. This is, for many, the first chance they have to Â“liveÂ” a new role: Â“teacher.Â” But, to what extent do they truly experience themselves empowered as teachers? On the one hand, they are required to take fu ll responsibility as teachers for at least four class groups. Simultaneously, the university program they are following reifies their status as students by establishing syllabi, requiring essays and as signments, and gradi ng their performance.
6 The goals and actual procedures of th e program seem to entail different epistemological worldviews, suggesting there might be two quite distinct processes in operation. On the one hand, our talk is teacher Â“educationÂ” and supposes Â“educatingÂ” (Gowin, 1981), the essence of which is both cons tructivist and social constructionist (see definitions). On the other hand, the pro cedures and assessment practices of our curriculum are a better fit to a Â“trainingÂ” model of teacher preparation based on an epistemology that objectif ies knowledge and entails top-down transmission by Â“expertÂ” knowers. The current climate of education is st rongly characterized by a tendency towards convergence and uniformity, increasing restri ctions, and fear brought on by the evergrowing impact of standardization. These ri sing tides of convergence may also be having an impact on the way student/teachers experience the role of Â“teacherÂ” during their teacher education program. How might this tendency be affecting a new teacherÂ’s development of his or her sense of professional self as Â“teacherÂ”? In addition, as pre-service teachers negotia te the transition from (graduate) student to teacher, they must simultaneously enact bo th roles. What impact might this duality have on a personÂ’s ability to develop a persona l style that allows him or her to teach creatively in the unpredictable, unstable conditions that are na tural in human interactions, and especially classrooms? What impact might these factors be having on the development of a strong, autonomous self-c oncept as an empowered decision maker? The mission of the University of Florid a secondary Proteach teacher education program is grounded in research that demons trates the importance of educating teachers for inquiry, attention to dive rsity, and critical thinking. W ithin the frame of our mission,
7 we also use research based, standardized a ssessment procedures and forms to comply with state mandates and nati onal certification requirements (i.e., Pathwise Teacher evaluation system, Educational Testing Serv ice, 1994; Teacher Education Intern Rating Sheet (TEIRS), University of Florida, College of Education, 2000). Consistent with our mission, I believe that an inquisitive disposition is very useful for dealing effectively and efficiently with ever-changing learning contexts. I also believe that a greater degree of empowerment is alre ady embodied in the label Â“teacherÂ” (see definitions below). This is due to t eachersÂ’ institutional responsibilities. And that the degree of empowerment one experience s will impact how and about what one inquires. There is a tension for me between these beliefs and the proc edures we follow: Although our students seem to have little diffi culty understanding and attempting to enact a practice that addresses the imperatives of our mission, it is not without a certain degree of frustration. My research questions derive from this experienced tension between goals and procedures. I propose that the students in our program may also experience a certain tension, and that they may experience our goals and procedures very differently from the perspective of Â“studentÂ” (who is being evalua ted according to standardized criteria) than from the perspective of Â“teacherÂ” (who alre ady has a certain degree of Â“institutionalÂ” authority). I believe that an empowered self experi ences a greater degree of Â“permission to inquire,Â” and that an important goal of teach er education is to promote a professional inquiry stance. To do this, I believe we need to cultivate a sense of empowerment, and
8 ensure there is space for a Â“studentÂ” to lo cate and/or develop an empowered Â“teacher.Â” Field experiences are excel lent opportunities to work on this self-development: Student/teachers can experience being Â“realÂ” te achers, in real classrooms, some for the first time. To what extent do we succeed? Purpose of the Study and Research Questions The purpose of the study is to explore th e extent to which student/teachers who participate in a nine-week field placement (i.e ., internship or student teaching) actually experience themselves as Â“teachers,Â” or are acting from within the role of Â“studentÂ” standing where the teacher stands. I also intend to explore how they negotiate the intersection of these two roles. A secondary but relate d purpose is to explore their meanings for and experiences of inquiry during student teaching. From these purposes I derive the following research questions: 1. What do student/teachers experience as thei r role/s and functions while they are in a nine-week field placement? 2. What is the experience of these student/t eachers as they negotiate their changing role identity during this nine-w eek student teaching experience? 3. What does inquiry into teaching practice mean, according to these student/teachers? 4. To what extent do student/teachers feel fr ee to inquire into their own practice? Definition of Terms Language is not transparent. Words have inherent shared meanings which are hardly precise. Even as we create our ow n unique interpretations, the words we use already carry a host of implicit connotations without which we could not communicate. We can never fully bracket out these shared meanings. The moment we utter words, the process of interpretation has already begun and cannot be igno red or put aside. In the
9 approach I take here, language, and the explor ation of implicit meanings, is not taken for granted but must be an e xplicit part of the research. The purpose of the following definitions is to explore and make explicit my interpretations of certain key words and concepts that have theoretical importance for this project. At the end of Chapter 3, there is a separate list of terms sp ecifically defined with releva nce to the methods used. The following assumptions regarding word meanings inhere in this study: Assessment implies a definitive judgment of worth or degree coupled with the application of a consensual consequence. It is, therefore, an appropriate label for the process of deciding whether a person is wo rthy of receiving of a degree, licensure, or certification. Authentic, self-generated inquiry refers to questions or problems a student/teacher (or anyone ) poses to him or herself, stem ming from his or her intrinsic intellectual, emotional or ethi cal curiosity. It is not merely a means to an end. It can include questioning recommendations made by th e student/teacherÂ’s cooperating teacher, and/or university professors, and/or advi sors. (see also fact -finding inquiry and wondering.) Best practices is a term that refers to research-based (see below) practices that student/teachers are taught to emulate, and that teachers are expected to enact, because they are considered Â“goodÂ” or Â“eff ectiveÂ” teaching methods or techniques. Constructivism is a subjectivist epistemology which emphasizes the preeminence of self and individual psychological proce sses in knowledge cons truction (Burr, 1995; Crotty, 1998; Polkinghorne, 2004).
10 Discourse refers to language used to perform social functions and constitute social identities (following Gee, 1999, and Fairclough, 1999, 2003) from a particular perspective. It is Â“an element of social life that is dialectically related to other elementsÂ” (Fairclough, 2003, p. 215). Educating refers to a social process i nvolving synchronous or asynchronous teaching/learning, thinking/sensing/feeling, and communicating by two or more people1 using their respective knowledges, affect, and values. It occurs when a person functioning as teacher and another person functioning as l earner interact. Outcom es can be evaluated but cannot always be specifically assessed. Education refers to the societal institution with in which the process of educating is purposefully planned and implemented. Emergent refers to outcomes, products, or ch aracteristics that cannot necessarily be predicted based on knowledge of initial cond itions, characteristics, or the history of a place, participants, mate rials and/or objectives. Evaluation refers to a determination of qualit y, value, or significance based on careful appraisal. Expert refers to a person who has complex, multifaceted knowledge of something or some concept. It is not necessarily ho monymous with the term teacher. Although there can be expert teachers, not all teachers are experts, regardless of years of experience. Students can also be expert students. Fact-finding inquiry (also called Â“inf ormation-seekingÂ” inquiry [Lindfors, 1999]) refers to individual or collaborative interrogation carried out by means of any 1 I believe that all educating occurs within some dialog (Bakhtin, 1986), regardless of the number of people physically present.
11 linguistic, extra-linguistic, or non-linguistic process for which an inquirer seems to believe (a) Â“correctÂ” answer/s exist/s and can be found somewhere (Kiss & Townsend, in process). It is frequently ot her-generated. (see also authen tic self-generated inquiry, and wondering.) Function refers to an action associated with a particular role for a particular purpose. It is expressed by an action verb. Inquiry refers to a state of cognitive disequilibrium in which a person is aware they need or want to know something and woul d like to find or create an answer. Inquiry exists on a continuum between fact-fi nding and wondering (Kiss & Townsend, in process). Instruct derives from struere : to build and is related to structure. It refers to imparting knowledge in a systematic manner. It carries the connotat ion of authoritative direction based on informed awareness. Synonyms are command, order, and teach. An instruction can also be a code for a computer. Embedded in the concept is a sense of single best way, of authority a nd order. Questioning and dialog do not seem possible with instructionÂ… you do it the wa y you are Â“instructedÂ” to. (cf: teach) Instructor refers to a person who instructs a nd is frequently synonymous with the label Â“teacher.Â” I will use it as such here since both nouns generally refer to the same person at different moments, although Â“teach ingÂ” and Â“instructi ngÂ” imply different functions. Intern refers to an advanced student of a profession who is gaining practical experience. The sense of the word carries in it ideas of being c onfined or impounded, of being in the middle, within, shared, or derived from ( prefix Â“inter-Â”). It is also related to
12 the idea of being inside the limits of a body or organism (Â“internalÂ” adj. ), or inside the earth (to Â“interÂ” v. ). I use this term synonymously with student/teacher in this study. Intern-ship refers to the state or status of being an intern. The suffix ship refers to having a particular quality or rank. Â“ShipÂ” also brings to my mind notions of travel, of change, and of being transpor ted or sent to a new place. Knowledge refers to information, memory, or experience a person believes to be true and that serves to support an individualÂ’ s actions. It is dynamic and multiple. It can include what another person might define as a belief. (see also true beliefs) Language refers to an organized, consensual system of signs that enable communication among members of a community. It can consist of letters, numbers or other symbols. Learner refers to a person with Â“noviceÂ” status in an educating interaction. I do not use it as synonymous with student. One can be a learner but not a st udent, and a student but not a learner. Meaning refers to the understandin g/s an individual constructs. Novice refers to a person who has rudiment ary or under-articulated knowledge of something or some concept compared to other(s) in a teaching/learning situation. Problem-posing refers to the formulation of i nquiry into a situation or state identified as less than optimal in a personÂ’s opinion, provoking in him or her the need or desire to seek change. Question refers, on a superficial level, to a linguistic form used to obtain information. The information sought can be of any nature or value. In this study, it more frequently refers to a broader sense of wondering, doubt, hypothesis te sting, or any other
13 interrogative state of mind e xpressed using any surface level form or behavior. The interrogative linguistic form can also be used rhetorically to affirm or deny a strong belief. A Â“questionÂ” or Â“questioningÂ” is not necessarily verbal ized. In this study, Â“questionÂ” or Â“ questioning Â” should bring to mind the idea of Â“quest.Â” Research-based refers to information disseminate d through peer reviewed journals or other professional media that a particul ar community of professionals agree on and accept as having truth value within the paradigm they espouse. Role is a noun that refers to a part we play within a given soci al context. It has inherent specifications regarding functions, language, rights and responsibilities. These specifications are both universa lly and individually defined. Schooling refers to formal, legalized procedures intended to educate children in the knowledge people in positions of power determine necessary and desirable for membership in a community. Social-constructionism is an epistemology which is neither objectivist nor subjectivist. It emphasizes the preeminence of socio-cultural and li nguistic processes in knowledge construction (Burr, 1995; Cr otty, 1998; Polkinghorne, 2004). Student refers to a person who is being schooled . I define it as a context bound role referring to a person who usually pays or is paid to attend a school of some description for the purpose of learning. It is not co-terminus with learner; one can be a student but not learn. I assume Â“ student Â” is a more compliant role since students are ultima tely evaluated and assessed on the basis of a series of ta sks they must do, and behaviors they must demonstrate in the schooling situation. In the case of teacher education, for example, the student is admitted to status as Â“MasterÂ” (with consequent salary implications), or denied
14 access, based on the assessment of his or he r performance by the teachers and advisors with whom s/he works. Student/Teacher refers to a person enrolled in a university course the objective of which is to practice teaching under the supervis ion of others. I prefer this term to its frequently used synonym, intern, to highlight the role duality im plicit in the student teaching experience. Text refers to any physical or virtual object functioning as a signifier for which two or more people share meaning (see note on Bakhtin in the definition of educating). Teacher refers to a person who has Â“expertÂ” stat us in an educating interaction. In this study, I use it synonymously with Â“Instructo r.Â” Both are contextually defined roles: A teacher (or instructor) is (u sually) paid to share special knowledge or skill(s) in a particular domain. I assume a greater degr ee of autonomy and empowerment inheres in this role: It is the teacher who decides outcomes (i.e., gr ades) in schooling situations. Training refers to a top-down specification by some Â“expert,Â” or other authority (e.g., a governmental body), of knowledge and skills to be mastered for entry into a job or profession. Outcomes can be spec ified, evaluated, and assessed. True belief refers to what an individual ta kes for truth and reality. Each person constructs his or her set of true belief s based on empirical perceptions and/or nonempirical information. Wondering refers to inquiry for which the inquirer seems to believe there is no fixed answer. He or she may create or c onstruct possible answers or avenues of exploration alone or in collabo ration with an/other/s. (Kiss & Townsend, in process) It is self-generated but can be set in mo tion by another personÂ’s idea or action.
15 (see also fact-finding inquiry and au thentic self-generated inquiry) Significance of the Study In this study, I intend to offer a descri ption of pre-service teacher knowledge and thinking in relation to professional roles, f unctions, and inquiry. The descriptions that I offer are intended to be a resource for teache r educators (and stude nt/teachers) in their quest for understandings of how each of us (student/teacher and teacher educator) can most effectively contribute to quality education. There are many studies that discuss th e apparent effectiveness of diverse approaches to teacher education (Chr istensen, 1996; Darling-Hammond, 1992, 2001; Grossman et al., 2000; Howey, 1996; Im ig & Switzer, 1996; Richardson, 1997; Tabachnick & Zeichner, 1991; Tom, 1997; Valli & Rennert-Ariev, 2000; Walsh, 2001; Wayne & Youngs, 2003), and others that docum ent what Â“effectiveÂ” teachers know, need to know, and do (Brownell, 2002; Ethe ll & McMeniman, 2000; Hamachek, 1999; Shulman, 1987; Wilson, Floden & Ferini-M undy, 2001). However, there are no studies that describe the individual lived experience of learning to become an Â“effectiveÂ” teacher from the position of a graduate student with hi gh stakes attached to success in this role (i.e., student/teacher). There is a need for qua litative studies that present fine-grained descriptions of the personal experience of the development of the new identity of self-asÂ“teacherÂ” as this identity is be ing developed or created Â– not retrospectively, and not Â“objectifiedÂ” in a description or opinion about the nature of this identity, or a description of new teacher socialization into the profession from Â“objectiveÂ” perspectives. When a person is learning the accrued know ledge, skills, processes, emotions, and perspectives of a profession that may be new to him or her, s/he is also beginning to build a new dimension of self. In the course of one Â’s education, an indivi dual moves from self
16 as student to self as professional. I believe that in the case of teacher, this process has added complexities due to a teacherÂ’s extens ive Â“apprenticeship of observationÂ” (Lortie, 1975, pp.61-65). For a student/teacher, the term its elf highlights two Â“selvesÂ” that are very different, yet enacted in the same physical space and time. This study will shed some light on how this tangle of selves a nd functions is experi enced by one group of student/teachers. With the research I present here, I do not want to add to a passive, accumulated store of knowledge. Consistent with the id ea that Â“knowledgesÂ” are emergent, multiple, and contextual, the knowledges created in the process of doing and reporting this research are meant to be dynamic and alive. My inten tion is to Â‘growÂ’ knowle dge Â– to instigate a conversation, and to engage with, and/or invite the creation of, other knowledges. Limitations of the Study This study is limited by the following considerations. 1. This study is limited to one sub-group of one cohort of secondary Language Arts teachers, all of whom are attending th e same university and practicing in one county in central Florida in the United St ates. However, I hope that the details and descriptions I provide are fine-grained enough to enab le insights for a wider range of readers by means of naturalistic generalizati on (Lincoln & Guba, 1985). 2. The findings from this study are specifical ly situated in a narrow range of participants. I make no attempt to theo rize about possible relationships between gender, race, culture, or mo ther tongue and role formation. These certainly exist and are inextricably implicated in an e xperience of self, but they remain outside the focus of discussion in this study. 3. I do not intend to compare the role e xperience of these student/teachers with practicing teachers, or any other group, but consider this an important area for future research. 4. There is no attempt to compare role experi ences in different settings (e.g., urban vs. rural, or international). This too is an interesting area for future research.
17 5. The reader should recognize the descri ptions as possible lived-experiences. Another researcher and other particip ants would write other equally valid possibilities.
18 CHAPTER 2 REVIEW OF RELATED LITERATURE Self is a meaning rather than a substan ce or a thing. To look for it in the objective plane is to make a mistake similar to that of examining the substance of the ink on a piece of paper in order to find the meani ng of the word it prints. (Polkinghorne, 1988, p. 152) How we identify our Â“selfÂ”(selves) as indi vidual(s) is at the heart of how we live our lives. In this project I conceptualize self not as an object or stat e, but as a narrative (following Bruner, 2004, and Polkinghorne, 19 91) modified to include a role for discourse (Bamberg, 1991), language (Bakhtin, 1986; Vygotsky, 1986), and D iscourse (Gee, 1999). Also relevant to this operationa lization of Â“self-as-na rrativeÂ” are BrunerÂ’s extensive writings on narrative as a basic human way of knowing and understanding the world (1962, 1986, 1987, 1991, and 2004). More specifically, the pu rpose of the study is to explore student/teachersÂ’ experience of teacher and/or student identity(s) during a nine-week field placement towards the end of a 36-credit M.Ed. program. This study is motivated by the belief that experiencing the self authentically as Â“teach erÂ” and not as Â“student Â” is critical to the development of a disposition to inquire, and that a dispositio n to inquire is fundamental among the many dispositions necessary for effective teaching. I begin this review of the lit erature by establishing a theoretical framework. First, I operationalize a central concept: th e nature of self. To develop this concept, I will discuss BakhtinÂ’s (1986) dialogism and related ideas by ot her thinkers. In this theoretical frame, I
19 draw a conceptual model within which to situate the study. Next, I will explore BrunerÂ’s notion of narrative versus paradigmatic thinking Â– two huma n ways of knowing. In the next part of the literature review I discuss research on effective teacher education, especially with regards to divers ity, language and metaphor as useful tools for teacher educators (and resear chers), and dispositions, because dispositions are an important part of our identities. Then I w ill examine the concept of inquiry in teacher practice. Finally, since this st udy is about students practicing to be teachers interacting with students in situated clas srooms, I will discuss the classroom as system, and explain why I believe conceptualizi ng it as an open system (Re ynolds, 2001) is important for interpreting the work presente d here, and for effective teac her preparation in general. This chapter will end with a brief preview of the methodology that my framework suggests, which is presented in more detail in Chapter 3. When a young man or a young woman enters a student teaching assignment, he or she has long since begun constructing a narrative of his or her whole self. The teacher part of that whole has been constructed out of life experiences in classrooms: observing teachers as a student, and obser ving teachers as a student of teaching. It also has roots outside classrooms: playing t eacher, imagining teachers, a nd hearing or reading about teachers from the experience of others. All of these experiences contribute to the selfimage that appears as a central character in the stories these student/teachers tell. Deconstructing or theorizing self-image may be less useful for us as teacher educators than understanding the whole of a student/teacherÂ’s experience of self as they tell it at the specific moment in their professional career when they are enrolled in a teacher education program. For this reason, I will not explore a pr iori concepts, theories and definitions of
20 self available in many streams of research. It is more consistent with my methodology that this be a post priori task. I will however define Â“selfÂ” as it is relevant to my approach. The Nature of Self The language we typically use to conceptualize self treats it as a static Â“objectÂ” that can be possessed, ordered, and analyzed: Â“I have a sense of who I am as a teacherÂ”; Â“I am a first childÂ”; Â“I am Â“ shy .Â” We talk about our self in te rms of the roles we enact: teacher, student, sister, brothe r, wife, husband, friend, and so on. Th ese all entail ways of "being.Â” Each word has implicit socio-cultural norms concerning our behavior in that role. Polkinghorne (1991) presents a model for c onceptualizing our experience of self not as an object or substa ntive thing, but as becoming: a temporal gestalt created by natural human cognitive proce sses that organize experience and make events and objects meaningful wholes. Jerome Br uner (2004) also presents a co nceptualization of self as narrative: He writes of the ways we create our self-narratives so as to preserve a sense of autonomous self that is possessed of a fr ee will, and at the sa me time balance a connectedness to our time and context that relate s this self to others, and to the culture/s in which we live. [T]here is no such thing as an intuitively obvious and essential self to know Â… Rather, we constantly construct and recons truct ourselves to meet the needs of the situations we encounter, and we do so with the guidance of our memories of the past and out hopes and fears for the future. (Bruner, 2004, p. 4) His view is of a self simu ltaneously constructed from th e inside and the outside. Reminiscent of VygotskyÂ’s dialectical mate rialism (1986), BrunerÂ’s Â“self-narrativeÂ” expresses and is an expression of culture. In the dialectic pr ocess of self-construction we chose from a multitude of possibilities, and the narratives we construct reflect these choices (Bruner, 2004, p.13)
21 BrunerÂ’s model of self-as-narrative evol ved from earlier writings on narrative knowing, to which I will return later in this chapter. But it is rele vant to discuss his starting point here. Bruner began with the second and third of three Â“noegeneticÂ” principles identified by Charles Edward Spearman (1923/1973) as the basic cognitive processes underlying intelligence. SpearmanÂ’s principles were: We can apprehend the world. When we perceive two or more things t ogether, we perceive relationships between them. When we perceive a thing and a relati onship, we immediately think of another related thing. What Spearman was describing was categorical perception: as we pe rceive, we organize in terms of membership in or excl usion from well-defined categories. Although SpearmanÂ’s work was primarily conn ected to statistical definitions of a singular intelligence, it tells of an active proc ess of categorization th at is the natural and unavoidable way humans know the world. Br uner seems to have been restating SpearmanÂ’s second and third principles when he said that we cannot help but Â“Â…go beyond the information givenÂ…Â” and Â“Â…think whenever [we] do anything at all with evidence.Â” (Bruner, 1957, p.42). When we perc eive a thing, we simultaneously perceive its category as well as the cat egories to which it does not belong. In our minds, there is always Â“non-treeÂ” present in our concept of Â“tree.Â” Psycholinguistic research in phonemic per ception supports the notion that humans and other creatures percei ve categorically, and in fact, cannot perceive un categorically. For example, Kuhl and Miller (1975, 1978) demonstrated that because the auditory apparatus of the chinchilla is very similar to that of humans, the animals show the same ability to distinguish /d/ from /t/ as humans . Perhaps all beings naturally categorize in
22 some way or another (e.g., f ood/non-food; friend/foe; /d/ from /t/), even if it is not a cognitive process used to make meaning. In addition to categorical (also taxon omic) perception, Mandler (1984, cited in Polkinghorne, 1991) lists three more human cognitive structuring processes: matrix knowledge structures that add a verti cal dimension to horizontal categories,1 serial structures that connect events on a dir ectional time axis; and schematic knowledge structures. This last process is what enab les our perception of part-whole relationships (Gestalts) such that we tend to perceive and conceive a whole classroom as opposed to a random collection of desks, flag, students, and teacher (parts). These processes allow humans to generalize, infer, associate in systematic ways, and to think in terms of wholes. They also enable semiotic systems such as language. Such systems bundle understandings of e xperiences and objects. Commonalities are distilled from shared bundles of understandings to become shared word meanings in a language. They also make conventional metaphor possible. The cognitive process of emplotment, or the creation of a narrative, entails a combination of these processes: individual ev ents (parts) are organized temporally and rendered meaningful by their relationship(s) to wholes. In the same way as more familiar literary narratives, we weave characters and plot s from in and outside our culture into a personal narrative of which we are the centr al character. Thus, our image of self is influenced by understandings from cultural my ths and stories both hi storical and recent 1 An example of horizontal and ver tical categories: Starting from the ba sic category of Â“car,Â” we can move up to a super-ordinate category which contains all Â“vehiclesÂ” or Â“means of transportation,Â” or we can move down to subordinate categor ies like Fiat or two-door. Horizontally , Â“carÂ” would be on the same level as Â“truckÂ” or Â“train,Â” or Â“tableÂ” or Â“dogÂ” Â– all represent basic categories. Lakoff and Johnson (1999) suggest that most human mental fu nctioning takes place at this basic categ ory level where the concepts are more generic and the entailments fewer. Semantic bundling, or networking of word meanings, would be another example of a matrix knowledge structuring.
23 (e.g., the one room schoolhouse, and No Child Left Behind), or proximal to the self and distant (e.g., Â“ideal teacherÂ”; the purpose of education; standardization and equity). However, there is an important difference wi th respect to literary narratives. Our life narratives or Â“self-textsÂ” are never finished or so deliberat ely crafted; we continue to subsume into our self-organization random a nd "accidental" characters and events that fall within the temporal horizons and spat ial boundaries of our story, which is in perpetual revision. For this reason, Bamberg (1991) sugges ts that PolkinghorneÂ’s (1991) purely cognitive model for the experience of self is incomplete with out considering the moderating influence of language and discourse within a given culture. In his critique of PolkinghorneÂ’s model, Bamberg introduces the participation of other people and other meanings as constitutive in an individualÂ’s se lf-creation. He adds di mensions of voice to make our self-stories multi-vocal. He also introduces the idea that narratives are more than just events and plot; our stories also include states, evalua tions, and subjective characters. He argues that la nguage and discourse create th e narrative imagination, which is experienced along temporal lines. Therefore, the narrative self is ultimately a sociocultural, and not a purel y cognitive phenomenon. Bakhtin and Others One cannot consider the role of Â“other Â” in the constitution of Â“selfÂ” without reference to BakhtinÂ’s (1986) dialogism. Meaning for Bakht in is not inherent in the intention or being of an indi vidual, or even in the words and language system(s) we use to communicate that meaning. Rather, meaning is located in an Â“utterance,Â” which he defines as what one person says when anothe r person stops talking a nd before he or she (or some other person) starts again. An utterance is never ex clusively the speakerÂ’s. Each
24 and every word we utter is never spoken fo r the first time but comes with the echoes of othersÂ’ uses embedded within it (p.93). Our utterances partic ipate in a dialogue projecting into the past and into the future in an unbroke n chain (p.76). To break the chain is to lose communication. For Bakhtin (1986), meaning is located in the realization of a communicative act. Therefore, meaning cannot be determined by an individual acting alone but is imbued with meanings we receive from others: Â“[o]ur speech, that is, all our utterancesÂ…is filled with othersÂ’ words, varying degrees of otherness or varying degrees of Â“our-ownness,Â”Â… (p.89) Utterances have Â“ addressivity Â” and Â“ responsiveness Â” (p.95): Our choice of words, syntax, style, genre, even our decision to speak, is governed/modified by our knowledge of the intended hearer and our suppositions about how they will respond. Any utterance we create re alizes an intention and particip ates in an on-going dialogue, even when we speak to ourselves. Therefore, our personal narrative(s), since they are primarily realized with language, are ne ver entirely our own but contai ns echoes of others in our direct personal experience, our history, and our culture. Nor can meaning be determined without reference to the context in which an utterance occurs: Ev ery utterance has Â“ expressivity Â” (Bakhtin, 1986, p. 86-87), which is what gives life and meaning to language wh en it becomes an utterance. Meaning is realized in the contact among a speakerÂ’s intention, a hearerÂ’s understanding, and the concrete context in which they are comm unicating. Finally, understa nding meanings can never be reduced to forms or l ogic. Within any interaction, we Â“re-accentuateÂ” : We use othersÂ’ words with our own Â“expressivityÂ” according to the Â“speech genreÂ” we feel most appropriate to our listener and the context. In short, audien ce and context are constitutive
25 of meaning, and any interpretation of language must take into account the participants, their knowledge of each othe r, and their situations. BakhtinÂ’s speech genres (1986) are Jame s Paul GeeÂ’s (1999) social languages. Dialogism (Bakhtin, 1986) is GeeÂ’s (1999) assembled, situated meanings and building tasks. The theories of Bakhtin and Gee sugge st a conceptualization of self as a sociocultural construction. Due to th e importance of language as a mediator in interaction and thinking, our meanings are never completely our own but conditioned by both Â“big DÂ” Discourse and discourse (Gee, 1999, pp.6-7). By Â“big DÂ” Discourse, Gee refers to nonlinguistic knowledge of contex t and appropriacy rules (cf. BakhtinÂ’s speech genres, 1986, p. 80) according to which Â“small dÂ” discourse Â– our language-in-use Â– is produced. GeeÂ’s D iscourse, like Bakhtinian genres, implicates other people in our formulation of meaning, as for example, when we act to fulfill requirements set by some authority to obtain certification. The social-constructionism of Bakhtin and Gee clearly supports a theoretical model of self-as-narrative as outlined here. But so too does a Vygotskian constructivism. For this reason, my epistemology is both cons tructivist and social -constructionist. For Vygotsky (1978), the relation of mind and so ciety is complex and inseparable; all learning is conditioned by the society or context in which we live, but it is not a one-way process. He proposed that anytime we act, we in turn alter our society. Our construction of self is the result of this dialectic rela tion of self and society, of thought and language (Vygotsky, 1986). VygotskyÂ’s theory, however, is constr uctivist because, unlike Bakhtin, thought develops first and is parallel to but i ndependent from language. Ultimately the two
26 converge, at which point language becomes a tool for thinking. This process continues throughout life: thought affects la nguage, which affects thought . Language is a tool that affects society (and thereby context), whic h affects thought in a perpetual dialectic process. Narratives are told with language a nd so are inextricable from social processes. Conceptual Model The foregoing sections provide the theore tical framework within which I draw a conceptual model to illustrate the interaction of a personÂ’ s understandings about self, role, functions and the language used to expr ess meaning. With the model in Figure 2-1 I illustrate how individual meaning is communicated to the outside world via Â“languagingÂ”: Meaning, which is derived from a private context of individual understandings, knowledge, affect, values, expe riences and volition, is formulated and sounded using verbal language. A ll of this interact s within a public context that both affects and is affected by i ndividual meaning making. The components of the model are described in the next paragraphs. My model is based on Halliday and Mattie ssenÂ’s (1999) conception of cognition as Â“meaningÂ” ( v. ) as opposed to thinking. They pr esent a model in which meaning ( n. ) is the organizational understructure of cognition inst ead of knowledge. It relies on a systemicfunctional model of language. I have adapted their model, changing some of the labels and adding others to represent the interac tion of language and concepts of self in cognition. To understand this diagram, the viewer must imagine he or she is looking straight down from above. Each two-dimensional ci rcle represents the top of a conical environment that extends down into and is contained within the environments of the others. The labeled elements of the model are as follows:
27 SOUNDING corresponds to the formalist cate gory Â“phonology.Â” This environment is embedded within FORMULATING , which depends upon knowledge of possibilities (linguistic, discourse, etc. ) for creating signifiers ( SOUNDING ), as well as knowledge of intention for the signified ( UNDERSTANDING / MEANING). Figure 2-1 Theoretical framework: An adap tation of Halliday and MathiessenÂ’s (1999) model of cognition as a construa l of experience through language. In my model, FORMULATING (not merely formation) corresponds to the formalist category syntax, but also includes semantic choi ce. It is the creation of the signifier and mediates between the signified ( UNDERSTANDING ) and the object or sign that is produced audibly or visibly in the process of SOUNDING . These signs are construed as MEANINGS by readers/hearers Â– including the producer him or herself). The reception of meaning, feeds back into UNDERSTANDING . The formulation and production of signs FORMULATING (creating the signifier/form) UNDERSTANDING (the signified / meaning) MEANING UNCONSCIOUS CONSCIOUS M E A N I N G SOUNDING (the created sign) PUBLIC CONTEXT PRIVATE Volition Affect Values Memory Logic Rules Strategies Â…
28 ( SOUNDING ) happens in exterior (public) and inte rior (private) contexts, which change the Â“colorÂ” of subsequent UNDERSTANDINGS , FORMULATIONS , and SOUNDINGS . The interior context ( UNDERSTANDING ) includes volitional states, values, emotions, memory and reason, as well as syst emic-functional rules fo r language use, and other communicative strategies in function of the perceived exterior context. An individualÂ’s conception of his or her roles is also located here. The exterior (i.e., public) context includes (spatially or temporally) proximal and distant interlocutors, societal norms, and th e situation in which th e production of meaning takes place, as construed by the speaker/writer. In this model, understanding is not a struct ure but a process. It is the organizational mediator of mind and co-motivator of action in conjunction with exte rnal motivators. It simultaneously involves knowledge, emotion, a nd sensory and intuitive perceptions in producing expressed meanings. In my theoretical model, I address how meaning, as the fundamental organizer of mind, creates a coherent whole composed of knowledge, emotion, and other elements. It does not address how these elements get in to the mind. With re spect to knowledge, Jerome Bruner theorized that human bei ngs have two basic wa ys of knowing (i.e., acquiring knowledge). These ways of knowi ng are the subject of my next section. BrunerÂ’s Narrative and Paradigmatic Ways of Knowing I have discussed psychological, social a nd linguistic processe s involved in the construction of narratives. A more cognitive conceptualization comes from the theories of Jerome Bruner: Â“The central concern is not how narrative as text is constructed, but rather how it operates as an instrument of mind in the construction of reality.Â” (Bruner, 1991, pp.5-6) As early as 1962 Bruner was sugge sting that humans have two quite
29 different and complementary modes of knowi ng (i.e., thinking): paradigmatic (i.e., scientific) and narra tive. Scientific thought aims to dem onstrate universal truth (ironically by seeking to falsify). The function of narrative thinking is to illuminate particular human truths: psychic verisimilitude. The two m odes of thinking share the same symbol system(s) and cannot exist independently; they are each necessary for the otherÂ’s functioning: Â“The scientist and the poet do not live at antipodes, a nd I urge Â… that the artificial separation of the two modes of knowing cripples the c ontemporary intellectual as an effective mythmaker for his timesÂ” (Bruner, 1962: pp.2-3). In 1986 in Â“Actual Minds, Possible Worlds ,Â” Bruner elaborated this idea more specifically. He proposed that narrative and scientific t hought work in tandem, each according to its own principles: There are two modes of cognitive f unctioning, two modes of thought, each providing distinctive ways of ordering e xperience, of construc ting reality. The two (though complementary) are irreducible to one another. Â… Each of the ways of knowing, moreover, has operating principles of its own a nd its own criteria of wellformedness. They differ radically in thei r procedures for verification. A good story and a well-formed argument are different natural kinds. Both can be used as means for convincing another. Yet what they convince of is fundamentally different: arguments convince one of their truth, st ories of their lifelik eness. (Bruner, 1986, p.11) Narratives create truths for science to unveil. Bruner takes the position that reality is ultimately subjective: we Â“knowÂ” by means of our subjective expe riences and our perceptions of culturally bound meanings. We collaboratively create the world transacti onally. We Â“knowÂ” in terms of the ways we think (i.e., the ways we process perceptions from which we structure and restructure conceptualizations). The world is both alrea dy there and not already there. We create the world with both narrative and paradigmatic thought, but we are not completely free creators. We are limited by received knowledge of possible worlds. In addition, we create
30 our version of the world differently according to whether our desire is to understand or control: Â“Â… we manipulate or operate physically upon that which is in the domain of cause and effect; But we interact or try to communicate with those who seem governed by intentionsÂ” (Bruner, 1986, p. 88). Narrative and scientific t hought work like two lenses of a stereoscope to create a dimens ional, situated, individual knowledge of the world. Acceptance of the above framewor k of two natural modes of thought, paradigmatic and narrative, presents impor tant questions about the way we construe effective teacher preparation and what we cons ider as valid represen tations of truth. The research I review in the next section seems to suppose an im plicit conceptualization of thought as paradigmatic, leading to program s that might be bette r characterized as training rather than educating models. Effective Teacher Education In 1987, Lee Shulman proposed a useful framework to describe the knowledge effective teachers should have. One could summarize his proposed knowledge base for teaching by saying that teachers need to Â“know thatÂ” and Â“know howÂ” (Ryle, 1972). In addition to declarative knowledge of c ontent and pedagogy, Shulman proposed that teachers need specialized declarative and procedural Â“pedagogical content knowledgeÂ”: specialized professional knowledge teachers ha ve about how thinking is done in their discipline, and how to communicate this pe dagogically. This is the knowledge that distinguishes a teacherÂ’s prof essional knowledge from that of a content speci alist. With pedagogical content knowledge, Shulman also includes knowledge of the students and their particular context.
31 In response to his call for more knowle dge about teachers, and specifically Â“personal practical knowledg eÂ” (Connelly & Clandinin, 2000; Elbaz, 1983), there has been a wealth of research aimed at identif ying what effective teachers do and how they think, as well as lists of be haviors and dispositions observe d in effective teachers that have been useful in program (re)design (e.g., Grossman et al., 2000; Hamachek, 1999; Korthagen, 2004; Ross, 1989; Ross, Lane, & McCallum, 2005; Wilson, Floden, & FeriniMundy, 2001). The lists produced by researchers also have policy implications embodied in checklist type standards for evaluati on of teaching performance (e.g., Pathwise Teacher evaluation system, Educational Testi ng Service, 1994; Teacher Education Intern Rating Sheet (TEIRS), University of Florida, College of Education, 2000). While these lists may be very useful teaching/learning tools, Â“effectiveÂ” means more than enacting certain behaviors. Eff ective teaching involves active choice, which can be explicit or implicit, among various beha viors that may be reasoned or felt to be appropriate for a particular cl assroom culture at a particular moment. Given the diversity of our classrooms, the static nature of publis hed lists of effective practices may give preservice teachers the wrong idea about what good teaching entails. Although it is valuable to know which practices can be effective, th is knowledge can be confusing and might be useless or counter-productive if it is not c ontextualized. Preparing For Diversity Although the focus of this study is on indi vidual experience, the proposed model of self-as-narrative that is construed in colla boration with anÂ“otherÂ” within a discourse community has important implications con cerning the issue of diversity and the development of self in teacher education. First, the model imp lies that a teach erÂ’s self is co-authored with his or her students. DonaldsonÂ’s (1978) and DysonÂ’s (1993)
32 descriptions of classrooms nicely illustrate how children first understand situations transactionally and build social neig hborhoods (Dyson, 1993). They create and understand language within the frame of this constructed world. The narratives of students, which are in turn co -authored with other people in their lives within discourse communities outside the school, will also ma ke their way into a teacherÂ’s story. Another important consideration is that di fferent literacies from different Â“worldsÂ” are inextricable from the self, and mean ings change as language moves from one community to another (Hill, 2001). A concrete example from writing research indicates that different cultures may use different rhetorical patterns to organize their writing (Fu & Townsend, 1998; Kaplan, 1966). But the process also happens at less conscious levels. Bakhtin, Bruner and Vygotsky (and others) tell us we can never fully remove ourselves from this culture, which has important imp lications for a model of self that is coconstructed using language. With the growi ng linguistic and cultural diversity in our classrooms, it is important that teachers a nd teacher educators understand how aspects of Â“otherÂ” languages become manifest as pa rt of an individualÂ’s sense of self. Language In this study, I will be aware of this as I analyze the language the participants use to describe their experience. However, language can be a tricky busin ess. No language is neutral. We speak, read, or write from a very specific socio-cultural frame; we all operate from inside a bounded perspectival horizon (Bakhtin, 1986). Ways of using language are not uniform for all people in a society; even within a single community, meanings do not exist in the abstract, but are di rectly rooted in the individual experience of each user. We may share denotations, but each individua l has his or her own unique web of connotations that include aff ective and sensory components. In addition to the shared
33 dictionary meaning, each word we use has it s own semantic bundle that is never exactly the same as another personÂ’s. From our first steps as language users, we actively wield the cultu ral tool of verbal language to create meaning. Throughout our lives we are (re)constructing our own particular worldview (i.e., our unique system of beliefs and theori es) via external and internal dialogues. A careful examination of the whole of oneÂ’s language choices can bring this worldview into sharper focus. Just as a child at the one-word stage will use the Â“heaviestÂ” content word they know to comm unicate meaning, metaphor may be a natural cognitive process in which we economically map multiple understandings and semantic entailments to an object or an idea (Billow, 1988). Metaphor In effect, metaphor functions as a bridge between different real ities (such as an object and its signifier), differe nt levels of meaning (such as literal and abstract, or real and make-believe), and different re alms of experience (inner or psychological reality vs. outer or Â“empiricalÂ” reality. . .Â” (Billow, 1988: p.315) Lakoff and Johnson (1980, 1999) suggest that all language might be considered metaphoric, and distinguish conventional from imaginative metaphors (1980). Conventional metaphors are culturally systema tized in language. As the language and community evolve, particular metaphors come to represent particular concepts (e.g., Life as a path we travel). As a member of a co mmunity, we assimilate its metaphors with our understandings of the different languages we speak. Imaginative metaphors are our unique creations that give new and individual meanings to our unders tandings. I share the assumption that all language is metaphoric but in this project I use the term metaphor to mean a more or less deliberate symbolic representation of one thing with another.
34 In metaphors we associate concepts, (whi ch might be experienced as words, phrases or images) from different domains (i .e., conceptual metaphor). It may be that Â“Â…virtually all of our abst ract conceptualization and reasoning is structured by metaphorÂ” (Fernandez-Duque & Johnson, 1999, p.84). According to Lakoff and Johnson, reason2 may be unconscious, Â“Â…largely metaphor ical and imaginative,Â” Â“emotionally engaged,Â” and Â“dynamicÂ” (Lakoff and Johnson, 1999, p.4). They suggest that metaphor is the Â“hidden hand that shapes consciou s thoughtÂ” (Lakoff and Johnson, 1999, p.12). This cognitive unconscious also shapes our dis positions and how we act. Lakoff and Johnson (1999) also describe how metaphoric imagery can illuminate a process of reasoning with a concept when non-metaphorical reasoning is not possible. On a more functional level, some psycho linguists following a connectionist model (Gaskell & Marslen-Wilson, 1996; Marslen-W ilson & Warren, 1994), theorize that when we access a word, a host of related word s becomes activated (e.g., along with Â“ GA M E ,Â” we might also activate Â“ GA MBL E ,Â” Â“ GA TH E R,Â” Â“ GA RGL E ,Â”. . .). In a schema theoretical framework (Carrell & Eisterho ld, 1983; Rumelhart & Ortony, 1977; Smith, 1982), Â“GAMEÂ” might activate chains of words (i.e., entailments) in related semantic fields, as well as associated feelings, me mories, and images (e.g., Â“BRIDGEÂ” (which might activate Â“TUNNELÂ”)Â… Â“FOOTBA LLÂ”Â… Â“BASEBALLÂ”Â… Â“HIGH SCHOOL SPRINGSÂ”Â… Â“TENNISÂ”Â… Â“LOVEÂ”Â… Â“PLAYERÂ”Â… and so on). As each word or image is activated, these entailments (i.e., un ique semantic bundles) become activated as well. Consider what happens when you r ead the following phra se: Â“DIVING BOARD.Â” Â… 2 The way we inquire, infer, solve problems, understand ourselves. . . in short, the way we think and interact with other people, primarily with verbal language.
35 Some of my own associations and entailmen ts for diving board include falling from a height, playing, water, getting wet, summer, head firstÂ… and many more. Billow (1988) found evidence that metaphoric al language starts at an early age. While we may not always be ab le to verbalize a rationale fo r a metaphor, he suggests that these metaphors may arise from logical langua ge use (e.g., children refer directly to physical or functional similarity of objects, visu al imagery, or feelings ). He cites research that gives reason to suppose that metaphoric al thinking is not accidental, or due to mistakes or Â“confusionÂ” in linguistic competen ce: Â“It is quite possibl e that one wellspring of metaphoric creation is i ndeed the momentary and novel link between an image (not necessarily visual) and an object, id ea, or situation.Â” (Billow, 1988, p.325) Billow cites research much older than Lakoff and JohnsonÂ’s (1999) argument that the basis for metaphorical associations ma y even be somatic: Â“Â…organismicÂ” Â…bodilyÂ” Â… experience also may infuse symbol form ation, hence, language with meaningÂ” (Billow, 1988, p. 325, citing Jones, 1950; Sh arpe, 1968; and Werner and Kaplan, 1963). Billow believes that his findings and the other fi ndings he reviews, Â“. . . suggest that . . . the capacity for spontaneous metaphor produc tion increases along with other cognitive capacities [and] continues as unverbalized, me ntal activity and/or capacity.Â” (Billow, 1988, p.325) Metaphor allows efficient organization of meaning ec onomically since processing happens in chucks and images. If it arises from our cognitive unconscious, its analysis should tell us about a personÂ’s underlying concep tual system/s. In that case, our language holds many clues that point to how we i ndividually understand and relate concepts: Â“Careful description of how one describe s the world . . . gives clues to how one
36 constructs itÂ” (Munby & Russell, 1990). The im ages a person uses can help us see beyond conventional language labels to the m eanings that produced them. This makes these student/teachersÂ’ spoken (or written) language a powerful source of evidence for the nature of their underlying meanings. Our theories are irreduci bly metaphoric. Â… [D]ifferent metaphorical conceptions may circumscribe . . . basic phenomena . . . in different ways. No single metaphorical structure will be adequate to account for the phenomena. Understanding the metaphorical structure of oneÂ’s model and theories Â– how the metaphors define phenomena, how they stru cture concepts, and how they generate inferences Â– is thus essential to any self-reflective scientis tÂ’s method.Â” . . . . Metaphor . . . is one of our most ba sic and indispensable tools for doing good science. (Fernandez-Duque & Johnson, 1999, p.112) In todayÂ’s diverse classrooms, a teacher needs to be sensitive to this aspect of his or her daily interactions. In a co -constructed model of self, students from different language and cultural backgrounds contribute to a teach erÂ’s sense of self. Conversely, a teacher also has an important role in co-authoring hi s or her studentsÂ’ narr atives. For this reason, it is important to cultivate in student/teacher s the disposition for awareness of multiple cultures and languages, and of his/her impact on students. S/he must be sensitive to context, learning styles, worldviews, and talents. Dispositions It is not within the scope of this study to enter the conversation in the literature regarding Â“effectiveÂ” dispositions for teaching, but a definition is warranted since dispositions form a fundamental part of the Â“self.Â” My WebsterÂ’s new Collegiate Dictionary defines Â“dispositionÂ” as the quality of being disposed, a readiness or tendency to act. It also carries a sense of conclusive or definitive a rrangement of personal qualities or characteristics. It is a Â“prevailing te ndency, mood or inclination, a temperamental makeupÂ” (WebsterÂ’s new Collegiate Dictionary, 1977, p. 330).
37 Usually, we only have one disposition, a description of which communicates our habitual way of being in multiple and vari ed circumstances. Coll oquially, we say that someone has a happy or a lazy or an argumenta tive disposition, or that they tend to cry easily, or be easily convinced of something. A disposition is a part of our identity. It is our tendency to act in one way and not another in a given context. In the field of teacher education, various standards sett ing organizations use the term in the plural to indicate multiple qualities that effective teachers must exhibit. Our disposition and dispositions depend on our beliefs about who we are, who other people are, the context we are in and th e goals we have. We are disposed to act in terms of the way we prioritize our purposes. A crucial disposition for teaching that is relevant to this study in research questions 3 and 4 is the disposition to inquire. This disposition appears in multiple guises in th e principles of INTASC (The Interstate N ew T eacher A ssessment and S upport C onsortium): A teacher must have a disposition to plan well but be ready to modify the plan in light of emerging circumstances. S/he must be disposed to reflection and continuous lear ning and development (both his/her own and his/her studentsÂ’). S/he must see the world a nd knowledge as mutable, not as a fixed body of facts to be learned once and for all. In ot her words, he or she must have a disposition for inquiry. I will discuss other Â“officialÂ” pr actical operationalizations of the concept Â“dispositionÂ” specific to the realm of teacher education in Chapter 8 (implications). Inquiry in Teacher Education The model of self proposed here supposes an active role fo r the individual in constructing his or her own narrative. As set out in previous sections, this construction is not built solely by one personÂ’s mental proces ses. It also involves dialogic interaction with others using language as a primary tool. However, a lot happens in our interactions
38 of which we are not necessarily aware. A dispos ition to look for, to notice, and to inquire about difference or anomalies in oneÂ’s beliefs about reality is fundamental to this model, especially in the in terest of high quality teacher education. Inquiry is not only carried out by linguistic acts; any act can be construed as inquiry if that is the purpose of the inquirer (Lindfors, 1999). Inquiry is defined here as noticing a problem or a difference, reflecting on it, and acting in a linguistic or non-linguistic way to try to understand it. Dewey (1938) wrote that learning and educati on are the result of posing problems in and about oneÂ’s immediate experience. Lindfors ( 1999) calls inquiry a basic human act Â– a Â“turning toÂ” another, wh ich can be observed from the first days of an infantÂ’s life. Once we acquire the Â“toolÂ” of language, this basic human reaching out becomes linguistic and we use it to restru cture our cognitive schemes (Vygotsky, 1986). An important companion to the habit of no ticing things and events in oneÂ’s self and/or context is reflection if we wish teacher s to Â“. . . establish belief upon a firm basis of evidence and rationalityÂ” (Dewey, 1933/ 1960, p. 9). Reflection is an Â“[a]ctive, persistent, and careful consider ation of any belief or supposed form of knowledge in the light of the grounds that support it and th e further conclusions to which it tendsÂ…Â” (Dewey, 1933/1960, p. 9). SchÃ¶n (1983, 1987) desc ribed two categories of reflection important for teacher learning: Â“reflection-on-actionÂ” and Â“ref lection-in-action.Â” Griffiths and Tann, (cited in Zeichner & Liston, 1996) expanded SchÃ¶nÂ’s two concepts to five. They propose two types of Â“ref lection-in-actionÂ”: Â“rapid reflectionÂ” when a teacher responds Â“in action,Â” and Â“repairÂ” of a probl em the teacher notices happening in real time. They extend the time frame of SchÃ¶nÂ’ s Â“reflection-on-actionÂ” beyond immediate Â“reviewÂ” of a teaching episode after (or even before) the fact, to include two longer term,
39 more in-depth reflective mode s: Â“researchÂ” and Â“re-theori zing.Â” Although I consider these last two as teacher inquiry, inquiry i nvolves more than reflection. In the next section, I define inquiry from three perspectives : as process, as research paradigm, and as stance. Teacher inquiry as a psychological process Lindfors (1999) identif ies two general kinds of inquiry in childrenÂ’s classrooms: information-seeking, and wondering. Although, as she notes, there are other ways to describe inquiry, these two typical examples ar e useful in considering the kind of inquiry that can occur in teacher education classr ooms as well. As a psychological process, (teacher) inquiry can be information seeki ng (i.e., Â“fact-finding,Â” Kiss & Townsend, in process) if the prospective teacher is looking fo r technical strategies or right answers that he or she feels already exist to be found. It can be wondering if the teacherÂ’s aim is to construct an answer or avenue of exploration for him or hers elf. And it can be anything in between. The process of teacher inquiry can range from fully implicit to maximally explicit, and concern knowledge that li es anywhere on a continuum from public knowledge (either paradigmatic or common se nse), which is available in universal, propositional statements, to private or Â“l ocalÂ” knowledge (White, 2004, based on Geertz, 1983), which is visible to the world through th e interpretations the knower shares with other people. Traditional sources of teacher inquiry Tabachnich and Zeichner (1991) identify four main traditions as sources for inquiry in teaching: 1. academic (content and pedagogical content knowledge), 2. social efficiency (teaching techniques and strategies),
40 3. developmental (the child), and 4. social reconstruction. Zeichner and Liston (1996) add a fifth category: generic inquiry, but with the caveat that this fifth type is less productive of new knowledge. Dana and Yendol-Silva (2003) present more person-based choices for inquiry by suggesting teachers might locate their inquiry in any one of eight passions: their own biography, an individual child, the context, the curriculum (plan), the subject matter (content of the curriculum and materials), teaching techniques and strategies, social justice issues, or a perceived discrepancy between personal teaching philosophy and context factors (including procedures). Teacher inquiry as research paradigm While inquiry may not be a new idea, as a research paradigm teacher inquiry is rooted in an epistemology that is different to previous processproduct, or qualitativeinterpretive research paradi gms (Dana & Yendol-Silva, 200 3). In a process-product approach, the aim of research is to lo cate links between Â“goodÂ” products and the processes that seem to have generated them , in order to produce statements that will instruct teachers in how to act. A large body of research on Â“eff ective practiceÂ” (cited previously), as well as standardized t eacher evaluation schemes based on observed Â“effectiveÂ” behaviors, results from this para digm. A process-product approach is linear, carried out by outside expert s, and generates what is described by Cochran-Smith and Lytle (1999) as Â“know ledge-for-practice.Â” As a qualitative-interpretive paradigm ga ined credence in academia, context and the situated characte r of teaching entered our conceptu alization of valued knowledge. A
41 teacherÂ’s knowledge of her practice (Â“knowledge-in-practi ce,Â” Cochran-Smith & Lytle, 1999; Â“personal practical knowledge,Â” Elbaz, 1 983) was introduced as an important part of the knowledge base a teacher must have. In this paradigm, the teacher and her students become characters in a specific context, and a more discursive style is needed to report Â“findings.Â” However, the originators of the research questions still tend to be outside experts. Already in 1933, DeweyÂ’s thoughts seem to suggest teacher inquiry as research when he described how reflection involves a state of doubt and a deliberate, targeted empirical search Â“Â…to find material th at will resolve th e doubtÂ” (Dewey, 1933/1960. p.12). He described the work of reflection as a purposive connec ting of Â“. . . present facts . . . with . . . other facts (or truths) . . .Â” (pp.11-12) such that knowledge derives from a knower combining new empirically experien ced events with his or her previous knowledge. This is the knowledge that a teach er writes into his or her self-narrative. Teacher inquiry as a research paradigm authorizes the teach er as a co-constructor of knowledge. Distinct from the more general conc ept of teacher reflection, it is systematic, rigorous, and targeted. It explic itly values local knowledge that is individually created by the knower and is linked to the time and pl ace of its creation, thereby acknowledging as valid the individuality of teachersÂ’ professional knowledge landscapes (Clandinin & Connelly, 1996). Unlike process-product models, it calls for active participation in an ongoing professional conversation. It is maximally explicit, tends towards wondering, and generates Â“knowledge-o f-practiceÂ” (Cochran-S mith & Lytle, 1999). Teacher inquiry as stance Cochran-Smith and Lytle (1999) propos e that knowledge-of-practice is not created as the result of an activity or project, but as the result of a stance that is critical and
42 transformative. This view of knowledge re moves the distinction between theory and practice and situates research and the site of knowledge creation in the mind and context of a knower working in a professional commun ity of inquiry. It removes a distinction between expert and novice, thereby provi ding a theoretical grounding for a life-long learning approach to teacher development, in which teachers with any amount of experience engage in interrogati on of their practice, their cont ext, the rules and norms of their profession, and the nature of know ledge. An inquiry stance acknowledges the teacher him or herself as the final arbiter in determining which or whose knowledge is most valuable in becoming and being a teacher. The Classroom as an Open System Ultimately, what a person learns, how s/he learns, and the degree to which s/he learns is the result of multiple acts, infl uences and complex motivations. The fundamental aim of teacher education is to educate t eachers who can help students learn to their maximum potential. But assessment of outco mes based only on test scores, or other performative criteria, is simplistic. Eval uation and assessment of teaching/learning outcomes must account for multiple dimens ions that include both exogenous and endogenous factors (Behar-Horenstein, Mitche ll, & Dolan, 2004) that influence these outcomes in ways that can be unpredictable and difficult to see. In teacher education we are most concerne d with preparing teach ers for facilitating learning in classrooms. Reynolds (2001) s uggests we consider classrooms as open systems. An open system adds indigenous and emergent factors to the complex of external factors we currently consider when assessing success. An open system cannot be understood merely by understanding initial st ates and each of the component parts.
43 Systems are open when components can enter and l eave without altering the essential nature of the system. A fitting description for Â“classroom.Â” An open system is emergent, unpredictable and continually evolving in response or reaction to perturbations gene rated by its own operation. There is no dependable linear relationship between input and output, and output can simultaneously be input for the system. The resultant feedback loops te nd to be tight (Reynolds, 2001), local and unpredictable. Although there may be cause/effect relations in operation, it is difficult or impossible to use these exclusively to pred ict outcomes with any certainty. Nor is it possible to predict outcomes only from initial states. Learning in such a system happens at sp ecific, not always identifiable, moments when a person creates a link be tween new information and old, and incorporates it into his or her individual knowledge base. For th is reason teachers can never be complacent. Even with Â“scientificallyÂ” proven practices, th ey must also be aw are of when, how, why, and with whom certain techniques or strategi es work the way researchers claim they do. This is especially tricky in the early stages of a personÂ’s practice, and/ or in situations in which a teacher feels her decisions are in so me way Â“other-determinedÂ” (e.g., she is in someone elseÂ’s classroom, a supervisor is obser ving her, she is being graded or assessed.) One cannot generate reliable understandings of open systems using the scientific, propositional laws endemic to our educational system, embedded as it is in an empiricalanalytic epistemology (vanManen, 1977). Th e only reliable source of knowledge about such a system comes from within the syst em, and is grounded in its ongoing evolution. This view of the classroom as an open system is consistent with the constructivist and social-constructionist perspectives on learni ng described earlier, in which knowledge is
44 viewed as dynamic and situational. It is also consistent with an inquiry stance, and the belief that Â“knowledge-of-practiceÂ” (Cochr an-Smith & Lytle, 1999) develops (i.e., learning occurs) in the contex t of social interactions.3 The model of classroom as an open system is coherent with the model presented here that conceptualizes self as a character in an emergent context destined to deal with both predictable and random events. It also argues for a research methodology that can be sensitive to conditions that are in part ru le-governed, but can also be unpredictable. Applied Empirical Phenomenology Referring to scientific thinking, Bruner says in On Knowing: Essays for the Left Hand that we Â“. . . will go so far as to tame the metaphors that have produced the hunches, tame them in the sense of shifting them from the left hand to the right hand by rendering them into notions that can be te stedÂ” (Bruner, 1962, p. 4). In this study I propose that shifts in our paradigms of what constitutes significant research mean that we no longer have to tame our metaphors to be considered Â“scientific.Â” With rigorous, systematic qualitative methodology we can access meanings in situ and re-present them faithfully as Â“scientificallyÂ” acceptable knowle dge. Rather than extract, decompose and Â“testÂ” concepts, we can illuminate them as wholes where they live and, in so doing, clarify how they function in complex human interactions. An appropriate methodology for this is an empirical phenomenology (Hein & Austin, 2003; Giorgi & Giorgi, 2003), which assumes that a personÂ’s report of experience is reality, at least one possible reality from one perspective. As such, the experience has a direct relationship with a personÂ’s actions, a nd understanding peopleÂ’s actions is one goal 3 I include as social interaction any contact with other-produced text, written or spoken, whether or not the Â“otherÂ” is physically present.
45 of human science. In this phenomenology, th ere is no assumption of an independent ontological status for any phenom enon present in experience, as there is in HusserlÂ’s more philosophical transcendental phenome nology (Moustakas, 1994). A more extensive discussion of this methodology, as well as a distinction between philosophical and applied approaches to phenomenology is taken up in the next chapter.
46 CHAPTER 3 METHODOLOGY Research methods areÂ…outlines of inves tigative journeys, laying out previously developed paths, which, if followed by rese archers, are supposed to lead to valid knowledge. These paths are drawn on maps based on assumptions about the nature of reality and the processes of huma n understanding. (Polkinghorne, 1989, p. 41) Methodology should be telling of the rese archerÂ’s epistemology and theoretical framework (Glesne, 1999), and these must be in alignment (Crotty, 1998). My purpose in this study is to explore situated experience of phenomena of consciousness as they are lived by individuals. Specificall y, I explore the extent to whic h interns participating in a nine-week field placement act ually experience themselves as Â“teacher,Â” or are acting from within the role of Â“s tudentÂ” standing where the te acher stands. I propose to approach questions concerning the perceived experience of various individuals from a phenomenological theoretical perspective gr ounded in a constructivist and socialconstructionist epistemology. Empirical phe nomenology (Hein & Austin, 2001; Giorgi & Giorgi, 2003), and critical discourse anal ysis (Fairclough, 1995, 1999) are appropriate methods to collect, analyze and present data to create new unders tandings of these questions from my perspective. These me thodologies preserve the complexity and contextuality of the phenomena of interest, and call for writer and readers to zigzag between the whole and the parts in order to reach understanding. I begin this chapter with a discussion of philosophical foundations and different approaches to applied empirical phenomenol ogy. Next, I describe the design I derived
47 from these methodologies for my study. I then present the five phases1 I follow: (1) data generation, (2) data collection, (3) initial data an alysis, (4) narrowing data analysis, and (5) reporting. Then I will describe the setting and the participants, along with my rationale for these choices. Next, I will present my qualifications for doing this study and a brief autobiographical backgr ound to shed light on how I ar rived to these questions. I will also detail the procedures I have followe d to establish trustworthiness (Lincoln & Guba, 1985), including how I have attempted to minimize researcher bias, triangulate results, and establish consistency. Fina lly, I will discuss generalizability and transferability. At the end of this chapter, I include a list of terms defined specifically as they are relevant to the methods used in this study. Philosophical Foundations Two related philosophical a pproaches to understanding the nature of human reality and the phenomena of human conscious ness ground most contemporary applied phenomenologies: transcendental phenome nology and existential phenomenology. The first is primarily concerned with ways of being , the second with ways of being-in-theworld . Before discussing how these philosophies were developed into applied scientific approaches, I present a brief review of their foundations. Wilhelm Dilthey (1833-1911) argued that th e only true subject of study for the human sciences was life as experienced by i ndividuals, and that the psychology of his day was wrong to model itself after the natura l sciences (cited in Rickman, 1967). He 1 The term Â“stepÂ” may be understood to have the same meaning. I prefer the term Â“phaseÂ” to indicate the nebulous borders between one phase and another. In fact, the processes of data collection, analysis, and representation are often simultaneous.
48 also expanded hermeneutics from the science of understanding an authorÂ’s meaning in a text, to a general method of understanding hum an meaning, regardless of how expressed. In addition to the Â“ erklÃ¤ren ,Â” or explanation, of the natural sciences (e.g., description, induction, and deduction), the human sciences also seek Â“ verstehen, Â” or understanding. But not understand ing in the colloquial sense. As a (human) scientific pursuit, Â“understandingÂ” refers to a system atic study of the layers of meaning humans assign to their inducing, deducing, explaini ng, and describing. Dilthey rejected transcendentalism as an approach to understa nding human meaning: lif e is what it is and includes both the empirically observable (i.e., sense data ) and the "humanly knowable" (i.e., psychological constructions that resu lt from human cognitive processing of sense data). How we come to understand includes what our senses perc eive, but also the temporality we experience and the meaning we attribute to events. For Dilthey, human knowing was always historical a nd could never be final. It w ould always be situated in a specific spatial and temporal context (Ric kman, 1967). But these philosophical ideas lacked a conceptual system that would organize them into a Â“science.Â” Transcendental Phenomenology Edmund Husserl (1859-1938) is considered to be the founder of phenomenology as a scientific method (Gurwitsch, 1974). He was the first to pr opose a system to make this philosophical approach a scientific tool for human science. Husserl agreed with DiltheyÂ’s critique of psychology as limited by its de pendence on the natural sciences for its theoretical and methodological framework. He argued that human understanding was partially determined by a particular context, but it was also not unlimited. He suggested that human understanding was constructed with in the limits of universal forms, or essential structures, which are always alrea dy there, not built from experience. The first
49 task of the human scientist was to locate th e eidos, not in the Plat onic sense of some a priori universal forms, but in the sense of a whole conceptual structure within the limits and possibilities of a human being to construc t meaning for some object. Essentially, the goal of HusserlÂ’s science was to remove tempor al and contextual vari ants to arrive at some transcendental essence of a thing that would still be there regardless of the consciousness perceiving it. Existential Phenomenology Martin Heidegger (1889-1976), who studied the application of the phenomenological method with Husserl, and late r succeeded him at the University of Freiburg, disagreed with his predecessor and mentor on a very fundamental point. Whereas with transcendental phenomenology Hu sserl studied consciousness in an effort to discern pure Â“being,Â” Heidegger, with hermeneutic phenomenology, studied Â“being-inthe-world.Â” From a hermeneutic phenomenolog ical perspective, a pure a-historical, atemporal essence does not exist. A researcher can never fully bracket his or her existence, or the contextual influences on the phenom enon being studied. As soon as we begin to interact and to use language, we do so from a situated, temporal-historical perspective that cannot be separated from our understandings. . . . At the very moment the philosopher begins to reflect he has already engaged himself in the world, society, history, language. . . . The phenomena, the things themselves, must be accepted by the philos opher the way they really are, but this can be done only by interpreting them from a conception of world which is already there before the philosopher can begin to reflect. (Hein & Austin, 2001, p. 5, citing Kockelmans, 1987a) Methodologies: Applied Phenomenologies for the Human Sciences The philosophy of Husserl or Heidegge r provides the grounding for applied approaches to studying human meaning in se veral domains of human science research.
50 Hein and Austin (2001) offer an exceptionally clear explanation of what the differences between these approaches mean for applied research in the domain of psychology. The goal of transcendental phenomenology root ed in HusserlÂ’s ideas is to reach an understanding of essential, transcendental meaning structures of some object in a personÂ’s consciousness. In this a-historic pers pective, it is assumed possible to abstract the essential meaning structure of an Â“ objectÂ” of consciousness (e.g., Â“being a student/teacherÂ”) that is always true irrespective of the contex t. It is also theoretically possible to fully bracket out the research erÂ’s pre-conceptions and interpretations. On the other hand, the goal of a Heidegge rian existential phenomenology is to study Â“being-in-the-worldÂ” (e.g., being a stude nt/teacher in a one-year M.Ed. program in Florida). From an existential phenomenologica l point of view, bracketing can never be complete. We are always and inescapably in the world in a particular way. This study takes this latter perspective, although wit hout the hermeneutic stan ce characteristic of a purely Heideggerian approach. I will attempt to describe as clearly as possible the context of my participants, as well as my own pr e-conceptions and biases. However, I avoid interpreting their words in an effort to presen t as fully as possible a description of their individual and collective meaning structures for th e phenomena of interest. Psychological phenomenology In the last quarter of the 20th century a nd the beginning of the 21st, human science researchers offered a variety of scientific applications of ph ilosophical phenomenology. Among the best known is Giorgi & Giorgi Â’s (2003) psychol ogical phenomenology. Although it derives from HusserlÂ’s transcende ntal phenomenology, and is still essentially positivistic in that it seeks a single definitive meaning structure for a psychological phenomenon, it attempts to provide a more a pplied Â“scientificÂ” approach in that Â“the
51 knowledge obtained is systematic, methodical, critical and generalÂ” (Giorgi & Giorgi, 2003). They reject the possible existence of a single essential structure for some phenomenon that might be true for any concei vable consciousness. Instead, they restrict themselves to the experience of human consci ousness, seeking to illuminate layers of meaning and a single essential structure for some human psychological phenomenon. In their psychological phenomenology th ey understand the experience or meaning an individual describes to be the reality that drives that personÂ’s actions, without making further ontological claims about the essential nature of that experience: Â“Â…phenomenology is less concerned with the f acticity of the psychological, sociological, or cultural peculiarities or differences of the meaning stru ctures of human experienceÂ” (Van Manen, 1984, p. 43). It is a more empi rical and less philos ophical approach to understanding. Empirical or hermeneutic approache s in psychological phenomenology More generically, most psychologically (i.e., human scientific) oriented phenomenological research methods tend to be either empirical (descriptive) or hermeneutic (interpretive). While the steps for both are similar, the perspective on the data and the research process itself are some what different. Hein a nd Austin claim that a convergent analysis of the same data using each method led to si milar insights (Hein & Austin, 2001). In both approaches, the first step is to immerse oneself completely in the data. These data are frequently interviews but can also be personal reflect ions or published art (e.g., Novels, film, TV, poetry, graffiti), es pecially in hermeneutic phenomenology which
52 Table 3-1 Comparison of three approaches to phenomenological data analysis: key aspects and differences. Transcendental (Moustakas, 1994) (philosophical) Psychological (Giorgi & Giorgi, 2003) (applied, scientific) Hermeneutic (Hein & Austin, 2001; Van Manen, 1984, 1990) (applied, textual) Data obtained from descriptions of personal reflection or from interviews of other people Data obtained from descriptions from informants (Â“empiricalÂ” data) Data obtained from literature, film, etc. (most often) but also from interviews Data analysis via: Phenomenological reduction and imaginative variation while bracketing the researcherÂ’s preconceptions Data analysis via: Scientific reduction, viewing data from the perspective of psychology and psychological interests, and bracketing the researcherÂ’s preconceptions Data analysis via: interpretative (hermeneutic) writing, rewriting, and using imaginative variation. Bracketing is not possible, when we begin to use language, we begin to interpret. Final goal: Determine invariant essential (transcendental) structure/s of an experience knowable by any imaginable consciousness Final goal: Re-describe the experience of a uniquely human consciousness in psychological (not everyday) terms Final goal: Understand and describe a situated experience by identifying the Â“knotsÂ” that hold together our Â“websÂ” of meaning.
53 considers any human experience as Â“text,Â” and therefore interpretable. At this point the two approaches diverge: Hermeneutic phenomenology emphasizes creativity, and explicitly includes the interaction of the rese archer, the participant and the reader. It is about imagining alternatives, contextualizati on and amplification. Th e process is one of writing, re-writing, imagining and dialog. Throu gh this creative, dialogic process, one reaches an essential description of some phenomenon as experienced by human consciousness. In Table 3-1 I present a comparison of three approaches to phenomenology. On the other hand, empirical phenomenology is more rigorous, and the steps more specific. Although each researcher creates his or her own exact process, they tend to have the following steps in common: 1. Immerse in the data 2. Identify statements in the data that relate to the phenomenon/a being studied 3. Â“ThematizeÂ” (see definitions Chapter 3) and re-write the participantÂ’s everyday statements in phenomenological language 4. Develop a Â“situated structural desc riptionÂ” of the phenomenon for each participant 5. Repeat steps 1-4 for each participant 6. Develop a single essential descriptio n for the phenomenon derived from the empirical statements (Â“general structural descriptionÂ”) Pedagogical phenomenology: an applied psychological phenomenology There are also applied human science approaches specifically oriented towards contributing to pedagogical competence, such as the more hermeneutic approach of Van Manen (1984, 1990). This approach is closer to an interpretive Heideggerian exploration of Â“ being-in-the-world ,Â” as opposed to the transce ndental goal of describing pure
54 Â“ being .Â” From this perspective, it is not possi ble to fully bracket experience, and all consciousness is a situated consciousness. By entering into a text, writing, re-writing, and using imaginative variation to explore different facets of an experience, one circles in on a true understanding of meaning for a specifi c person in a particular place and time. According to Hein and Austin, it is up to the researcher to choose or creatively combine from many possibilities a set of method s in function of the nature of the research question and the perspective of the researcher: There is no single so-called correct wa y to conduct phenomenological research. Â… [T]he specific method used depends, to a large extent, on th e purposes of the researcher, his or her specific skills and talents, and the nature of the research question and data collected. Â… Of equal importance, the method chosen should be viewed as providing only a general guidel ine Â– one that the researcher then modifies to meet the particular needs of the study. . . . [P]henomenological methods are adapted to the characteristics of th e phenomenon being investigated. (Hein & Austin, 2001, p. 3) Drawing on all of these sources to greater and lesser extent, I propose to call this research a Â“pedagogical phenomenology,Â” and the at titude I adopt with respect to the data and its analysis Â“pedagogical,Â” since my perspective, purpose and procedures are pedagogical. Â“PedagogyÂ” refers to the art, science or profession of teaching. And Â“pedagogueÂ” (from Greek: peda = child and gogos = to lead) originally referred to the slave who led a child to school. In that sense, I am a slave to the data leading my participants and readers to a deepened and more dimensional awaren ess of the meaning of being simultaneously student and teacher for a pe rson new to the profession. I define pedagogical phenomenology as a fo rm of existential phenomenology, as opposed to transcendental phenomenology since the object of study is an aspect of a human way of being rather than a pure aspe ct of human consciousness (Hein & Austin,
55 2001). The research questions were developed to help identify the meaning structures of the dual roles lived by student/teachers during their student teaching experience. From my perspective as a student of teacher educa tion, I experience these dual roles daily. As a teacher educating teachers, I am interested in understanding how people experience this aspect of their existence from a pedagogical perspective. This understanding will become data that will help me make more info rmed pedagogical decisions. Â“The endÂ… is to sponsor a critical educational compet enceÂ… Pedagogical research does this by reintegrating part and whole, the contingent and the essentia l, value and desire.Â” (Van Manen, 1984, p. 36) A phenomenological researcher needs sensitiv ity both to language as it is used by participants and the language he or she us es to write the research report. Van Manen (1990) sustains that Â“[t]he phenomenological me thod consists of the ab ility, or rather the art, of being sensitiveÂ—sensitive to the subtle undertones of language, to the way language speaks when it allows the things themselves to speakÂ” (Van Manen, 1990, p.111). As I read and listen to my participan ts, I understand and cr eatively rephrase their words using the rhetorical frame that is mo st familiar to me: pedagogy. Â“[T]he procedure biases itself towardÂ…a creative use of languageÂ…mere labeling should Â…be avoidedÂ” (Giorgi & Giorgi, 2003, p. 253). As I attempt to understand the meanings described by the words of my participants, I cannot help but filter those mean ings through my life experience, my curiosity as a teacher edu cator, my goals as a researcher, and my language use as a teacher. As a result of my positioning, my choice of words reflects a pedagogic (as opposed to psychological, sociological or historic) perspective and in terest Â– it would be difficult
56 for me to listen and to write otherwise. This is what makes mine a pedagogical attitude, and this a pedagogical rather than a psychol ogical phenomenology. I am not interested in personality or will in an abstra ct sense; I am interested in personality or will to act and react in classroom situations. The meanings I sense are teacher and student meanings in the context of educating as a social interactive process. Before describing in detail the five phases I developed, I compare possible methods sequences for four applied (as opposed to philosophical) phenomenol ogies. In the first three columns of Table 3-2 are three approach es I used to guide the creation of my own plan, which is in the forth column: the pe dagogical phenomenology of this study. In each approach, the steps listed in the table follow an initial period of generating data from personal reflection on oneÂ’s own experience, and/or collecting experiential reports from others, and/or reading similar work or r eading literature, art, or other symbolic representations of experience. Also common to all approaches is the first step in which the researcher specif ies his or her horizon, that is, s/he adopts an at titude with respect to the data that corresponds to the research in terest, and brackets out pre-conceptions or theories about what the phenomena might be.
57Table 3-2 A comparison of possible methods sequences in applied (as opposed to philosophical) phenomenological research. step Descriptive Psychological Phenomenology (Giorgi & Giorgi, 2003) Phenomenological Writing (descriptive) (Van Manen, 1984, 1990) Empirical Phenomenology (descriptive) ( Hein & Austin, 2001) Pedagogical Phenomenology (descriptive) (Kiss, 2006) 1 Â“ScientificÂ” reduction; Adopt a Â“psychological attitudeÂ” Adopt phenomenological attitude Phenomenological reduction Adopt pedagogic attitude to distill meaning 2 Immerse in data to get a strong sense of how the participant e xperienced the phenomenon For pedagogical phenomenology an d phenomenological writing: ( from 3rd read ) Highlight /Annotate as them es appear in the text 3 Delineate psychological meaning units by making slashes in text wherever the researcher feels a meaning shift Identify statements relevant to the phenomenon Transpose complete interview text of both participants to prose with a pedagogical perspective. Chronologically describe thematic meaning/s of each line and make thematic shifts apparent. 4a. Remove interviewerÂ’s meanings to create participantÂ’s themes summary text. 4 Transform text from everyday language to psychological language PHENOMENOLOGICAL REFLECTION: Find knots or nodes by highlighting or line-by-line analysisÂ… Linguistic transformationÂ… Write notes or paragraphs that describe the phenomenon in terms of the question using IMAGINATIVE VARIATION (i.e., seeking other examples) to DETERMINE ESSENTIAL THEMES (these become evident by writing and rewriting) Thematize non-repetitive statements to capture meaning 4b. Extract themes and descriptors to TABLE
58Table 3-2 continued step Descriptive Psychological Phenomenology (Giorgi & Giorgi, 2003) Phenomenological Writing (descriptive) (Van Manen, 1984, 1990) Empirical Phenomenology (descriptive) ( Hein & Austin, 2001) Pedagogical Phenomenology (descriptive) (Kiss, 2006) 5 Create a prose description of the phenomenon/a of interest based on the transformed meaning units. Use excerpts from text and themes to develop an Â“exhaustiveÂ” description of the phenomenon (a SITUATED STRUCTURAL DESCRIPTION) Using themes summary text and table, create prose SITUATED STRUCTURAL DESCRIPTION only for phenomena that respond to research questions. 6 No suggestion for dialoging with participants They suggest dialog with participants to refine descriptions Send description to participant for comments / editing. REVISE 7 Determine meaning structure of the experience by imaginative variation of the collective transformed meaning units WRITING and RE-WRITING: with attention to the subtleties of language, word choice etc, write and re-write the description to refine and perfect the essential description. Dialog with participants is especially useful in this stage. After repeating steps 1-6 for each participant, find commonalities to write one GENERAL STRUCTURAL DESCRIPTION After repeating steps 1-6 for each participant, find commonalities to write one GENERAL STRUCTURAL DESCRIPTION
59 Research Design This study has five phases. They are r ecursive and distinct but have no clear boundaries: I. Data Â“generationÂ” (technically pr ior to the beginning of the study) II. Data collection (interviews, June, 2005) III. Preliminary data analysis (June, 2005, including member checking) IV. Narrowing data analysis and member check ing of understandings (see Table 3-2) V. Writing up the report: Interpreting, draw ing conclusions, and asking further questions. (Phase V is also technically outside the o fficial research frame. Each step will be explained more fully below.) Phases of Data Analysis2 6 Phase I: Data Â“generationÂ” Technically, this phase was outside the frame of the research and only created retrospectively. In the semester before the study began (i.e., January to April, 2005), all participants were enrolled in two courses as part of the 2004-2005 iteration of the University of Florida secondary English Proteach program: Â“Seminar in Student TeachingÂ” (ESE 6945), and Â“Practices in S econdary English EducationÂ” (ESE 6344). The syllabi of these course s called for students to: complete a nine-week internship in a public high or middle school classroom, immediately followed by an additional w eek observing in other classrooms and/or schools carry out unit and lesson planning for th eir practice teaching, with associated reflection and revision, 2 Although I list these phases as sequential, in rea lity the process was far more recursive. On-going revisions brought new insights, which prompted a return to the data and/or collection of additional data leading to further revisions and re-writing in light of an emerging picture.
60 maintain a reflective journal (Each week, students in the resear cherÂ’s group also submitted a one-page summary of their reflect ions to the instructor and the other four student group members.) compile a professional portfolio includi ng a behavior management plan and a Â“professional platformÂ” (Sergiovanni & Starra tt, 2002), or some other version of a teaching philosophy statement design and carry out a personal inquiry proj ect related to their student teaching, and write a final synthesis of th e student teaching experience. The students submitted these assignments and reflections to their group leader (i.e., the course instructor) either electronically or on paper throughout this period, according to the preference of each group. Other documen ts associated with the student teaching that were generated during this period incl uded field notes of observations of student teaching, along with associated reflective su mmaries by both intern and field advisor, notes from seminar meetings, and e-mail co rrespondence with reference to assignments, courses, and student teaching. Weekly small group seminar meetings took pl ace in various loca tions: the home of the researcher, a local cafe, a meeting room at the Student Union building, or a classroom at the college. Each group was composed of either four or five students plus one instructor. The seminar meetings of the re searcherÂ’s group (five students) were audio recorded on a regular basis and summarized in a log after each m eeting. Recording and logging the proceedings of the seminar meeti ngs has formed part of my normal work habits developed over the past three years as a student teaching seminar leader. As such, recording these seminar meetings was not de termined by the possible usefulness of such recordings later as data. The seminar mee tings were recorded simultaneously with a digital and a standard audio cassette recorder to avoid lo ss of data due to possible
61 equipment malfunction. All five students in the group agreed to this recording in advance. Not all of the documents mentioned here were finally used in this study, but all were made available to the researcher afte r the end of the semest er in terms of the informed consent process. At that time (i.e., June, 2005), ten participants signed the informed consent document (all five student s in my group and five students from two other groups, as described in the Â“participantsÂ” subsection later in this chapter) thereby authorizing the retrospective us e of any material they had produced as part of their coursework, including any recordings or logs of individual or group meetings, even if they could not participate in the project as interviewees. Some of these artifacts became valuable sources for triangulation and confir mation of meanings expressed in the data interviews. The informed consent le tter is included as Appendix A. My initial idea was to begin the study during the time of the internship, since my interest was to obtain a record of peopleÂ’s lived experience during su ch an experience. I worried that recall of this felt experience af ter the internship had ended would be less trustworthy. Additionally, I wanted to work with my own students since I felt that the data would be more trustworthy: I reasoned that if I knew the interviewees better, and was more familiar with their situation and their habitual use of language, I would understand their meanings better. I planned to interview students outside my group as well, but expected that issues of trust might make intervie ws with my own students more reliable.
62 Therefore, I prepared and submitted the documentation required for approval of the study to the Institutional Review Board. They approved the study3 7with a start date of 15 February 2005 but with the stip ulation that I not interview my own students, or even ask for their participation until after grades had b een turned in at the end of the semester. I fully agreed with this decision, but at the same time I realized th at, ironically, knowing I would be asking my students to participate just after the semest er ended could also influence the grades I gave them. I guarded against this eventuality by asking them to grade themselves using the criteria stated on the syllabus. In all five cases, my studentsÂ’ self-assessments concurred with my own previously calculated estimation of the grades they had earned, and these were the grades they received. However, the stipulation of the Institu tional Review Board necessitated rethinking the design. Although they did agree that anot her person could interview my students and obtain informed consent, as long as I was bli nd to the identities of those who agreed or refused, I felt that the nature of the phe nomenological interview was such that asking another person to conduct the interview might jeopardize the trustworthiness of the data. Therefore, I decided to wait and interview st udents after grades had been turned in. I would rely on the artifacts I hope d to collect from the intern ship semester to assess the degree of accuracy in their recollections. The principle data source was, therefore, interviews held in June approximately two to two and a half months after the end of the student teaching experience, which t ook place between January and March 2005. Based on the IRB stipulation, I revised my initial plan to begin interviewing during the internship, and limited any conversations with my students during that time to those 3 IRB protocol # 2005-U-0133 renewed to run through 16 February 2007
63 themes and topics that arose naturally in th e course of our meetings. Because their lived experience in the role of teacher was a natu ral topic for this seminar work, it came up on more than one occasion, mostly raised by th e interns themselves. On checking with the other group leaders, I found that the topic was raised regularly in their meetings as well. This also resonates with my experience lead ing the same seminar in previous years. One particular artifact proved of partic ular relevance. During weeks seven and eight of the internship, in lieu of our regular seminar, I held individual conferences similar to those of writing workshop (Graves, 2003) as part of the supervision of the interns in their practicum. U nder the guidance of my superv ising university professor, I spoke with ten students individually about their thoughts on their progress, how they experienced themselves as students and/or teachers in their pract ice classrooms, the extent to which they were able to pursue thei r own inquiry(s), and ot her topics related to their internship. All five students in my seminar group participated, and five other students from two other groups. Participation was completely voluntary, and the meetings took place at a time and place of each student Â’s choosing. These individual conferences were part of the studentsÂ’ seminar work a nd would have taken place regardless of their possible use for the research I was planni ng. Like the full seminar group meetings, the conversations were recorded with the permissi on of each student to enable me to focus on the conversation instead of taking notes. Perm ission to refer back to the previously recorded material and possibly use extracts for my research was explicitly mentioned, and agreed on, in the informed consent document obtained in June. The first purpose of this mid-course conve rsation was to discuss on-going seminar themes in greater detail and give each intern a private opportunity to express concerns
64 and progress that they might not feel comfortable expr essing even in a small group format or to the university professor. The second purpose was to obtain informal programmatic feedback. These conversations were deliberately separated from pre-or post-teaching observation conferences to elim inate to the extent possible the evaluative component of my role as field advisor (i.e., s upervisor). In these in dividual conversations, I attempted to position myself not as supervisor but as mentor, notwithstanding the contention of some (Nolan & Hoover, 2004) that this is impossible. To this end, I took every opportunity to highlight my status as fellow graduate student working on my own inquiry project concerning my essentially au tobiographical exploration of inquiry and teaching from within the experience of teacher/student role duality. Phase II: Data collection Informed consent process. The second phase of th e study took place in June, 2005. Six volunteers from a possible pool of 14 students were interviewed about their field placement experience. Before the in terview began, we discussed the details contained in the informed consent docume nt and what was involved in agreeing to participate in the research study, both implicitly and explicitly. We al so discussed the use of any of the materials they had produced during the student teaching semester for triangulation and support of the main interview data. If the interviewee had not been my student , I gave them a list of the materials I thought might be of interest to me and left it up to them to provide me with these documents in the weeks following the interview. If they did not volunteer the material, I did not insist. I also asked each person if they had a preferred pseudonym. Only two expressed a preference.
65 Each participant then signed the informed consent document (Appendix A) and I proceeded with the interview. In addition to the six people interviewed, four additional student/teachers consented to me using in th is research materials they had produced, or participated in producing, during the student /teaching semester, even though they did not have the time to be interviewed. Four othe r students did not respond to e-mails or phone messages, or did not appear for scheduled interviews. The interview. Each interview took place at a time and place designated by the interviewee, including: a local cafÃ©, a local restaurant, or my office. The duration of the interviews ranged from 59 minutes, 16 seconds , to 1 hour, 42 minut es, 16 seconds. The length was determined by how much or how little, and in how much detail, each interviewee cared to share about their experience. The interviews were recorded simultaneously with a digital and a standard au dio cassette recorder to avoid loss of data due to possible equipment malfunction. Interviews were semi-structured to fo cus on the research questions and the experience of the participant, rather than on abstract description. At the same time, they were designed to allow the interviewee freedom to comment on what was salient or meaningful to them without regard to any categories I may have felt relevant to the question. The interview schedule I used as a point of departure is included as Appendix B. This same interview schedule was given to the participants at least one week before the interview to allow them time to co llect their thoughts on the focus questions. Phase III: Initial data analysis-listeni ng, summarizing, init ial member checking Preliminary analysis began in phase three. The first step was to listen to each interview immediately after it was conducted a nd create an Â“interview logÂ” (Glesne, 1999, p. 78), followed immediately by a summary of key points and themes. I sent this
66 summary to each interviewee within 72 hour s of the interview for comments and suggestions. In my e-mail, I thanked the pa rticipant for sharing his or her time and insights, and asked for a response and suggestio ns for changes, even if only to confirm agreement with my initial understandings of th e experience. I also asked for approval of the pseudonyms I had chosen since most of th e participants had not expressed an opinion as yet. All participants ac knowledged receipt of the summar ies and stated that they accurately represented his or her meanings . No one reported any disagreements or suggested any changes. Phase IV: Narrowing the analysis-transc ribing, reducing, final member checking The first step in phase four was the verbat im transcription of each interview, which I did myself between July and September 2005. I consider this part of narrowing the analysis since the meticulous process of converting each participantÂ’s spoken words, pauses, intonation patterns, fals e starts, and fillers to a line ar text required understanding and interpretive decisions. I decided to transc ribe as precisely as po ssible, also indicating interruptions, and overlaps. La ter in the analysis I realized these elements were less important for the approach I had chosen. As I se lected blocks of text for thematization in terms of meaning units, I felt that having maintained indica tors of disfluencies and phonological contour as I transc ribed was crucial to my preliminary understanding of meanings, but less importan t for the final analysis. To avoid cross-pollination of themes, I followed the steps listed below for each interview. (The step numbers correspond to th e steps outlined in table 3-2. An example of steps 3 and 4 from one of the interviews is included in Appendix D.) I left at least one day between ending the analysis of one interview and beginning the next one.
67 1. Bracket (see Chapter 3 definitions) the Â“natural attitudeÂ”4 8and adopt the Â“phenomenological attitudeÂ”:5 9 Focus on the research quest ions and read the data from within that focus, seeking the themes that are the clues to the each individualÂ’s meaning st ructure for each phenomenon. 2. Read and re-read, and listen and re-liste n to the interview to fully Â“immerse myself in the data.Â” After a few readings , begin to highlight lines and sections (Van Manen, 1984, 1990), comment and memo on the copies of the interview text: Â“Â… [Go] back and Â…reread the desc ription [of the phenomenon] from within the perspective of the phenomenological reduction and with a [pedagogical] attitude, mindful of the phenomenon being researched . . .Â” (Giorgi & Giorgi, 2003, p. 252). 3. Transpose the complete interview text into phenomenological language (Following Giorgi & Giorgi, 2003): a) Create a table and place the interview text in the right column. This is participantÂ’s Â“everyday meaningÂ” (i.e ., what they express in everyday language in the interview) b) In the left column, bracketing ou t any pre-conceived themes or interpretations, rewrite the partic ipantÂ’s Â“everyday meaningÂ” using a Â“pedagogical-phenomenologicalÂ” perspective. 4 In the Â“natural attitudeÂ” we take it for granted that what we experience in consciousness has an independent existence outside our minds. It is therefore plausible to seek the universal nature of said experience that will be the same for everyone. This attitude includes all of our preconceptions about the world and reality. 5 The phenomenological attitude attempts to put asid e the natural attitude and accept a personÂ’s experience of a phenomenon in consciousness as that phenomenon is described without seeking further ontological specifications. We attempt to withhold judgment on what our pre-conceptions or interpretations tell us about the nature of reality.
68 4. Â“ThematizeÂ” a) Create a single chronological prose narrative of the participants lived experience description that rev eals phenomenological meanings. b) Make a table of themes and descriptors 5. In phenomenological language, draft a situated structural description (Hein & Austin, 2001) for each phenomenon of interest that responds to the research questions. This step is presented here as Chapter 4. (To this point I am still attempting to bracket out any pre-conceived themes and only describe the experience from the poi nt of view of the participant.) 6. Verify the themes: a) Go back to the transcript and inte rnship artifacts and compare meanings. Revise the situated structur al description as necessary. b) Send the situated structural descript ion via e-mail to the participant as soon as it is written and request him or her to read it and comment on how truly it seems to represent their meaning. Ask him or her toÂ… i. Â…highlight or comment on the text. ii. Â…answer any questions that I ma y have noted while doing the previous steps iii. Â…clarify any specific doubts that I have indicated about my word choices. iv. Â…respond explicitly, even if they donÂ’t have any comments, letting me know if I should interpret their lack of comments as tacit agreement, or as withdrawal from the study.
69 v. (Optional: If they choose to withdraw, ask the reason.) 7. When I have all the feedback, or have sent at least two follow up reminders and still receive no answer, write one general structural description for each phenomenon relevant to my research que stions (Hein & Austin, 2001) that draws out the commonalities of all the individual situated structural descriptions. This step is Chapter 5 in this document. (Moving through each of these steps, I consulted secondary data sources consisting of each student/teacherÂ’s words in artifacts fr om the internship in order to triangulate findings, and support or clarify m eanings I found in the primary data (i.e., the interview).) As I attempted to Â“reduceÂ” (see Chapte r 3 definitions) each personÂ’s description, my own ideas were impossible to ignore. It beca me clear to me how di fficult it is to truly bracket my own perspective and interpretations . Rather than trying to ignore them, which was impossible, I created several files to sa ve my ideas and interpretations whenever I sensed them appearing: A Â“decision trailÂ” to record each reali zation, decision, or unexpected difficulty I found as I moved through the analysis. One file for each participant to record my bracketed idea s or interpretations about their expressed meaning and/or coinciden ces I noticed with my own meaning. I sent this file with the situated struct ural description for member checking. These files became sources for my interpretati ons in Chapter 7 (interpretations) and Chapter 8 (implications). A file in which to record other themes in the interviews that were potentially interesting but off topic for this project but might be worth pursuing elsewhere or in the future. At the end of this phase of the analysis , I decided to eliminate the final (sixth) interview. This participant was enrolled in the same program, and taking the same courses as the other interviewees, but was not enrolled in the st udent teaching course.
70 Instead, he was working as a first year clas sroom teacher. After preliminary readings of his transcript, I determined that his experien ce was in many ways different from that of the student/teachers and should, therefor e, be eliminated from this study. Phase V: Writing up the report It is not only epistemology, theoretical framework and methodology that must be coherent (Glesne, 1999), the writing up of the results should also be coherent with the purposes of the research, the approach to the study, and the way the data are collected and analyzed. This is a phenomenological study of a situated human experience. As such, it calls for Â“a research report that gives an accu rate, clear, and articul ate description of an experience. The reader of the report should co me away with the fee ling that Â‘I understand better what it is like for someone to experience that.Â’Â” (Pol kinghorne, 1989, p. 46) Charmaz (2000) recommends writing that take s the experience to the reader, even at the expense of Â“more scientificÂ” prose, because experience is not always linear as writing must be. This means the use of anal ogies and metaphors, simple language, theory embedded in a narrative, immediacy (i.e., present tense), and a combination of the concrete and the abstract. Polkinghorne writes that the phenomenologi cal Â“transformation Â‘goes throughÂ’ the everyday linguistic expressions to the reality they describe, and then redescribes this reflective reality in the language appropr iate to [phenomenol ogy]Â” (Polkinghorne, 1989, p. 55). Van Manen (1984) describes phenomenologica l writing as poetizing in the sense that it seeks to repres ent a whole, just as a poem does. Like a poem then, it should be evocative, telling and project voi ce. It should bring the reader into direct contact with the experience of another:
71 [T]he phenomenological inquiry is not unlik e an artistic endeavor, a creative attempt to somehow capture a certain phenom enon of life in a li nguistic description that is both holistic and analytical, e vocative and precise, unique and universal, powerful and eloquent. . . . A phenomenologi cal concern always has [a] twofold character: a preoccupation with both the concreteness (the ontic) as well as the essential nature (the ontological) of a lived experience. (Van Manen, 1984, p. 43) Van Manen further suggests several ways to organize the final re port: thematically, analytically, exemplicatively, existentially, or exegetically. I chose to organize this report analytically according to my research questi ons and present themes as they pertain to each question. Following these ideas, I repor t my results in the following two ways: 1. Chapter 4: fictionalized individual first person accounts. For each participant, I wrote one description for each of the four research questions that attempts to represent his or her meanings for this question. 2. Chapter 5: a composite general descrip tion for each phenomenon of interest. By merging commonalities in the five particular descriptions, I attempt to re-present the essential structure of the phenomenon as described by thes e participants. In this chapter I eliminate th e particularities of each i ndividual instance of the phenomenon, leaving its universal aspect s. These universal descriptions are written in the third person. My first objective for the research report is to present the me anings of my Â“coresearchersÂ” that I devise in the data with my own meanings bracketed. Therefore, the form of most of Chapter 4 will follow its function: I have taken Â“poetic licenseÂ” and written one fictionalized, 1st person account for each partic ipant describing the essential nature of being a teacher, a student, and a student/teacher during a nine-week student teaching assignment. I am Â“putting words in their mouths,Â” so to speak. I wrote the accounts, but each description was edited or verified and approved by the person whose meaning it purports to represent. Similar to the work of tran slating from one language to another, I went beyond the lingu istic expressions the particip ants used to Â“focus on the experience to which the language refersÂ” (Pol kinghorne, 1989, p. 55) in order to distill and describe the essential meaning structures for the phenomena they are describing. This
72 was accomplished by the simultaneous processes of reflection and imaginative variation. (see definitions at the en d of this chapter) While I do not share the theoretical belief in the existence of a single essential meaning structure for a phenomenon abstracted from individual lived experience, I do believe it can be productive to develop generaliz ed descriptions of phenomena relevant to our interest by identifying commonalities in individual descriptions . To write the second part of the results in Chapte r 5, I identified and blended co mmonalities I found in each of the individual descriptions to create a single generalized description for each phenomenon of interest: the roles of teacher, st udent, and student/teacher, and the nature and experience of inquiry as experienced by student/teachers. To end this section on research design, I restate the overarc hing motivation that guided it. The priority for the phenomenologist is to understand peopleÂ’ s lives as they are lived in their life world. The human science rese archer seeks values and affect as well as facts to formulate conditional statements that aim to Â“interpret how subjects construct their realitiesÂ” (Charmaz, 2000, p. 524). The writ er adopts a voice as storyteller, or as scientist, or whatever the emergent st ory demands to reach the goal of improving understanding of a personÂ’s immediate lived experience in order to illuminate possible consequences of the meanings of this experi ence on his or her present and future actions. Going Beyond the Descriptions Given Theoretically, the final goal of an empi rical phenomenology would end at this point with a description (descripti ons) of the Â“whatÂ” of a phenom enon. After bracketing vested interests and opinions, the resear cher merely identifies essential features of expressed meaning in individual experience to Â“Â…suppl [y] a deeper and clea rer understanding of what it is like for someone to experi ence somethingÂ” (Polkinghorne, 1989, p. 58).
73 However, as a teacher, I cannot avoid thinki ng about what this clearer understanding implies for action in the realm within whic h the experience occurs. I therefore go an additional step with Chapters 7 and 8 to cons ider possible implications of the findings. In these chapters I return to my own voice to interpret and to discuss implications and consequences I see in the data for teacher education practice. First, in Chapter 6 I re-analyze the same language data from a perspective of critical discourse analysis in order to triangulate my phe nomenological findings. Then, in Chapter 7, I present my interpretations of participantsÂ’ language and meanings, including bracketed thoughts or personal meanings that ca me to mind as I extrac ted the descriptions presented in Chapters 4 and 5, and including the results of my secondary analysis. In Chapter 8 I discuss my understandings and present theoretical and practical implications for teacher education that I dr aw from the results and interpretations. My ultimate goal for this project is to apply the knowledge we co-create to my existing knowledge of teacher education, the teacher ed ucation literature, and my experience of the program I know (and programs I have know n). Using this information, I hope to theorize possible resolutions to some of th e tensions I experience between our espoused objectives, our expectations of student teac hers, and real outcomes I observe (and have observed). In Chapter 8 I also discuss the gene ralizability and limitations of this study, as well as questions for future research this project suggests. In Chapter 9, I offer some concluding thoughts. Setting, Participants, and Researcher Setting All participants in this st udy were in their last semest er of a 36-credit masterÂ’s program leading to certification as a sec ondary Language Arts teacher. This program
74 . . . is dedicated to the education of exemplary practitione rs and scholars who understand the role of language, texts, and culture in shaping individual lives and the importance of assisting all students in developing the language skills they need to lead productive, insightful, and meani ngful lives as members of a democratic society.Â”(Secondary English Education Proteach mission statement., English Education homepage: http://www.coe.ufl.edu/English/) The 12-credit student teaching, or internshi p, experience that the interviews focused on came after one or two semesters of theory and methods courses, some including brief field experiences. For some, this internship wa s their first opportunity to practice teaching as Â“realÂ” teachers. For most, this was their fi rst experience in a real classroom with full responsibility for lesson planning and delivery, albeit in the vari ably assertive presence of a cooperating teacher. All of the participants in this study were placed in a public middle or high school in central Florida. The primary considerati on for placing students was availability of cooperating teachers, with attention paid to the experience and capacity of the cooperating teacher to supervise a student if and when this was possible. Although interns were consulted for their preference as to middl e or high school, as well as location, it was often impossible to satisfy these preference s. Due to perennial difficulties in finding enough suitably qualified teachers at the leve ls preferred by the student/teachers, it was not uncommon for interns to be practicing in a setting for which they felt ill-suited. The extent to which this happened in this study is mentioned in the results and/or interpretations chapters on a case by cas e basis for the student/teacher concerned. Concurrent with the internsh ip, students participated in a 3-credit weekly seminar entitled Â“Practices in Seconda ry English Education.Â” In or der to provide a Â“safeÂ” venue for processing the student/teaching experience, small groups were created by dividing the entire cohort (N=28 in 2004-2005) into six sm aller groups (N = 4 or N = 5). Two of the
75 groups were led by university professors, and the other four groups were led by a teaching assistant or adjunct faculty memb er under the guidance of one of the two university professors, who between them had institutional responsibility for the entire cohort. Therefore, each of the university pr ofessors was responsible for advising and orienting two graduate teaching assistants (o r a TA and an adjunct professor) and 14 of the 28 M.Ed. students. Throughout the semester, the two university professors met weekly with each other. Each professor also met weekly with the two group leaders (i.e., instructors) who reported to he r, individually or together, but there was little contact among all six seminar group leaders. Functionally, this split the cohort in two parallel but separate groups. While the syllabi, institutional requirements, and programmatic guidelines were identical for the entire cohort, and the or ientation and stance of the two university professors were very similar, there was r oom for personalization by each of the six group leaders in function of his or her specific pr eferences, the personalities and learning needs of the members of each group, and the characteri stics of the teaching practice context of each student/teacher. These refinements were the subject of the weekly meetings between each professor and her two teaching assistants . Because of these weekly meetings, I was thoroughly familiar with the personalities, contex ts, and variations for half of the entire cohort (i.e. three of the six sub-groups: N = 14). I knew we three group leaders were closely aligned in terms of our personal be liefs with respect to the advisement and supervision of the interns, as well as the topi cs and themes we discussed in our respective seminars. The way we developed common assi gnments and goals w ith the students was also consistent and coherent throughout the semester. To avoid any unanticipated bias
76 that might have resulted from slightly di fferent enactments of the syllabus unknown to me, I decided to solicit volunteers only from these three groups. Participants All 14 students mentioned above agreed to participate in the study. However, only six were actually available to schedule interv iews in June at the end of their program due to course work and job search commitments. In addition to the si x who agreed to be interviewed, four more stude nts signed the informed consent document authorizing the use of artifacts they had produced as part of their regular course work. The remaining four never responded to phone calls or e-mails to meet to sign the informed consent document. Therefore, the final descriptions th at are the results of this study are drawn from reports of the experience of student teaching from a tota l of ten interns. The four students who could not be reached to si gn the informed consent document had not participated in any of the recorded sessions during the previous semester, and no material they produced or collaborated in pr oducing was consulted in this study. The principal data source was interviews with six interns about their lived experience while in their student/teaching as signment, and related e-mail correspondence concerning the interview data. Ultimately the sixth interview was eliminated for reasons previously described. As secondary data, historical artifacts fro m each participantÂ’s normal coursework were collected for tr iangulation. Only artifacts which had some bearing on the phenomena of interest were used. Although the initial potential pool of 28 secondary M.Ed. students was ultimately narrowed down to six self-selected voluntee rs, I do not believe selection bias is an influence on these data. The following brief biographical introductions establish that the participants are similar enough to the general population of teacher education candidates
77 in the United States to be useful informants to study my questions. All names used in this study are pseudonyms. I have tried to elimin ate any information that will specifically identify any individual. I do not mention racial origin or religious affiliation for two reasons: First, the diversity of our program is not representative of the population at large and details of racial origin would serve to identify specific indivi duals, thereby breaking the agreement of anonymity. Second, race, class, gender, religion and other personal variables are unquestionably a f actor in anyoneÂ’s sense of self. However, I believe the importance of these details warrants a disse rtation on its own. Therefore, I choose to artificially ignore these speci fics here. Based on my knowledge of these participants and their situations, these factors had no more than normal bear ing on their expe rience, with one exception. Any issues of race, language, or gender that seemed to have made this experience different to what it might have been in other contexts for the same participant, are discussed in the results and/or in terpretations chapters as applicable. Six Individuals ANN is in her early twenties. She lived most of her life in a highly diverse urban environment in the Southeast when she wa s growing up. She began her undergraduate program as a psychology major but realized in her third unde rgraduate year that because of her love of English literature, she ha d taken enough credits to graduate with a bachelorÂ’s degree in English, which is what sh e did. Ann really wanted to be a writer but decided that a degree in teaching would be a responsible way to ensure she could support herself, and so she enrolled in this M.E d. program for teaching secondary language arts. She is a native speaker of English but know s a little of other languages from studying them at school and from being around fr iends who speak them. She is an outgoing person, describes herself as academically orie nted, tends towards perfectionism, and has a
78 strong interest in understanding other people and cultures. Af ter graduation, Ann traveled for several months prior to accepting a job teaching ESL at a university language school. She comes from a middle class family with a tradition of professional jobs. For Ann, teaching is like writing Â– she sees many co mmonalities between these two endeavors. It is also about sharing a passion for literature. BEA is in her early twenties. She began school outside the United States but did most of her schooling here after arriving with her family at the age of seven. Since her arrival, she has lived mainly in suburban areas in the Sout heast. Although she speaks her heritage language to some degree in family environments, she is for all intents and purposes a mono-lingual English speaker. After receiving a b achelorÂ’s degree in English, Bea decided to get an M.Ed. in teaching sec ondary language arts and enrolled in this program. Her family has always encouraged higher and higher e ducation, and Bea will probably pursue a higher de gree at some point. After graduation, she accepted a job teaching high school English in Florida. One of her passions is traveling to know new cultures. She would especially like to re-visit her native c ountry now as an adult. She comes from a middle/upper-middle class family with a tradition of professional jobs, some in the area of education. For Bea, teaching is poetry and inspiring passion for creating in children. DAVE is in his early twenties. He lived ma inly in a suburban environment in the Northeast before moving to th e Southeast with his family the year he began university. He is a native and mono-lingual English speaker . After receiving a b achelorÂ’s degree in English, Dave decided to get an M.Ed. in teaching secondary language arts and enrolled in this program. After graduation, he accep ted a job teaching high school English in
79 California, since his girlfriend planned a career move there. He is passionate about sports and helping children learn to be good at them. He believes playing sports is about more than physical improvement; we can learn a lo t about living morally and ethically through participating in sport. He comes from a middle class family with a tradition of professional jobs, some in the field of education. EVE is in her early twenties. She began school outside the United States but did most of her schooling here after she arrived w ith her family when she was five. Since her arrival, she has lived mainly in suburban areas in the S outheast. Although she speaks her heritage language to some degree in family environments, she is for all intents and purposes a mono-lingual English speaker. After receiving a ba chelorÂ’s degree in English, Eve decided to get an M.Ed. in teaching secondary language arts and enrolled in this program. After graduation, she accepted a job teaching high school English in Florida. One of her passions is traveling to know ne w cultures and she would especially like to see her native country again through her own, now adult, eyes. She comes from a middle class family with a tradition of professional jobs, many in the field of education. For Eve, teaching is artistic and involves using multiple expressive languages. RICH is in his early twenties. He has alwa ys lived in the same place in a rural town in the Southeast. He is a native and mono-lingual English speaker. After receiving a bachelorÂ’s degree in English, Rich worked for a few years but then decided to return to school and enrolled in this M.Ed. program for teaching secondary language arts. After graduation, he decided to conti nue his education to the Spec ialist level. A value he has learned from his family is that more educati on is a route to more and better possibilities for work. He comes from a middle/upper-middle class family that values education and
80 the Â“self-made man.Â” In his family there is a tradition of hard work, farming as well as professional jobs, some in the field of educa tion. For Rich, teaching is like farming: It is about nourishing things and watching them grow. Kate is in her early 50Â’s and is the research er in this study. As such, she will have a larger section below so that she can presen t her qualifications as a researcher, and the background that brought this study into being. But she is also a participant in this study and so is introduced here in the interest of establishing that her history is similar in several ways to the histories of the other par ticipants. In this way th e reader can judge the validity of her credentials for being particip ant, listener, and interpreter. Were her background to be markedly different, the a pproach used would be less trustworthy. Kate lived in semi-rural and suburban envi ronments growing up. As an adult, she lived in five major cities in the United St ates and in Spain from 1971 to 2001, at which time she came to Florida to pursue a P h.D. She has an undergraduate degree in psychology from Boston College, a masterÂ’s de gree from the University of Barcelona in the teaching of English as a foreign language, and upon successfully finishing this project she will have a Ph.D. from the University of Fl orida. Like the other participants, she also comes from a middle class family with a tradi tion of professional jobs, some in the field of education. Kate has been a teacher in dive rse settings most of he r life, but has been a teacher in a classroom only for the past 19 ye ars. She has taught children, adolescents, and adults, but most of her experience is teaching English, writing, and teacher education at university and graduate levels. She has ne ver taught in the public P-12 system in the U.S. or abroad.
81 The Researcher Qualifications Prior to beginning this study, I had done bot h qualitative and quantitative research projects, which allowed me to practice a wide variety of methods, procedures and techniques. The following projects were partic ularly relevant as preparation for this study: (see also Appendix C) 1995, University of Barcelona, Spain: an interview study concerning student writersÂ’ perception of teachersÂ’ correction practices. The study also called for the use of think aloud protocols and document analysis in an essentially quantitative framework. 2001-2004, University of Florida: two studi es with this same population (i.e., secondary Proteach M.Ed. students): o a study of student teachersÂ’ perceptio ns of writing and the teaching of writing. The methodology called for in terviews, classroom observations, document analyses, and grounded theory (IRB # 2001-U-0848: 20012003) o a study of the influences of the supe rvision process on becoming a teacher (IRB # 2003-U-0228: 2003-2004). While these could not be considered pilo t studies, the questions I posed and the knowledge I constructed as a result led to the developmen t of my current research questions. It also contributed to my familiarity with the program and with the thinking of student teachers studying at the University of Florida. This experience has led me to a fundamenta l belief about resear ch in the field of education (and human sciences in general): There is no knowledge in the abstract. I believe knowledge is constructed by each indi vidual within his or he r social, historical context. There is also no knowledge without a knower. For our purposes, the Â‘subjectÂ’ (the knower) and the Â‘objectÂ’ (t he known) are both in a personÂ’s consciousness. Husserl (In: Creswell, 1998; Crotty, 1998; Polki nghorne, 1983; Stewart & Mickunas, 1990)
82 argued that consciousness is always consciousness of and for something. I would add: Â“by someone.Â” Whether or not reality ind eed exists outside the mind, what should concern us as an object of study for the hum an science of pedagogy is reality as it is constituted in the consciousne ss of individuals w ithin the purposes of teaching/learning. This belief suggested to me the need fo r a methodology that can, in theory, come to understand the Â‘essenceÂ’ of some concept as it is represented in a personÂ’s conscious mind with other peopleÂ’s subjectivities brack eted out. Phenomenology is appropriate for this goal. Biographical background . . . I cannot just treat the topic . . . as sole ly an academic or res earch issue. I am not just a researcher who observe s life, I am also a . . . teacher who stands pedagogically in life. . . . We may even wonder whether in the final analysis the ability to make sense of lifeÂ’s phenomena does not reside in the strength of that fundamental orientation that one assumes as theorist and researcher. (Van Manen, 1990, p. 90) Influences that led up to this inquiry. A necessary first step for the researcher in phenomenology is solid intuitive knowledge of a given concept and its various essences (Spiegelberg, 1965, cited in Merriam, 1998). Volunteers for this study came from the 2004-2005 cohort of secondary language arts Prot eachers at the University of Florida. I have been involved with this program si nce August 2001 in the capacity of student, teaching assistant, practicum course instruct or, student teaching field advisor and student teaching seminar group leader. I have also par ticipated in curriculum design decisions. In these capacities, I have become thoroughly familiar with the program, the requirements the students must complete, as well as many of the school sites at which students complete their practice teaching experiences. As a Ph.D. student, I am also a student of
83 teaching teachers. This experience has shar pened questions I have long been forming about educating teachers. My first official Â“teacherÂ” job in a real classroom might be described as Â“alternative.Â” In 1987, I began to work as an English teacher in a small language academy in Barcelona, Spain. My classes were small and varied. I usually had three to ten children and/or adolescents as students, but I also worked with adults. My motivation was partly economic (I wanted to stay longe r in Spain when my savings ran out), and partly vocational. I had always planned to enro ll in a masterÂ’s program in education in the United States, so I decided it would be a good idea to test teaching before making the commitments that a masterÂ’s program would suppose. At that time, the only qualification need ed to teach English in most private language schools in Spain was to be a native spea ker. I felt comfortabl e with this since I had been teaching something to someone all my life. I also felt I had good Â“people managementÂ” skills after 12 years in a custom er service business. I was curious to see how teaching in classrooms differed to teaching in offices, on sailboats, or in swimming pools. Since I had had no formal preparation for classroom teaching, I began by slavishly trying to follow the teacherÂ’s guide I had been given. I read other books about teaching as well, talked to other teachers, and drew on my experiences as a student. Unfortunately, reality was not what the books said it was, a nd the students persistently refused to do or say what they were Â“supposedÂ” to. They thre w pencils at each other, didnÂ’t do their homework, arrived late, and generally refuse d to speak English (t he book said they had to), even though we got along very well on a personal level.
84 After a few months I gave up on the teacherÂ’s guide and decided to invent activities myself that seemed more coherent with the classrooms I was in. Things improved immediately. At first I felt guilty, like I wasn Â’t Â‘teachingÂ’ them anything. I wasnÂ’t sure about what I was doing, but the students actually seemed to be learning English, and they kept coming back each new term. The best part was that we all had more fun! Fortunately or unfortunately, I had no s upervision or mentoring. As l ong as students were happy and kept paying, no one told me how I should do things. I developed the habit of targeted experimentation, observation and revision. In any case, part of my reason for taking the job was to discover how to teach and be Â“a teacher.Â” However, I didnÂ’t feel responsible with this Â“on the job self-tra iningÂ” approach, so at the end of that first school year I registered for a four-w eek training course in teaching Spanish for non-native speakers and began to study language teaching and learning more formally. We discussed some theory in that first course, but it wa s essentially practical with a lot of micro-teaching to peers in our class in the morning, and in the afternoon practice teaching of real classes under the superv ision of Â“Almudena.Â” Almudena was a truly amazing teacher, and tr ue to her name (oak tree). She never tired, was always full of energy and had an inexhaustible store of good ideas (i.e., communicative, fun, effective for language lear ning). That one course still resonates with what I feel is Â‘goodÂ’ teaching. It is still my foundation and frequent reference point for ideas about how to do my job. What I liked best about Almudena was that there was always some element of thought or affect in what she did. Even when the activities were very game-like, they required students to thi nk or feel. Later, I cam e to discover this all made sense in the context of the boom in co mmunicative language teaching that began in
85 the Â‘80s. IÂ’m sure there were other teachers like Almudena, but she was a decisive factor in my decision to continue along this path. My student teaching. From 1990-1992 I was enrolled in a 50-credit masterÂ’s program in teaching foreign languages, which included a final semester of supervised student teaching worth 8-credits. By then, I had been working as a teacher for four years in a variety of circumstances, and I had done two additional summer intensive courses after that first one on the theory and practi ce of language teaching that included practice teaching experiences. I had a fairly clear idea of who I was as a teacher, what sorts of activities worked best for me, and the clas sroom atmosphere in which I felt most comfortable. Consequently, I was rather nervous to go in to another teacherÂ’s classroom to do the required practice teaching component of th e masterÂ’s, especially since my practice classroom was a more formal setting than wh at I was used to. I would be teaching in traditional classrooms of 25-30 university stude nts studying English for college credit. I remember feeling anxious, not about whethe r or not I could be a Â“goodÂ” teacher, but anxious that my sense of who I was as a teac her, and my sense of Â“what worksÂ” would be accepted by another person. I was also worried that this person might expect me to stand in front of a room full of sile nt students sitting in straight rows and Â“teach.Â” I knew a lot of my ideas were not traditional and did not coincide with what I had experienced as a student in language classes or the practice I frequently saw in classrooms I observed. But my studies and my experience as a teacher told me they were good for learning and consistent with the theory I had read.
86 I neednÂ’t have worried. Celia was a w onderful cooperating teacher. She was encouraging, thoughtful and full of good ideas. When she gave feedback it was always positive and constructive. She always listened fi rst and asked questions to help us refine or clarify our ideas (we were assigned practice classrooms in pairs). She rarely ventured her own ideas unless it was to improve one of our plans. It helped that she and I shared common values and beliefs about teaching. After my student teaching, I was hired as a full-time teacher at the same university language school, and I worked there as an Engl ish and writing teacher for the next seven years. During those same years, I also collabo rated as an instructor in language teacher Â“trainingÂ” programs organized by the stat e and local (i.e., Spanish and Catalan) governments for pre-service and in-service teachers. Undoubtedly these experiences contributed to the questions I have today a bout becoming and being a teacher, and about educating future teachers. It is also very pr obable that my work with pre-service teachers over the past four years in Florida has infl uenced my final research questions. Even though my teaching experience has been in cl assrooms different to the student/teachers I have worked with, questions concerning who we are as teachers or student/teachers in classrooms seem to cross contextual and national boundaries. Establishing Trustworthiness Controlling Researcher Bias Extended long-term engagement with the research phenomena When I compared the themes we discu ssed in my student teaching seminar group during the student teaching semester immediat ely before this study began, I confirmed with other group leaders that th eir themes were similar. I al so find many similarities in these studentsÂ’ experiences and background and my own when I reflected on what I have
87 experienced as a student, as a student/teacher, as a teacher, and as a teacher educator in Spain and in the USA over the past 18 years. Long term membership in two related cultures can be both an asset (i.e., I have a deep and intuitive knowledge of the context) and a liability (i.e., my familiarity may bli nd me to noticing things I donÂ’t recognize). I kept this in mind as I analyzed the data. Extended engagement in the context in which the language I am analyzing is produced is also critical to my secondary data analysis. In order to successfully identify the possibilities offered by discourse in a par ticular place and time, the analyst must be thoroughly familiar with the social and psychol ogical context: "[T] he identification of configurations of genres and discourses in a text is obviously an interpreta tive exercise which depends upon the analyst's experience of and sensitivity to relevant orders of discourseÂ” (Fairclough, 1999, p. 207). Keeping my own themes present My first step in guarding ag ainst researcher bias in the results was to answer my own questions in February, 2005, at the beginni ng of the student te aching experience. From these answers, I developed a situated structural description of my own meanings (Appendix E) for comparison with the ones I deve loped for each participant. I did this for two reasons: first, to make my perspective cl ear to my readers, and second, because Â“the data from self-reflection can be used by researchers to help them become more aware of and bracket out the presuppositions and assumpti ons they bring to the investigation. This awareness Â“. . . provides some protection against the imposition of the researcherÂ’s expectations on the studyÂ” (Polkinghorne, 1989, p. 47). As I worked, I considered how these meanings, already present in my mi nd, might have filtered my interactions, questions and ability to see the meanings of my Â“co-research ers.Â” I checked my
88 conclusions for overly consistent support of expectations. When the understandings I found myself attributing to a participant seemed my own, I explored alternative meaning possibilities, and consulted the partic ipant about these specific points. Reducing Possible Perception of Power Differential To feel more confident that my particip ants were answering my proposed questions honestly, I needed to establish rapport and a high degree of trust. This was one of my reasons for deciding to work with my ow n students. Unfortunate ly, such a decision introduces the danger that i ssues of rank and power may interfere with obtaining trustworthy data. For this reason I did not coll ect data, or solicit volunteers until after my teacher/student relationship was over. However, from the beginning of our acquain tance, my participants were aware of my interest in roles and inquiry, and of my own position similar to theirs as a graduate student and teacher. This enabled me to engage with them over an extended period of time, and to cultivate rapport on several le vels. I became familiar with their thinking, their habits of language use, their backgrounds , and their beliefs in our work together during the internship semest er. Most importantly, by June , the interviews seemed a natural extension of our on-going, at times pr ofessional, at times personal, conversation. When I was no longer in a position of power with respect to their position (i.e., teacher giving a grade), I highlighted my pos ition as a fellow student and solicited their assistance in completing my own assignment (i.e., my dissertation). I intended to eliminate from the final selection any partic ipants I felt might still be responding as a Â“student saying what the teacher wanted to hear.Â” This was not necessary as I found no evidence in the triangulated data of social acceptability bias, Â“YeaÂ” or Â“NayÂ” saying, or similar threats to trustworthiness. I do not believe that any participant was intentionally or
89 unintentionally deceiving or re sponding to institutional i ssues rather than to my questions. Crystallization: Another Word for Triangulation Richardson (2000) suggests Â“crystalliza tionÂ” as more consistent with the philosophy of qualitative research. It mean s observing the multiple facets of a phenomenon from different angles, and fulfills the function of triangulation. In this study crystallization was achieved by: Collecting data from multiple sources o self-reflection o interviews o student teaching artifacts Analyzing data using complementary procedures o Phenomenology o Critical discourse analysis Self-monitoring o answering my own questions o examining my biography for similarities and differences to the participants o maintaining a research journal o creating a decision trail Member-checking Multiple data sources Before the study formally began, I reflected on my own meanings for the phenomena I was studying, both to orient myself to possible themes to explore, and to avoid inadvertently biasing my data colle ction by steering answers towards my own themes. The primary data source for th is study was interviews. Support for my understandings and interpre tations of that data is drawn from multiple artifacts from the internsÂ’ course work during the 2005 Spring Semester (e.g., conversation logs and records, journals (theirs and mine), professional platforms
90 (Sergiovanni & Starratt, 2002) a nd other written coursework). These data sources were compiled retrospectively in June from dig ital and paper artifacts of the internship coursework but only from the te n volunteers who agreed to participate in the study. This data can be considered unbiased as regards possible threats to trus tworthiness because it was work required by all students in the M.Ed. secondary Proteach language arts program. Therefore there was no question that participants might have been answering according to their perceptions of the res earcherÂ’s agenda. Unfortunately, it seems unavoidable that the interns might have been answering according to what they believed their teachers wanted to hear. This probl em was addressed by triangulating responses from the same student in different contexts (e.g., the interview vs . a paper written for another teacher). Multiple data analysis procedures To triangulate the understandings that arose from the phenomenological reduction, I also interpreted the data using critical discourse analysis (Fairclough, 1995, 1999, 2003), with some consideration of GeeÂ’s di scourse analysis (Gee, 1999), to consider textual, intertextual, and contextual refractio ns of the meanings the speaker professed. Throughout all phases of the analyses I was c ontinually attentive to multiple connotations implicit in word choice and metaphors. Final interpretations and imp lications were drawn from the results of all analyses. Self-monitoring In order to monitor decisions and processe s, I maintained two documents so that my own status as Â“instrumentÂ” for data coll ection and analysis can be audited (Lincoln & Guba, 1985):
91 In October 2004 I began a re search journal to record ideas and theories that eventually evolved into a first conceptual ization of the projec t. Once I began the research, I continued to record reflections , interpretations, and musings on a regular basis. I also collected here obs ervations, memos and syntheses. As I began step IV (narrowing the data analyses), I found it less cumbersome to create a separate file to keep a log of logistical consideratio ns, specific decisions and associated rationales regarding the an alysis. Realizations about the need to tighten or adjust steps in the process are also recorded here. Member checking After multiple data sources, varied me thods of analysis, and self-monitoring, a fourth facet of crysta llization was to consider intervie wees as Â“co-researchersÂ” with reference to understandings and interpretati ons. The first step was to e-mail each person in June within 72 of his or her interview thanking him or her for sharing insights and asking the participant to review a summary of the interview. I asked each of them to comment, correct, or add anything he or she felt I might have misunderstood. The second step was to e-mail two definitive interpretations (i.e., the situated structural description and the insights I had bracketed as I analy zed) in March and April, 2006 with a similar request. In that mail, I included the following message: (Excerpt from member checking e-mail, April, 2006) Â“I have three requests: 1. The first thing I ask you is to read th e text and think wh ether it sounds like a description of your meaning, or my inte rpretation. It should be the former. 2. The second thing I ask is that you feel fr ee to highlight, edit, comment, correctÂ… whatever. I am fortunate to be working with English majors who are sensitive to language and phrasing so I appreciate your literary and critical judgment. I wrote it but I want it to be true to what you said and meant so if I phrased it badly for your meaning, please let me know. I also want it to be Â“readable.Â” 3. It is not obligatory for you to do any mo re or any editing. I can understand how busy you must be. However, I need to be able to tell my committee about the reactions to my text. So, even if you choos e not to edit, or donÂ’t have time, can you let me know the situation. Also, if you pr efer that any part is not mentioned,
92 let me know. If you remember I said in the consent process I would double-check with you before using any quot esÂ…. So now IÂ’m double-checking Â” (End of excerpt from member checking e-mail, April, 2006) Attached to this mail was my draft of the participantÂ’s Â“situated structural descriptionÂ” (Chapter 4), and insights and quot es from his or her in terview that I wanted to draw from in writing Chapters 6, 7 and 8. Finally in May, I sent all participants Chapter 5 (i.e., the general structural descrip tion), asking them if it resonated with their experience. All participants re sponded to my mail in April essentially agreeing with my interpretations. Three suggested minor m odifications, and one requested an omission. There were no suggestions regarding the gene ral structural descri ptions sent in May. Rationale for Choice of Data Analysis Methods Valerie Janesick uses the metaphor of choreography for qualit ative research, and choreographer as a metaphor for researcher: Â“. . . the qualitative resear cher is the research instrument, . . . as the body is the instrume nt of the dance.Â” (Janesick, 2000, p. 380) Both choreographer and researcher use the body and the mind to realize their vision. As they design, both take into account their own move ment (past and present), the dancers who enact the performance, and the audience who will engage with his or her process. In the next paragraphs I present a rati onale for my chosen choreography. The two principal methods of analys is (i.e., phenomenology, and contrastive discourse analysis) were chosen because th ey approach the data from opposite yet epistemologically compatible directions. Phenomenology approaches meaning from inside individual consciousne ss. Critical discourse analysis approaches meaning by considering how that individual consciousness exists in dialog with other manifestations of consciousness in the world. Both methods shar e the virtue of being Â“empiricalÂ” in that
93 the data to be analyzed are observable (i.e ., written and spoken u tterances), and do not proceed from a theory to be tested. Both met hods also explicitly invoke the researcher as an active participant in a construction of meaning, consistent with my constructivist/socialconstructionist epistemology. Ne ither supposes an Â“objectiveÂ” existence for meaning outside negotiated inte rpretations within and between minds in a particular society. They provide complementar y lenses through which to view the data. Ironically, these methods derive respec tively from positivist and structuralist origins with objectivist epistemologies, whic h would make them inconsistent with the constructivism I claim. However, the approach and applications of the methods as used in this research are constructivist and social constructionist respectively, making them theoretically and aesth etically coherent. Phenomenology was discussed at the beginning of this chapter. In the remainder of this section on crystalliza tion, I will discuss why contrastive discourse analysis (CDA) according to Fairclough (1995, 1999, 2003) is a coherent secondary analysis. Secondary Data Analysis: C ritical D iscourse A nalysis In this study, my purpose is to make meani ng visible as it exists in another personÂ’s consciousness, and I rely on spoken and hear d language to do so. A pre-supposition of my primary methodology is that in order to make a personÂ’s linguistically expressed meaning structures visible, the researcher enters a state of Â“ epoque Â” in which he or she attempts to see past meaning for a phenomenon that might exist outside of that personÂ’s consciousness of the phenomenon (Moustakas, 1994). However, as I stated in Chapter 1, I do not believe that language is transparent: Our formulations (i.e., word choice, synta x, phonology) always already carry meanings. Anything I hear, see or feel, becomes meaningf ul to me (i.e., I can make sense of it)
94 through a process of interpretation as I am perceiving: Â“[People] think whenever they do anything at all with evidence.Â” (Bruner, 1957, p.42). This in cludes how I perceive my participantsÂ’ language. Each time a person speak s and I feel that I have understood, we have both already chosen among various possible meanings, and these unconscious choices are driven by some criteria. M eaning emerges from a situated, dialogic relationship between two or more people. I also do not believe that text and language are static objects that can be understood independently of the context of utterance, or of knowing the particip ants in the context. Context, interactions, and langua ge work together to constr ue experience simultaneously from the inside out and from the outside i n. Our sensibility to word shadings and connotations directs our choi ce of wording, phrasing, or imagery in order to most accurately express our full experience (i.e., cognitive, affective, and somatic), and it is not always immediately accessibl e to awareness. (see concep tual model, Chapter 2.) Given these premises, it is important to ve rify my understandings of the language I hear before I can make a claim about the mean ing I present in my results. I need to take into account the way the texts came into existence as interactions betw een an author and an addressee in a situated time/place. Without the intention of one, the understanding of the other, and the situatedness of both, a text is merely words, objects with no meaning. In addition to implicit meanings, language also does social Â“work.Â” Because we are social beings, our choices for formulating and expressing meaning implicate others and other meanings within defined social communities. In Chapter 2, I reviewed BakhtinÂ’s theory of audience and context as constitutive of meaning. The consequence of this is that
95 any interpretation of language must take into account the participan ts, their knowledge of each other, and where they are situated. Norman FaircloughÂ’s Critical Discou rse Analysis (CDA) (1995, 1999, 2003) provides a methodology for BakhtinÂ’s ontology, and a coherent secondary analysis for this study. For both Bakhtin and Fairclough, texts are not static or abstract objects but material reflections of social actions, produced within specific historico-cultural frames. They involve the participation of at l east one speaker/write r and at least one listener/reader interacting dialogically to create meaning. The aim of critical discourse analysis is to Â“read meaningÂ” into text Â– to study how meanings emerge, and to theorize about the criteria that dr ive our language choices. Fairclough argues that since Â“form is pa rt of contentÂ” (Fairclough, 1999, p. 184), a detailed, systematic linguistic analysis can strengthen interpretations in social science, regardless of oneÂ’s research objectives. Critic al discourse analysis includes systematic textual (i.e., linguistic) analys is at all levels: semantic, syntactic and grapho/phonologic. Combined with this is an intertextual analys is (i.e., how the text re lates to other texts, discourses and genres in social situations) and a contextual analysis, as well as an analysis of the dialectic inte ractions of these factors. A textual analysis from this perspectiv e requires a linguistic analysis that goes beyond grammatical forms. Such an analysis is systemic-functional linguistics, originally created by M.A.K. Halliday in the 1960Â’s a nd further developed by Halliday and Hasan, and Halliday and Mattiessen from the 70Â’s onwards. In contrast to more structural generative models of language (e.g., Chomskian), in Hal lidayÂ’s systemic-functional model, language is analyzed in term s of the Â“workÂ” forms do (how they function ) in
96 social contexts. By language Â“functionsÂ” or Â“w ork,Â” he means that the language we use is simultaneously Â“ideationalÂ” (it expresses meaning), Â“inter-personalÂ” (it constitutes or elaborates social identity(s) and relations), and Â“textualÂ” (it creates a coherent text semantically, syntactically and grapho/phonol ogically). These functi ons operate for and within a specified group, ma king a contemporaneous analys is of context necessary. There is a final reason that cr itical discourse analysis is coherent with this study of understandings of situated social roles. Fair clough states that Â“[w] ho you are is partly a matter of how you speak, how you write, as well as a matter of embodiment Â– how you look, how you hold yourself, how you move, a nd so forthÂ” (Fairclough, 2003, p. 159). The language we use and the way we use it Â– ou r style Â– contributes to our constitution of self, in our own eyes and in the eyes of ot hers. More structural models of linguistic analysis are not sensitive to this aspect of language: Â“[T]otal communicative style including phonetic, prosodic and paralinguistic properties of th e mode of utterance, and other semiotic modalities such as the kinesic, are relevant to the construction of social identityÂ” (Fairclough, 1999, p. 202). In Chapte r 6 I present further samples of each participantÂ’s language, analyzed in these terms to support the results and language samples in Chapters 4 and 5. I conclude Chap ter 3 with some final comments relevant to establishing trustworthiness. Consistency In phenomenology, consistency is a question of researcher trustwor thiness, bias and capacity as a researcher. The goal of my met hodology is to describe an essential meaning structure for each of several phenomena accord ing to five people as individuals, and according to them as a group, while bracketing my own meanings. There can be no guarantee of consistent meaning structures for all instances of a student teaching
97 experience since basic conditions vary. However, to the extent that I have succeeded in bracketing my meanings, and been consistent in my understandings a nd interpretations of the meanings expressed by my participants, and to the extent that i ndividual participants have stable core selves, and ar e practicing in contexts similar to that in which the research was carried out, one can assume consistency in the results. Generalizability and Transferability The principal audience I imagine for this work is other teacher educators in any capacity or type of program in the USA a nd Europe. To that end, I have included a description of the program, the participan ts and their biographies, as well as the epistemology and research biases and biogra phy of the researcher. These details make the specificity of these participants clear. I do not make any claims th at the results reported here can be generalized, or implications tran sferred or applied to some other place and time without interpretation. I do hope, however, that the details I have presented for all phases of the research, and my selection of participants who are fairly representative of teacher education candidates in many contexts, will allow for some degree of naturalistic generalization by this audience. Definition of Terms Relating to Methods and Methodology Further to the theoretical definitions presented at the end of Chapter 1, the following definitions refer specifically to terms related to the methods used in this study: Bracketing refers to a process of putting asid e oneÂ’s own opinions, interpretations and understandings about the nature of realit y, and about phenomena of consciousness, in order to hear another personÂ’s reality without imposing a priori structures or conditions on it.
98 Extra-linguistic features are non-linguistic factors that modify meaning (e.g., gesture, eye contact or lack thereof) Imaginative variation refers to Â“a type of mental experimentation in which the researcher intentionally alte rs, through imagination, various aspects of the experience, either subtracting from or adding to the proposed transformation . . . until it no longer describes the experience underlying the part icipantÂ’s description.Â” (Polkinghorne, 1989, p. 55) Intertextual analysis refers to an analysis of how texts are related to social contexts in which they occur, and the work th ey do in a specific context. It includes both how the texts communicate meaning, and how they constitute or support social identities. It subsumes textual analysis of word and genr e choices available to the speaker for a text in that it considers the social function/s of these choices. This analysis also comments on peopleÂ’s beliefs about reality based on their syntactic and lexical choices (e.g., the truth commitments that modality represents ) (see also textual analysis.) Method refers to the way or the pa th of the study. Derived from meta (fr.) + hodos (gr.), it specifies the way something is done according to the methodology (e.g., an interview can be journalis tic, phenomenological, therapeutic, for a job, and so on.) Methodology refers to a collection of me thods and procedures plus the philosophical framework or grounding fo r choices and decisions about methods, techniques (art) and procedures (craft). Para-linguistic features are vocal effects that modi fy meaning (e.g., as tone of voice, phonemic variation)
99 Psychological (or pedagogic) attitude refers to the attitude one adopts when considering the data. It is determined by what you are interested in knowing and why. A psychologist will read and analyze keeping in mind the interests of psychological research. An anthropologist, biologist or pedagogue will have different perspectives. Reduce ( v. ) , Reduction ( n. ) (phenomenological or scientific) refers to the process of distilling fundamental meaning structures from linguistic expressions by removing non-essential components of a description. Th e process makes the text smaller, but it does not thereby make it necessarily simpler. In the same way one reduces a broth to make it denser and more intense, the reducti on removes language that dilutes the concept leaving its essential nature vi sible. The term should not be confused with the idea of Â“reductionism,Â” which refers to simplification or the attempt to reduce complex biological processes to physical laws. (i.e., extract parts from the whole text which reveal essential meaning structures for phenomena of interest). Reflection during phenomenological analysis refers to Â“a careful and sensitive reading of an expression to answer the quest ions: What is truly being described in the meaning unit? What is absolutely essent ial to understand the psychological dynamic operating here?Â” (Polkinghorne, 198 9, p. 55). The next step the re searcher takes is to test his or her proposed understandings using the technique of im aginative variation. Techniques and procedures are the way the method is done (e.g., Different techniques or procedures for extracting th emes from a text might include: content analysis, grounded theory and thematizing. Possible interview t echniques can include dialog, reflecting back, and listening.)
100 Textual analysis refers to an analysis of the linguistic texture (i.e., semantic, syntactic, grapho/phonologic) of language as us ed by each participant, and how it forms a coherent text. In this study it is one of three necessary components, along with intertextual and contextual analysis , of a full analysis of language. Theme refers to the subject or topic of thought Â– what something is about. The term relates to the stem or root of a word ; something laid down or placed, a composition. It is the idea, the premise, th e theory, the thesis. In the parl ance of formal linguistics, we combine theme (new information) with rheme (Â“givenÂ” information in a sentence) to get a complete idea. In this research study, themes reveal how a person experiences the meaning or significance of so me phenomenon in his or her lived experience. Hence, Thematization refers to the form of thematic analysis used in phenomenology. The participantÂ’s Â“everyday languageÂ” is rewr itten in phenomenologically appropriate language so as to make visible the personÂ’ s underlying themes. This reveals his or her meaning structure for the phenomenon/a bei ng studied. Thematiza tion is not unlike content analysis or grounded theory, but w ithout the quantitative or theory-building aspects.
101 CHAPTER 4 RESULTS (1) SITUATED STRUCTURAL DESCRIPTIONS FOR TEACHER, STUDENT, ROLE NEGOTIATION AND INQUIRY DU RING STUDENT TEACHING Some themes may flatly cont radict other ones or may app ear to be totally unrelated to other ones. The researcher . . . proceeded with the solid conviction that what was logically inexplicable might be existentially real a nd valid. (Rieman, 1998, p. 280) In this chapter, I present situated stru ctural descriptions (Hein & Austin, 2001) which respond to my four research questions . My first two questions concern the nature and negotiation of two parts of a self in a si tuated context: a teacher self, and a student self during a student teaching experience. I asked student/teac hers what they experienced as their role/s and functions while they we re in a nine-week field placement, and how they experienced their changing role identity as they negotiated the path from student to teacher. My third and fourth questions concer n inquiry in each of their roles. Other themes also appeared during thematization of the interview transcript s (step 4, Table 3-2), but I develop only the themes directly related to thes e four research questions. Function and role are two key concepts in th is research, and are di fficult to separate one from the other in presenting the resu lts. I begin this ch apter by expanding the definitions of these concepts presented in Chapter 1: Role refers to a part we pl ay. It would be trite to quot e Shakespeare, but in that same sense we all have roles: We are pl ayers on stage, and that stage is a bounded context. Within the bounds of that context, we have an assigned or assumed character, lines we can and cannot say, a nd behavior patterns we must follow in function of our
102 status in a particular community(ies). A Â“r oleÂ” participates in patterns of functional relationships that interact in a unified way in a society. Functions are actions we associate with or expect of a person in a particular role. They have to do with process and are a pers onÂ’s contribution to the successful operation of a system of roles. Abstracted from that system, functions lose their meanings: They exist in the presence of complementary functio ns within a whole. Reciprocity is implied. Each function has particular procedures, language and purposes within the system. A synonym for function is Â“dutyÂ” Â– a responsibil ity or requirement in enacting oneÂ’s role. It follows from the above that separa ting role and function here would be meaningless. In the descriptions that follow, therefore, they will not be described as separate Â“objects,Â” but presented together as components of a single meaning structure. In general, role is a noun and identifies who or what in a context. Action verbs refer to functions a person experience s as inhering in a role. Although the interviews took pl ace two to two and a half months after the end of the student teaching experience, an examin ation of artifacts collected in June but produced by the same people during the student teaching period, conf irmed for me that the recalled meanings the stude nt/teachers expressed in the interviews were accurate representations of their experienced meanings during their internships. This chapter corresponds to step 5 of my process (see Table 3-2) and it is written from within the phenomenological attitude of bracketing my own interpretations or preconceptions in the interest of presenting only descriptions of each participantÂ’s meaning structures. Therefore what follows is devoid of analysis, commentary or reaction; these will be discussed in Chapters 6, 7 and 8 as they are relevant. Examples from EveÂ’s
103 interview of steps 3 and 4 leading up to thes e descriptions are incl uded as Appendix D to enable other researchers to audit my procedures. Five Lived Experiences Novelists and playwrights . . . construc t their works of art by splitting up their interior cast of characters . . . . [O]ur mu ltiple inner voices are there to be heard, trying to come to terms with each other, sometimes at loggerheads. . . . An extensive self-making narrativ e will try to speak for them all, but we know already that no single story can do that. To whom are you telling it, and to what end? (Bruner, 2004, p. 12) Although I alone thematized the interviews and wrote these texts, the process that has brought me to writing them has been a di alogic one. Because this chapter purports to re-present the experience of five people, I have written the Â“answersÂ” to my research questions in the first person. Except where indi cated, these texts are not direct quotes but Â“fictionalized,Â” data-derived narratives. I have re-organi zed and extracted from each personÂ’s words in the interview in an effo rt to present meaning more succinctly and concisely. Maintaining the dialogic process, I asked each person to read, approve, and/or edit any text that purpor ts to re-present them. In a sense, the descriptions that follow have no meaning, since I describe only two parts of a whole self for each of five indivi duals. It is an artifice necessitated by the purposes of this dissertation text, and by th e research methodology. Clearly each Â“selfÂ” is far more complex than the piece presented here, and is constituted by more than just two roles. A full understanding of these results will al so require the participation of each reader by allowing their imagination to create a fuller picture of the person to whom these words point. I have used what knowledge I ha ve of each person in their whole life to
104 guide my word choices and to give a sense of what it is like to be Â“teacherÂ” or Â“studentÂ” for each person. In the next sections I present the final, edited and approved texts. Ann AnnÂ’s true vocation is writing but she realizes it is not always reli able as a full-time job. Since she had always been a lover of E nglish literature, becoming a teacher seemed a coherent and responsible way to combine he r interests and passions, and earn a living to support herself as a writer. Besides, she is a social person who en joys the engagement with students. However, her idea of teachi ng was to teach college age adults or at minimum 11th or 12th grade (although she preferred 11th grade since there are no consequences for slacking in our system, a nd 12th graders tend to be unmotivated). So, teaching 5th, 6th, and 8th grade was not exactly the environment, she felt, suited to her personality. But being a serious student a nd a responsible person, she was committed to doing the best possible job. In the next section, I adopt the voice of Ann to present a fictionalized, first person summary of her meanings in response to my re search questions. I use this device to adapt the form to the function of phenomenologyÂ—to br acket out the researcherÂ’s self. Some of the text is direct quotes of he r actual words and is indicated as such and has a citation of a line number from the original transcript. I begin with a few of AnnÂ’s exact words th at seem to sum up several of her main themes as a person learning to teach. When sh e spoke these words, she was responding to my request to explore he r definition of inquiry: [. . .] IÂ’m inquiring about how to deal w ith that sort ofÂ… um, itÂ’s almost like a fencing dance. When do you shuffle forward and when do you shuffle back. You know? And umÂ…I think that thatÂ’s kind of like what I would be doing now would be kind of a teacher inquiry. How do I d eal with that poignant moment in the classroom. Um, where do I go forward and wh ere do I step back. And should I have
105 just gone to the side, and just, you know. (inaudible) So.. but ag ain that was more of my own struggle with being whatever I had always seen the best teachers do. (Ann, interview 9 June, 2005, lines 581-589) RQ1: What do interns believe to be their role/s and functions while they are in a nine-week placement? Â“ANNÂ”: During my nine week student teac hing placement, most of the time I felt like my role and function was a student trying hard (pretending?) to be a teacher, as I show in this drawing. I almost never felt like a real teacher: Figure 4-1 AnnÂ’s graph of percei ved role during student teaching. When I did feel 100% Â“teacherÂ” I was eith er being very authoritarian, or the students were working and I was seeing resu lts. But for the most part, I felt I was a student trying to become a teacher. That role was a bit frustrating. For one thing Â“. . . because I didnÂ’t feel I had the power?1 in my position? to react to them in the ways that I would probably normally [. . .]Â” (Ann, inte rview, 9 June, 2005, lines 154-155). I also didnÂ’t have any power to make the kids work if they didnÂ’t want to. And I didnÂ’t feel at all respected by the parents so I couldnÂ’t appeal to them for help to motivate their kids. 1 Question marks indicate the text was spoken with a risi ng intonation to this point, as if making a question.
106 In terms of my lessons, I did a lot of pl anning, but I had to think if my cooperating teacher would approve. Sometimes I doubted if I could express my opinion with my cooperating teacher sitting there judging me. [A ]s a student/teacher . . . Â“I felt, like I wasnÂ’t sure whether or not I should sa y something. Because I wanted toÂ” (Ann, interview, 9 June 2005, lines 413-414). Even for decisions in the middle of some classroom activity I di dnÂ’t really have full authority Â– I didnÂ’t always make the same d ecision that I might ha ve on my own. The one time I really felt I had done something as a student/teacher, and sparke d their interest, my teacher didnÂ’t want me to carry through with it Â– I think she was afraid I hadnÂ’t set the parameters well enoughÂ… but I think she was basing that on only two students. I felt I could have handled that topi c but sometimes my inexperience was frustrating. I would have doubts about how to handle things, how to respond to studentsÂ… I thought a more experienced teac her would probably know what to do but it was hard for me. For example, when do you pick up on a studentÂ’s idea, and when do you let it go in the interest of tim e? Anyway, as a student/teacher I didnÂ’t feel like I could really go with studentsÂ’ ideas with my cooperating teacher watching. At least I didnÂ’t have any trouble thinking of things for the kids to do. On the contrary, I planned so much that I struggled w ith how to fit everything in that I wanted to do with them and still be able to finish my unit plan or lesson plan assignment, but I guess all teachers feel that time pressure. I thought quite a bit about what my best t eachers did, or what other teachers I had observed had done, and compared my actions to theirs. But a lot of unexpected things happen in the classroom and a lot of time s you just have to react on the spot and
107 improvise. For example, kids did things in the classroom that I never could have envisioned when I did a behavi or management plan in my first semester. I was criticized for things on the plan that I hadnÂ’t even thought of as impor tant, but they became obvious once I was in the classroom. ThereÂ’s a big difference between envi sioning and realizing based on experience. Â“PlanningÂ” for behavior management is a bit artificial: Behavior happens and managing it is a matter of improvi sation using your authoritarian teacher self if necessary. Sometimes I also felt like a student during my internship. My metaphor for that role would be an Â“aceÂ” pilot who really knows how to fly. I am good at being a student Â– I know how to read teachers; I know how to take tests; I know school culture in the role of a student. As a student, I felt the pressure to stay organized and to finish lesson and unit plans to the best of my ability. Maybe thatÂ’s another thing that made me feel frustrated with my internship Â– realizing I have to start from the beginning and learn so much. Being both a student and a teacher took up all of my time so I didnÂ’t ha ve time to do any of my own writing during these nine weeks. For me, getting a Â“BÂ” is slackingÂ… and I donÂ’t like students who are slackers. As soon as school ended and I didnÂ’ t have to write lesson plans, analytical papers and other assignments, I went back to my writing. I can sum up the two roles of student/teac her and teacher in this way: Being a teacher is like standing on top of a ball and juggling. Sometimes you manage to get it rollingÂ… But being a student/teacher was more like that picture Â“The ScreamÂ” by Edvard Munch.
108 RQ2: What is the experience of these intern s as they negotiate their changing role identity . . .? A really hard part of the internship was keeping my Â“selfÂ” from splitting up into a million pieces. I realized that Â“[Â…] your teac her self, is differentÂ… than your.. personal selfÂ” (Ann, interview, 9 June, 2005, lines 271272), and that the single Â“teacherÂ” a student sees is really a lot of individual selves. Â“TeacherÂ” is only one aspect of me Â– they didnÂ’t necessarily see me as I really am. [W]hen youÂ’re a student and stepping into the teacher role and then going into a classroom and realizing that you need to ha ve more than one, aspect of being a teacher. You need to have those many selv es that step out like little elves, you know like doing your work for you. . . . that was like what really overwhelmed me . . . realizing how much of a teacher . . and . . as a stude nt . . . only see that one person. And all those people, are kind of me shed into this one person. [. . .] (Ann, interview, 9 June, 2005, lines 297-305) Inside me, for example, there is a lover of literature, a lo ver of reading . . . a Â“Mrs. Nice Someone.Â” ThatÂ’s who I started out being and thatÂ’s who I wanted to be. In those selves my love of literature shows and my voice is quieter and nicer . But I found out fast that I couldnÂ’t always just let my personal se lves out with these kids because they might jump on me. It was really hard to manage all the selves well. It wa s frustrating to feel uncomfortable being myself, but I couldnÂ’t always be Â“meÂ” andÂ—I hate being fake! Skilled (experienced) teachers are able to balance these different other selves according to immediate needs in the classroom . They can switch them on and off and let them come into the classroom, grab students, and bring them back in ways that help teaching and learning. I learned I had to switch those selves off and let my authoritarian teacher self step out. The teacher in her profe ssional or institutional role is authoritarian and Â“teachesÂ” (as opposed to loves) literature; the teacher doesnÂ’t Â‘loveÂ’ literature. She maintains a persona of authority. Maybe because I didnÂ’t start out au thoritarian, it had an
109 immediate effect when I changed to that tone and that persona. If youÂ’re not skilled in this (like when you are a st udent/teacher) it can be dange rous and kids can pounce on you, at least in K-12 classrooms. [M]y best teachers were able to reveal how much they loved things in the classroom but they were also able to take that part of themselves and step back and also become the teacher. So it was . . . so rt of a negotiating of the Dr Jekyll, Mr. Hyde sort of duality of self. (A nn, interview, 9 June, 2005, lines 276-280) A teacher in a college classroom is differe nt than a teacher in a K-12 classroom. In a college classroom a teacher can be more revealing and less vigilant of her multiple selves. Students in a college classroom have a purpose and if they slack off, there are consequences. A teacher can let more of her personal selves out into the classroom and interact with the students. RQ3: What does inquiry into teaching practice mean, according to these student/teachers? I see inquiry as a form of professional development in which the teacher is an active participant. SheÂ’s not a passive Â“Â…empt y blank person who walks in, and is just spitting out the knowledge that is most pol itically correct for, whatever, student community, or whateverÂ…Â” (Ann, interview, 9 June, 2005, lines 572-575). An inquiring teacher not only thinks about what she does, she discusses it later, like our conversation. The inquiry can be about students, assessment, anything, as long as th e teacher is active. Inquiry should also include student inquiry. It should in clude what students want to inquire about. RQ4: To what extent do student/teach ers feel free to inquire into their own practice? In terms of thinking about what I was doi ng it in the classroom and then discussing it, I could do that kind of i nquiry, as long as it was within the Â“approvedÂ” plan. But there
110 were several moments during the student teaching when I felt restricted by my status as student/teacher. First, becau se my cooperating teacher wa s watching and judging me, and second, because I knew I needed to finish the lesson or the unit. To be fair, my inexperience also came into play sometimes. For example, one time in class we got into a good discussion and one student was really expr essing himself. I didnÂ’t want to impinge on him but I just knew he was wrong. I also knew the discussion was sort of a tangent from the book we were discussing.Â“And I think that was probably a point where I just wasnÂ’t really sure whether to say somethi ng, how to say it.. you know andÂ…So I just sort of let it goÂ” (Ann, interview, 9 June, 2005, lines 448-450). Another day I managed to really spark intere st in the reality of segregation. I felt like that was at least one topic I could have gone with because of my own life experience, even if it wasnÂ’t directly in the book we were reading. But my cooperating teacher didnÂ’t want me to do it. I don't think she felt comf ortable with the idea of my talking about segregation in the classroom, predominantly because she wasn't comfortable with talking about it herself. That was actually one s ubject I felt excited about teaching as a student/teacher, and felt that if I had the chance to teach it, I would have been very successful, and felt, for the time I was teachi ng it, that I was actually a "teacher." Bea Bea describes her student teaching overa ll as Â“conflictedÂ” and Â“unpleasantÂ”Â—a scary place to be. As her university advisor, I am familiar with the period as one of great struggle for her. She kept more than one jour nal during that period, a nd at the time of the interview she had not reread them. I did not want to push her to explore too many details so soon after the experience, and so the follo wing situated structur al description draws also from artifacts from the student teaching period she provided and authorized in her
111 informed consent agreement. As with the othe r descriptions, I wrote the account in first person to underscore the understa nding that the essen ce of the words, even if they are not direct quotations unless referenced as such, are entirely the interv ieweeÂ’s, without my interpretation. RQ1: What do interns believe to be their role/s and functions while they are in a nine-week placement? Â“BeaÂ”: I almost have to begi n with research question tw o about the negotiation of changing roles and functions duri ng my nine weeks in Ms SimonÂ’s2 class. For me, it became a huge unpleasant conflict between my id eal teacher self and the real teacher I had to be for that period if I wanted to pass the internship. I started the nine weeks with a school-girl excitement. My childhood dream of being a teacher was about to become real Â– no more stuffed animals and younger siblings pretending to be st udents. Now I would have real students with real workbooks a nd I was already Â“in loveÂ” with them. Not Â“in loveÂ” in a physical sense but in the sense th at for the students, the teacher is like their second home and they depend on her to truly care for them and help them learn. I was full of questions, ideas, and ideals . . . like the beginning of any new loving relationship. But after a few weeks I felt like my pers onal and my professional self were under attack and I had to protect it. So I retreated into being only a student again, and just tried to do both teacher and student things that would make Ms. Simon happy. In the end, my Â“ideal teacherÂ” agreed to hide herself and not fight against the more assertive, less caring self I was obliged to pretend to be, even if I knew I was being fake. Really, I think my ideal self was finally stronger, or maybe it just became stronger, even if it was badly beat up by the end. 2 All cooperating teachersÂ’ names are pseudonyms with titles omitted as these would be identifying.
112 I found my teacher role in the student/teac her situation rather hard to define. The best I can say is that itÂ’s the person who teaches? The teacher is an authority figure up there on a podium with power over students. She is the cente r of attention and so she should smile a lot. She is in charge of st udents who depend on her to teach them, not only about content, but also about life. The problem I had in that role was that I felt that as teacher I should support and respect the stude nts so they will respect me. If everyone respects the others, work will be much easier and there should be few behavior problems. But I didnÂ’t feel I could act that way and soon discovered th at in that classroom the teacher has to frown a lot and be mean, even if that makes the students angry. The Â“studentÂ” part of Â“student/teacherÂ” was a lot clearer; maybe because that was a role I was used to? After a fe w weeks I longed to go back to that role. As a student you are passive: You sit, you listen, you pay attention, you do homework, and you give back what the teacher wants to hear Â– you depe nd on the teacher for your grade. You donÂ’t ask too many questions since that would be a lack of disciplin e Â– you just try to soak up knowledge. But the Â“studentÂ” part of st udent/teacher, was not quite th e same as the Â“studentÂ” I am in my university classes. It is a different and special kind of Â“student.Â” A Â“student/teacherÂ” self is a lo t more nebulous and in between the two roles in its nameÂ—Â“a kind of sampling teacher.Â” (Bea, interview, 14 June, 2005, line 737) As student/teacher you still have to do all the things students do, but you canÂ’t just sit at tentively and listen, and you are constantly being evaluated. As a student/teacher, you also have teacher functions, which are very stressful. I had to do lesson plans, manage the classroom, and teach in certain ways, even if they were to tally against the way I thought teaching should
113 be. I was a teacher but because I was also a student I was not free to be the kind of teacher I felt I was. For example, I wasnÂ’t a llowed to help a boy who seemed frustrated with a lesson, or respond symp athetically to a girl who s eemed upset by criticism. My supervisor warned me that kids play these tr icks all the time. But I wasnÂ’t so sure they were playing games: I worried that maybe they were really frustrated or upset and I wanted to help if I could. Maybe one thing was the same for student and student/teacher, and different from the professional teacher role: learning and a ssessment of that learning. Any professional will learn and be evaluated by the boss. But, as a student, or a student/teacher, it is different. You are paying to do a course. As a student you risk failing and loosing that money, and I hate to fail! You end up doing wh at the teacher wants in order to get good grades, and you stop focusing on what it means to be a professional. RQ2: What is the experience of these intern s as they negotiate their changing role identity . . .? Student and teacher roles are completely different, and itÂ’s a huge and difficult transition to cross the invisible line that divides them. ItÂ’s the same for any profession Â– Â“I think a business student w ould have toÂ…find the maturity and the courage to become the businessman. . . . I think itÂ’s just a lif e thingÂ” (Bea, interview, 14 June, 2005, lines 619-622). I donÂ’t think it is possibl e to teach someone how to cro ss that line Â– itÂ’s just a phase one has to go through Â– like going from middle to high school. When I came to this town I was a teenager. Now, IÂ’m leaving as a professional. Finding that line again and crossing it might be more difficult now after such a horrible student teaching experience. I definitely experienced three different roles during the student teaching: the student role (S) that I was used to and good at , and two roles that were new to me: teacher
114 (T) and student/teacher or intern (I), which is in between the other two, as this graph shows. As intern, or student/teacher, you ha ve both student and teacher responsibilities and functions. ItÂ’s like being Â“[u]gly pretty and in betweenÂ” (Bea, interview, 14 June, 2005, lines 730-731). Figure 4-2 BeaÂ’s graph of percei ved role during student teaching. From a subjective point of view, I woul d put myself overall more on the student side in terms of feelings, but fairly close to the center of the conti nuum, as the line shows. The top arrow shows how I felt at the beginning of my intern ship: I was excited to be moving towards the teacher end. But after a whil e, I lost all of that excitement and the arrow started pointing the other way. I just felt a strong desire to go back to being a student again since at least I knew how that role worked. RQ3: What does inquiry into teaching practice mean, according to these student/teachers? Teacher inquiry is collecting and asking que stions about my own style, about my students, about classroom pr ocesses, about curriculum, and about the team or the administration. Inquiry isnÂ’t just about teachi ng Â– it can also be about life. An effective teacher continuously questions everything, sinc e everything is related in the classroom.
115 Asking questions is also a natural part of being a student. But as a student you naively suspend belief and take whatever you read as truth, at least in the moment of reading. Later, you might ask questions or gene rate a criticism, but too much inquiry can be dangerous if itÂ’s too intense or too consta nt! I always had so many things in my head that by the end of the week when we had our seminar meeting it was too much. I would write things down somewhere in one of my journals or in my notes, and maybe someday I will go back and read them Â– at least my teaching journal but probably not my personal journalÂ… well, Â“Maybe on my, on my deat h bedÂ” (Bea, interview, 14 June, 2005, line 536). RQ4: To what extent do student/teach ers feel free to inquire into their own practice? There were different contexts in which I felt I could ask questions, and how free I felt in each one changed over time. At the be ginning, I felt totally comfortable asking my supervising teacher questions about many asp ects of the context (e.g., the students, how the school, principal or team operated), even if the questions were dumb or Â“ditsyÂ” (Bea, interview, 14 June, 2005, line 799). However, af ter a time, the situa tion had deteriorated to the extent that I just closed myself. Fortunately, Â“JoeyÂ”3 (another seminar group member) was doing her student teaching just across the hall from me. We met all the time to compare, not really our classes because we had different grades, le vels and teachers, but we could double check our experiences about re lationships and feelings. Joey coul d also help me with practical school things after I felt I couldnÂ’t ask my supervising teacher any more since I didnÂ’t 3 All names mentioned in this study are pseudonyms.
116 want her to feel I was even more inadequa te and mediocre than she already thought I was. The weekly seminar meetings especially were places for all kinds of inquiry. Sometimes the other people in the group woul d introduce real life abstract things, but it was all too much. Unfortunately, there was so mu ch going on in my head that I just shut down, not because it wasnÂ’t good or useful, I just felt overwhelmed by thinking too many things about myself as a teacher and as a stude nt, but also things about my core self and life in general. By the weekend my brai n just shut downÂ—the pace was too fast. Dave DaveÂ’s main themes involve momentum, back and forth movement, relating, and being/becoming a member of a team or a co mmunity. He began coaching baseball at the age of 12 and has always gotten Â“. . . a lo t of satisfaction teaching somebody how to do something and succeedÂ” (Dave4, interview, 15 June, 2005, lines 516-517). He experiences the same emotional moment in teaching as he does when coaching sports, but: Â“. . . itÂ’s so easy and quick on an athletic fi eld. . . . ItÂ’s not as quick [in teaching]. It doesnÂ’t come as easily. But . . . every once in a while. You . . . have to savor the moment . . . cause theyÂ’re a little bit more in betweenÂ” (lines 518-525). Dave wants to teach because Â“. . . itÂ’s . . . a job I thinkÂ’s impor tantÂ” (line 509). He became a teacher because he felt he could help Â“. . . good kid[s] who work hard. And they needed the helpÂ” (line 531). As previously explained, the goal of a phenomenological investigation is to understand the essential structure of an indi vidualÂ’s meaning. Therefore, in the following 4 All quotations from Â“DaveÂ” come from an interview that took place on 15 Ju ne, 2005, unless otherwise indicated.
117 Â“answersÂ” I have Â“put words into Â“DaveÂ’sÂ” mouth.Â” The words are distilled from his actual words but themed and reformatted by me with attention to my interest in this research: to understand the essential nature of being a teacher, and a student, and a student/teacher during a nine week student teaching assignment. RQ1: What do interns believe to be their role/s and functions while they are in a nine-week placement? Â“DaveÂ”: I felt I was a teacher when I was together with the whole group and everyone was connecting in some interactive activity that I had planned. Then I could feel momentum growing and interactions moving around the room. It was like in a baseball game after the coach throws th e ball out and it passes around among all the players, not just from coach to player back to coach again. For the most part, I felt 100% teacher when I was Â“aloneÂ” with the students in the classroom Â– when my supervising teacher wi thdrew, either virtually by referring any and all student requests or questions to me while she was present in the room, or when she physically left the room while I was there. If she wasnÂ’t there, I had to deal with all the distractions that are the real ity of teaching. Simultaneously I might be assigning a grade, or teaching and interacting with the group, or helping someone one-on-one while keeping track of what everyone in the room was doi ng, or doing paperwork, or taking attendance, or . . . I guess thatÂ’s whatÂ’s called th e Â“with-it-nessÂ” of DOING ALL OF THOSE THINGS AT ONCE AND MAKING IT FLOW! But that is what a teacher does. Thinking about my future life as a teacher, and just being in the school from 9 to 5 doing all these things really made me feel like a Â“teacher.Â” I also felt 100% teacher when I worked collaboratively with my supervising teacher. Maybe we would each conference with a student or with parents and then come
118 back together to discuss our i ndividual meetings. It was a very different feeling to when I showed her a lesson plan to ask for advice or recommendations or approval Â– doing that really put me right into the student role. I feel like when I knew I wasnÂ’t going to show her my lesson plan, I was more responsible. That was also a mo ment when I felt 100% teacherÂ—when I was preparing a plan and im agining how the students would act and I knew it wasnÂ’t a draft, that I would do it as I had planned it the next dayÂ—I was acting on my own. But more than all of these more practical things, I think one of the more important functions of a teacher is to encourag e community and relating, and discourage competition. For that reason, for me it meant a lot when students told me how comfortable they felt in my class: like they could Â“breatheÂ” and be themselves . . . they didnÂ’t feel Â“shutdown.Â” A teacher needs to be focused on other people and help them learn, or you arenÂ’t doing your job. One thing a teacher has to do to be succe ssful in encouraging community is to be sensitive to the way he speaks, the language he uses, his accent, and his metaphors: Language is a tool we use to communicate. In my case, I know I tend to use predominantly sports metaphors and IÂ’m cons ciously trying to find other metaphors so that I can include everyone. I donÂ’t want to be too overbearing and run the risk of alienating my students, or turn some students o ff. In addition to all the other things I did, I was a language model for my students. I notice that I normally use my accent and language according to the community I happen to be in by adapting it to the features of that particular group. For example, when I work ed in a restaurant, I used more slang or African-American language; when I was with these three close friends I have from New
119 York, Boston and Miami I let words from their language creep into mine. But as a teacher in the English classroom I am modeling speech for my students rather than patterning it after them so I try to be conscious of that at the same time as I try to be aware of their language use so I can make allowances for it in my expectations, as needs be. (Not to mention understanding what they are saying sometimes!) Finally, I think teaching style is a very im portant part of who a teacher is. Each teacher needs to be aware of their own Â“teacher spaceÂ” and style. As a teacher, my preferred style is less confrontational, for example, than my supervising teacherÂ’s. I prefer to respond to students in degrees, and give them the chance to change their behavior before I just tell them what to do. I feel that I never completely stopped be ing a student during my student teaching. As a student, even as a student/teacher duri ng that time, I tried to figure out what a teacher wanted to hear and give it back to her. For me, being a student means writing papers, reading books, and figuring out what th e teacher wants. As an undergraduate, you know the percentages and you know how to score. ItÂ’s possible to be very selfish as an undergraduate. Â“StudentÂ” can be a very comp etitive role: As a st udent you can decide whether to contribute to th e group or just focus on your own work and get it done, whether or not you learn is not an issue. Being a graduate student was different. First of all I had to work more. However, at least in this program, there was more comm unity, above all in my seminar group. That was a different Â“studentÂ” role. In that venue we shared, helped and inspired each other by raising issues, making suggesti ons and not withholding inform ation that might be helpful to one of our group . . . there was more solidarity.
120 What made me feel most like a student during my student teaching was when I had to show my supervising teacher my lesson pl an, or when I had to reflect formally on a lesson for a university assignment. Reflection is (or should be) a natural part of all teachersÂ’ work. I am very aware of my audience: When something was a homework assignment, it felt different and I felt different. RQ2: What is the experience of these intern s as they negotiate their changing role identity . . .? Being a student/teacher was neither being a teacher nor being a student, and at the same time it was both roles together. On the one hand, I tried to understand what my cooperating teacher wanted so I could plan le ssons or activities she would approve of. I tried sometimes to adopt her style so I w ouldnÂ’t cause problems for her later when she took over again. On the other hand, I had my own style and I was in charge of the class, of grades, and I was responsible for pl anning and carrying out lessons. Being a student/teacher was like a constant going back and forth. One day you were a student and the next you were the teacher. For the most part during my internsh ip, I didnÂ’t experien ce a changing role identity as much as an alternating role iden tity in which different roles moved in and out of focus depending on what I was doing and for whom. I was always looking in one direction or the other. At one moment I might be a student asking for my teacherÂ’s advice or considering what she would approve of . And at another moment I was a teacher making independent decisions. Maybe no decisi on was fully independent since I always kept in mind that it was her classroom, but for the minute-to-minute, day-to-day operations, I was the teacher (aft er a certain point at least).
121 Maybe one clear case of being a student/ teacher (i.e., both together) was when I consulted my supervising teacher about what I should expect from the students in their writing. I had the feeling the students might ha ve been taking advantage of my position as a student/teacher and not putting the same amount of effort into their work for me as they had done for Ms Julian. She confirmed this and so I, in my teacher role, gave out some very low marks to send a message that I was now the teacher and they had to work for me to the same level as always. Since I was d eciding the grades, I was happy to see a 180 degree turn around in the next set of essays. At the same time I was trying to establish some reference points that would help me be a member of this school community, and ad just to my supervisorÂ’s frame. So I asked her about the slang the student s used so I could better unde rstand their meaning. I also felt I might need to adjust my parameters for this context. What was acceptable language? How much slang was normally allo wed? What exactly did she want to hammer out of their language? Overall, if I graph my position between stude nt at one end and teacher at the other, I would put myself as an Â“internÂ” about Â¾ of the way towards teacher. Most of the time I felt like a teacher, or at least a studen t/teacher so my internship was great. Figure 4-3 DaveÂ’s graph of percei ved role during student teaching.
122 RQ3: What does inquiry into teaching practice mean, according to these student/teachers? For me, the term inquiry, at least during my student teaching, immediately puts me into student mode. Inquiry means figuring out what the teacher wants so I can Â“. . . put my own spin on that and hand it back to herÂ” (lines 94-95). I hope that this is not what inquiry normally is as a teacher; I would hope there are no set answers and that inquiry is more oriented towards students. One important teacher function th at is definitely inquiry fo r me is to get a feel for my students and understand their community. This is important so that I can relate to them, and so that I can relate aspects of th eir world to the lessons, understand things that are important to them, understand subtle jokes and references, and be able to weave these into my teaching. This will make everyone more comfortable, including me. If I can assimilate myself into the community in wh ich I am teaching and not mark myself as different, I can do a better job teaching. Since next year IÂ’ll be moving to an area of the country that is completely new to me, a first step will be to get a feel for the e ccentricities of the place so I donÂ’t feel like an outsider. As a first step in my new job, I hope to find out more about my students and their communityÂ—Â“The classroom community a nd also the actual community that the students live inÂ” (lines 613-614). In my student teaching experience, I found it valuable to have been in this same community before, since it made it easier for me to pick up on subtleties and allowed me to blend in as smoothly as possible. One wa y that I did this was by not being explicit about where I was from. I just responded hone stly, but briefly, when students asked about my accent or where I lived. I gave them enough in formation to let them know that I knew
123 their community and lived here myself. I think as long as you donÂ’t make yourself an outsider, the students wonÂ’t perceive you as such and will act accordingly. I tried Â“. . . to emphasize what we have in common . . . a nd marginalize the diffe rencesÂ” (lines 651652). I also tried to find things the kids relate d to and bring those th ings into the lessons (e.g., SimpsonÂ’s cartoon or Ga tor athletics: lines 663). This relates to one very important area of inquiry I feel st rongly about and that many teachers tend to pass over after a while. That is to find out about oneÂ’s new students each year from previous teachers. ItÂ’s something all teachers should do; I think you should confer with teachers from previous years to get informed about your students. RQ4: To what extent do student/teach ers feel free to inquire into their own practice? I feel that a person in a teacher role has much more freedom to inquire. As a student, Â“[t]hereÂ’s really not . . . much of a framework for an exploration, beyond the course contentÂ” (lines 264-266). Â“[Y]our questio ns are limited to the content of the course . . .Â” (lines 248-249). As a teacher, on th e other hand, you can take the content in any direction and think about how to relate the content to your students. When students go outside the content, this is Â“. . . what the t eacher identifies as getting off topic. . . . And often shuts down, you know, maybe answer s the question, but then, moves on, or redirects back to the lessonÂ” (lines 267-270). As a teacher and student/teacher, if I donÂ’t stay on topic, I wonÂ’t get through my agenda, which is one of my (student) teacher functions . . . to plan a less on and carry it out successfully. As a student/teacher, I feel that I was lim ited to content as source of inquiry. There were certain things I had to cover, but I co uld cover them however I wanted to. In any case, since most of these kids probably knew each other since birth and the teacher knew
124 them and their families, in this context certa in types of inquiry would have been out of place. For example, a Â“get-to-know-youÂ” type of activity made no sense. I think Ms Julian would have let me do it, but she wouldnÂ’ t really have approved. However, I didnÂ’t know the students. An example of one way I c ould have stayed within the frame but also found out more about the students would have been to do something like an Â“I amÂ” poem in which students fill in a frame with auto -biographical informati on. I could also probe for information that might help me relate bett er to the students within the context of a particular content or lesson, but I wanted to stick to my teacherÂ’s routines. On the other hand, the internship seminars were a very generative environment for inquiry. Questions, ideas and discussion tended to stimulate further inquiry for me. It gives you a sense of meaningfulness to know from someoneÂ’s comments that you are helping or inspiring him or her. I also felt the discussions helped me see things that I might otherwise have passed over. Meeting constantly with a small group of people brought up a lot of questions inside me, allo wed me (all of us) to express successes, frustrations, to develop a s upport network and sense of solid arity or community with my peers. I got and gave ideas not only about c oncrete lesson plans but also about deeper questions about teaching and learning issues, and about what things mean. Eve Eve likens this teacher education progra m to a diving board from which you can look into the waters of teaching from a relativ ely safe height without actually jumping in. You can [. . .] see what the water looks like.. and you . . . can see how high you are from it before you jump . . . you get to kind of . . . speculate a little bit moreÂ… and then
125 you go in. So . . . ItÂ’s almost like a safe r somehow entry? (Eve, interview 9 June, 2005, lines 612-615)5 Eve decided to enroll in Prot each after talking to alumnae from several fields in her role of Â“glorified phone solicito rÂ” calling to request donations to the university. Of all the people she called, she found the teachers she spoke to seemed the happiest and most impassioned by their chosen profession. The more she thought about her own schooling and interests, the more the idea of becoming a teacher resonated for her. Eve described her student teaching experien ce in very positive terms on the whole. She felt she was able to get some experience as a teacher and learn to anticipate some things she might encounter as a first year teacher in a safer context that allowed for experimentation and possible mistakes. She felt this kind of experien ce even allows you the chance to Â“back offÂ” the diving board if you decide you donÂ’t want to jump in. As with each of the six individual situated st ructural descriptions in this chapter, I am writing in the first person to emphasize th e phenomenological perspective that the ideas belong solely to the student/teacher interviewed. I thematized her words and wrote this distillation making every effort to bracket my own interpretations, which are presented in Chapter 7. The following text is meant to represent only Â“EveÂ’sÂ” meaning. All direct quotations ar e referenced as such. RQ1: What do interns believe to be their role/s and functions while they are in a nine-week placement? Â“EveÂ”: When I think about what it means to be a teacher, the first thing I think of is that a teacher must never stop being a student . If I can do this, I will be better able to create curiosity in the classroom. What I m ean by being a teacher/student, is that the 5 All direct quotations are from an interview with the student/teacher I call Â“Ev eÂ” on 9 June, 2005, unless otherwise indicated. Line numbers refer to the original verbatim transcript.
126 teacher must learn about what she wants to teach, where to find resources, and how to compile, condense, and present th em (i.e., plan) for students. Clothes, language, and voice are important social actions that help to reify the image that is Â“teacher.Â” The clothes you wear are part of the image you create Â– dressing in a more businesslike way goes together with approaching your work in a more businesslike way. It is important to use your language well to be able to articu late exactly what you want from students in such a way that th ey understand that you know exactly what you want from them. You also have to develop diverse metaphors, alternative explanations, and modes of delivery (e.g., handout s, lecture) that effectivel y and appropriately translate information in a way students can relate to. Voice can be used to advantage for othe r than academic objectives. For example, sometimes I would use my ability to imitate different voices and draw from my own experience to tell a story to entertain as a pr ize during the last two minutes of a lesson. It can help keep students focused, or at leas t curious about why you are entertaining them. Although itÂ’s more difficult to develop new voice s as an adult, it is possible to learn and adopt new voices that can be used to advantage when you are a teacher. Even your gestures and body language ar e important teaching tools. Where you position yourself with respect to the student s, or the way you move around the room or use your hands are important in creating a visi ble presence as Â“teacher.Â” For example, I notice that students seem to sense my appro ach and maybe theyÂ’re quieter or Â“perk up a little bit moreÂ” (Eve conversation, March 11, 2005).
127 Part of being a teacher is also the planning. Writing things out really helps me think through the process of what I want to doÂ—imagine whatÂ’s going to happen. Before I started student teaching, I coul d only imagine automatons. Once I was actually in the classroom, I could modify and adapt a less on, and future lessons, based on student actions and interactions. ItÂ’s also helpful to have some notes about my plan with me in the classroom, even if I donÂ’t look at them. ItÂ’s not like I write something out and thatÂ’s it. ItÂ’s more like a potterÂ’s wheelÂ—things ar e constantly turning and evolving. Maybe I start out with some plans but the plan might change as I do it, and subsequent plans change too as a result. As a teacher I know a strength I have is to tell stories from my own experience. Part of the essence of being a teacher is to be able to draw from your own story to make connections or find support for something you are teaching. Maybe you know the content 100%, or maybe you donÂ’t, but you always kno w your own story better than anyone. The question is how you use your story to help students make connections. A nice metaphor for teacher is a Â“storytellerÂ”Â—you control the pr ocess, decide on or play with the order of things, and you know what comes next. A teacher has to find ways to enable st udents to make connections on a personal level, and not only in an analytical way. She can also allow students to just enjoy some contentÂ–a teacher can find ways to have fun in the classroom even when we are working seriously on something. When you make that connection itÂ’s like Â“focused energyÂ”, maybe like a Â“fireworkÂ” when you connect with a studentÂ’s written work, or Â“like a laser beamÂ” if you make that conn ection during a discussionÂ–Â“. . . itÂ’s a very Â“bright intense feeling either wayÂ” (Eve conversation, March 11, 2005).
128 Although I was definitely the teacher during the internship, I stil l felt like a student. Being a student is about going home and th inking about or analyzing your school experiences, thinking about the Â“wudda,Â” Â“s hudda,Â” Â“cudda.Â” After class is over you go home and mull things over and try to make sense of it all. ItÂ’s about end games and completing things: Teachers state the expecta tions, and students ca rry them out. Being a student is a performative role. You have to comply with deadlines and put together a finished product within certa in parameters the teacher sets. I think an appropriate metaphor for student is the process of cooking soupÂ—not the pot, not the soup, but the slow simmering process that continues for a long time. RQ2: What is the experience of these intern s as they negotiate their changing role identity . . .? I think role and identity are two different things: Identity is about process, while role has more to do with action, so it is mo re mutable and temporary. On the one hand, I thought in terms of Â“end gameÂ” and performan ce. On the other hand, I had present in my mind that I was in the process of becoming a teacher, and that the internship was a hoop I had to jump through on the way. I was learning and developing new ways of acting, but I was also developing a new Â“teacher filterÂ” th rough which to process classroom eventsÂ—I was developing new thought processes and ne w ways of viewing the world. In other words, it wasnÂ’t so much enacting two different roles (although that wa s part of it), as it was a transition from one iden tity to another in which my student part became less Â“studentÂ” and more Â“teacher/student,Â” and I be gan to define my teacher identity. I was developing a new identity that I will use to support my new role as teacher. Although a teacher in a sense never stops be ing a student, she has a separate status, role and functions from students. One of the challenges of making the transition from
129 student to teacher is defining the lines betw een them. It can be dangerous personally and professionally when those lines blur. As teachers, we have to remember that students are in school to learn, not to be friends with the teacher. My dress actually helped in the transiti on. My supervising teacher had stressed the importance of distinguishing myself from the students since we were so close in age. Breaking down the teacher/student dichotomy can be difficult, and physical signs help. At first it was a real challenge to have to think about what to wear everyday and I had to get up 15 minutes earlier just to assemble my Â“teacher lookÂ” for the day. I even went out and bought a few new clothes and an iron! But it really helped me remember that the relationships were different now. I donÂ’t nece ssarily want to break the student/teacher barrier down. But I do want to make myself as accessible as possible from within my teacher role, at least when I have my own cl assroom. During the student teaching I really couldnÂ’t change the classroom community; I coul d only try to fit in. Dressing the part of teacher was a support for that: On a day that I didnÂ’t really feel like a teacher, or if something I tried didnÂ’t work exactly the wa y I had planned, at least I could look and sound like the teacher. One interesting physical aspect of being an intern was my desk. It was right next to the teacherÂ’s desk but noticeabl y smaller. Â“At first it was sort of safe . . . it was almost like being able to hide behind your momÂ’s skir t or something. But, now IÂ’m feeling like, oh man, if only I had my own classroomÂ” (E ve, conversation, 11 March, 2005). After a while I wanted to break away from thatÂ—I craved my own space. Fortunately, my supervising teacher was good about easing hers elf out of the classroom and giving me that space. Gradually she was only in the r oom for 5 or 10 minutes while I was teaching.
130 The only time I noticed the two roles might have been in conflict was when my teacher self got annoyed because I had to repeat something because I knew that the students hadnÂ’t been listening. At the same tim e, my student self experienced empathyÂ—I remembered what it felt like to drift off so metimes in class. IÂ’m sure students sometimes tried to play into that awaren ess. I also think my inexperi ence and youth were in play. I had to make it clear to them that I did reme mber being a student, but that now I was the one deciding their grade so . . . Being an intern was definitely a weird and intense place. During my student teaching I feel like that is all I didÂ—I live d, breathed, and slept teaching. I was looking at things through two filters: as teacher and as student. I experienced an enormous change from the beginning to the end, and it took so me effort to figure everything out. And I expect it will continue to change once I b ecome a first year teacher. For the moment, I would put my self a bit to the student end of a teacher/student continuum when I think of myself during my internship. I would have lik ed to crossover to the teacher side, but I still felt mentally more like a student. Figure 4-4 EveÂ’s graph of percei ved role during student teaching. As a beginning student/teacher, I may have Â“over-studentedÂ” myself by wanting to give students too much. I did a lot of wo rk finding resources, breaking them down, and planning how to re-present material. This wa s student activity in the sense that I was trying to produce a finished product. Because I was a student for so many years, I applied this way of being to my new activity as teac her: I received an assignment, planned and
131 taught a unit, finished it, and looked for someone to evaluate it. But it was a different sort of Â“studentnessÂ”Â—I couldnÂ’t be a studen t to the same degree as I was before. At the beginning, I wanted to continue in the familiar role of student, dependent on someone else to set parameters and expecta tions. But the internship was less about doing the assignments, and more about the process of taking information and adapting it to a form that students needed and could use. My university professor and my supervising teacher tried to make things as teacher-lik e as possible: They encouraged or let me experiment, set parameters, evaluate, and d eal with outcomes myself. (Of course they were always available to consu lt.) So, they required me to come out of my student self and act more like a teacher, even if, at the tim e, that new self was still diffuse and not well-defined. I was still in the student mentality where I was ready to jump X feet high. . . . I wonder if thatÂ’s going to be an asset? I always identified that as . . . ambition and drive but . . . am I going to be able to harn ess that and . . . take advantage of that when there isnÂ’t somebody telling me exact ly what I need to be doing, how far I need to be running? . . . I feel like what I identified as . . . studently ambition might kind of diffuse because it doesnÂ’t have . . . a self . . . I need to hone that selfmonitoring to really . . . keep myself in line and make su re IÂ’m doing whatÂ’s best in terms of my goals. (Eve, inte rview 9 June, 2005, lines 74-84) RQ3: What does inquiry into teaching practice mean, according to these student/teachers? I think that teacher inquiry is a twofold process. In pa rt it is theoretical and bookbased, but it is also practical and should be focused on students. As a teacher I have to learn about how students learn. Bu t I must also observe my students, find out what they observe and how they do it, and ask them for feedback. By finding parallels between these two modes of inquiry, I can further my goals, or raise questions to help figure out the end goal if I donÂ’t already have one.
132 Â“DecisioningÂ” (line 154) is a key part of inquiry. It is important to have your Â“feelers outÂ” (line 152) all the time to sense what student want/need, but this must be paired with making decisions, either planned in advance or improvised on-the-spot as when dealing with behavioral issues, which are often unpr edictable. Once you make a plan or a decision and act, you are setting a precedent for yourself. This precedent is not necessarily Â“set in stone,Â” but it is a point of reference for the next time, and for problems foreseen and unforeseen. RQ4: To what extent do student/teach ers feel free to inquire into their own practice? I was fortunate in my student teaching b ecause my supervising teacher was very supportive and let me make my own decisions about what to teach and how to teach it. Even if I showed her a plan and asked if sh e could foresee any problems, her attitude was that if I encountered a problem while I wa s teaching, I would figure out a way to deal with it. Not just in an immediate sense, but al so with reference to how I might plan in the future based on that experience. Because of th is attitude, I was able to create for myself the precedent that plans are to be considered flexible and tentative, subject to change according to the way things develop in the clas sroom. I expect that my first year as a teacher will be continual inquir y, and I expect there will be problems. But, IÂ’ll deal with them. In a sense, teaching is like drawi ng something in perman ent ink that you canÂ’t erase. You just have to say: Oh, wow! I didnÂ’t expect that to look like that! . . . maybe this isnÂ’t a tree, maybe itÂ’s actually an airplane. How can I make it in to an airplane?Â” . . . Is this path worth exploring?. . . Is this path worth incorporat ing into the next lesson? . . . I guess itÂ’s a matter of channeling your goa ls and their[s] . . . really creating the flexibility to
133 recognize? where theyÂ’re going ? And . . . hopefully harness? some of their genuine driveÂ… (Eve, interview 9 June, 2005, lines 192-208) 6 Rich An outside Â“objectiveÂ” observer might pl ace Rich during his nine week practice teaching course in the ambivalent role of st udent/teacher. However, I am not interpreting or presenting data from an obs erverÂ’s point of view; the resu lts are presented from RichÂ’s experiential point of view. For him, he was Â“either/or,Â” not both together. RichÂ’s experience of the roles of teacher and student were essentially separate, coming in and out of focus in terms of context factors (e.g., the bell, going home). Figure 4-5 RichÂ’s graph of percei ved role during student teaching. For Rich, the principal reason for becoming a student in the M.Ed. program was to try out the work of teaching before actually taking a job as a teacher. As such, he had a clear idea at all times of two distinct roles: Â“studentÂ” and Â“teacher .Â” The roles did not mix: He was able to clearly describe activitie s he did in the role of student, and those he did in the role of teacher (sometimes the sa me action in retrospect), making it relatively easy to extract descriptions of RichÂ’s understanding of what Â“studentÂ” means for him and what it means to be a Â“teacher.Â” For this reas on, I have not included a distinct role called 6 I have Â“idealizedÂ” (Gee, 1999) this quotation by rem oving false starts, indications of pauses, my fillers indicating attention, and some of EveÂ’ s text to present the gist of the idea as I understood Eve to mean. I have left three indications of rising intonation in the last line (Â“?Â”) as I feel these communicate an important tentativeness in her meaning making here.
134 Â“student/teacherÂ” in RichÂ’s descriptions: Rich did not describe this as a duality. When he was in his practice classroom from bell-t o-bell, he was the teacher. Outside this classroom he was a student. Consistent with the aim of phenomenology, I have created a fi ctionalized first person account for a fictional pe rson called Â“Rich.Â” What follo ws is his experience of his teacher and student roles and of inquiry during student teaching, organized according to my research questions. The words were writ ten by me, but the meanings are entirely derived from my interview with Rich and approved by him as accurate during member checking. RQ1: What do interns believe to be their role/s and functions while they are in a nine-week placement? As a teacher I need to remember to be humble. I know I am good at connecting with people, which is an important aspect of being a teacher, but if you arenÂ’t careful, people can feel left out and fall through the cracks, which isnÂ’t fair. A graduate student pays for the teacherÂ’s attention, so you ar enÂ’t doing your job if you donÂ’t give him what he is paying for. But also a hi gh school student who is obliged to be in school is entitled to the teacherÂ’s attention: Th e teacher has a moral responsibility to not leave anyone out. I feel a comfort level like IÂ’ve been teaching for twenty years, but I need to remember that just because I am good at connecting with people, that do esnÂ’t guarantee I am understanding student needs in a classroom situation. For that , I need years of trial and errorÂ… years of experimenting. I have to be careful not to assume too much and stop teaching. I need to be attentive, and remember th at intuition for a teacher also involves identifying and remediating problems students have with learning. I know that one of my
135 strengths is my intuition about where so meone isÂ—I am good at making those one-onone connections. But, at the same time, it worries me a little . . . intuition works differently in the role of a teacher: It is dangerous to take it for granted and must be combined with humility. As a new teacher, I donÂ’t have the right to assume I can just rely on my intuition about where people are and what they need. Teachers are agents of change. Their role is to create opportunities for dialog, for inquiry, for thinking, for seeing in new ways, and for growth. As such, they have to be intuitive, attentive, respectful and careful of the needs of others. For this reason, they command respect. They sense student needs but should never rela x too much and let things become too routine. They should al ways double-check: Teachers are also selfquestioners. From an institutional point of view, teachers have an authoritative aspect. It is the teacherÂ’s role to maintain control over peopl e and situations. To fulfill their role in the teaching/learning interaction, teachers need more than subject matter knowledge, and teaching strategies, they also need to exude authority Teacher is not the same thing as instructor. Maybe itÂ’s just two names we use for the same person, but an instructor is not the same as a teacher. Â“InstructingÂ” means transmitting information about Â“how toÂ” do something like placing a comma or adding numbers. This is what teachers do 99% of the time but it isnÂ’t the same as being a teacher. Inherent in the role of teach er is a certain explicit power over students. After all, I decide on their final grades. I decide if they pass and gradua te from high school or not. To make the system work, students need to be aware of that somehow. Part of my power
136 comes from knowing students individually a nd respecting them. But to preserve our distinct roles, there is a certa in barrier between teacher and student. A student relating to a teacher is not the same as a peer relating to a peer. Even if both respect each other, the teacher is in charge and has the final sa y in decisions, at least institutionally. The institutional roles of teacher and stude nt are not independent. One without the other would not be the same. The teacherÂ’s ro le in the system is to give, nourish, and scaffold growth and decisions of students. The studentÂ’s role is to accept, transform into nourishment and to grow. The student has the re sponsibility to decide what to take and how to mold it into his or he r growing self. The teacher has a responsibility to help him or her do this. Within the system Â“teacher/student,Â” the t eacherÂ’s role is more dominant, if not always more powerful. Teachers make judgments and have the last word in decisions that affect peopleÂ’s lives. Teachers can also get aw ay with being ambivalent, arrogant, if they choose. If students do this they get ejected from the system. But as much power as teachers have, it is not unlimited. Theoretically less powerful beings can have enormous and dangerous latent potential to cause injury: I make an analogy on the farm? The most dangerous thing I do is feed hay. Right, cause you put hay, in these rings, and the cows all come, around to you. And youÂ’re waking around in and amongst all of these, 1000 pound creatures. And we do, you do this all the time. And you get so flippant about it. Because youÂ’re doing it all the time. But it only takes one second, one time for a cow to kick you step on you, bump you knock you down, get trampled. And so itÂ’s that, itÂ’s that kind of, you know accidents only take, a second. And itÂ’s be cause. ItÂ’s the things that you do all the time, that you get, become routine for you and you donÂ’t, you stop thinking about it, you stop paying attention, y ou stop respecting, whatÂ’s going on. And I think thatÂ’s wh, that was one of my issu es that I think I need to work on with students is that I stop respecting Â… the teach er/student, barrier . . . And . . . And I was just . . . I was just being . . . au tomatic.. You know. (Rich, interview, 29 June 2005, lines 170-186)
137 The role of student is more submissive. A student must comply with the teacherÂ’s instructions, respect and recognize him or her as the one in charge who is responsible for controlling the group. But at the same time a st udent must be paid attention to and his needs verified and met. A student need s support and scaffolding. Although more submissive, students also have cer tain rights. A student is entitled to the full attention and concern of the teacher, and a student must be respected. Students have power over teachers by accepti ng or rejecting their full authority in terms of behavior or knowledge. If stude nts donÂ’t listen, or donÂ’t comply with the teacherÂ’s instructions, the t eacher can lose control. They also undermine the teacherÂ’s authority if they know more th an the teacher. This threat to teacher authority can be nullified if teachers sh are decision power with students by allowing dialog, or by making assignments flexible enough to accommodate individual interests. Academically, a studentÂ’s role involves accepting what his or her teacher offers, and following instructions. It is up to the st udent to find a resonance between his or her own interests and the teacherÂ’s assignments. Although student s can re-create a teacherÂ’s instructions when they are excited about a topi c, in the end they must find a way to make their explorations and discoveries fit the teach erÂ’s supposed intentions . If a student feels abandoned or ignored, there is little s/he can do. A studentÂ’s basic role is to learn even if your responsibil ity or control over this, and how much you can direct it changes. I thi nk my student role has changed over time according to the way I set my priorities. In high school, I just had to do what the teacher said. As a high school student, my priorities were more social. In college it was different. When I got to undergraduate in college I not iced that all change d. If you didnÂ’t have a
138 strong work ethic in college you failed. The t eachers gave you assignments and so on, but nobody stood over you to force you to do them. If you didnÂ’t work, you failed, and you couldnÂ’t finish college. How well you do in your role depends on your work ethic. In graduate school I noticed another change. Maybe because I had worked for a few years before I went back. Now I notice I am in the student role from a much more vocational point of view. I listen to my t eachers always thinking of how I can take something they say and use it in my job. I f eel more on a level where I can dialog. Now I have experience in the world so I can go back to a teacher and question what he or she says based on that experience. Maybe because IÂ’ve been out there working, I feel more Â“authorizedÂ” to go back to teachers now and question what they say, or to say to them Â– hey! That sounds nice and all but in reality??? I still feel a student has a more submissive role but I feel more permission to engage in dialog. RQ2: What is the experience of these intern s as they negotiate their changing role identity . . .? We all have many roles and each role has its own specifications, context and perspective. For each role there are different internal and external languages, accents, body language, and jokes (e.g., Â“submissive,Â” Â“a uthoritative,Â” Â“good Â‘ol boyÂ”). Like an actor assuming a part, I notice visible changes when I go into my teacher role, I change. My accent and tone of voice change. I sta nd up straighter and have different body language. I get a Â“teacher dialogÂ” going in my head, somehow I feel like I exude more authority, even if it feels a little fake. Roles do not merge or mix, either in the same context or between contexts. When elements from different role systems meet, Â“. . . itÂ’s like . . . worlds are collidingÂ” (Rich, interview, 29 June 2005, line 803). The boundaries and contexts of each role are sharp,
139 and when elements belonging to one role system appear in another th e experience is often one of impact or intrusion rather than mixing. Roles can coincide within a single cont ext, but they are either/or phenomena. However, you donÂ’t notice this in the moment you act; you see that one action can belong to different roles with foresight or hindsight . Actions undertaken while I am in one role can have a different meaning if I am viewing them from within the context of a different role. I canÂ’t say that I noticed any sort of intermediate role in which Â“studentnessÂ” and Â“teachernessÂ” seemed to mix. When I was in the classroom as a teacher, I was 100% teacher. I didnÂ’t have any issues that one might expect to have as an intern Â– behavior and the like. Even when my supervisor came to observe me I still felt like I was in a teacher, not a student role: Being observed by someone el se is part of a teacherÂ’s work. The difference is not in the action per se but in the context. So, I am the same person, but the role I experience is defined by what the situation means. When I reflect on the situation, itÂ’s true th at for me as a student/teacher the power dynamic was destabilized. It was evident th at I was an intern and dependent on Ms. Glaser for explicit power. None of us (me or the students) really knew for sure where the power was. For example, I didnÂ’t know for sure until the end of the semester whether or not I would have the power to give the students their final gr ade, which is really the only power a teacher has over 12th graders who look just like adults and know that in a few months theyÂ’ll be going out in to the world as adults. I didnÂ’t even make the decisions about how to decorate the room or arrange the furniture: It wasnÂ’t MY classroom.
140 Fortunately, I never had any problems becau se of this, maybe because IÂ’m a guy and guys tend to command more respect? RQ3: What does inquiry into teaching practice mean, according to these student/teachers? Inquiry really comes from your whole being. You canÂ’t real ly separate it out. I am sure that I was influenced by ideas I was exposed to in my university classes. But my experience as a student/teacher also guided me . The inquiry is the same, but maybe the content is different depending on the role I was in, the difference derives from the perspective, not from the inquiry itself. In other words, the same observed action (e.g., planning for cooperative learni ng or wearing a suit) can te acher inquiry (e.g., How do the students react to direct instruction when I am wearing a suit as compared to when I dress more casually?), or student inquiry (e.g., How do es this theory I am hearing about work in a real classroom?). After the bell rings and I am the teacher in a classroom, I might observe how changes I make affect the way the students ac t. I would say this is Â“teacher inquiry.Â” Maybe I change up the grouping arrangements (e .g., small group or direct instruction), or I can change my appearance (e.g., wear a suit or wear casual clothe s). Changing things up to see what happens (i.e., Â“inquiry) is part of what a teacher does to help them do their job better. But, those same actions can also be student inquiry if I am thinking about them in a context where my role is Â“s tudentÂ” (e.g., doing homework, in a seminar meeting, talking with a supervisor). RQ4: To what extent do student/teach ers feel free to inquire into their own practice? I didnÂ’t feel any restriction about what or how to inquire during my student/teaching. Maybe sometimes I felt a little frustrated wh en a specific inquiry was
141 suggested by a supervisor that had no appare nt relation to my actual context. I actually made an organized plan as a student for inquiries I wanted to do during the eight weeks I was there as titular teacher. I wasnÂ’t really su re IÂ’d be able to do things as planned, but during the time I was in the school, I did not experience any problems or objections to my plans. In the next chapter, I will combine commonalities from these individual situated descriptions to write a single general struct ural description of the essential meaning structure of each phenomenon I want to understa nd better as a result of this research.
142 CHAPTER 5 RESULTS (2) GENERAL STRUCTURAL DESCRIPTIONS [P]henomenological themes are more like kno ts in the webs of our experiences, around which certain lived experiences are spun and thus experienced as meaningful wholes. Themes are the stars th at make up the universes of meaning we live through. It is by the light of these themes that we can navigate and explore such universes. (Van Manen, 1984, p. 59) The final goal of this phenom enological research is clear , succinct descriptions of the essential and universal nature of situated phenomena of interest as experienced by any human consciousness. These are obtained by reducing to commonalities the descriptions of several particular instances of the same s ituated experience. In Chapter 4, I presented situated structural descriptions of essential meaning for five individuals. Just as each of our semantic bundles contains unique en tailments for a word, these particular descriptions contain unique entailments for each phenomenon of interest in this study. The purpose of this chapter is to distill the commonalities from these particular instances of experience in order to reach the goal of four general structural descriptions that respond to each of my four research ques tions. The following descriptions represent essential structures of experi ence that are theore tically true for anyone who experiences the phenomena in this way. In this chapter, I change from firs t person Â“IÂ” to second person Â“youÂ” to accommodate the English lack of a pronoun for an undefined single person (i.e., he or she). The chapter theoretically presents gene ral meaning structures that respond to my research questions that would be true for any person in similar circumstances. The Â“youÂ”
143 should be understood to mean Â“one person,Â” and is not intended to address the reader directly. RQ1: What Do Interns Believe to Be Thei r Role/s and Functions while They Are in a Nine-week Placement?1 Being in a nine-week student teaching assi gnment is a strange and conflicted place of multiple roles, selves and obligations that are continually coming in and out of focus. Sometimes, contradictory elements bel onging to different roles are in focus simultaneously. You have to operate successfu lly on both sides of an invisible line that separates your two principal roles (i.e., student and teacher), and at the same time act a third role unique to this experience: student /teacher, which is simultaneously both of the principal roles, yet neither of them. All of this in a cont ext which you did not participate in designing and have little say in changing si nce your tenure in that context is so brief. Different institutional roles with their asso ciated identities, functions, rights and responsibilities come in and out of experiential awareness in function of context factors, in particular the supervising teacher. How a student/teacher experiences his or her roles and functions, and overall self, is highly de termined by his or he r supervisor(s). Her2 attitude and opinion, as it is perceived by the student/teach er, determines whether s/he experiences him or herself as a teacher, as a student of teaching, or as a student, and as a capable or an incapable person. The (non)judgmen tal stance of a supervisor can liberate a student/teacher or generate a self-protective reaction. 1 The experience these student/teachers describe seems to involve multiple co-existing roles, rather than separate, discreet descriptions. Ther efore, the Â“responsesÂ” to my first two research questions overlap to a large degree. 2 All of the supervising teachers and university superv isors referred to by the in terviewees in this study were female. Therefore, I use the feminine pronoun excl usively in these descriptions when referring to the supervising teacher.
144 A student/teacher is always aware of the Â“s tudentnessÂ” of having paid to be in this situation, and is aware to varying degrees that the outco me, which is decided by another, is a critical determinant of his or her entire future. In order to be successful in your student role (e.g., get an Â“AÂ”), you might have to disregard yo ur own ideas and ideals in favor of someone elseÂ’s, whic h can be difficult to reconcile with your overall sense of self as a person and who you are or want to be as a teacher. To the degree that a student/teacher perceives his or her supervisor as judgmental, whether implied or overtly expressed, and potentially threatening to th is planned future, s/he can retreat to a submissive student self who will act in whatever way s/he believes will help successfully pass this stage (i.e., get a good grade). At the other end of the continuum, Â“permissionÂ” to explore a new professional self identity can empower a student/teacher and provide a relatively safer space to make decisions and deal with whatever outcomes may emerge. At this end of the continuum Â“mistakesÂ” are not experienced as Â“fa ilure,Â” but as having learning potential. To the degree that the st udent/teacher perceives the supervisor as supportive but laissez-faire, s/he can act as a teacher, even if s/he recognizes that the authority to do so is temporary or virtual. When you are a student/teacher there is al ways some Â“REALÂ” authority somewhere in the background with final responsibility for whatever happens in the classroom, even if she is not physically present. Ultimately, any authority a student/teacher feels s/he has is that which is granted by the teacher in w hose classroom s/he is practicing, and all participants (i.e., student/teacher, students, parents, administrators, university teachers and supervisors) are aware of this to varying degrees.
145 A student/teacher is under extremely high pressure from many directions at all times: pressure to pass courses and not wast e money, pressure to learn (from self and from others), pressure to teach, and pressure to develop successful relations with students while simultaneously distinguishing oneself fr om them. All of this from an ephemeral, unstable, and sometimes non-existent power base. It is a situation in which ideal and real selves come into high relief. The expe rience of student teaching provokes strong emotions that can run the gamut from euphor ia to constant doubt, fear, inadequacy, frustration, anger, or withdrawal. It can l ead to a sense of se lf as inept due to inexperience, or a sense of self as developi ng professional. In extreme cases, it can lead to an experienced threat to th e integrity of oneÂ’s core self. Student teaching is about developing relationships, making connections, and finding balance, but from the student side this means complying, whereas from the teacher side it means negotiating. As a STUDE NT/teacher, you actively try to distinguish and separate yourself from the students physic ally and linguistically. Closeness in age and status must be minimized for the succe ssful creation of a Â“teacher image.Â” As a student/TEACHER you try to find commonalities that connect you to students and foster a trusting community. As a new teacher you try to recognize and/or construct connections among your several selves. Student teaching is always other-focused, but in contradictory wa ys. In your role as teacher, you have to focus on what the stude nts need. The student/teacher self focuses on what the supervising teacher, instituti on, and/or community (e.g., university, NCATE, school district, parent s) want you to do about what th e students need, acquiescing to
146 another personÂ’s ideas even if you donÂ’t entirely agree, or if they differ from your own. This can lead to a feeling that you are constrained to act in inauthentic ways. Being a student/teacher is a student tryi ng hard to become a teacher, while never ceasing to be a student. But the student in STUDENT/teacher is a different kind of studentness, and the teacher in student/TEACHER is a differe nt kind of teacherness. As a student of teaching you can never just sit back and listen. You are continually being watched, evaluated, and judged, overtly or covertly. You have consequential responsibility for actions that are not necessa rily your choice. As a student teacher you are never exactly the same as a regular teacher. The simultaneous fulfillment of the functi ons of multiple roles makes it necessary to think in all directions at once and to do a lot of pl anning, and re-planning and replanning, but also improvising. Because of ine xperience, planning is still a complex art and skill and unexpected things happen. It ta kes all your time and energy, leaving little room for life outside the classroom. An essential element of the meaning stru cture for student/teaching is contradiction. Teachers are called upon to grant approval, implicitly or explicitly. Students seek approval. As a teacher you never stop asking questions of all kinds.3 As a student, you ask as few questions4 as possible (out loud) since they may be Â“off-topicÂ” and/or derail the teacherÂ’s planning. Teachers set parame ters. Students comply with them. As a teacher, you are up on a podium relied upon to make judgments; you are Â“THEÂ” authority 3 Here I am referring to literal questions th at are a typical feature of Â“teacher talkÂ”: Â“Are you done yet?Â”; Â“Does anyone have any questions?Â”; Â“Who knows the answer?Â”; What do you think?Â”; Â“Why are you standing by the window instead of sitting at your desk working?Â”; and so on. 4 Again, I am referring to literal questions.
147 and do the evaluating. As a student, you are si tting down and being judged continually; you have to respect the teacher, defer to her authority, and accept her evaluations of your performance. Both teachers and students are self-questione rs (i.e., inquirers), but the teacher can pronounce Â“officialÂ” judgments on the self, and th e student self is judged. Trial and error experimenting (i.e., a form of inquiry) is a f unction associated with both roles. However, consequences are different depending on th e role you experience yourself in: From your teacher perspective, not finishing a less on plan (for example) can be input for professional growth. From the perspective of student, not finishing a lesson plan carries the threat of failure. These contradictions can hei ghten the perceived risk of failure as a teacher, as a student, and even as a person. Student/t eachers inhabit this contradictory space continually, and are constant ly struggling for balance. RQ2: What Is the Experience of These Interns as They Negotiate Their Changing Role Identity . . . ? Role and/or identity negotiation is charac terized by a feeling of change, movement, upheaval and sometimes collision, but never merger. You are a student and a teacher, and at the same time neither. Bea clearly expresse d the negotiation of ro le change experience alluded to by all of the interns wh en she described it as a sum where: 1+1 = [1 + 1 + 1]: [Student] + [Teacher] = [Student] AND [Teacher] AND [Student/Teacher] In addition, the teacher a nd student parts of studen t/teacher are different from teachers or students outside of this experience. There are no familiar selves here, and new ones are emerging.
148 The student teaching experience is a time of awareness of multiple selves, each with its own identity, specifications, voices, acce nts, context, rules, passions, and filters. Each self also has its own emotions. The se lf (or selves) a pers on experiences at any given moment is determined by the meaning that person attributes to an unfolding situation, and meanings for situa tions shift depending on felt role. Roles and functions do not mesh, blend, or flow smoothly one into one other. Boundaries are sharp, but not always immediat ely clear. The work of student/teachers is finding and defining the lines that distinguish one self from another, and learning how to inhabit each side of the line a ppropriately: They must identify and define each role, sort out and determine which functions and feeli ngs belong to each new self. This involves learning how to use their language, their bodie s, their emotions, and their knowledge to fulfill each role in a way that satisfactorily meets external an d internal expectations and values. Behavior, voice, dress, furniture (a nd other physical space markers), seem to be ways to reify different selves, making this negotiation tangible. In sum, student/teachers exist simultaneously in three very different spaces, each with different, sometimes contradictory, se ts of rules and functions. Which space a person is in at any give n moment is not always visible to an outside observer, or even to the person him or herself. Elements from diff erent roles can be simultaneously present in consciousness. Feelings and filters may overl ap or get mixed up during student teaching. An emotion relevant to a Â“self-as-studentÂ” ma y be experienced while a student/teacher is enacting his or her Â“self-asteacher.Â” Or, student/teachers may be filtering through one lens and acting through another. For example, a student may be focused on Â“lesson-planas-end-gameÂ” while trying to act as a teach er focused on Â“lesson-plan-as-hypothesis.Â”
149 When a student/teacher finds him or hersel f acting like a teache r but feeling like a student, or enacting a role in a way that is no t coherent with his or her other Â“selves,Â” he or she may experience intrusion or disruption; S/he may even experi ence his or her core self as inauthentic. A student/teacher must learn to recognize these different selves, manage and balance them. RQ3: What Does Inquiry into Teachi ng Practice Mean, According to These Student/Teachers? Inquiry into teaching practice during a brief student teaching experience comes from your whole being. It always connects somehow to oneÂ’s core self as a person. Inquiry is always interactive and in some way relates self to other people, implicitly or explicitly. Wonderings, questions or obs ervations can be wr itten down for later consideration by the inquirer, and/or shared directly with others. Discussions can Â“answerÂ” or reaffirm wonderings, generate mo re questions, and provide fulfillment when you realize that your contribution to a dialog helped another person. Teacher inquiry involves professional ques tions or wonderings that lead to growth. It is a conscious goal-driven process that involves active observa tion, question posing, and decision making about anythi ng, including questions that ar e theoretical, pr actical, or that concern deeper meaning about phe nomena inside or outside the classroom. Inquiry is empirical in that it is based on an individualÂ’s direct experience. This experience can involve perceptions, observations , emotions, or intuitions (i.e., something known directly without intervening (conscious ) perceptions). Therefore, inquiry is anchored in a concrete and individual present or past , but it is future-oriented.
150 Authorship is an essential aspect of the nature of inquiry. The content, purpose and process of inquiry are experienced differently if authored by a Â“teacherÂ” or if carried out by a Â“student.Â” RQ4: To What Extent Do Student/Teachers Feel Free to Inquire into Their Own Practice? The nature of inquiry by student/teache rs during a nine-week student teaching assignment is conditioned above all by the atti tude or way of being of the supervising teacher, and his or her opinion of the student /teacher, as perceived by the inquirer. This attitude and opinion condition the relationship between the supervising te acher and the student/teacher, which is also an important determinant of student/teacher inquiry. If the student/teacher suspects the cooperating teacher does not wa nt him or her to pursue a given inquiry, s/he will refrain from that inquiry, even if th is is frustrating. This control can operate explicitly or implicitly. A student/teac her who experiences him or herself as a student who is being watc hed or judged limits inquiry to the content frame of the curriculum, or to what might pl ease the teacher to get a good grade, despite explicit statements that inquiry is not rest ricted. To the degree that a student/teacher inquires from within the psychological role of teacher, he or she experiences more authorship. Regardless of the supervisorÂ’s stan ce, the student teacher will attempt not to disrupt the teacherÂ’s organizati on, and will try to respect her f eelings and preferences. In addition, the pressure to get assigned lesson and unit plans done is always a factor. The internship seminar, on the other hand, is less c onditioned by the supervising teacher and more dependent on relations among group members. In this venue Â“permissionÂ” to inquire can extend well beyond teaching/learning issues to deeper real life questions about teaching, about learning, about self, and about what things mean.
151 Regardless of the venue, inquiry by student /teachers is characterized by constant wondering, insecurity, doubt, and some degree of frustration. In Chapters 4 and 5, I have bracketed my own ideas, interpretations, and conceptions to present experience from the pe rspectives of partic ipants. In the next chapter, I turn around to get a di fferent view of the data: I us e critical discourse analysis as a lens to examine how these student/teach ers use language, and how they talk about the language they use.
152 CHAPTER 6 CRYSTALIZATION: A SECOND PERSPECTIVE The transcription of thinking in the human sc iences is always th e transcription of a special kind of dialog: the complex interrel ations between the te xt (the object of study and reflection) and the created, fram ing context (questioning, refuting, and so forth) in which the scholarÂ’s cognizing a nd evaluating thought takes place. This is the meeting of two textsÂ—of the ready-ma de and the reactive text being createdÂ— and, consequently, the meeting of two subjects and two authors. (Bakhtin, 1986, pp. 106-107) Discourse is inextricable from ways-of-be ing-in-the-world. It is the way we use language to do things, to particip ate in interactions, and to es tablish our identity/s in an interaction. We all participate in multiple di scourses, each suited to different roles, purposes and situations. Each of our discour ses has a proper place, and we experience them as coherent with who we are, and among each other. Our social interactions affect our discourses, and these aff ect our social interactions. For this reason an analysis of a personÂ’s language can illuminate who and how he or she is in a social interaction from a part icular perspective. To crystallize the findings reported in the two previous chapters, and to seek support for the trustworthiness of the phenomenological meanings I found, I re-ana lyzed the interview transcripts using FaircloughÂ’s critical discour se analysis as a framework (1995, 1999, 2003). In this Chapter I present the results of my seconda ry analyses, which in clude textual (i.e., linguistic), intertextual, and context inte rpretations of the pa rticipantsÂ’ language. Fairclough argues that critical discourse an alysis is subjecti ve: It depends on extended engagement in the discourse comm unity/s a researcher is analyzing, and thorough familiarity with the social and psychol ogical context and the genres available to
153 participants for use. He critic izes the practice of reanalyzing fragments of texts, and the attribution of meaning w ithout knowledge of the orig inal production, including, phonology, context, and the relation ship of the participants. I am privileged in this rega rd, since I have first-hand knowledge of these important elements. My position as a participant in the or iginal interview, as transcriber, and as a participant in the discourse community in wh ich the dialog occurs, gives me a rich base for understanding and interpreting the text and avoiding such fragmentation. My analysis of their language use, and their comments on their language use, is filtered through my knowledge of each person, and my particip ation in academic and teaching/learning discourse communities. Critical Discourse Analysis (CDA): Textual, Intertextual, and Context Analyses To better understand and strengthen my understandings of meaning, I looked for clues in language in th e following three areas: TEXT: The linguistic choices, organizati on and content of ea ch participantÂ’s language (phonology, semantics, syntax): What do these tell us about his or her meaning? For example, a description of an event using a simple indicative verb form (e.g., I am ) tells of certainty about a fact ual reality. The same event desc ribed with a modal verb (I might be ) or in the subjunctive (I would be ) implies an uncertain, hypothetical or wished for reality. INTERTEXT: The gross structure: How mu ch of the whole Â“belongedÂ” to each person? What genre/s did he or she choose? Intertextuality concerns anticipated audience and choice of genre(s): My intertextual anal ysis consisted primarily of examining the
154 verbal interaction from which data were co llected for characteristics of an interview and/or a conversation genre. CONTEXT: The power relations: How did each person participate in control of the interaction? The final piece of a complete analysis in human science research, according to Fairclough, is a consideration of the cont ext in which the textual and intertextual interactions take place. I cons idered the power relations betw een the participants in this study by looking at the control they seemed to have experienced, as evidenced by the texts. I did not look at interrupti ons. Since I was consciously attempting to control these to varying degrees in my own speech, I do not be lieve they are reliable indicators of the nature of these interactions. Textual Analysis: Linguistic Ch aracteristics of the Discourse In phenomenology the researcher bracket s out presuppositions, opinions and/or judgments in an attempt to Â“see/hearÂ” empi rical reality as it is experienced by some subject (Moustakas, 1994; Janesick, 2000), who uses language to describe this experience. Given the almost infinite possi bilities any language offers to communicate meanings, the specific linguistic organization and forms we choose to use can be very telling of how we experience this reality: Â“[I] dentities are relational: who one is a matter of how one relates to the world and to othe r people . . . choices in modality are also significant in terms of ActionÂ” (Fairclough, 2003, p. 166). The person one IS does things in certain ways: The way we act (i.e., speak) is telling of our role and how we represent reality. Examining the textual charac teristics of the discourse meant looking at linguistic choices people made in each interaction, including: lexis, markers of modality and
155 evaluation, the nature of both participantsÂ’ long tu rns, how the turnovers happened (e.g., was I asking a new question, answering a part icipantÂ’s question, clar ifying, or engaging with a participantÂ’s topic with a story of my own), and other linguistic characteristics. To interpret textual characteristics, I used the following guide:1 CDA step 1: The content and organization of each participantÂ’s language. What was the nature of his or her a. salient semantic fields? b. Â“truth commitmentsÂ”? (Fairclough, 2003) What moods and modalities do they use? For example, do they tend to use th e indicative, subjunctive, infinitive, or imperative mood?2 Do they use declarative or tentative modality? (Modality refers to whether they choose to say something IS, or something MAY or COULD BE true.) What is the nature of their evaluative language? (e.g., Is something described as good or horrible? ) c. choice of register/s? (i.e., generic disc ourse characteristics: conversation or interview; everyday language or Â“formalÂ” professional discourse. (see Table 6-1) d. long turns? (e.g., Were they dire ct answers, side storiesÂ…) e. anacolutha? (i.e., disfluencies Â– when and where they occured) f. turnovers (with or without overlapping) , collaborative completion of ideas, confirmation or clarification reque sts, cross-turn acknowledgements? 1 I used the lists presented here to organize my analysis and keep my process consistent. I do not explore each step in equal detail in my discu ssion of results, but present a selectio n of different salient features for each interview/ conversation. 2 The indicative mood indicates fact or certainty: I am listening . The subjunctive mood indicates uncertainty or a wish: If I had only listened . . . . The infinitive is used to speak about general facts with no specific reference: Listening is a useful skill . And the imperative mood: Listen ! These last two did not appear in these data.
156 Table 6-1 Life-world (i.e., Â“everydayÂ”) versus fo rmal lexical choices in speakersÂ’ texts as indicative of formal, informal, or mixed genre. Formal (e.g., Teacher) lexis Â“Life-Wo rldÂ” (informal, everyday lexis) Somewhat-A little You-I Students -Kids Enjoy/ Like/ Love-Be into Calculate / Understand / Realize -Figure out Cannot-CanÂ’t WasnÂ’t able to-CouldnÂ’t Because -Cause Full Form-Contraction Upsets me / Annoys or angers me-Drives me crazy Bothers me / Annoys me-Drives me up the wall Neurotic / Unstable / Disturbed -Coo-Coo Fail -Strike out Greco-Latin root verb -Phrasal verb A total change-A complete 180 Strange / Unusual -Funny Conducting classes -Teaching I was very / quite -I was really I would have liked -I kinda wanted A greater degree of moda lity -Indicative tenses
157 Semantic choices as indicative of genre The choices a person makes when speaki ng or writing are telling of how they construe a situation. The choice of Â“life-worldÂ” (i.e., everyday) versus formal lexis can be interpreted by the researcher as telling of the genre: formal, informal, or mixed, and of participantsÂ’ self-positioning in the interv iew. I present a sampling of the choices participants made throughout th e interviews in Table 6-1. Intertextual Analysis: Stru cture of the Speech Event To be more certain of found meanings, a co mplete research project adds to rather than replaces a systematic and detailed analys is of content and/or linguistic form and organization with an intertextual analysis. Intertextual analysis, according to Fairclough, is the study of how people produce text in a gi ven context, the influe nce of Â“addressivityÂ” (Bakhtin, 1986) on text production, choice of genres, and how people might "reaccentuateÂ” (Bakhtin, 1986) the genres they choose in function of these factors. The principal data source in this study wa s an interview. This method is used to collect data in virtually every human scienc e domain. It is also a speech event (Mishler, 1986). As a speech event, it has specific norms and rules implicitly understood by both participants, provided both pa rticipate in the discourse community in which the speech event occurs. The interview speech event can have different forms, norms and rules in different discourse communities, and its ideal nature can vary from one domain to another. Hence, its realization is never exac tly the same. Rather like chicken soup, forms are Â“goodÂ” depending on your expectations, pu rposes, and procedures. Therefore, the data generated by my interviews must be considered problematic: Â“Analysis and interpretation of interviews are based on a theory of discourse a nd meaningÂ” (Mishler,
158 1986, p. 51). Not only the content, but also the fo rm of the interviews must be considered in data analysis. Interviews or conversations? In a qualitative study, the researcher is a key instrument in the process of meaning making and discourse is an emergent construc tion of two participants, each with their own meanings, purposes, perceptions and frameworks (Mishler, 1986, Stake, 1995). Normally in an interview the interviewer is more directive in func tion of her privileged position as researcher. She frames the intervie w with her theory, her research question(s), and a pre-conceived idea of the information she would like to obtai n. The interviewee is generally in a subordinate position as the person providing such information. A phenomenological interview is an effort to elicit detail s of another personÂ’s lived experience. An interview guide may be written for orienting the respondent (and interviewer) by clearly identifying the experience that is the phenomenon of interest. But, responses should not be determined or in fluenced by theory or researcher presupposition. In effect, the interaction shoul d be controlled by the interviewee. The researcher must limit his or her role to re-dir ecting the speaker if he or she strays from concrete descriptions of di rect experience into abstraction or interpretation. Â“[The phenomenological interview] invol ves an interpersonal engageme nt in which subjects are encouraged to share with a researcher th e details of their experienceÂ” (Polkinghorne, 1989, p. 49). A similar speech event (i.e., two people exch anging verbal turns) but with different roles and rules is a conversation. Alth ough rules vary depending on roles (e.g., boss/worker; mother-in-law/son-in-law; student /student), participants in a conversation share authority to some extent to (re)direct the interaction, to inte rrupt, or to propose new
159 topics that are not pre-determined but emer ge from the on-going interaction. Different to a research interview, language can be less fo rmal and include life world lexis and topics. In Table 6-1 I compared these two semantic registers. Ensuring trustworthy reports of personal experience suggests Â“giving backÂ” to Â“respondents their right to Â‘nameÂ’ their wo rldÂ” (paraphrased from Mishler, 1986, p. 122 referring to Freire, 1970). A c onversation between tw o peers is clearly a more democratic genre than a standard interview. My goal dur ing each interview was to strike a balance between these two basic genres. To interpret the overall form and structure of this speech event, I used the following guide: (Footnote 1, this chapter, also applies to this list.) CDA step 2: The gross structure 1. Using the original transcriptions, categor ize turn lengths in terms of lines/turn.3 Turn lengths were defined as: very short (1-2 lines) short (1-10 lines) medium (11-25 lines) long (26-50 lines) very long (+ 50 lines) 2. Calculate the percentage of the overall inte raction that is accounted for by each turn length for each person. (Figures 6-1 thr ough 6-5 in the interpretations of each interview.) 3. Count total lines per person (to obtain an es timate of percentage speaking time for each person) 3 Since my transcription margins were constant, I counted the lines per turn, as well as the total number of transcription lines per person to obtain gross measures of the distribution of talk time. Obviously they are not exact, but provide a relative idea. I believe this procedure was adequate for my purposes since none of the student/teachers spoke excep tionally quickly or slowly.
160 Calculate the per cent of th e interaction that Â“belonged toÂ” each participant (The results of this calculation is presented in Figure 6-6, after the discussions of individual interviews.) Context analysis: Power relations A critical discourse analysis (F airclough, 1999, 2003) can go further than understanding the organization and texture of language used to describe experience within a specific context. It can also generate hypotheses about the power dynamics that determined how a person experienced his or her positioning as a member of a system, and how this positioning might have influenced constructed meanings and the actions they entailed, including verbal action. The degree to which a verbal interaction is experienced as a conversation or an interview can shed light on the power rela tions, roles, rights, and responsibilities experienced by participants. This is important in this study and serves to crystallize findings generated from a phenom enological perspective: It is important to obtain an indication as to whether part icipants felt comfortable e nough to honestly express their inner feelings and ideas if the data are to be considered trustworthy. There should, therefore, be indicators that they construed the interaction, at least to some extent, as a conversation over which they had some control. To better understand the power relations that were operating in these interactions (i.e., find out how each person participated in control of the interac tion), I looked at the following three aspects of the discourse: CDA step 3: Context and power relations 1. The nature of KateÂ’s turns (i.e., propose question, probe or clarify, engage with their topic)
161 2. How often the interviewee proposed/changed my topic 3. Are they assertive or tentative when talki ng about their Â“selfÂ”? Do participants use Â“IÂ” statements, or do they refer to their Â“sel fÂ” in the third person? To what extent do they modulate their truth statements with expressions like: Â“ But I donÂ’t know Â”? In the next section, I discuss the resu lts of my secondary analyses for each interaction (i.e., interview and/ or conversation). Since it is a secondary analysis, I will not present extensive details, only illustrative exam ples of key points for each interaction that support or disconfirm my primary analysis . A more extensive and detailed primary discourse analysis would be an interesting future study. Against this eventuality, I have preserved an original copy of the transcript s, including the line nu mbers referred to here in their complete form. Individual Interview Interpretations Text, Intertext, Context, and Roles and Functions Within the frame and following the steps that I have just presented for critical discourse analysis, I discuss my textual, inte rtextual, and contextual interpretations of salient features of each interview individually with respect to my first two research questions: roles and role change. I also comment on how these analyses support or disconfirm the meanings related to these que stions as described in Chapters 4 and 5. As regards my third and fourth questions a bout inquiry, I did not feel that critical discourse analysis of these particular language samples shed much light on the process of inquiry as experienced by a teacher as oppos ed to a student, beyond what was expressed explicitly by the content. However, both the content and the form of the interviews raise some interesting questions for teacher educ ators concerned with inquiry as research paradigm and inquiry as stance. I will return to this issu e but, first, I comment on the
162 individual interviews in term s of what critical discourse analysis tells us about the participantsÂ’ experienced roles and functions. AnnÂ’s interview/conversation/story It is interesting to note that in spite of AnnÂ’s expressed frustration and unhappiness with her experience, her feeling was apparen tly not shared by her supervising teacher, who gave her maximum marks in all categories on her final assessment. Nor was underachievement visible in AnnÂ’s language. Her language portrays her as a positive person who is clear about her passions. This first example illustrates several aspects of her language use throughout th e interview. Her wording and verb choices tend to be strong and she uses simple tenses with fe w modifiers. However, the inclusion of Â“ somehow Â” in the last part of this excerpt indi cates her occasional uncertainty about how well she will do in her new role as teacher: [. . .] IÂ’m so . . . into,4 literature and I love it so much, that I want to reveal that love to students, in hopes th at theyÂ’ll . . . my enthusiasm for it will somehow be reflected. [. . .] (Ann, interview, June 9, 2005, lines 229-231). Salient semantic fields . The verbs reveal and reflect in the above extract illustrate a common semantic field in AnnÂ’s talk that I th ematized as Â“visionÂ” in my first readings. This theme also included words such as: en vision/envisioning, seeing, or facets (i.e., the attribute that makes a mineral sparkle). The conflict between her subj ective feelings of difficu lty paired with objective success is coherent with othe r language she used to talk about the experience. At one 4 For these excerpts, commas and a lin e of two or three periods (Â“,Â” Â“. .Â” and Â“. . .Â”) with no linguistic purpose in the text were my indicators in the transcription of slow or pausing speech. Periods enclosed in square brackets [. . .] indicate places where I have removed lines from the excerpt in the interest of highlighting a point I am discussing here.
163 point, she refers to the classroom metaphoric ally as a site of struggle between opposing forces, attack and defense in lines 322-323: Â“[. . .] Where students are forced to be there, as opposed to wanting to be there.Â” And in lines 334-335 in which she was referring to college students: Â“[. . .] if you reveal yourself, theyÂ’re not going to use it as an opportunity to pounce on you. [. . .]Â” This choice of semantic field is coherent with AnnÂ’s statement that she felt her self 100% teacher only when she was being authoritative or when she was seeing results for a plan. At another point, she tells a story about an unexpected classroom behavior problem involving minor violence in terms of Â“a vic tim,Â” and Â“antagonizing.Â” She states how she Â‘resolvedÂ’ (as opposed to Â‘solve dÂ’) the situation by Â“taking awayÂ” points from both. It is important to note that only a person in a pos ition of authority can take something away from someone else as punishment. A note on le xical choice also comes from this extract: one Â‘resolvesÂ’ a conflict, one Â‘solvesÂ’ a problem. A final salient semantic field that wa s quite common in her text involves collaborative movement back and forth, or in and out, such as in fencing or dancing. Truth commitments. If we believe the certain exis tence of a thing, we use the simple tenses (e.g., I am/was or I can ). For realities we believe to be less possible or more tentative, we use modal verbs such as may , might , or could (Fairclough, 2003). With frequent Â“IÂ” statements, Ann proc laimed certainty and ownership of her thoughts and feelings, if not the unequivocal truth of the reality she was thinking or feeling about. She occasionally qualifies a declarative statement (e.g., Â“But I donÂ’t knowÂ…Â”) as if acknowledging that although she is certain that she thinks the way she does, she does not claim to know everythi ng and knows she will continue learning. With
164 Â“maybe I would,Â” she also acknowledges that her reactions might change as she becomes a more experienced teacher: Â“[. . .] you know , now [after the internship] IÂ’m more experienced maybe IÂ’d respond a little differently [. . .]Â” (Ann, interview, June 9, 2005, lines 493-497). [my underlining] For the most part, she did not chose to eval uate different realit ies with the use of qualifiers, modal verbs or a dverbs (e.g., possibly, must, or maybe). AnnÂ’s intonation emphasized this certainty. Notice also her use of just as an emphatic particle from lines 480-481: Â“[. . .] and I felt the guy he was int erested. [italics/bold i ndicates stress in her intonation] You know, he was interested in Malcolm X. . . . So I was just frustrated with that. ( laugh ) [. . .]Â” One of the features of a discourse an alysis such as FaircloughÂ’s based on a systemic-functional view of language is a ttention to possible c hoices a speaker does not make. In the various excerpts of AnnÂ’s speech presented in this text, the verbs in the present simple bespeak her commitment to the truth of certain, not a possible reality. Another new teacher could have Â“realizedÂ” that a teacher Â‘ might haveÂ’ many selves . . ., but Ann chose the simple form. While distingu ishing herself as a certain type of teacher for the moment (i.e., student/teacher) that is different to a Â“ regular teacher,Â” she is a teacher nonetheless, and talks about this self in the present simple: [. . .] that was a similar element betw een being a student teacher and a regular teacher. I think that thatÂ’s what most regul ar teachers face. Bu t I donÂ’t know if um, if regular teachers face that sort of . . ma ybe I think that as a student teacher that was an element where I felt inexperience really came into play [. . .] (Ann, interview, June 9, 2005, lines 493-497). Although this text includes a modifying Â“ maybe I think ,Â” and Â“ I donÂ’t know, Â” even these are in the present, and she uses the i ndicative (i.e., the factua l present or past) to express her thought about what she felt .
165 Although rather lengthy, I e nd this subsection about A nnÂ’s language with the following sample for the feeling it gives of much of her talk. It is excerpted from near the end of a 96-line turn in which she is answ ering my introductory focusing question about what stood out to her during her student teachi ng experience. Note that most of the verbs are either in the simple present or past (s ingle underlining), or they are deontic modal verbs (wavy underlining) expressi ng uncategorical obligation: you need to or you have to . She also uses again an emphatic just , as well as the emphatic phrase: each and every one . It is interesting to note that she uses th e first person for verbs that describe what she is thinking or feeling, but switches to the more formal Â“youÂ” to talk about obligations she believes are part of a teacherÂ’s role and functions. One might say that Ann is distancing herself from her new teacher role. However, my intuition is th at this use of Â“ you Â” represents Â“Ann-the-teacherÂ” be ginning to use more formal Â“teacher discourse.Â” I base this on her whole text, and on the fact th at in this same segment she says Â“ youÂ’re a student ,Â” still referring to herself. She also uses the more formal phrase Â“ having to become Â” at the end of the excerpt. An example of AnnÂ’s typical verb choices: [. . .] So I just realized there are certain aspects that, um, you bring out and your teacher self has many, itÂ’s not just the teacher self but many different multi-faceted teacher selves. So, but . . I think trying to figure out itÂ’s a, I think itÂ’s hard enough as a teacher trying to figure out who you are as a teacher, when youÂ’re a student and stepping into the teacher role and then going into a classroom and realizing that you need to have more than one, aspect of being a teacher. You need to have those many selves that step out like little elves, you know like doing your work for you. [. . .] But that one good teacher has so many different little mi ni-teachers inside that come out and grab each and every one of the kids in the classroom cause each and every one of the kids learn a different way and each and every one of the kids are interested in differe nt things. So, I mean , so, some of the kids have a cynical sort of side and you have to reach out to them to bring them into the classroom so you have to be a little cynical. And you have to be a little humorous and then you have to be, you know, very serious a nd . . . . So, I . . that was what was hard is dealing
166 with I guess the diversity of students in th e classroom. And then, having to become a diverse person yourself. [. . .] (Ann, Interview, June 9, 2005, lines 292-316) AnnÂ’s choice of register(s) was mainly informal conversational. She used everyday language (e.g., Â“kids,Â” Â“grab,Â” phrasal verbs), but had some aspects of a formal Â“teacherÂ” register as well, particularly when she was ta lking about her self as a teacher, or her ideal teachers. More than a conversation, which implies mo re or less equal turns, perhaps a better description of AnnÂ’s principle genre is narrative. Often, when I asked one of the research questions, after an initial an swer she would expand (without prompting from me) into a long turn that contained a stor y and/or an association that was not specifically relevant but said much about her Â“selfÂ” as both student and teacher. Collectively, the phenomena discussed he re indicate an interested collaborator willing to co-construct the speech event. Thes e elements of the text confirm my belief that Ann was not merely collaborating with the researcher to be a good student or a good person, but felt that she was an empowered participant who was co-constructing meaning. AnnÂ’s long turns dominated our interaction, whereas I had none. She often told a well-developed story to illustrate a point. Fo r me, this explained why the interaction felt conversational in spite of her many long tu rns seemingly more appropriate to an interview genre. Figure 6-1 il lustrates AnnÂ’s much larger proportion of medium and long turns:
167 Ann's turns 1-2 line turns 3-10 line turns 11-25 MED turns >25 LONG turns Kate's turns with Ann 1-2 line turns 3-10 line turns 11-25 MED turns Figure 6-1 Proportion of different turn lengths in Kate and AnnÂ’s talk. Anacolutha (i.e., disfluencies). The above language samples are representative of AnnÂ’s quite fluent language throughout th e interaction. Her us e of fillers was unremarkable for an oral text, and she ra rely abandoned constructions unfinished. Her occasional false starts seem no more than is normal in any conversation. Turn-robbing, overlaps, cross-turn ackn owledgement and collaborative sentence construction are more characteristic of conversa tions than interviews, and so support a determination of genre. There was no turn -robbing in my conversation/interview with Ann, and each of us waited for the other to finish speaking before we began a turn, although we both tended to begin a new turn as the other person was finishing speaking with no pause in between. We also indicated attention regularly with fillers like Â“ uhhum Â” or Â“ yeah Â” during longer turns.
168 This turn-taking pattern suggests interpre ting our interaction as an interview. However, there were also instances of ove rlapping speech (e.g., K (line 352): Â… ItÂ’s a different /A: ballgame/ ballgame when you Â’re with college age kids . . .), and collaborative sentence constr uction, as in the next extract which contributed to a conversational feel. These all occurred after the halfwaypoint of the interaction: K: [. . .] YouÂ’re making a rational argument. But if the person youÂ’re talking to isnÂ’t listening / A: doesnÂ’t know / to a rational argument and theyÂ’re just listening with their emotions or . . . um . . . letti ng their emotions . . . interfere with, their reason, / A: and or prej udices /(inaudible) A: And that was what I felt, I think, I felt I was gonna intrude, on, prejudice. [. . .] (Ann, Interview, June 9, 2005, lines 456-462) Cross-turn acknowledgement is when a speak er uses a linguistic device such as a connector, a conjunction, or a pronoun (e.g., Â“AndÂ” ; Â“BecauseÂ”) at the start of a turn to indicate they are finishing, extending, or in some way connecting to an idea just expressed by the previous speaker. (e.g., Â“And that was what I felt . . .Â”). It is more common in conversations. Even during the Â“int erview phaseÂ” of our interaction we often shared meanings for ideas related to t eaching/learning, which involved this more conversational feature, as in this ex ample from lines 191-196: [my underlining] K: [. . .] it seems to me , anyway the kids who have real intrinsic or internal motivation are few and far between. [. . .]Â” A: For me itÂ’s because thereÂ’s no choice. [. . .]Â” (Ann, Interview, June 9, 2005, lines 195-196) A final example that serves to support my belief that Ann was construing our interaction in part as a conversation, which would s upport the trustworthiness of phenomenological data, is the following exam ple of collaborative sentence building. In lines 410-411, I start a sentence for two reasons : 1) to convey to Ann that I understood an idea she had just expressed, and 2) as a conf irmation strategy to be sure I had understood
169 correctly. I was speaking slowly to give Ann the opportunity, which she took, to finish my sentence, thereby conf irming my understanding: K: [. . .] But itÂ’s true, how do you get your . . ./A: own opinion out there, without/ K: yeah /having it impinge [. . .] (A nn, Interview, June 9, 2005, lines 410-411) Overall, I feel the linguistic details of A nnÂ’s talk are coherent with her expressed meaning as presented in Chapter 4. In both the content and the form , we hear a thorough person who is sure about what she knows and feels, and is frustrated when she cannot apply her special knowledge (e.g., of segregation). I also believe her choice of registers as primarily narrative and conversational support my conclusion that she was a willi ng participant who felt comfortable talking about her experience, and em powered enough to expand free ly on my questions with details and stories. I therefore consider he r reports of the student/teaching experience reliable. BeaÂ’s conversation/interview Salient semantic fields. In terms of BeaÂ’s le xis in the principal data source (i.e., the interview), there were few salient semantic fi elds. Perhaps the most salient to me could be thematized as Â“new relationships,Â” and included the notions of excitement, relationships, dreams, play, ideal love, and id eals. This was confirme d in re-reading some of the written artifacts she provided from th e previous semester, especially her final synthesis and her final self-assessment. In thos e documents she also speaks of a teacherÂ’s Â“relationshipÂ” with students, Â“walking ha nd-in-hand,Â” a Â“pretend classroom,Â” and Â“my dream of being a teacher . . . polished . . . until it was newÂ” (Bea, final internship synthesis, April 14, 2005). This is coherent with the Â“self-as poet,Â” I had come to know during our work together in the previous semester.
170 In our conversation/interview Bea tended to use everyday language when she was not specifically answer ing a research question, although she also alternated with Â“teacher discourse.Â” For example, she usually referre d to Â“kids,Â” but occasionally called them Â“students,Â” and once used both terms together in lines 971-972: Â“. . . students kids need to be . . .Â”. Other everyday langua ge that Bea used frequently included words like Â“crazyÂ” (8 times), Â“whateverÂ” (28 times), Â“drives me up the wallÂ” (line 1008), Â“throw my face in thereÂ” (line 921), Â“every single little thingÂ” (line 995), Â“a li ttle coo-cooÂ” (line 1017), Â“there you go!Â” as agreement (line 1131), phrasal verbs like shut down, move on, and more. This stands in contrast to her more formal language when she was speaking about being a teacher or being an in tern. This concurs with BeaÂ’s stated feeling that she was trying hard to be a teacher, especially at the beginning, but mostly felt like a student during her student te aching experience. Curiously, while analyzing the discourse I noticed that at the beginning of the interaction, I referred to Â“students,Â” which I normally do in the context of education, reserving Â“kidsÂ” for talking about my fa mily. But after the first 200 lines, I had unconsciously begun referring to Â“kidsÂ” in the classroom, probably picking up BeaÂ’s usage. I also noticed that ear ly in the interview I began using BeaÂ’s phonetic realization of Â“gonnaÂ” for Â“going to,Â” which I do not nor mally use. (The adoption of one anotherÂ’s style is indicative of how power relations with in an interaction are being established or (re)structured. Adopting our partnerÂ’s st yle helps to establish equality.) The aspects of BeaÂ’s language most tell ing of her truth commitments were her hesitations, qualifiers, and fillers (e.g., you know ), her frequent small laughs, and her use of the subjunctive mood in which we can sense a condition, a s upposition, a non-factual
171 reality. Notice in particular that in the third bullet she begins to use the indicative (But I donÂ’t [want to read it.]) and self-corrects to the use the subjunctive. I have italicized the indicative mood and underlined the subjunctive mood: I wouldnÂ’t go back in my diaries and read those again. . . . I would have my, teaching diary, but at the same time I would have like, you know, little things that I would jot down . . . In my other diary, and like I wouldnÂ’t look at those, for a while. [. . .] [. . .] I mean I wrote it down, for a reason, but I donÂ’t , I wouldnÂ’t want to read it. over. / K: right / You know, um. But, it Â’s , like, um, I guess the useful part of, that experience, whatever, I would think is in my, my teaching diary. (Bea, Interview, June 14, 2005, extracted from lines 510-519)5 Listening to her talk, it s eemed at times that she was trying to convince herself of the reality of what she was saying (e.g., I thi nk, a teacher, does have . . .). This extract is from the end of her longest turn (33 lines), in which she is describing what it felt like to be a teacher: [my underlining] B: [. . .] you know, youÂ’re so much more , you, your responsibili tyÂ’s isnÂ’t just limited to, to the books. You know? And to me to . . for me to be up on that . . you know, board or podium, or whatever. ItÂ’s just like. ItÂ’s just so mething that I need to, work myself up to. Like.. / K: mhum / to, to do so. Um. I think, a teacher, does have that . . you know, authority, that power or whatever, for the kids. Um . . . And . . . And, I donÂ’t know. . . . I,I think I just have to, um, find that line, again and cross it. ( short laugh ) / K: Do you think that . . / Find that line. ( laugh ) (Bea, Interview, June 14, 2005, lines 602-609) BeaÂ’s choice of register(s) was mainly conversational. She chose to meet in my office at the university because she could co me just after a class she had. Before the interview began, we talked about various thin gs, mainly my research, both of our plans, the informed consent process, as well as what doing a Ph.D., or a specialist degree 5 This quotation is idealized to highlight the use of the subjunctive. I have removed other text, and my fillers to highlight this linguistic feature.
172 consisted of and the difference between the two. After just over 30 minutes, I suggested we start talking about the research questions by reminding he r of my interest in roles and the interview guide I had sent . To start, I asked her what stood out to her about the internship, and she reminded me that I already had a summary of her thoughts on the matter in her end-of-term inquiry project. Since I had also been working with Bea fo r the previous five months as the group leader (i.e., instructor) of her student teach ing seminar, we had had many conversations both in and out of the classroom. Therefore, I was already familiar with many of BeaÂ’s impressions as they had surfaced in other ve nues. This could explain why her interview seemed the most conversation-like of all of th e interactions, even when the content of the talk was from the interview guide. In additi on, each question I asked usually involved one or more turns of confirmation and/or clarif ication requests as Bea developed or worked up to her answer. There is only one small central portion of the text (lines 775-865) that seems more interview-like in that there are few to no interruptions from either of us. In this section, I ask and Bea answers the two research ques tions, and associated probes, concerning inquiry (research questions 3 a nd 4). But for the most part, our interaction proceeded as this extract illustrates: K: Did you ever, think of any metaphors, fo r any of those figures? The student, or the[B: I wish I] teacher?[B: I actually thought] 6 The intern? B: about that before coming here . . . [. . .] (Bea, Interview, June 14, 2005, lines 758-760) 6 [Square brackets in a turn indicate ov erlapping text.] Slashes (/ text /) indicate that one person interrupted another with no overlap.
173 A gross analysis of turns from the Â“intervi ew portionÂ” of the in teraction (i.e., after the initial 33 minutes of general conversation), as well as a finer analysis of the content of those turns, supports my subjective sense th at the interaction was much more like a conversation than an intervie w. First, for each of us, the percentage of short turns accounted for most of our overall speaking time 94% (96/102) total short turns for Kate, and 80% (83/104) short turns for Bea. In all of the other interactions , my short turns were a much larger percentage than those of th e student/teacher I was interviewing. An even bigger difference, however, was that in my in teraction with Bea, she had almost no long turns at all, and I had none. Bea also had a much smaller percentage of medium turns overall than any of the other intern s, as illustrated in Figure 6-2: Bea's turns 1-2 line turns 3-10 line turns 11-25 MED turns >25 LONG turns Kate's turns with Bea 1-2 line turns 3-10 line turns 11-25 MED turns Figure 6-2 Proportion of different turn lengths in Kate and BeaÂ’s talk. In terms of the content, in addition to the research questi ons, I asked and Bea answered questions about her background, and sh e shared stories related to teaching and
174 her family. Different to the other student/ teachers, she also asked and I answered questions about my background, teaching, and the disserta tion process. (Another indicator that power dynamics were more equalized.) Bea did not have many long turns. Perhap s this was because her internship had been so stressful for her that it was very ha rd for her to reflect on it later in any great detail. Or perhaps it was because she was still inquiring in her mind about how her teacher would be, although her core self was determined to make it work. Notice in this quote the use of a form that de notes an already decided future7 (i.e., going to realized as gonna) couched in the interroga tive: Â“ItÂ’s just like how am I gonna, how am I gonna do this, How am I gonna transition, into . . . beco ming this, authority fi gure, in a classroom Â… (Bea, Interview, June 14, 2005, lines 596-598). It was also difficult for me to ask her to relive those details in this interview. She had begun her internship with high optimism and ideals but after a few weeks she Â“shut down,Â” as she puts it. As BeaÂ’s field advisor, it had been very difficult to listen to her difficulties and be asked for advice severa l times each week. I was aware as the Â“interviewÂ” progressed that this history, coupled with my previous knowledge, was inhibiting me from encouraging longer turn s. At the same time, I was aware that I probably knew how she might answer. Theref ore, I was attempting to double-check my intuitions whenever possible, without ma king Bea repeat things she had obviously already told me in some context. Anacolutha. It is interesting to note that, sim ilar to some of the others, BeaÂ’s speech when talking about her self as intern becomes less fluent. Compare BeaÂ’s fluency 7 I expand on this form in the discussion of EveÂ’s interview where it is more relevant.
175 in the next extract when she is talking about herself as teacher, and then as student/teacher. In the first pa rt of the extract, when she spoke as a teacher, her speech is not smooth, but her constructions are essentia lly completed, whereas in the second part, when she talks about how the student/teacher self felt, there are noticeable anacolutha. I construe this halting speech as text ual support for the conflict I found in the phenomenological analysis between clear idea s about her ideal te acher self and her attempt to see her emerging self as teacher, coupled with her professed difficulty as a student/teacher in this circumstance. Notice also the mix of lexis (i.e., lens = teacher discourse; really excited = everyday language): B: [. . .] itÂ’s just like such a totally different, perspectiv e, you know? like um looking at it, um, as a teacher. Because itÂ’s just a totally different.. / K: uhhum / um . . . uh . . lens. I guess. Um, But.. Teaching, I think, as a teacher now. [. . .] (Bea, Interview, June 14, 2005, lines 590-593) K: So what did it feel like, the intern part of it. B: The intern part of it? .. Um . . . . . .(sharp breath out) I gue, I donÂ’t remember, well, how did it feel like, to be an intern? . . . I think in the beginning I was really excited. Um . . . because it, you know, uh, excited for the experiences. Um, that IÂ’ll have like, you know, as a teacher. A, kind of sampling teacher. Right? (Bea, Interview, June 14, 2005, lines 732-737) Overall, BeaÂ’s language portray s her as a student trying hard to describe herself, to herself, as teacher. Turnovers, turn-robbing, overlaps, cross-turn acknowledgement, and collaborative sentence construction. Most of our interacti on was characterized by frequent overlaps, interruptions, and cro ss-turn collaborative idea building, as the following example from the transcript illustrates: K: So what do you think[B: IÂ’m]of as.. the teach er . . . / B: What is a teacher. [self B: teacher self . . . Uh . . . I guess someone . . . who uh . . . . . . but, thatÂ’s just such a . . . . . . easy question? But not? You know? [. . .] (Bea, Interview, June 14, 2005, lines 569-571)
176 Except for the short central, more interv iew-like piece of the interaction already mentioned, we were in conversation mode for most of the interview, as these typical overlaps illustrate: B: Eh! Where were you taught? Here? K: No in, uh, yeah in,[B: he] Penn, in Pe nnsylvania. / B: Oh wow! / Catholic school. One of our subjects[B : Is that how it is?]was B: Is that how it is? / K: Latin. / Here too? [Oh.[K: Well] Oh yeah] (Bea, Interview, June 14, 2005, lines 1468-1471) To summarize, the features described in the preceding paragraphs (e.g., hesitations, frequent laughter, anacolutha, use of the subjunctive or interrogative forms, semantic fields and expressed content relating to th e idea and dreams) seem to confirm her professed sense of student self interrogating and hypothesi zing about her new teacher self. Her language use seems to indicative a subjunctivized or unreal teacher self (e.g., I donÂ’t want to instead of I woul dnÂ’t want to). This unreality is also coherent with her expressed feeling of inhibition from being th e kind of teacher she felt herself to be, and her feeling of being pushed into student mode in order to reach her goal of passing the internship. This willingness to compromise w ho she felt as a teacher in order to pass, is confirmed by the determined language she used to talk about her futu re teacher actions: Â“. . . youÂ’re gonna be in charge of these kids!Â” (line 589). It is interesting to note here a potential li mitation of this study. Of the five people I interviewed, I had probably wo rked with Bea the most. I ha d been working with Bea as her field advisor for four months through her very difficult and emotionally taxing student/teaching experience. Although I had kno wn the other people I interviewed for the same amount of time, I had never worked dir ectly with them in the same capacity. As such, Bea and I had much more common history, which may have led naturally to a more
177 conversational interaction. As noted, the Â“offi cial interviewÂ” did not start until after 33 minutes of conversation. This Â“preambleÂ” was much longer than any of the others. In addition, I was well aware of her diffi culties during the experience about which I was asking. It is very possible that these factors influenced the data collec tion. On the one hand, I was loathe to probe more deeply than she wanted to go. On the other hand, our familiarity with each other, our ideas, and our language prompted me to believe, rightly or wrongly, that I was understanding her mean ings during our talk without as much probing as I needed with the other participants. I believe that our relationship also contributed to BeaÂ’s many ques tions about my life experiences, my work as a student, as a teacher, and as a person, and her questions about my future plans. This did not happen to the same extent in the other interviews. I considered disqualifying these data fo r these reasons but decided that our preexisting relationship in fact made the trustworthiness of her descriptions even stronger. In effect, I had been hearing and reading about how she was expe riencing herself as teacher, student and student/teacher for five months. In BeaÂ’s case, I relied to a much greater extent on the secondary documents I had collected for triangulation, and on her collaboration and editing of my findings from the interview, to verify that the meanings I heard or intuited were, in f act, hers, and in no way presumed on my part. Based on these secondary analyses and member-checking steps, I concluded the data were reliable for the questions I posed in this study, and so I di d not discard our inter action from the final analysis. DaveÂ’s interview/conversation Salient semantic fields. When Dave referred to the teacher in whose classroom he was practicing, he would say Â“my teacher,Â” Â“the teacher,Â” or he w ould use her full title
178 and surname. He never referred to her using the terms Â“supervisorÂ” or Â“cooperating,Â” even though this last was the term I used when I referred to her. This is consistent with the content of various parts of his text. On more than one occasion he positions himself as his cooperating teacherÂ’s equal by, for exampl e, comparing their different styles as equally valid, or talking about how they work ed collaboratively, each in different roles, as these extracts illustrate: [The underlining is mine.] [. . .] my last day there actually, um, we did a gradual takeover. So, th, my last day there was the first day that she completely took over and I was just kind of tidying up [. . .] [. . .] she was taking over again and that, she had been in a passive role , and she wasnÂ’t anymore. And I donÂ’t think it was rea lly that sheÂ’s much more strict than I am , and I,lik, that was the message? I thi nk it was really a change in her role . That sheÂ’s in charge now and sheÂ’s the teacher now and she wanted to get that across . . . (Dave, Interview, June 15, 2005, excerpts from lines 49-61) A stretch of language a bit later further i llustrates DaveÂ’s sense of equal Â“teacher presenceÂ” in Â“hisÂ” classroom. It also illustra tes a characteristic common to several of the student/teachers I spoke to: the metaphors of possession, permission, and taking command in the language with wh ich many teachers talk about Â“theirÂ” classrooms. I have underlined DaveÂ’s use of these with dashed un derlining. This aspect of his talk also puts him on more of an equal footi ng with his cooperating teacher. The content of his talk tells us that, although he was a studen t/teacher, he felt the classroo m to be Â“his,Â” and that he was the authority while he was teaching. Notice also the emphatic markers (wavy underlining) the deontic modal ( need to ), and evaluative commentary (Â“ good Â”). [my underlining] (I will comment on all of the internsÂ’ language use relative to power dynamics in the next chapter.) D: It definitely is . . . itÂ’s, I mean teaching styles are so important and, it really does need to be your classroom. She was very good about letting me have her classroom . But / K: uhm / she definitely does things her way when sheÂ’s in charge. / K: uh-hum
179 / And that was, that was the deal. She wa s the central figure now. I was the central figure before , and she was even, um good about a student would ask her a question or say at first, you know theyÂ’d ask he r Â“can I go to the ba throom?Â” while IÂ’m teaching. And Â… itÂ’s almost convenient b ecause you donÂ’t have that interruption during the lesson?.. But she was good about saying Â“donÂ’t ask me..I, IÂ’m not even here.Â” Because . .thatÂ’s . . . itÂ’s not rea listic, if you have some body else to handle all of those things . . . / K: yeah / Tha,thatÂ’s not teaching teaching comes with distractions. (Dave, Interview, June 15, 2005, 73-85) Truth commitments. The emphatic forms in the last extract, as well as the deontic modal and evaluative statements (i.e., good ) point to DaveÂ’s certai nty about his new self as teacher, and are coherent with his e xplicit description of his experience as a student/TEACHER. As these extracts illustrate, Dave tended to speak more formally, authoritatively and fluently, in mainly declar ative and often complex sentences with very few disfluencies. He only rarely qualified a statement about a belief, and he often used emphatic markers to underscore his meaning: Absolutely the role of a teacher I believe. [Â…] Dave, interview, June 15, 2005, line 247 [. . .] And it really makes, your meetings, of th,the five of you in those s,small groups, really feel meaningful. [. . .] (referring to student /teacher seminar group) (Dave, Interview, June 15, 2005, lines 319-321) [. . .] And they really call my attention to some things that I do just pass over. / K: hhm / And um . . . (members of his seminar group) (Dave, Interview, June 15, 2005, lines 334-335) In the next two extracts, we can compar e DaveÂ’s language when he talks about himself as teacher as opposed to when he is in his student role. When he speaks about his functioning as a teacher, he uses present tense, Â“going to,Â” and Â“willÂ” clauses to refer to a future that has been decided and is not open to discussi on: [my underlining]
180 D: [. . .] [LetÂ’s] say IÂ’m teaching the kids this, type of poetry today. This is what we will 8 accomplish in this period or, weÂ’re going to review an FCAT assignment and then after that weÂ’re going to read, this story, this piece of literature/ K: uhhum / and talk about it. [. . .] (Dave, In terview, June 15, 2005, lines 152-156) We can contrast this langua ge with the following extract in which he is talking about himself as a student. Th is was virtually the only time in the interview when he specifically talked about this part of his student/teacher self . The extract is notable when compared with the previous extracts for the decrease in fluency and consequent difficulty in understanding what Dave is trying to say, as well as an increase in rising intonation in affirmative statements, and the simpler clause structure (i.e., he tends to string more ideas together with Â“ and Â” and simple tenses): D: [. . .] thatÂ’s when I feel like IÂ’m th e student and IÂ’m trying to figure out?9 what the professor wants? and .. / K: uh-hum / kind of, put my own spin on that and hand it back to them. / K: uh-hum / Um Â… But aÂ… from, what I was able to understand through, uh, my experience..was reallyÂ…e.. it was, what the teacher wanted to find out? exactly? Um.. which is kind of ironi c when youÂ’re thinking about, how I was always trying to spit back to the teacher. Because . . . itÂ’s . . . I would hope that with teacher inquiry thereÂ’s not a, set ans, answ er to be regurgitated, that theyÂ’re trying to, actually pull from the students and fi nd something out from the students that perhaps they donÂ’t even know. / K: uh-hum / And, uh, ItÂ’s kind of ironic now that I talk through it that I was always trying to give back what they wanted to hear. (Dave, Interview, June 15, 2005, lines 93-105) DaveÂ’s choice of register(s) was very interview-like, with little of a conversational genre except when we were discussing commonalities in our background. His speech during our interview was a curi ous mix of formal/professional and life-world genres and lexis, as the extract below exemplifies. Unlike my interactions with the other student/teachers, DaveÂ’s text of ten contains complex clauses (i.e., clauses connected with 8 Â“ Will Â” is used to indicate a less certain future. Another equally typical use of will is to make an emphatic imperative (e.g., You will eat all your peas or no dessert!). I believe this example illustrates the imperative use. I discuss the Â“ going to Â” future on page 196. 9 Question marks indicate text spoken with a rising intonation.
181 a device other than Â“ and Â”), which give a more formal tone to a text. I have double underlined some examples below. I have also underlined examples of Â“life-worldÂ” (i.e., everyday) lexis with wavy underline, and pr ofessional lexis with a dotted underline: (Examples of these two semantic registers were given in Table 6-1.) D: [. . .] So I kind of thought it was funny to see the change, and see the difference because IÂ’d also seen, how my teacher was conducting classes before Christmas and it, th, there was a kind of a complete 180 there because she was on top of everybody before Christmas and at the end of the school year it was kind of another story . Um . . . so, I was, kinda disappointed cause I wanted to see . . .how much she would . . . how she would treat the class after I,I had been there for ten weeks and it seems like she was treating them differently but because it was a different time of the year, rather than as a result of my being there . So I kinda wanted to see my impact and I wasnÂ’t able to get a true picture of that because of the change in the time of year.. /K:hm/So . . . (Dave, interview, June 15, 2005, lines 24-36) DaveÂ’s long turns (14%) for the whole interview we re similar in quantity to EveÂ’s (11%) and RichÂ’s (12%), but ove rall, most of his turns were short (65%), a nd only 1/5 of his total turns were of medium length, as indi cated in Figure 6-3. It is not surprising that this is the interview in which I had the greate st number of short tu rns (93%), since I had to ask more (1-2 line) probing or extensi on questions to encourage him to expand on originally rather short answers. While a large number of shorter turn s is more typical of conversations, it is also not inconsistent with an interview in which the interviewee is not entirely forthcoming with information. I did not, however, have the sense that Dave was holding information back, merely that he was mo re succinct than the others in answering, and did not tell many stories. The long tu rns he did have concerned background and personal experience not directly related to the research quest ions, in particular language use and group behavior, two of his interests.
182 Anacolutha. DaveÂ’s talk was quite fluent, with no more than normal conversational false starts in places. The lengthy extract above concerning his choice of register gives a good sense of DaveÂ’s typical speaking style. Turnovers were consistently interview-like thro ughout most of the interaction (i.e., there was no turn-robbing). The few overlaps, collaborative sentence building and cross-turn acknowledgements that occurred happened excl usively when the content was unrelated to the research questions. For example: D: [. . .] I was down here for the summer, for the winters and then went to New York for the / K: yeah /summers./ K: like what they call the snowbirds (laugh) / D: Snowbirding, absolutely! (Dave, Interview, June 15, 2005, lines 492-494) The mix of formal and everyday language in this interview is consistent with DaveÂ’s professed awareness of targeting his own language use to his interlocutor and to the situation he is in. On the one hand, we were addressing serious research/professional questions which call for a more formal regi ster. As an interlocutor, I was perhaps ambiguousÂ—both student and teacher. On th e other hand, I was making a conscious effort to share the power with the participan t in the interview, trying to create a less formal, more conversational in teraction that would be comfortable for sharing personal experience. It is possible that Dave perceived this tension. DaveÂ’s less storied style is perhaps what led to my s ubjective feeling that his and EveÂ’s interactions were the most Â“interview -like,Â” even though we did lapse into more conversational turn exchanges af ter the first third of the inte raction. Objectiv e analysis of the turns bears out this sharp shift. From lines 1-335, 77% of my interventions were short (i.e. 1-10 lines), as compared with 31% for Dave. In these same lines, 38% of DaveÂ’s
183 interventions were medium (i.e., 11-25 lines), and 31% were long tu rns (i.e., 25+ lines). 23% of my turns in these lines were medium length and I had no long turns. What is striking is that once we move d away from the specific research questions and began to talk about related topics (culture in the classroom, DaveÂ’s background and work experience, language use, future plansÂ…), the texture of the talk changed noticeably. From line 336 to the end at line 922, my shor t interventions increased to 96%, but DaveÂ’s also increased to 74% from the previous 31%. In the final two thirds of our talk, I had one long and one medium length intervention in wh ich I shared a story from my experience. DaveÂ’s long interventions decreased from 31% to 17% of his total talk, and his medium length turns decreased from 38% to only 9%. This created the feeling that total speaking time was more evenly distributed, as it woul d be in a conversation. Figure 6-3 presents these data schematically: Dave's turns 1-2 line turns 3-10 line turns 11-25 MED turns >25 LONG turns Kate's turns with Dave 1-2 line turns 3-10 line turns 11-25 MED turns >25 LONG turns Figure 6-3 Proportion of different turn lengths in Kate and DaveÂ’s talk
184 The last extract from DaveÂ’s interview is illustrative of the texture of the more conversational portion of our interaction: K: Where exactly are you moving? I, itÂ’s southern California? D: Halfway between San Diego and L.A. / K: yeah / ItÂ’s Orange County. / K: yeah / Yeah, sheÂ’ll be in Irvine and IÂ’m in / K: okay / Mission Viejo. / K: hm / So. (overlap, both speaking) It,itÂ’ll be nice/ K: be nice ] ItÂ’ll be nice./K: hm /WeÂ’ll see. K: Do you have a job already, out there? D: I have an offer? [Â…] K: That was what you were talking about? D: ItÂ’s just too/K: i /far. K: yeah, the commute. D: ItÂ’s just sso far! (Dave, In terview, June 15, 2005, lines 348-358) This shift in the talk texture, as well as the other characteristics of his text discussed here (e.g., anacolutha), contribut es to my subjective and analytical impression after doing this secondary analysis that, for Dave, the genre of our interaction was a Â“professional conversation,Â” which I define as being some where between a research interview and a more casual conversation. It could be argued that this impression le d Dave to present an image of himself to me that would highlight his new professional se lf and minimize his student self. It could also be argued that, as he seems to ha ve done with his cooperating teacher, Dave construed us as equally profe ssional. His linguistic forms, content, and organization are coherent with the description in Chapter 4 of a person with a clear sense of Â“self-asteacher,Â” at least most of the time, and a pe rson with little feeling of student in this context. I believe this secondary analysis s upports DaveÂ’s phenomenological meanings as described in Chapter 4.
185 EveÂ’s interview/conversation EveÂ’s most salient semantic field had to do with completion and performance. This extract, in which she is describing her self as student/teacher, is representative of her metaphor use: (I discuss metaphor in mo re detail in the next chapter.) K: Ok, it sounds like . . . in a sense . . . the internship (inaudi ble) youÂ’re expecting that it might be different than th,your real life in the future E: yeah . . . it . . in some ways . . . I was thinking that a lot of what was motivating me during the internship was this performa tive aspect . . . was this completion of things. Â“Oh, once I get this un it done, then I can move on to the next unit. Once that unit [is] done IÂ’ll just have to teach it tw o more times and then the internship will be over. So IÂ’m thinking (inaudible) in terms of like end game. [. . .] (Eve, Interview, June 9, 2005, lines 49-54) Truth commitments. EveÂ’s language use when she talks about her teacher role and functions is subtly but consistently different from the language she uses to describe her student role and functions. When ta lking about her se lf as a teacher: Her intonation rises frequently She chooses a conditional verb form instea d of the simple form (e.g., I would have a lesson plan, I would have an idea . . ., in stead of the also possible: I had a plan/an idea . . .) She casts statements in the form of questions (how I could learn . . ., how do I . . ., how can . . ., what ca-, what am I getting from this . . .). She uses a lot more preamble or filler language before finally answering the question. Compare these two extracts in which Eve is re sponding to my request to describe the role of teacher and then the role of student for her. A variable number of periods (e.g., so . . . if, or . . so . . um) indicates pauses in the delivery (also non -grammatical commas), whereas Â“[. . .]Â” indicates that there is additi onal text in this same turn. First, Eve as teacher:
186 K: [. . .] Ok, so . . . if you could descri be how you experienced the role of teacher during your internship. E: Um . . . the role teacher, I guess, and this is interesting because I just had a slew of job interviews . . so . . um one of the questions that I was asked was, you know, what does it mean to be a teacher. And, to me , I had to sit down and say that in my experience [ed., End of preamble and Eve begins to answer to the question] the best teachers were always students. [. . .] [ed., expansion and justification + four lines] [. . .] I guess for me, like the first way that I really began this teacher hat putting on10 [ed., End of preamble] was to figure out how I could learn about what I wanted to teach them. And, So . . . I,I would have a lesson plan, I would have an idea of, you know what, a subject that I wanted to approach in th e classroom [. . .] and um . . . when it strayed from me s itting at the keyboard typing [ed., student action] to um, ok, where can I find a book on this, and how do I ge t these resources, and how can I compile them and what cahow can I condense the main ideas in all of these resources to something that these students can use [ed., here, teacher actions] and um, and what am I getting from th is (in the process?). [. . .] And um .. I think sometimes I overstudented myself [e d., as a student/teacher] . . . and . . . so I wonder if ,,uh,,, my idea of of teacher as student . . . kind of went too far sometimes. . . . [my italics and underlining] (Eve , Interview, June 9, 2005, lines 10-34) On the other hand, when describing herself as student, she is much more direct, certain, and there is no rising intonation. She sp eaks in simple declarative sentences and uses action verbs. There is no preambl e before the answer. Eve as student: K: What would (inaudible) the student part of it? /E: I guess . . ./ ( inaudible ) E: the searching but also the finished product because I wanted to produce, and I wanted to present, because as a . . . as a st udent for so many years, like thatÂ’s what I know to do. I know to be given an assignmen t, and in this case the assignment is plan a unit, plan a lesson. And um, rather in and so, the student part of me is like, well IÂ’m gonna, IÂ’m gonna search this out , IÂ’m gonna make this unit, IÂ’m gonna teach it and then IÂ’m gonna be done and voila. So, thatÂ’s kinda . . . um . . . where I see the student ..coming in. ItÂ’s like this is a finished product, look what I did, look what I did. . . . I was a student and I was performing.. just a task. .. [. . .] (Eve, Interview, June 9, 2005, lines 35-46) The verb tense choices in these extracts are interesting for what they tell us about EveÂ’s truth commitment concer ning her reality, especially her repeated use of Â“gonnaÂ” 10 Note the metaphor of wearing di fferent hats for different roles.
187 (i.e., less formal phonetic realization of Â“going toÂ”). As proficient us ers of a language, we are aware of subtle connotat ions embedded in words and form choices. The English language has different future forms to convey varying degrees of certa inty on the part of the speaker about what will come to pass. Wh en we have no doubt about a prediction, we use the present simple tense or the Â“going toÂ” future. If we are less sure about our prediction, or a future action is conditione d by something or someone over which/whom we have no control, we use will , would , or some other modal verb, according to the circumstance and degree of certainty (e.g., If you work hard, you will/can do it. Or, if the future is even less certain in the mind of th e speaker: If you worked harder, you would be able to/could do it.). Therefor e, these forms carry in them unconscious associations of level of certainty. Compare the sense of certainty these forms create: It is going to rain. (I can hear the thunder and see the clouds.) It will rain. (because I planned a picnic.) It can/might rain if you go to Florence in the Spring. (Varying truth possibilities about weather in Florence in the sp ring, according to a speakerÂ’s beliefs) Will and would are also associated in our minds with more or less possible or probable, present and future conditions: Compare: It would be nice to go to Rumania right now. (unreal present possibility) I will go to Rumania if I finish this project. (Maybe I wonÂ’t finish.) I will go to Rumania when I finish. (I will finish.) I would go to Rumania this month if I didnÂ’t have to finish this project. (I canÂ’t go now because I am not finished.)
188 EveÂ’s use of the present c ontinuous and Â“going toÂ” undersco re her stronger commitment to the more certain reality of her future actions. Eve finishes her response to my questi on about roles and role change with an extended wondering about her future self as a teacher, and about how she will apply the positive aspects of her student self to this ne w identity. Throughout this part of the text, she uses a simple indicative te nse indicating certain fact (e.g., I was ) when she is referring to a familiar student role, and a mixture of interrogative, conditional, modality, adverbials of possibility and doubt, and ques tioning intonation when referring to her new teacher identity: 11 [my underlining] . . . I was still in the student mentality where I was ready to jump X feet high. [as a student/teacher] (She is certain.) . . . Um . . . So and . . . and I think . . . I wonder if thatÂ’s going to be an asset? [for me as a teacher] (She expresses mixed degrees of certainty) . . . [A]m I going to be able to harness that [student mentality to jump X feet high] . . . . [Here is a student self thinking ahead to being a teacher. But this student can already imagine herself in a new role, a nd is imagining how this known aspect of her personality will become operationalized in that role.] (Her talk is a mix of selfinterrogation AND certainty abou t the future as indicated by the use of Â“going toÂ” AND formal (teacher?) register.) . . . So.. I . . . thatÂ’s .. thatÂ’s still up in the air and I guess . . . [How will I be as a teacher?] . . . in December .. then weÂ’ll probably have a better idea of that . . . [when I have been a teacher for a few monthsÂ—in response to a desire I expressed to talk again in December] (Â“Will probablyÂ” is a relati vely certain predic tion. Â“WeÂ” refers to both participants, indicating solidarity.) 11 These examples have been extracted from lines 74-123 of the transcript to highlight my discussion of EveÂ’s language. The complete section is included as Appendix F.
189 . . . I just hope that I can listen to myself when 12 I catch myself falling into what I perceive as mediocrity . . . [when I am a teacher] (She is certain that it is still unknown. Â“HopeÂ” emphasized by the adverb ju st, and certainty about falling into mediocrity is indicated by the use of when.) . . . I need to ( laugh ) . . . I need to figure out that balance. [student/teacher encouraging teacher self] EveÂ’s choice of register(s) was very interview-like, or perhaps it was a relatively formal conversation. My part icipation at the beginning of this interaction was subjectively more interview-like than my intera ction with Ann or Bea, and the transcript bears this out. First, I offered Eve the chance to direct the interac tion by asking her if she had any questions (transcript line 1). She declined (transcript line 2). Then, from the moment I ask my first focus question (lines 10-11), my interventions tend to be much shorter and less frequent than EveÂ’s. My turn s are either to redirect the focus to a new question, or to reformulate EveÂ’s answer to confirm my understandings. However, as soon as I asked Eve a question about her background about halfway through the interaction, I experienced a shift to a more conversational register. After this, we also discussed the impact of culture on our selves in the classroom. In this part of the interview, I spoke mo re (31% of the time to EveÂ’s 60%), and had longer turns. Although my 1-2 line turns were dominant (see Figure 6-4), I now had several medium turns of four to nine lines each, in which I engaged with an idea Eve had proposed and extended it with my opinion. Two of my turns late in the interview are 14 lines long in which I was telling a story from my experience that one of her stories had reminded me of. She engages with these storie s by asking questions. I in terpret this as an indicator of a more equalized power dyna mic as might happen in a conversation. 12 EveÂ’s choice of Â“whenÂ” is interesting. In a cond itional sentence, we use Â“whenÂ” for a condition we are certain will come to pass. If we are less certain, we use Â“if.Â”
190 Eve's turns 1-2 line turns 3-10 line turns 11-25 MED turns >25 LONG turns Kate's turns with Eve 1-2 line turns 3-10 line turns 11-25 MED turns >25 LONG turns Figure 6-4 Proportion of different turn lengths in Kate and EveÂ’s talk. EveÂ’s percentage of long turns (11%) for the whole interview were similar to DaveÂ’s (14%) and RichÂ’s (12%). Most of her turns were of short or medium turn length (44.5% each type). This pattern seems c onsistent with an interview genre, and subjectively the texture of our interaction bears this out. The long turns she did have were mainly concerned with stories or family b ackground. She tended to answer the research questions in medium length turns. As the extracts presented in this chapter illustrate, EveÂ’s talk was rather fluent. She had few anacolutha , and these tended to occur when she was talking about her new teacher identity. Turnovers, turn-robbing, overlaps, cross-turn acknowledgement and collaborative sentence construction. There was very little over lap in our talk, even at turn changes, and virtually no cross-turn acknowledgement. The inte raction was mostly
191 question and answer. There were, howeve r, frequent attention markers (e.g., uhum , yeah , right , . . . ) throughout. Each of us waited for the other to finish speaking before we began. There were only three instances of collabo rative sentence construction such as this one (near the end of the inte rview), in which Eve is explaining one of her metaphors: E: [. . .] yeah, I, I think the divi ng, the diving board, makes, more sense. K: I really like that image. . . . Cause, I guess, I canÂ… really identify with it / E: yeah / itÂ’s . . . yeah, yeah . . . and if you decide you donÂ’t want to jump in, you donÂ’t / E: right, you can, you can back off / have to (overlap) IÂ’ve seen people do that on diving boards Â“No no no no, itÂ’s / E: yeah / too high, I donÂ’t wanna jump!Â” [Â…] (Eve, Interview, June 9, 2005, lines 620-625) It is difficult to assess whether the rela tive scarcity of conversational markers I noticed was standard style for Eve, or indica ted some reticence about talking to me. It could simply have been the more formal st yle one adopts with a less known person. I can say that the content of the in terview, her metaphors and her st yle were entirely consistent with previous conversations and artifacts colle cted from earlier in the internship. Also, subsequent contacts, as well as member ch ecking, have given me the impression that I can trust her experiential reports as reliable. My conclusion is that Eve is a more formal person who was construing this interaction as a professional conversation since our relationship was relatively new. As for her language, her high de gree of fluency and use of simple tenses with little modality when talking about known aspects of herself (i.e., studentness) bespeaks an organized person who is sure of that realit y. When she speaks of her new teacher self, frequent rising intonation and more use of moda lity indicate that she might be less sure of the nature of that new reality, but is trying to find ways to apply a known way of being to a her role. This impression is strengthe ned by her frequent themes of making
192 connections, transitions, and m ovement that eventually creates new forms (e.g., a potterÂ’s wheel). RichÂ’s interview/conversation Rich reports that he was always both ro les together, and th at he was always either/or. This both/and situation is refl ected in the way Rich uses language. As I analyzed the other transcripts from a critical discourse perspective, I noticed that for each of the student/teachers their language was sub tly different if they were speaking as student, as teacher, or as stude nt/teacher. In RichÂ’s case, I could not find such a marked three-way difference, only a two-way difference: teacher or student, often mixed within a single turn, giving him his own hybr id style. In the next subs ections, extracts of RichÂ’s language illustrate this. [For the sake of coherence, I present comments on RichÂ’s truth commitments and semantic fields in reverse orde r with respect to the reports on the other interactions.] Truth commitments. We start with Â“Rich-the-teacher.Â” In this sample Rich is describing his idea of what teaching, as opposed to instructin g, means. Notice the emphatic modifiers by Â“Rich-the-teacher,Â” and the hedging by Â“Rich-the-studentÂ” [my single underline is teacher talk; my broken underline is student talk]: R: [. . .] I really do think teaching is more sort of a philosophical . . / K: um / you know. ItÂ’s a give and, take, uh . . . sort of . . / K: um / arrangement. Um . . But itÂ’s hard to put into words how do you . . . K: um. Yeah (overlap) that, thatÂ’s one of my intuitions (inaudible) / R: I guess it . . maybe the uh . . . (2 second pause with no one speaking R: I don, IÂ’m not sure this fits here but13 . . . you know that, you have these teacher. . . teaching moments. / K: uhhum / Where they, where you feel, like youÂ’ve made a connection and you feel like theyÂ’ve got wh at youÂ’re saying? / K: right / Or you 13 Rich redirected the interaction if he wanted to ma ke a point or clarify something, as illustrated here.
193 feel like theyÂ’re, youÂ’ve opened up a question, in their mind. And, maybe thatÂ’s.. more what teaching is is when you inspire . . uh . . . t hought, in someone. Whereas instructing is just, the passing of information. You say Â“ok now I know how to do this.. but you havenÂ’t really inspired any, questions or.. enlightenment or . . oh IÂ’ve got to think about this or, or, or IÂ’ve gotta make a ch ange in my life . . or/ K: uhhum /IÂ’ve gotta rethink this principle or moral . . Um, itÂ’s just Â“ok, now I know how to add two plus two or now I know where this comma goes. / K: uhhum / Whereas teaching really .. makes someone stop and think. It changes behavior . / K: hm / Uh . . . . . . . . . (3 second pause) K: Can it change attitudes and,/R:yeah!/ philosophies? / R: Change attitudes. Change philosophies. . . . . . . (spoken with emphasis) (Rich, Interview, June 29, 2005, lines 300-302, and 310-321) In explaining his teaching philosophy, he uses the indicative (i.e., ma rker of certainty), but his student self modifies the meaning with Â“ sort of Â” and Â“ But itÂ’s hard to put into words .Â” He seemed to be saying: This is what I believe as a teacher, but I have to be humble. (see semantic fields below.) Next, we have Â“Rich-the-NEW-teacher.Â” In this extract, he speaks with a lot of rising intonation Â– as if recognizi ng that as a very new teacher he still needs to learn, even if he already feels comforta ble as a teacher in the clas sroom. His language is still relatively fluent, but his statements are less categorical and he incl udes more modifiers (i.e., I think , maybe, if), and he is a bit critical of his te acher self. His tone in general was less authoritative: [I continue to use broken underline to indicate student talk] R: [. . .] I think that over the course of , the internship I got, to a, comfort level?14 / K: uhhum / that um . . . . . . maybe meant that I wasnÂ’t, teaching? as well as I should have been? That I was maybe being more friendly, more relaxed [ed., than I should have been]. Um . . . And itÂ’s hard for me to know . . . if . . . why, what the cause of that was because I know that thr ough the whole internship I had a real hard time dealing with . . um, the fact th at they were seniors? And/K: ( inaudible )/they all, looked/ K: yeah /like, adults? [. . .] (Rich, Interview, June 29, 2005, lines 106113) 14 Question marks indicate the preceding word is spoken with a rising intonation.
194 Even when Rich was speaking about a stud ent/teacher experience, he seemed to do so either as Â“Rich-the-(student)TEACHERÂ” or as Â“Rich-the-STUDE NT(teacher).Â” In the next extract, Rich is speaking as Rich-t he-(student)TEACHER, who has to teach in another personÂ’s classroom (because he is doing his student teaching). Like Dave, he seems to feel possessive about his classroom. Similar to the first extracts, Rich in his teacher self uses simple tenses and speaks authoritatively. (I will retu rn to the theme of power in the next chapter.) [. . .] And itÂ’s such a ho rrible situation because itÂ’s not your classroom, you didnÂ’t start it from the beginning, itÂ’s not your rules, itÂ’s not your teaching style, itÂ’s not the sm, the room isnÂ’t set up, how you wanted it, to be. Uh. You know, all the kids know youÂ’re an intern. They know that youÂ’ re leaving in nine weeks. They know that thereÂ’s another teacher that they can go and talk to, and, complain to. Uh. So I mean youÂ’re exposed. YouÂ’re vulnerable. Th ereÂ’s no.. YouÂ’re not even really sure where the power lies. You know? / K: As an intern? / As an intern. Uh.. So I mean it, in terms of that, I mean itÂ’s the wors t teaching situation you can possibly be in. You know. Um, and thatÂ’s exactly how I like to do things. [. . .] (Rich, Interview, June 29, 2005, lines 348-358) In contrast to the previous extracts, Rich often became quite dis fluent when he was speaking from his student self, especially if he was criticizing a teacher he had had, implicitly or explicitly. This is the case in th e next extract in which we are talking about a teacherÂ’s intuitions about student needs: K: [. . .] How do you know when youÂ’ve ha d, enough experience, for you to be able to . . to count on yourself, ba sically. / R: uhhum . . yeah / ItÂ’s, itÂ’s a.. itÂ’s a tricky question. / R: yeah R: yeah. Yeah, I donÂ’t know that you coul d, you could answer that. Because it, I mean thereÂ’s. And part of it is, IÂ’ m just, a, IÂ’m, IÂ’m a perfectionist?15 / K: uhhum / And so, even though I can see that itÂ’s a positive thing [teacher intuition] after years of experience and I thi nk itÂ’s presumptuous of me now. I still think thereÂ’s, thereÂ’s always that downfall. And I think maybe this comes out ofÂ… per, particularly being in, that last class [as a student] because I, I individually felt, like 15 Said with rising intonation.
195 I wasnÂ’t getting my moneyÂ’s worth [. . .] (Rich, Interview, June 29, 2005, lines 220-228) The extract illustrates a conflict between a student self and a gr owing awareness of a teacher self. On the one hand, he is desc ribing an experience in which he felt the teacher of a class he had had carelessly ignor ed his needs as a stude nt. On the other hand, as the teacher he now is, he can see how t eacher intuition can even tually be positive, provided you continue to monitor it. In subse quent lines, he goes on to make a distinction between teacher intuition and teacher lack of attention, and states his fear that he might inadvertently ignore his own st udentsÂ’ needs if he forgets to be humble, and gets too comfortable in the job, or takes too much for granted. A final extract to illustrate RichÂ’s mix of styles is an interesting combination of Rich-as-student, and Rich-as-teacher. When he is talking about things his student self is supposed to do (i.e., complying, doing what a teacher suggests), he becomes disfluent (he is also criticizing a teacherÂ’s advice here). However, when he begins to list teacher functions, he becomes more fluent. In the last sentences there are no disfluencies or fillers at all. First I will present the whole extr act unmarked. Then, I will break it down to highlight the points that make it interesting. R: [. . .] I mean this isnÂ’t, this isnÂ’t what my practical experience is / K: uhhum /tel, is showing me . . you know. YouÂ’re telling me to do things like ok, have the kids, you know do a lecture and have the kids do a wr, a quick write for, you know, 60 seconds. And/ K: uhhum /then, you know, flip it on them and have them do another quick write for 30 seconds. / K: uhhum / Well, you know, itÂ’s, gonna take me five minutes, to get all these kids to have paper on, you know. Cause theyÂ’re, I mean, this is, theyÂ’re gonna be borrowing it from here, theyÂ’re gonna be, complainin.. you know, so, mean. I mean youÂ’re picturing like this . . classroom of 30 kids with, paper and a pencil and, looki ng / K: uhhum /at you with intent faces and a stop watch and, and are/ K: yeah / gonna do this thing. ItÂ’s gonna take me another ten minutes to explain to Â‘em what I want, wh at a quick write / K: yeah /is. What I want them to do. So there was such a huge disconnect between th e instruction / K: uhhum /that I was getting and what I was seeing in a real world, [. . .] (Rich, Interview, June 29, 2005, lines 381-396)
196 In the first part in which he is recount ing his reaction to a teacherÂ’s advice, he abandons a construction and begins a new one four times and uses five fillers (i.e., you know, ok) to express only two grammatically complete ideas. Here are the full, albeit disfluent, constructions: I mean this isnÂ’t, (false start) this isnÂ’t what my practi cal experience is . . . tel, (self-correction) o is showing me . . you know . YouÂ’re telling me to do things like ok , have the kids, you know do a lecture and have the kids do a wr, (self-correction) o a quick write for, you know , 60 seconds. As he begins to list the things he does as a teacher, he has relativ ely longer constructions, fewer false starts and fewer fillers. Some of the Â“sentencesÂ” seem at first sight to be abandoned unfinished, but grammatically, they are complete: And . . .then, you know, flip it on them and have them do another quick write for 30 seconds. (grammatically complete with fillers) Well, you know, itÂ’s, gonna take me five mi nutes, to get all these kids to have paper on, you know. (grammatically complete with fillers, if Â“onÂ” is removed, or understood to mean Â“on their desksÂ”) Cause theyÂ’re, (abandoned) I mean, this is, ( 2 starts abandoned, or one filler and one false start) theyÂ’re gonna be borrowing it from here, (grammatically complete) theyÂ’re gonna be, complainin.. you know, so, mean. (grammatically complete plus fillers) I mean youÂ’re picturing like this.. classroom of 30 kids with, paper and a pencil and, looking . . . at you with intent faces and a stop watch (grammatically complete) and, and are (inaudible due to overlappi ng speech) gonna do this thing. (incomplete construction?)
197 ItÂ’s gonna take me another ten minutes to explain to Â‘em what I want, what a quick write Â… is. What I want them to do. (complex constructionÂ—three completed ideas) So there was such a huge disconnect between the instruction . . . that I was getting and what I was seeing in a real world. (complete idea) RichÂ’s two most salient semantic fields (i.e., themes) concerned value or moneyÂ’s worth in work done or services received, a nd the morality of teaching. These semantic choices were coherent with his explicit pe rsonal teaching philosophy as a need to be Â“ humble Â” (line 197) and not take things for granted, even your strengths: R: [. . .] That might be what you want to develop is the artistry to feel, and sense, but I think you s, that needs to be coupled with the, humility / K: absolutely! / to know that/ K: absolutely! /you can stil l be wrong, and you / K: yeah/shouldnÂ’t never, that shouldnÂ’t be the only ya rdstick youÂ’re usi ng, you know. (Rich, Interview, June 29, 2005, lines 254-258) At other points in the interview he refers to the internship as a Â“blessing in disguiseÂ” (line 346), and talks about having a work Â“ethic,Â” be ing responsible, what is Â“fairÂ” to students (lines 168, 237, 238), or what teachers should and shouldnÂ’t do, and what they have to do. Overall, these word c hoices seem very coherent the overall sense he gives throughout the interview that teaching is more than just educating, it is also a moral endeavor. RichÂ’s choice of register(s) was both conversational and interview-like. Like Dave, I had the sense he construed our interaction as a professional convers ation, so his style had characteristics of both in terview and conversation genres , and his language was both everyday and formal. Examples of this are presented in the othe r sections on RichÂ’s language use.
198 Rich's turns 1-2 line turns 3-10 line turns 11-25 MED turns >25 LONG turns Kate's turns with Rich 1-2 line turns 3-10 line turns 11-25 MED turns >25 LONG turns Figure 6-5 Proportion of different turn lengths in Kate and RichÂ’s talk. Figure 6-5 illustrates the texture of my in teraction with Rich. For the most part, RichÂ’s long turns (14% of his total turns) answered my questions and expanded on them with stories from his student te aching experience when he want ed to clarify or illustrate his points. He also had some long turns in which he described his teaching philosophy and then illustrated it with a story. Anacolutha. Overall, RichÂ’s style in this interaction (and in previous conversations) was not always particularly fluent. He had a va riable tendency to anacolutha, and he used fillers (e.g., like , sort of , you know , ok ) more frequently than most of the other interns, ex cept perhaps Bea. I have the im pression that this is RichÂ’s natural way of talking. When he was speaking as Â“Rich-the-teacher,Â” he was at his most
199 fluent, slightly less so as Â“Rich-the-new-teacher .Â” He was at his least fluent when he was speaking as Â“Rich-the-student,Â” OR Â“Richthe-STUDENT(teacher).Â” (see text excerpts above in section on truth commitments.) Overlaps, cross-turn acknowledgement, and collaborative sentence construction were more common in RichÂ’s text than in th e two other interview-li ke interactions (i.e., Dave and Eve), making this subjectively more like a conversation. Most turnovers were smooth and we each waited to speak until the ot her had finished, often pausing slightly or using a filler to signal the othe r could take the floor, giving it the feel of an interview or a more formal conversation. As previously noted, Rich sometimes redir ected the interaction if he wanted to make a point. There was also one instance of turn-robbing, which occurred when Rich wanted to clarify a question. The example be low illustrates his sense of empowerment to redirect the interaction if he felt the need. At this point in our tal k, Rich had got stuck on a remark I had made a few lines earlier. Realizing I had gotten us off-topic, I tried to redirect our focus to the research questions by asking him what Â“teachingÂ” meant to him, but Rich resisted and insisted on going b ack to the difference I had raised between Â“teachingÂ” and Â“instructingÂ”: K: Ok so a student comes to you, with a question? /R:uhhum / and um . . . you.. if youÂ’re teaching them, what, what would you be doing? R: IÂ’m not sure I quite K: IÂ’m trying to/R:grasp/remember I should have . . . I should have, just . . . um/(overlap next) R: (both overlapping) I canÂ’t, I canÂ’t get off the /K: thought this out before/the, the break between teaching and instructing sorry /K: ok, well, weÂ’ll go back to that/I mean, I, (overlap)/
200 K: Maybe that would help. Wh at is the /R: No thatÂ’s an interesting question. Cause instructing I think is, is . . . . . . . . . I . . . well I think instructin g is what you probably what do 99% of the day. [. . .] (Rich, Interview, June 29, 2005, lines 286297) [This exchange culminated in RichÂ’s statement of his teaching philosophy, which was the first excerpt I cited from his interview.] The aspects of discourse I have mentioned, together with RichÂ’s tone and gestures, told me he was engaged in our conversation an d interested in pursuing the topics for his own professional interest. He confirmed this explicitly a bout Â¾ of the way through our meeting when he said in lin es 723-724: Â“Well when you get back from Italy weÂ’ll do it again. . . . I enjoy these kind of conversations.Â” Â“RichÂ’sÂ” descriptions of student teaching in Chapter 4 revealed him as a person who was always completely teacher or st udent depending on which way he was looking and why. He reports experiencing the two roles as always there but always separate, one speaking and one listening. He stated clearly th at when he was in the classroom teaching, he always felt 100% teacher. He also reported other moment s when he was 100% student. At any given time, the role Rich was e xperiencing was clearly teacher or student, according to how he defined the situation. A si ngle action could have been a student act or a teacher act depending on the external c ontext and the perspective he chose to take, not on the action he was doing. But this wa s only evident to him asynchronously in foresight or hindsight. He of ten described how a meaning el aborated in one context took on a different meaning when he looked at it from the perspective of a different role. This multiplicity of self is also appare nt in the form his language took as he described his experience: He mixed formal and informal lexis, was fluent and disfluent in the same turn, and used simple declarative ve rb forms with adverbial qualifiers. I believe
201 that analysis of RichÂ’s discourse in these texts illustrates and confirms the phenomenological description of his simultane ous roles as STUDENT(teacher) and/or as (student)TEACHER, with no intermediate ro le that is neither one nor the other. Text, Intertext, Context and Inquiry In chapter 1, I defined inquiry as Â“a st ate of cognitive disequilibrium in which a person is aware they need or want to know so mething and would like to find or create an answer.Â” In chapter 2, I expanded my definiti on of inquiry and discussed its nature from three perspectives: inquiry as process, inqui ry as research para digm, and inquiry as stance. Judging by their language and descriptions of meaning (Chapters 4 and 5), inquiry as process seems to be a natural part of becoming and being a teacher. All of these student/teachers had Â“inquiring dispositions.Â” Throughout their texts, there were multiple examples of the inquiry process in action. Although the student/teachers all expr essed inquiry at some point using an interrogative grammatical form (i.e., a quest ion), more often than not their inquiry manifested itself in some other guise, as these examples show: Ann was inquiring about student behavior. Ann was experi menting with behavior management strategies and had noticed that candy seemed to work well, and that sending kids to detention was not ve ry effective in changing behavior: I noticed that she was a lot worse, when a nother teacher, like in another class gave her like a referral? And she had to go spe nd the day in the detention next day in my class she was worse than she had ever been. And I think the reason was because she had to save face. [. . .] She acted far wo rse the day after she came back from the detention than she ever did. (Ann, interview, June 9, 2005, lines 134-141) Bea was continually inquiring about her tr ansition from student to professional: I donÂ’t think it can be taught. Like, how to cross that line between a student to a teacher. . . . I think, I think everyone is like that. ItÂ’s not just a teacher. (Bea, interview, June 14, 2005, lines 617-619) Dave wanted to know about the effect his teacher self had had on his students:
202 I kinda wanted to see my impact and I wasn Â’t, able to get a true picture of that because of the change in the time of year. (This after he had left the placement) (Dave, interview, June 15, 2005, lines 34-35) Dave also inquired about how to presen t content effectively based on an idea another student/teacher had raised in their seminar meeting as something he or she had done. That discussion had made Dave reconsider what teachers seem to take for granted students already know but might not. As a resu lt, he re-planned a lesson and evaluated it has having been very useful: . . . it was worthwhile for this person to take five minutes and do that. . . . I ended up doing the whole lesson. (laugh) you know, uh, on literal versus figurative meaning and I thought it was a good basis for my poetry unit. (Dave, interview, June 15, 2005, lines 302-305) Eve was inquiring about conten t and order of material in her lessons. She would plan a lesson in one way for one period a nd then change it with another group to see what happened: I mean it made all the difference. In a ddition to, you know, my first period being my guinea pigs, um, the next round I taught poetry, I would change the lesson, like add a new lesson here, take this one out. So by now IÂ’m teaching a very different unit than I was when I initially started . . . (Eve, conversation, 10 March, 2005) Rich was inquiring about how to present mate rial. He felt asking another person to assist in his inquiry as an observe r was a useful teacher strategy: Maybe have someone else come observe. Maybe, you know, modify it, some way with different information and teach the same format again, and switch it up, and see what happens. (Rich, interv iew, June 9, 2005, lines 544-547) Rich made several plans for inquiry duri ng his student teachin g. This excerpt is from his description of his self-dialog: I wanted to see how the cl ass handled it how they responded to me in a suit and how they re,responded to me in casual attire. [. . .] I wanted to use this internship and.. you know, not abuse it, but, use it for al l it was worth and find out really get my moneys out of it and see Â“Ok, this is crap. That doesnÂ’t work, you know I donÂ’t care how you modify it. Ok, this, this worked. good. Alright, dire ct instruction? No behavior problems. TheyÂ’re used to that.Â” You know. Â…There might, be, 28 blank faces out of the 30 kids in the class but, . . . theyÂ’re quiet, and you get straight
203 through the day and, you know, thatÂ’s what you wanna do if you got a headache. Alright. (laugh) You know? (Rich, intervie w, June 9, 2005, lines 572-584) What is perhaps more interesting in thes e interviews is how these student/teachers were enacting inquiry as resear ch. Three of them told stories of inquiring at some point during their student teaching in a way that was systematic, rigorous, and targeted (i.e., teacher inquiry as research, as defined in Chap ter 2) which they then used to inform their practice: Dave described how he researched local (i.e., classroom and community) language use in order to calibrate his expectations and grading. He al so indicated that his first objective in a new job will be to find out a bout his new community so he can incorporate relevant references into his teaching, and di scover how to assimilate himself as a new member. Eve described inquiry as being an activ e and interactive process that was both theoretical and book-based. A critical component of inquiry for her was making decisions for action. Thanks to her supervising teacher, sh e learned that part of teaching was to try things out, observe outcomes and thereby Â“set precedentsÂ” for yourself for present and future, foreseen and unforeseen problems. EveÂ’ s Â“precedentsÂ” were not Â“set in stoneÂ” but served as systematically deri ved hypotheses for on-going action. Rich explained that he had made plans before his intern ship to divide the eight weeks into two halves (the first week he onl y observed in his practice classroom). Then he planned to Â“switch upÂ” in each half his dress, the techniques and activities he used, and other aspects of theory he had heard or read about so he could see for himself how things worked in the real classroom world.
204 Ann, Eve and Rich all described what might be called an inquiry stance. For Ann, inquiry is an on-going process in which teacher s observe, act, observe, discuss and revise. The subject of the inquiry can be anything th at impinges on the classroom, as long as the teacher is an active creator of knowledge. Ev e associated Â“studentnessÂ” with her best teachers. She suggested that good teachers find, compile and condense resources to something that particular students (or groups) can use most effectively. She expected her first year teaching would be continual inquir y. Rich stated that he always felt like a student during student teachi ng because he was always lis tening, thinking, observing, and critiquing himself (conversati on, March, 4, 2005). Are these not also characteristics of a teacher (or anyone) with an inqui ry stance? I will retu rn to some implications for teacher education of these last ob servations in Chapter 8. Support from Secondary Analyses for Phenomenological Meanings The purpose of the secondary analysis I have just discussed was to support or disconfirm the meanings of role and inquiry described by each student/teacher during his or her interview, and presented in Chapter 4. The trustworthiness of the final result of this study, presented in Chapter 5 (i.e., general structural descriptions), depends on the trustworthiness of those descriptions. Proponents of critical discour se analysis sustain that when we speak, our commitments and beliefs about reality are ev idenced by the language we use and the way we use it. When I compared each individualÂ’s language choices with his or her situated description of reality, what struck me was the way their personalitie s came out in their talk: In doing this analysis, I found cohere nce between each personÂ’s manner of speaking (e.g., hesitating or fluent), his or her lexical and syntactic choices, his or her apparent construal of the inte rview situation (e.g., interview, conversation or something in
205 between), the way he or she de scribed the internship overall, and my sense of the speaker as a whole person. Ann identifies her Â“selfÂ” first and foremost as a Â“writer.Â” It was not surprising that her text seemed more like a narrative than an interview. It was also not surprising that she made many connections between her past life history and her present experience, as a writer telling an emerging story. Overall, I feel the linguistic details of AnnÂ’s talk, as well as her choice of registers as primarily narra tive and conversational, are coherent with her expressed meaning as presented in Chapter 4. I also find support for my conclusion that she was a willing participant who felt comfor table talking about her experience, and empowered enough to expand freely on my questions with detail s and stories. I therefore consider her reports of the stude nt/teaching experience reliable. BeaÂ’s interview was the most conversatio nal of all the inte ractions, probably because we knew each other best. Subjective experience and analysis both support this. She was also the most Â“studentÂ” in the wa y she experienced her Â“self,Â” and the least secure in her teacher Â“self.Â” For this reason it does not surprise me that her talk about Â“teachingÂ” was hesitant and uncertain, based more in the ideal than th e real. I also believe that my explicit attempts to make my own student self salient was influential in making our interaction seem more like a conversati on between two students than a Â“professional conversation.Â” Dave created a similar subjective impressi on. He presented the most secure sense of self as teacher, and his talk supported this. His delivery was mostly fluent, with only normal hesitations for a conversational genre. Whereas the conversation with Bea might have been between two students, the convers ation with Dave was like one between two
206 teachers talking about work, a subjective feel ing reinforced after considering how his language (content and form) showed him establis hing himself as an equal to his teacher. Eve gave an impression of being an independent, self-confident, creative professional, even if she felt she was just beginning to develop her professional self as teacher and so was constantly analyzing this emergent self. Her style seemed appropriate to that of a serious conversation between two people who do not yet know each other well, but who share a common goal. Her fluent talk and clear metaphors and associations, tell of a person who can express herself clea rly without inhibition, even when discussing feelings or emotions. She did not seem a pe rson to respond only to tell the interviewer what she wants to hear (see PolkinghorneÂ’s criteria for phenomenological interviewees in Chapter 8.) Analysis of RichÂ’s language seems to support the experience he described as alternating between student and teacher, depending on the cont ext. I believe he construed our conversation as professional, but in formal: His language shows a mix of both formality and informality, everyday language th at he might use with a friend or another student, and at another mome nt more formal language he might use with another professional. ParticipantsÂ’ Construal of the Speech Event and Context My research interest and methodolog y called for leaving possibilities for descriptions entirely under the control of the participan ts. My obligation as a human science researcher at a university in the US A called for me to specify my questions in advance by developing an interview protocol. Therefore, although we began from a set of guidelines, the genre of the verbal interacti on which constituted the principal data source seemed at times, not surprisingly, more conversational than interview-like: The
207 interactions included digressions, associated stories from both speakers, and a more equal distribution of turns and speaking time. Â“OwnershipÂ” of the interaction All of the interactions were both interview and conversati on-like to some extent. In each case, we began with a varying amount of general conversation and/or framing talk in which I explicitly reminded each person of my interests and purposes for the study16 (i.e., role, role negotia tion, and inquiry), and asked them if they had any questions. We also discussed logistical information (e.g., informed consent and publishing procedures and implications, equipment rationale, organi zing for member checking by verifying emails). The length of this phase was determined by the number of questions each participant asked about the process, and by the time available to each of us. The tape recorders were started as discretely as possibl e at different moments during this first part of the interaction. Therefore, the recorded amount of our preliminary Â“conversationÂ” present on the transcript is variable. To approximate the total interaction time as an indicator of Â“ownershipÂ” of the overall interaction, I considered only the turns from the Â“offici al startÂ” of the interview, as measured from the turn in which I refocu sed the participant on the specific research questions as per the interview guide I had sent them. In all cases the statement or question I asked concerned the overall experience and their role in it, similar to one of the following: (to Eve, line 11): K: [. . .] if you coul d describe how you experienced the role of teacher during your internship . . .; or 16 A few days or weeks before the tim e of the interview, each person had received by e-mail a copy of the IRB-approved interview guide to give them time to reflect on their experiences.
208 (to Dave, lines 11-12): K: [. . .] when you think back, on the internship as a whole, is there anything that stands out in your mind, um . . . that youÂ’d wanna, comment, on? . . . My Â“introducingÂ” turn was consistent for four of the five interactions, and was between 4 and 10 lines long. The other turns in which I posed a research question were almost always about this length or shorter (i.e., 1-2 lines). The Â“introducing turnÂ” in BeaÂ’s interview was a bit different, as explai ned in the individual discussion of BeaÂ’s interview. When I compare the amount of time each of us spoke for each of the interviews, I saw that I spoke the least with Ann, and the most with Bea. Rich, Eve, and DaveÂ’s interactions were the most similar. Figure 6-6 compares the percentage of time each person was speaking for each interview. 010203040506070 minutes Ann Rich Eve Dave BeaOverall "Ownership" of Interview Time Kate's % of interaction Student/Teacher's % of interaction Figure 6-6 Overall Â“ownershipÂ” of intervie w time in terms of percentage of the interaction each person was speaking. An examination of Figure 6-6 would also s eem to indicate that AnnÂ’s interaction similar to Eve or DaveÂ’s. However, both my su bjective recollection and an analysis of the content reveal that Ann was merely a mo re talkative conversation partner: Her interventions were full of stories, extensions and associations that often strayed from a strict relation to the research focus. In my intervie w/conversation with Ann, we both
209 explored many shared life-world concerns mo re frequently, and in more depth, than any other interaction, making this seem mo re like a conversation/interview. Looking only at these numbers might make Rich and EveÂ’s interactions seem the most similar, and AnnÂ’s the most interviewlike. However, my subjective impression as a participant, coupled with a review of the turn length percentages for each person illustrated in Figures 6-1 through 6-5, tells a very different story. The most Â“interviewlikeÂ” interaction was with Eve or Dave, and the most Â“conversationlikeÂ” was with Bea. AnnÂ’s interview seemed more like a storied conversation. A closer consideration of the data seem to back this up: 51% of my turns while talking with Eve and Dave were only 1 to 2 lines, and most of my turns with these two participants were short (i.e., 10 or fewer lines constituted 89% of my total turns with Eve, and 93% with Dave). Similarly, when I was ta lking with Bea, my short turns represented 89% of my total intervention and 56% were only 1 to 2 lines. The difference to BeaÂ’s interview was that her short turns represente d 80% of her contribu tions, whereas in Eve and DaveÂ’s more Â“interview -likeÂ” interaction short turn s represented only 44.5% and 65% respectively of their total speaking time. In Eve and DaveÂ’s interaction, they each spoke for just over 70% of th e total interaction and I spoke for just under 30% of the time. On the other hand, Bea and I each had the floor about the same amount of time. BeaÂ’s relatively similar distribution of a ll turns to mine, coupled with much fewer medium and long turns on her part, supports my sense that the genre choice for Bea was a conversation. Power sharing As each interview proceeded, I was consci ous of trying to maintain focus on the experience, and also of trying to encourag e a perception of equa lity (e.g., as in a
210 conversation), since we were both students. On the one hand, I was trying to intervene as little as possible. I redirected the participant with a clarification re quest or a new question only when I felt we were diverg ing too far from the research focus or related information. I was also aware of taking every opportuni ty to highlight my similar status as graduate student in (student/teacher) educat ion, and of trying to approximate a more conversational style, which was very easy si nce I had been engagi ng in conversations with these same people for the previous four months. Due to my personal involvement in the process of their student/teaching, and my on-going personal process as a student of teaching, I could not avoid engaging with thei r experiences, reacting empathetically to the stories they told, and at times, res ponding with descriptions of my own similar experiences. With these considerations in mind, I looke d for evidence of Â“power-sharingÂ” such as adoption of each otherÂ’s style and/or le xis, interviewees proposing new topics or asking me questions, and other features of a more Â“conversationalÂ” genre in which the two participants seemed to be sharing and comparing life-world information as equals. My intertextual analysis demonstrated th at each interaction included some formal evidence of equalized power relations (e.g., adopting each otherÂ’s lexis such as Â“ kids Â” instead Â“ students Â” or when I asked Dave Â“if he had anything else on his agendaÂ” (Dave, interview, June 15, 2005, line 966), a phrase he often used). A ll of the interactions also included both conversation and interview speech events, albeit with some variation in degree and different types of conversa tion (i.e., informal and professional).
211 Summary Interpretations: Textual, Intertextual and Co ntextual Discourse Features Taken together, I believe the evidence indi cates that these student teachers were comfortable talking to me about their experi ences, and forthcoming about their feelings and beliefs. I conclude from this that the in formation in the interview data is trustworthy. The concurrence of each participant with my situated structural description and my general structural descri ption during member checking further supports the trustworthiness of these results. In the next chapter, I discuss additional facets of the participantsÂ’ discourse in relation to the student teaching experience as they lived it.
212 CHAPTER 7 INTERPRETATIONS: POWER, META PHOR, LANGUAGE AND BALANCE The naming of objects alone does not crea te an image. (Yasuda, 1957: p. xviii) Further Interpretations In Chapters 4, 5, and 6, I presented results from two perspectives: the participantsÂ’ direct experience (i.e., a phenomenological pe rspective), and from a critical discourse perspective. As I moved through each of these analyses other themes appeared that were not included in the structural descriptions in Chapters 4 and 5 because they were common to some but not all the participants. I share thes e related themes in this chapter, as well as some interpretations tangentially related to a critical discourse analysis, to fill in the texture of role and inquiry th at these student/teachers made visible, and to support my interpretations of the interview data. As I thematized each interview, and imaginatively varied meanings, these elements of their language, along with their gestures, tone of voice and descriptions of thei r whole self, contributed to my understandings and led me to the final meanings I presented in Chapters 4 and 5. First, I discuss the theme of power that was prominent in both the content and the form of the talk of several of the student/ teachers. Undoubtedly the power relations they perceived influenced the experience they reporte d. Next, I discuss sali ent features of their conceptual and explicit metaphor. Third, I summarize the participantsÂ’ insights on language use in relation to roles. Finally, I a dd a thought on a theme that is related to my second research question: seeking balance. I end the chapter with a brief summing up of my results and interpretations.
213 Experiences of Power and Status in the Context of Student Teaching A key theme that was woven into all of th e student/teachersÂ’ talk was power. They all made explicit comments that were telling of how they experienced their power status in their student teaching contexts. Consider ing both the content and the form of the interviews, I interpret these student/teachers as saying that power in classrooms is related to an Â“institutionalÂ” as opposed to a Â“natur alÂ” role: Â“teacherÂ” as opposed to the particular way each individual inculcates this institutiona l role into his or her whole way of being. As student/teachers acquire an in stitutional role, they must ad apt the rest of the self to accommodate their teacher responsibilities. This seems to be lived as the need to develop teacher Â“authority.Â” Sometimes a personÂ’s pers onality supported this; in other cases it caused a struggle. The nature of the institution of schooli ng entails remunerating people who teach and certifying others as having learned. Each person is generally held accountable for successfully carrying out responsibilities associ ated with his or her role in accordance with the desires of the institution, other stak e holders (e.g., principal, parent, teacher, student), and society at large. (Obviously th ere is a huge discussion space here regarding what these desires are or should be, as well as who should or shouldnÂ’t be held accountable for what.). As in any social or ganization, written and unwritten rules and regulations are in place to maintain consiste ncy, keep order, and allow for oversight. Thence comes power structures. Power is not, th en, inherent in the person of the teacher or the student, rather it is inherent in the role. Occasionally, we can see a student/teacher begi nning to try to identify the source of this experienced power. For example, Rich pr oposed the theory that gender may be a factor in power:
214 R: TheyÂ’re not sure exactly where the pow er is but youÂ’re no t sure either. You know? / K: uhhum / So . . I didnÂ’t, I did, I mean I really didn Â’t have, a lot of behavior problems. / K: uhhum / I donÂ’t know if thatÂ’s because IÂ’m a guy? Or, an thatÂ’s just guys, generally tend to command more respect? In a classroom situation? Or in front of a, in front of a group of adolescents. . . . (Rich, interview, June 29, 2005, lines 673-679) Based on these interviews, it seems that one result of our version of the Â“institutionÂ” of teacher educati on is to create a feeling of powerlessness. Perhaps this is unavoidable in any professional education program. Several of the student/teachers commented specifically on their perceived lack of power as an intern, and none of them referred to explicit work in a ny of their courses or semina rs relating to the issue of Â“teacher powerÂ”: A: [. . .] I felt restricted by my st udent teaching and also from inexperience, because I had to finish this unit. Becaus e I had to do these lesson plans. Because I had to, I couldnÂ’t just say, Â“You know wh at, thatÂ’s a good question. WeÂ’ll just go with that. (Ann, interview, June 9, 2005, lines 493-497) Ann frequently expressed the feeling of being powerless to make her own choices, and the obligation to do things in a certain way. Even if she wanted to do things another way, she Â“couldnÂ’tÂ” in he r student/teacher role. Eve, like all the interns, refers to her in ternship in terms of her obligations as a student. If she wanted to become a teacher, sh e had to satisfy the various requirements of the program: E: . . . this was almost like a hoop. This was like a hoop to jump through. / K: yeah / This was a step that I ha ve toÂ… this was, you know an expected step I have to take . . . (Eve, Interview, June 9, 2005, lines 59-62) Rich described how an intern can Â“takeÂ” power, if he is allowed to by the cooperating teacher: R: When youÂ’re in the classroom that gr ade is really your power. (laugh) You know thatÂ’s what youÂ’re holdin over these kids heads. (Rich, interview, June 29, 2005, lines 701-702)
215 For the most part, the teacher is the one with the power in the classroom, but even students have their own special power. Rich allu des to this power: if students choose not to listen and walk around the room instead of sitting, or to put mo re emphasis on their social concerns they can Â“stealÂ” power from the teacher. They can also exercise power over the teacher by knowing more than he or she does. Since the teacher is supposed to know more than the students, he or she can be made to look Â“incompetent.Â” Implicitly students can exert power over a teacher by adapti ng an assignment to their own interests, thus changing the objectives and the final pr oduct the teacher had planned. If a teacher is flexible, and the institution permits, he or she can share this Â“decision-makingÂ” power by giving students responsibility and choices, as Rich reported one of his university teachers did to his great approval. Conceptual Metaphor The theme of power in the classroomÂ— who has it and who doesnÂ’tÂ—was also visible to a greater or lesse r extent in the student/te achersÂ’ conceptual metaphor. Â“PeopleÂ’s everyday language c ontains metaphoric expressions so pervasive, so common, and seemingly mundane that they go largel y unnoticed. [. . .] Everyday language is representative of the underlying, deeper, crossdomain mappings that take place at the conceptual levelÂ” (Wickman, Daniels, White, & Fesmire, 1999, p. 392). When people speak, the connections and associations they make at an unconscious level through their linguistic choices (i.e., conceptual metaphor) link two apparently separate conceptual domains with a single word. Analyzing thes e choices can help triangulate and confirm meaning expressed explicitly. These interv iews were full of examples of this phenomenon. These interviews would seem to support the contention of Lakoff and Johnson (1980, 1999) that all language is meta phorical. The student/teachers talked in
216 terms of opposing forces, commanding respec t, dominance, possession (e.g., Â“my/her classÂ”), permission (e.g., Â“letting meÂ”), taking over (or in BeaÂ’s cas e never getting the chance to Â“take overÂ”), a nd taking away (e.g., points). A conceptual Â“border-crossingÂ” metaphor linked the domain of power to the domain of spatiality or cont ainment: The idea of a barrier, line, or boundary between one side and another was used at some point by a ll of the student/teachers. Bea talked about Â“Â…the invisible line between the words Â“stude ntÂ” and Â“teachingÂ” (B ea, final assessment poster, April, 2005). Eve suggested that we shouldnÂ’t necessarily Â“break down that barrierÂ” [between student and teacher] (Eve, interview, June 9, 2005, lines 583-584). Rich also believed that it was a good idea to respect the teacher/student barrier. In a conversation with Dave on March 2, 2005, he stat ed his belief that the teacher must take the first step to break down or put up barriers; he also implied that students had the power to resist this. Other space and containment metaphors included making connections and links, and several of them referred to being incl uded in a classroom and wider Â“community.Â” They talked in terms of structures or shelter (e.g., Eve: her desk was a Â“safeÂ” place at first but then she wanted to get out from Â“behi nd her momÂ’s skirtÂ”), frames (e.g., framework, being outside the frame, framed by), depth, so lidity, concreteness, orienting in a (teacher) space, movement in space (e.g., stepping in and out or back and forth), directionality (e.g., 180 turn around, reference points), conten ts, and teacher parameters/measurements. Ann, Eve and Dave all used metaphoric la nguage related to sports and movement: Ann talked about Â“juggling,Â” keeping Â“the ball rolling,Â” and doing a Â“fencing danceÂ”; Dave likened teaching to the way the ball moves around in baseball practice; Eve talked
217 about jumping through hoops or off a diving boa rd, and of end games; Rich talked about being thrown Â“. . . into the deep end with, no side to hold on toÂ” (R ich, interview, June 29, 2005, lines 34-35). A final interesting conceptual commonality in the student/teachersÂ’ language was the conceptual domain of Â“feeling.Â” Rich ta lked about Â“feeling outÂ” where your students are, and asking Â“feelerÂ” questions. Eve said teaching was a matter of constantly putting out your Â“feelers.Â” DaveÂ’s most important te acher inquiry was get ting a Â“feel forÂ” the kids and the town he works in so he wouldnÂ’t feel like an outsider. For Bea, being in the classroom as a teacher from the first day of th e school year is essent ial to the feel of a classroom. Explicit Metaphor [T]eacher educators must acknowledge and learn what images of teaching students bring with them to their preparation progr ams, how these images interact with the themes of the preparation program and assi st beginning teachers in negotiating their evolving definition of themselves as a teacher [. . .] (Mahlios, 2002, p. 20) At different points during the student teaching semester, and again during the interview, I asked these student teachers for an explicit metaphor for their self as teacher, self as student, and self as student teacher. I believe these metaphors are consistent with the situated structural descriptions presente d in Chapter 4 and therefore serve to give trustworthiness to the findings. I present them here for comparison with those descriptions: Ann-the-teacher: the self as many little elves; standing on top of a ball juggling Ann-the-student: an ace pilot who really knows how to fly Bea-the-teacher: a clown Bea-the-student: Bea was never able to ve rbalize a metaphor for her student self.
218 Dave-the-teacher: a team effort when the ba ll is in play and everyone is throwing to everyone else, not just teacher to student a nd back to teacher, but also students to students . . . all around the field Dave-the-student: a puppy who learns how to retrieve the paper and eventually knows to do it before his human asks for it. o OR . . . the Â“batÂ” dog that goes and collects balls from by the fence in baseball (ed., What is the dogÂ’s membership status on the team?) Dave-the-student/teacher: going back and fort h between student and teacher, filling both roles and responsibilities . . . or facing both ways: one day as one, one day as the other . . . like a team captain who is bot h an player on the team and a role model for other players with less experience. Th e team captain does not always have a high level of athletic ability, but he k nows the game and sets a good example of Â“sportsmanshipÂ” and helps the coach keep the players organized. He also takes over when the coach is not there. Eve-the-teacher: a storyteller; the proce ss of teaching is like a potterÂ’s wheel Â– things go around and around and slowly a fo rm takes shape (ed., One can imagine the teacher as a potter controlling the sp eed of the wheel, the amount of material she adds, and her hands shaping the product. However, she cannot always influence the nature of the raw material she is working with, and no two pieces come out identical.) Eve-the-student: a performer focused on th e end game and completion; the process of cooking soup (not the produc t or the container) (ed., An interesting entailment of cooking soup is that the soup has no contro l over its final state; it is acted upon.) Rich-the-teacher: a farmer who nourishes and grows living beings Rich-the-student/teacher: being thrown in th e deep end of the pool with no side to hold on to In addition to these explicit metaphors, se veral of the student /teachers had explicit insights on their own language. During the interviews, most of them directly addressed, on some level, the role language played in their developing teacher self and in their actions in the classroom community. Student/TeachersÂ’ Insights on Language and Roles As these student/teachers used language to describe their roles, they also talked explicitly about how language participates in the fulfillment of role s. Although several of
219 them made similar comments, Dave was perh aps the clearest about how this works when he said: [. . .] sometimes I intentionally try to patte rn my speech a little bit . . . more similar, to who IÂ’m with. Um, . . .When I was worki ng, at [the restaurant] it would be very different, than when IÂ’m in the English . . . classroom . . .Of course when IÂ’m in the English classroom usually IÂ’m not trying to pattern my speech similar to the students?, . . . but rather to a model for them . . . . [. . .] just .. using some of those patterns of speech disarms people. . . . It really does. And itÂ’s, I, I think itÂ’s a tool to use to communicate. (Dave, Interview, June 15, 2005, excerpts from lines 878-891) Three of the five student/teache rs expressed the insight that our styles Â“. . . are the discoursal aspect of ways of being, identitie s. Who you are is partly a matter of how you speak, how you write, as well as a matter of embodimentÂ—how you look, how you hold yourself, how you move, and so forthÂ” (Fai rclough, 2003, p. 159). They each described how language use is intertwined with our im age of who we are in a situation, which causes us to vary our style according to context: E: [. . .] because they . . . they definitely have their teacher, . . . their student faces. And they definitely know how to, talk to me, as a teacher. And itÂ’s very different from the way they talk to each other. And itÂ’s very, you know, itÂ’s very different from the way IÂ’m sure they talk to their families (Eve, Interview, June 9, 2005, lines 573-576) D: [. . .] youÂ’d realize that you pick up certain things. . . . Cause, I mean, some of the things that even Spanish some of thei r terms have crept into the language, . . . and it has a nice ring to it, some of it. So you find yourself using something that your friend says all the time. (Dave, In terview, June 15, 2005, excerpts from lines 906-910) E: [. . .] itÂ’s understood that you speak di fferent languages to di fferent people (Eve, Interview, June 9, 2005, lines 307-308) Both Dave and Eve explicitly expressed th e need for a teacher to develop diverse metaphors that enable all students to make connections. They also commented that teachers need to do more than just model Â“co rrectÂ” language for students; teachers need to pay attention to their speech and ensure th at they are clear about what they say and
220 how they say it so that students have no doubts about what teachers want them to do. Ann implied that teachers use tone of voice to c ontrol. Eve added that language and voice can also be tools teachers can use to reward or entertain. Rich describes how he felt not only his la nguage but also other aspects of his whole persona changed in different circumstances . As he walked through the door of the classroom when the bell rang for class to be gin he became all Â“teacher.Â” When class or the school day ended his voice, accent, bear ing, even topics changed to a different persona: R: So itÂ’s almost like it thereÂ’s three me Â’s! / K: right / And, you know. So you walk in, you walk through the door of the offi ce, uh you know the bellÂ’s rung you walk through the door.. youÂ’re holdin, you know, IÂ’ve got my shoulders, different, / K: mhum / IÂ’m projecting louder, IÂ’m / K: mm[exuding more authority.. as fake as it might be (laugh), you know. IÂ’m pointing at things you know, IÂ’ve got, a dialog already going in my head, / K: mhum /I walk back through the door you know IÂ’m. . . Â“so how do you think that workedÂ” you know. My, my voice is softer, uhÂ…you know, IÂ’m more submissive.. / K: mhum/to the, supervising teacher, / K: mhum/you know? And then the bell rings for the end of the day and IÂ’m goin home, you know. And IÂ’m in my truck, my accentÂ’s gettin deeper, / K: hum!/ you know. IÂ’m not talking anything about.. school, you know. ItÂ’s all rain and weather, [. . .] (Rich, interview, June 29, 2005, lines 781-794) Seeking Balance A final theme common to several of thes e student/teachers was that of balancing multiple complex roles and responsibilities. Ann talked about balancing selves. Eve talked about striving to balance organizati on and logic with creativity and energy, and striking a balance between giving oneÂ’s all a nd leaving space for th e students to work. Dave conferred with his cooperating teacher for help in balancing his expectations for the studentsÂ’ language and what language he coul d accept in this setting. The theme was also implicit in everyoneÂ’s description of having to balance their stude nt assignments with
221 being a teacher. In the next chapter I will disc uss implications of this striving for balance for teacher education. Summing Up Results The goal of this study was to explore the ex tent to which interns felt themselves in the role of student or in th e role of teacher during thei r student teaching practicum, and how they negotiated this ch anging role identity. A sec ondary question concerned the meaning of inquiry for these student/teachers, and how they inquired or felt Â“allowedÂ” to inquire in each of their roles duri ng this time. During a one to two hour interview/conversation, five student/teacher s described how they experienced these phenomena during student teaching. In Chapters 4 and 5 I presented subjective meanings from a phenomenological perspective based on a carefu l reading of the interview content. These meanings illuminate the phenomena of interest as contradictory, multiple, and complex. In Chapter 6, systematic analyses of contextualized la nguage form and organization in the interview transcripts from an opposite and critical optic of discourse analysis, also indicated and confirmed that these student/teachers were in the process of re-defining and rearticulating various professional and persona l selves. In Chapter 8 I will discuss the implications of these multiple meanings for teacher education.
222 CHAPTER 8 UNDERSTANDINGS, IMPLICATIONS , LIMITATIONS AND FUTURE DIRECTIONS [T]he focus of one's identity is not ce ntered on the sameness of an underlying substance but on one's process of actualizi ng what is potentially possible in one's life. (Polkinghorne, 1988, p. 151) I began this study with th e objective of systematica lly improving understanding of a situated way of being in the world. Specifical ly, as a teacher and as a teacher educator I wondered how student/teachers who are just be ginning their careers truly experience their Â“self/vesÂ” during their brie f university field experience , given that they must simultaneously be both students and teachers during this time. Although I had once been in a similar situation myself, my personal unde rstandings are of limited Â“scientificÂ” value. Therefore, I designed an empirical Â“p edagogicalÂ” phenomenology for the purpose of collecting lived experience descriptions by means of an interview with several student/teachers who had just finished a nine -week practice teaching in ternship in similar contexts. Working from verbatim transcripts, I reduced their words to essential meanings and presented these in Chapter 4. The final phenomenological step was to move from the particular to the general by extracting commona lities from these individual meanings to write a single description of the universal meaning structure for each phenomenon of interest (Chapter 5). To tria ngulate the meanings I found, I re -analyzed the interview data from a different and critical perspective and presented the results in Chapter 6. In Chapter 7, I discussed related themes a nd meanings to fill out the te xture of role and inquiry as reported by these student/teachers.
223 The purpose of this chapter is to discuss th e theoretical and practical implications I draw for teacher education from these di versely derived understandings. Even though a complementary procedure was used to tria ngulate results, the study is not without limitations. The second purpose of this chapter is to discuss these limitations of my findings. Finally, I will discuss directions for further research that this study, and its limitations, suggests. Discussion of Understandings: Theoretical and Practical Implications for Teacher Education The tension of role duality during an inte rnship experience intrigued me for the following reasons: First, teacherÂ” and Â“studentÂ” are experientially quite different ways of being. They entail different behaviors, nor ms, attitudes, objectives, and they involve different emotions. Second, the student teachi ng experience is, for some people, the first opportunity they have to truly be teachers. In other words, it is their first opportunity to be in a classroom in the role of teacher w ith all the associated expectations, rights and responsibilities. At the same time they are sti ll students. To what extent do they really get to be teachers during this time? How do thes e factors interact in a personÂ’s psyche? To explore this tension, I developed four research questions that focused five student/teachers on how they e xperienced their roles and func tions while they were in a nine-week field placement, and how they e xperienced the negotiation of these different roles. I also asked them what inquiry meant to them and ho w it was or wasnÂ’t conditioned by their context during student teaching. In Chapters 4 and 5, I presented meani ng structures that Â“answeredÂ” my four research questions from the perspective of th e student/teachers. I stated at the beginning of Chapter 4 that these structures were somewh at artificial since they only described two
224 parts of a whole self, and parts are a bit sens eless extracted from their whole. When I reviewed those Â“resultsÂ” in preparation for writing this chapter, I saw that the student/teachers seemed to have had the sa me feeling and were responding to a more fundamental question. Now I notice they were wrestling with very question that is the first line of this text: What is the self? Th e answer to the question: Who am I? In this case, the participants in this study were tryi ng to define who they were as teachers, and this search reached into all facets of the person they knew as Â“self.Â” In their described meanings, we saw them striving to balance educ ation-related selves that were inextricable from a whole that was far more complex th an the pieces I was asking about: Ultimately, the process of exploring oneÂ’s professional self always relate d to the whole, even when answering questions about the parts. Theoretical Implications This single observation has several impli cations for teacher educators. Most importantly, it underscores the importance of explicitly allowing space for considering ways of BEING and BECOMING as a teacher, and for considering if our procedures might lead to an overemphasis on ways of DOING, which I sustain they do for many logical and practical reasons. In the subsections that follow, I discuss the tension between a focus on doing vs. being as it relates to aspects of the stude nt/teaching experience described in the results. I re late each of these aspects of meaning to the fundamental implication: What ways of being a teacher does what we do and who we are highlight? Creating and developing the professional self In teacher education curricula we pay explicit attention to developing skills, attitudes, dispositions, and theories. Implicitl y, a result of participating in any route to teaching socializes people into the profe ssion of teaching. This socialization operates
225 both from the outside in, and from the inside ou t. From the outside in, its nature will vary according to the route: Student/teachers deve lop as professionals under the influence of the values, beliefs, rules and epistemology of the communities in which they study and practice. Equally important are influences on the de velopment of a professional self that operate from the inside out. We all experience many roles in life, and each of our roles is part of a complex construct we know as our whole self. This self will always have many facets that we unconsciously balance. If elem ents of the self are not coherent among each other, dissonance or disturbance can result to varying degrees. Â“So it wasÂ… sort of a negotiating of the Dr Jeckyll, Mr Hyde sort of duality of selfÂ” (Ann, interview, June 9, 2005, lines 279-280). This disturbance was especi ally pronounced in BeaÂ’s case. Several times during her student/teaching she questioned her chosen profession, and was often torn between doubts about her own adequacy as a teacher and a sense of disconnection between the underlying person she felt herself to be, and the way she felt she was being compelled to act. Our personality frames the unique and individual way we enact any given role. We donÂ’t just fill our roles; we also inculcate them with our whole personality. How we balance these selves will create the kind of professional we are. How much of the Â“normal personÂ” we project into our professiona l role is part of es tablishing our Â“self as professional.Â” The experiences these students of teaching live in a field placement will become part of that professional being: How (and if) they construe their Â“self-as-teacherÂ” during an internship is critical to the developing professional.
226 Suggesting that it is important to pay atten tion to the developing pr ofessional self is not an original idea. For example, Don Ham achek suggests we make a place in teacher education for self-knowledge and self-understa nding Â– not just refl ection, but education of EQ (emotional intelligence) in addition to IQ. Emotional intellig ence includes two of Howard GardnerÂ’s (1983) se ven intelligences: inter-p ersonal and intra-personal knowledge (i.e., relating to othe rs and relating to ourselves ). HamachekÂ’s argument is that a teacher must have a solid knowledge of the content they are teaching, and part of content is who the teacher IS as a person since Â“[c]onsciously, we teach what we know; unconsciously we teach who we areÂ” (Ham achek, 1999, p. 209). The inclusion of both self and other relations in th e general structural meaning (C hapter 5) of student teaching supports this notion. William Ayers (1990) follows Dewey in situ ating professional development in a person's practical experience. He proposed we not consider know ledge as the special province of the "researcher" but as embedded in self and experience: A sense of teacher as decision-maker and se lf-creator is a conception that opens to dizzying possibilities. It does not deny that there is a body of knowledge about teaching, but begins to reconceptualize res earch and social science generally as an exercise not in prescription but in public philosophy. (Ayers, 1990, p. 4, citing Bellah et al., 1985) He suggests that in our search for an id entification of "professionalism" in teaching we keep in mind the concept of "calling" and no t just "job" or "caree r": ". . . a sense of work closely tied to a sense of self, a view that work is not merely what one does, but who one is" (Ayers, 1990, p. 4). Role models We all pattern new selves on models we have experienced at some time in our lives. In her final synthesis of the internship semester, comp leted in April, 2005 Bea says:
227 Â“I believe a teacherÂ’s influence will fore ver remain though may never be acknowledged.Â” First, I believe she was talking about th e influence she hoped to have on her own students, but I also think she was meaning th e influence on her forming teacher self of her supervising teacher, and ot her teachers she had had in her life. In addition to the real role models of possible ways of bei ng that student/teachers experience during student/teacher education, both re al and idealized past teachers can exert an enormous influence on who or what kind of teacher a person is becoming. We all learn from our role models, for better or for worse: Â“I go back to what my best teachers did in high school . . .Â” (Ann interview, June 9, 2005, lines 509-510) Â“[. . .] in my experience the best teachers we re always students. Um . . . that is that, these . . a . . . particular teachers were consistently and constantly honing their learning [. . .]Â” (Eve, interview, June 9, 2005, lines 14-16) As teacher educators, I suggest that we have to attend with especial care to the common wisdom Bea expressed. If we focus too much on performance issues, an easy thing to do since they are more concrete and easier to plan for, teach, and evaluate, we run the risk of forgetting that we are also modeling and facilitating identities, a far more challenging job. Our influence may be even more profound on teachers in a teacher education program, given the explicit links our students are making between teaching and teachers. Situationality In addition to characters, setting is a funda mental element in any analysis of literary narratives. Characters fit into their settings (or not ), thereby creating narrative tension. It is also a key concept in a developing teach er narrative. The process of finding and/or creating and/or re-articulating th e complex construct that will be the main character in the
228 setting Â“classroomÂ” cannot happen until one is au thentically in the classroom as a teacher. This is perhaps an even more important reason for field experiences than practicing techniques. Where and with whom a studen t/teacher does his or her practice teaching play a key role in the forma tion of the professional self. Take for example Ann, who did her practi ce teaching in a grad e level she felt illsuited to her personality. For her, doing an in ternship in middle school with 5th, 6th, and 8th graders required an enormous amount of rethinking and recalib rating expectations. When children did not act the way she had im agined students would act, it was hard not to take it as a personal failure. It is not surp rising that the language she used to describe the classroom and her experience there was metaphorically reminiscent of a battle on more than one occasion. She went in expect ing the kids to be quiet and cooperative, unlike Rich who knew that neat rows of 30 quiet faces looking expectantly and hopefully at the teacher with pen poised was a fantas y. How might that experience impact her sense of self-efficacy as a teacher, in spite of her conscious awareness that this was not the correct situation for her? AnnÂ’s situation was even more critical in te rms of her core beliefs. In her interview, she said that the only time she really felt like a teacher was wh en the topic of segregation came up in the context of a book they were r eading. Because of her life experience, Ann identified with certain minority groups to an extent, and felt that she actually knew more about segregation (or instituti onalized racismÂ—which was what she was actually going to cover) than her cooperating teacher. She expr essed the belief that most people are only comfortable discussing racism when it is in the context of the past (e.g., "well, our country used to be like that but there is no racism nowÂ”), but because she wanted to
229 discuss racism in the present tense it becam e a touchy subject. Ann acquiesced to her cooperating teacherÂ’s discomfort about raising this issue in th e classroom and in so doing, she said, missed an important chance to connect her personal self to her students in a real issue she had in common with them. As a re sult, she felt censured and frustrated by her role as student/teacher. She felt she had missed an opportunity to really BE the teacher. I wonder how AnnÂ’s experience might have been different if she had been in a classroom with a teacher who felt differently about the issue of institutionalized racism? Or if she had been in a classroom with a te acher of a different race to hers? Rich, on the other hand, did his student te aching in the same high school he had attended several years before. He alrea dy knew the building, the organization, and many of the people there: Several of his students were cousins, cousins of friends, or friends of friends. His supervising teacher had been his high school English teacher. He saw them at the grocery store or in town in his out-of-school self. He ha d also worked for a while in another field and approached th is experience as a different ki nd of Â“work,Â” in addition to a vocation. I wonder how much these factors co ntributed to his high comfort level in the classroom during his student teaching? Knowledge-of-practice Another important reason for field experi ences is that ways of knowing (what and how) to be a teacher are developed by doing and being a teacher. Â“Knowledge-ofpracticeÂ” (as defined in Chapter 2, CochranSmith & Lytle, 1999) is created by a knower, in a context, in action. Pr e-service teachersÂ’ knowledge of educating grows from participating in and deconstr ucting teaching/learning acts and relationships in process: The question is not generic but concrete . . . .a . . . teacher does not ask how to introduce children to school, but what is to be done here and now w ith the child on this
230 September morning. The teacher draws on all kinds of experiences, anecdotes, personal knowledge, research findings, feelings and j udgment but finally inquires into the actual state of affairs. The inquiry begins situ ationally, employs an interactive method, and leads, not surprisingly, to a gr ounded and particular insight rath er than a universal law or a global truth. The end of inquiry is knowledge that informs decision and action rather than knowledge for its own sake (Ayers, 1990, p. 2). Eve described this process of developi ng professional knowledge together with developing teacher identity (which she defined as thought processes or filters): [. . .] identity [refers to] thought process. And, um, now IÂ’m, IÂ’m thinking with my teacher filter a lot more and thatÂ’s beca use it affects me the way I think about things. Um, you know, I used to think with my writer filter, I would think of things, like I would see an image and think about how I would convey that if I were writing a poem. Now, you know, I think about how would I convey the sunset into a lesson plan. ( laugh ) So. What would I want to teach them about this and like how would I go about setting that up. So, itÂ’s because the thought process changes for me, [. . .] (Eve, intervie w, March 10, 2005, lines 657-663) Whatever way a teacher goes about sett ing up a lesson can work depending on the situation. No two teachers will have the same answers to which?, how?, why?, when?, where?, and with whom? specific content is de livered. All answers to these questions are potentially successful. How we answer depends to a large extent on who we ARE as a teacher and as a person. All of these student/teachers made th is connection at some point when they reported that they knew what to DO to BE successful students. The connection between who we are and our decisions to act is another important reason for considering how we address a student/teacherÂ’s developing intra-personal intelligence. Mis-education? In fact, all experiences educate, but some experiences can have effects we would prefer to avoid. Consider the effect on S ELF as teacher of the following experiences:
231 Ann thought of herself generally as Â“M rs. Nice SomebodyÂ” and found it traumatic to have to shout at people. She reporte d she only felt like a teacher when she was being authoritarian. Bea reported that she learne d she had to frown as a teacher, not smile. She also expressed feeling a conflict between a desire to respect and support her students, and the (explicit) message that if she did th at they might play tricks on her and take advantage of her . . . she said she felt she ha d to learn to be suspicious of students. Rich thought that Â“instructi ngÂ” (i.e., transmission) as opposed to Â“teachingÂ” (i.e., engaging thinking) is what a teacher does 99% of the time. What decisions will these Â“teacher selvesÂ” make in terms of techniques, methods, approaches, and what persona will they construct for Â“teacherÂ”? Teacher space Regardless of the situation, several of the student/teachers highlighted the importance of giving interns a chance to have their own Â“teacher sp ace.Â” Dave suggested (conversation, 2 March 2005) that a very impor tant part of the process of becoming a teacher is moving from being an intern to getting more of a Â“teacher feeling.Â” A supervising teacher can accomplish this, as hi s did, by slowly transferring responsibility for the classroom to the student/teacher. He described his student te aching experience as great and interesting because his teacher (to use his term for her) was a resource, very supportive, and seemed to know when to leav e him on his own, in a real physical sense by not being in the room, in a virtual sense by not asking to see his lesson plans before he did them, or by referring all student questions to him while he was teaching. This allowed him to truly feel that he wa s the teacher. The more obvious her presence in the classroom was, the more he felt like a student/teacher. Th e more she withdrew, the more he felt like a teacher. He noticed that when she star ted pulling back, he started working more. Knowing that he was on his own and that the lesson plan he was prep aring was Â“for realÂ” (i.e., he wasnÂ’t going to discu ss it with her first before doing it) made it feel less like a
232 draft that he knew he would have a chance to modify. Now he was the sole decision maker. He felt he could consu lt her, but only if he wanted to, it was not her requirement. He felt that the less dependent he was made to feel, the more responsible he became. Other cooperating teachers, like AnnÂ’s, mi ght prefer a Â“sink or swimÂ” approach. Letting student/teachers jump into the cl assroom with no initial observation or introduction has some advantages. It can be very positive since the students know the intern as a teacher from th e start. Ann, not wanting to annoy her cooperating teacher agreed, although she said she had never really be en in a classroom as a teacher before. It is possible that this brusque en try could have been some of the cause of her frustrations. Even though she managed to overcome these frustrations, it was not without tears. Bea illustrates why this Â“sink or swimÂ” approach can be a good idea when she described the importance of physical Â“feelÂ” a nd verbal positioning in the classroom from the beginning. As did most of her classmat es, she observed her practice classroom for two weeks before she Â“took overÂ” as teacher. Sh e felt that fact solidif ied her identity as a student, not as a teacher for the studentsÂ—sh e never had the Â“faceÂ” of a teacher in her student teaching classroom. Cooperating teachers and university supervis ors, considering individual needs, context, and personalities, can work together to decide when to give the student more teacher space to actually BE a teacher, but en sure he or she has appropriate scaffolding according to his or her experience and personality. The ideal and the real in confrontation . . . it was hard to, adjust from, the ideal. Um, what I had in my mind. (Bea, interview, June 14, 2005, lines 880-881)
233 Ann discussed how her thinking about many things changed dramatically once she was practicing in a real classroom. She sa id she had thought her plans for behavior management were Â“real goodÂ” when she had dr awn them up the previous semester before she had actually managed real students. After being in the classroom she realized that you can only Â“envisionÂ” so much without experience of reality. Eve also reported that before getting into the classroom to practice t eaching, she could only imagine Â“automatons.Â” After her student/teaching experience she coul d take a lesson and adapt and/or modify it based on real students, real actions and r eal dimensional embodied awareness of the situation. Constructing each othersÂ’ diverse narratives Teachers go into classrooms with a self-n arrative they have been constructing for years out of their entire life experience. Th ese narratives include se ts of characters and expectations about the world and the divers e people in it. A classroom teacher is entrusted with more than the transmission of f acts. S/he is also an important influence on studentsÂ’ development as people. As Bea put it, the teacher is like the studentsÂ’ Â“second homeÂ” and they depend on her for a lot more th an book learning. For this reason it is vital that teachers be prepared for the diversity that exists in our classrooms. A teacherÂ’s construction of Â“othernessÂ” will be a critical f actor in his or her studentsÂ’ school and life experience, as well as each st udentÂ’s on-going self-narrative. From the beginning, a teacher must be aware of the important role he or she plays in the construction of his or her studentsÂ’ self -narratives. Cultural stereotyping can lead a teacher to suppose the childÂ’s parents donÂ’ t care, even though these parents do care deeply and are willing to sacrifice much to support their childre nÂ’s success in school (Jimenez, 1997; Taylor & Dorsey-Gaines, 1988). Misperceptions related to class, gender
234 and race can lead to actions that cause students to Â“shutdown,Â” effectively shutting themselves out, even in the most well-m eaning teacherÂ’s classroom (Fu, 1995; Key, 1998; Towsend & Fu, 2001). It is disconcerting to read in the resear ch how many teachers do not feel prepared to help these students, especially Englis h Language Learners (Townsend & Fu, 2001; Townsend & Harper, 1997). Empirical evidence from the area of bilingual education confirms that responding to these students as if they had a Â“deficitÂ” robs them not only of academic content, but also of Â“languagedÂ” tr ansactional experiences with their peers (Fu, 1995; Zamel, 1995). These transactional experi ences are as important to get ahead as Â“book learning.Â” What teachers do is of critical importance for a developing self (Fu, 1995). But how teachers are in th eir languaged transactions and interactions with students from different language backgrounds will also play a crucial role in these studentsÂ’ development as people. Languaged interaction in also important in the relationships a teacher develops with native speakers of English. St udentsÂ’ personal narratives in the home may be quite different to those of the school, impacted by many factors (e.g., poverty, violence, or inconsistent previous literacy experiences in school) (Heath, 1982, 1983; Kozol, 1991). Unfortunately, it seems the most frequent re sponse to perceived difficulties with school literacy (whatever the cause) is to misinter pret these problems as Â‘symptomsÂ’ of a deficiency (Fu, 1995; Zamel, 1995), a Â‘motivatio nÂ’ problem, or even worse a question of learning disability. Having helpful and cari ng dispositions, well-meaning teachers often attempt to Â‘remediateÂ’ the Â‘deficitÂ’ by teaching discrete, decontextualized skills
235 (Bialystok, 2002, Zamel, 1995), thereby artificial ly separating parts from a whole and possibly making learning even more difficult. In analyzing any situation in which we hope for transformative change, we need to examine the underlying context and assumpti ons we take for granted. Depending on our assumptions, conclusions and outcomes may be undermined: Â“Schooling produces (and is produced within) a set of attitudes, skills , understandings and relationships; i.e., knowledges and human subjectivitiesÂ” (Ede lsky, 1996, p. 2). Understanding diverse ways of being can help teachers see that it is not a question of Â‘fixingÂ’ or changing the literacy of an individual child, but of uncovering th e power relations that value or devalue it (Delpit, 1988). Power relations ultimately come down to ways of being: We act in terms of how we believe we should be in our personal and institutional rules. As new teachers construct themselves, they need to develop awareness of how they participate in constructing thei r studentsÂ’ narratives. They also need to understand how difference plays a role in their developmen t of teacher narratives . Student/teachers need to develop a personal theory of how culture and power are enacted in classrooms on all levels (i.e., as part of a society, and as a specific classroom group), in terms of their own participation as cultural beings. Their na rrative needs to incl ude knowledge of their gendered, racial (McIntyre, 1997), and cultural selves, even though this may be quite difficult for many people to realize (Alle n, & Hermann-Wilmarth, 2004; Garmon, 2004). Dispositions We project reality onto our internal scr eens through unique complexes of filters operating in unison. Our view of who we are is an important filter for how we act and/or see the need to act in the classroom. If we see the world as aggressive and our self as a victim, we see aggression. If we see potential in others and our self as efficacious in
236 helping others realize their potential, we can make this happen. For teachers, the disposition to believe all stude nts can learn, and the belief that they, as teachers, are effective helpers in this process is vital. In 1992, INTASC (The Interstate New Teacher Assessment and Support Consortium) began publishing a set of ten core standards and specific subject area standards for new teachers in all content areas. NCATE (National Council for Accreditation of Teacher Education) also publ ishes core standards for effective teaching. Their 2002/2006 edition specifies that Â“[C]andidates prepari ng to work in schools as teachers . . . know and demonstrate the c ontent, pedagogical, and professional knowledge, skills and dispositions necessary to help all students learnÂ” (NCATE, 2002, pdf version, p. 10). Each standa rd includes criteria that i ndicate the knowledge, skills and dispositions (student) teache rs need to be effective. The disposition to be helpful, and the dis position to believe all students can learn regardless of their background or personal ch aracteristics are only two of many that student/teachers must demonstrate. Other di spositions include ent husiasm, flexibility, adaptability, responsibility, respect, curios ity, and democratic sh aring. A teacher must also be disposed to value peer relationships and collegial act ion. S/he must be willing to collaborate and accept collaboration, not only from other professionals, but also from her/his students. S/he must be disposed to pay attention to all aspects of a childÂ’s experience (cognitive, emotional, social and phy sical), and to listen thoughtfully and with sensitivity. A teacher must encourage se lf-confidence and self-esteem in others. (Summarized from the INTASC standards, Downloaded 4 May 2006 from: http://www.ccsso.org/content/pdfs/corestrd.pdf)
237 As teacher educators, we are called u pon to assess the degree to which new teachers have these dispositions. However, a disposition is technically something we canÂ’t observe. My dictionary (WebsterÂ’s New Collegiate Dictionary, 1977 edition) defines disposition as a tende ncy or mood, a personÂ’s temperamental makeup. It is the Â“orderly arrangementÂ” of personality traits. As such, a Â“dispositionÂ” is really an aspect of being, not doing. If we are to assess a studen t/teacherÂ’s Â“belief th at all students can learn,Â” we must do so based on his or her ac tions. We must deduce who a person is from what he or she does. (I include sp eech as an observable act of doing.) Doing and being This brings us back to doing and being, and the question of whether our curriculum and procedures might focus student/teachers t oo much (inadvertently or otherwise) on doing at the expense of being. How might our own doing (as required by our institutional responsibilities) interfere w ith (and/or impede) work with student/teachers on discovering new ways of being that are a part of becoming a professional teacher? An essential aspect of the general me aning structure for student/teaching as presented in Chapter 5 is cont radiction: It is both self-foc used and other-focused. Lists like the standards mentioned a bove are very useful in opera tionalizing a consensus as to what the dispositions of effective teachers might look like in practice. But once they are converted into check-list type assessment fo rms, they can also keep student/teachers focused on doing, and on satisfying extrinsic requ irements at the expense of the interior work required to understand how certain dispos itions (ways of being) link to behaviors (ways of doing). An example of this is the standard forms used by university supervisors and cooperating teachers as a final assessment of student/teacher performance. For various
238 indicators drawn from the INTASC/NCATE standards and a similar list of Florida Â“accomplished practices,Â” student/teachers ar e rated on performance (I include written and spoken language as acts taken to be i ndicative of inner states). Apart from the semantic issue that the language used is s ubjective and variable from one observer to another, and we do not practice Â“normingÂ” before using these forms, we can only rate an individual according to evid ence we see of these things in actionÂ—doing, even though many of the items really refer to being. When institutional decision-makers (i.e., te achers) decide grades, it is only fair to focus on objective indicators of knowledge, t echniques and dispositions to the extent these are observable, and avoid subjective grad ing based on the graderÂ’s feelings about a person. But, this puts the focus on doing. Unfo rtunately, the being aspects of becoming a teacherÂ—experiential roles, rules and proce ssesÂ—are not necessarily observable in any way, even in a personÂ’s reflections. Being can be very different from what we base grades on, making grades poor predictors of a personÂ’s later success as a teacher. In this study, the experience of an observer (watching someone act) and the experience of the actor may differ different several times with variable consequences. During her practice teaching Bea wrote in a weekly reflection that her supervising teacherÂ’s perception of her as Â“unenthusia sticÂ” completely contradicted her lived experience of enthusiasm. Of course, Bea may ha ve felt enthusiastic and not realized that she was creating the opposite impression, but the comment confused her. She was also very much affected by being Â“[made to] reflect about [her] many failure s as a teacher . .Â” Â—an experience she described as Â“tortur ousÂ” but Â“essentially beneficial.Â” (Bea, assessment/inquiry project for student teachi ng seminar, April 15, 2005.) She said that
239 this caused her to shut down, withdraw, and retreat into her student role. Not only did she live this as a powerful attack on her sense of self as a caring, smiling, friendly person who would guide the class by m eans of mutual respect and collective goal setting, it caused her to stop being a Â“teacherÂ” and to ch ange her approach to what she did in her practice teaching. Instea d of planning in terms of th e content and the students, she planned procedures that would win approva l from her teacher and help her pass the course. This case highlights how an open and trusting relationship that invites on-going dialog between observer and observed can be cr itical in helping us notice discrepancies between ways we think we are being and other peopleÂ’s impressions of us. Another example from this study of a di screpancy between experienced being and observed doing was the case of Ann. She felt fr ustrated for much of her student teaching and evaluated the overall experience as Â“unplea sant.Â” But this asse ssment was clearly not shared by her supervising teacherÂ’s, w ho gave her all top marks on the TEIRS assessment. Barbara also got all top mark s on her final assessment, but had a very different opinion of the student teaching expe rience. The two women had quite different personalities and styles, and th is surely had an important influence on the feelings about self they took away from their student/t eaching, in spite of comparable objective assessments: Barbara experienced herself ove rall as very successful, Ann less so. How will those feelings and that experience impact how they will be as teachers? Looking from the Outside-In While Enco uraging Looking from the Inside-Out The TEIRS summative assessment is one exam ple of how we tend to look from the outside in. Another example come s from our day-to-day proce dures. It is very common in teacher education to require students to re flect and share those reflections. Obviously, reflection is an indispensable tool for t eaching, and asking students to share written
240 reflections seems to be an effective way to communicate with the student/teacher. It provides an opportunity to crea te a dialog, and helps to under stand what he or she is thinking before, during and after a lesson, and if they are thinking! On the other hand, as soon as we, in our institutional role as Â“tea cher/assessorÂ” ask to see a reflection, we run the risk of converting this activity into another kind of Â“doing.Â” Dave commented on how much the experience of reflection (something he did anyway) changed for him when it became an assignment. For Dave, by assigning the reflection we changed the nature of the process making it an Â“outside-inÂ” activity (Dave-the-student w ould try to guess what the teacher wanted and give her that), ther eby defeating our own pur poses of encouraging looking from the Â“inside-out.Â” Making reflection obligatory and gradable in some way may need to be an individualized decision, open to negotiation between each student and each teacher as to the how. For some students, assignments alert th em to the importance of some aspect of teaching. And how many times do we acknowledge that we need to do something, and intend to do it but only actually do it because of some external requirement? For other students, an assignment may reify their stude nt self when they are trying to find and define their teacher self. It suggests that a dvisors look for ways to be explicit about the role of reflection, and find ways of maki ng it necessary without making it into just another assignment. This is especially so if either feels they cannot enter into a way of being with each other as equa l professionals sharing ideas, which is the real value of reflection. Would the same objective be re ached by requiring students to submit, for example, a tally of pages written each week ? Or by asking students to evaluate their reflections each week and chose key points for a weekly summary?
241 Dave also reminds us that inquiry aut hored by a Â“teacherÂ” may be different than inquiry performed by a Â“student.Â” As described in Chapter 5, authorship is an important part of professional (as oppos ed to student) inquiry. By ma king it an assignment, we may inadvertently be putting someone into stude nt mode. And when Dave was in student mode, he was focused on producing what he fe lt the teacher wanted to hear, instead of making his own decisions based on the contex t in which he was teaching. It is worth considering the extent to which we might act ually be discouraging a professional inquiry stance, albeit inadvertently, w ith inquiry assignments, instead of reifying it as a normal part of a teacherÂ’s work. It is perhaps mere ly a question of how the topic is couched in syllabi, program documents, and our own way of ta lking about it. Getting a second opinion As Dave commented, reflection was someth ing he did anyway. In his case it may not have been necessary to make this elem ent of teacher professionalism a requirement. Eve and Bea also commented that they alrea dy kept more than one journal independently of any assignment. Rich indicated another element of prof essionalism that he did without being required to. He expressed the value (for any teacher) of getting a second opinion when he said: [. . .] part of the teacher ro le . . . is to ask, and itÂ’s ju st part of something you do on a professional level to ask somebody to come observe you, and get[K: sure] feedback, itÂ’s just . . you know, professiona l developmentÂ” (Interview, Rich, June 29, 2005, lines 810-813). I notice that RichÂ’s insight was not: Â“. . . ask a supervisor or your cooperating teacher to come observe you . . .Â”. For Rich the important thing is: [. . .]other eyes to back up / (inaudible) /that feeling. You know, you/ K: yeah / [. . ] as a beginner, your first year thatÂ’s what it all is , is, well ok I have these, I have all
242 of these feelings. IÂ’d, / K: yeah /if I ju st had somebody to, sort of.. you know, verify these feelings or, give me a second opinion [. . .] (Interview, Rich, June 29, 2005, lines 485-490) Self-evaluation and self-assessment Throughout the 12 years I have been work ing in some capacity as a teacher educator in Spain and in Flor ida, I have yet to find a solution for the problem Nolan and Hoover (2004) refer to: Interns never seem unaware of the evalua tor role of their university based advisor. It is very difficult for student/teachers to get away from the Â“studentÂ” part of that rela tionship. That observation, togeth er with the above insights from two of the student/teach ers, and the other findings of this study, points to another implication for teacher education: that we need to consider Â“[using] assessment strategies (traditional and alternative) to assist the continuous development of the learner. [To collect] and use data from a variety of s ourcesÂ” (TEIRS, University of Florida, 2000). Self-assessment is one such practice. What space might there be for self-evaluat ion in teacher education? I wonder what the effect might be if we were to use the same forms we use to assess student/teachers, based on the same standards, and reword them so that they could be used for selfassessment by each student/teacher. Not only would the student/teachers be assessing themselves in terms of the degree to which they were successful (which would produce a quantifiable grade that could be entered into a grade book), th e process of self-assessment would also lead them to think critically about each of the dispositions the indicators refer to, and to consider the connec tions between action and being. If we agree with Nolan and Hoover that an evaluative role might interfere with a mentoring role, it might be worth consider ing alternatives to traditional assessment, disassociating the role of advisor and that of assessor, and making the student/teaching
243 grade Â“satisfactory/unsatisfactoryÂ” with a se lf-evaluation component. We might consider the value of having someone who is not the su pervisor or a coopera ting teacher take on the valuable role of observer and advisor, without also having to be the judge. Educating, as defined in Chapter 1 invol ves thinking about being in addition to doing. In my definition, its outcomes can be evaluated but cannot always be assessed. Perhaps accountability makes it impossible with in an educational institution to enable educating in the true sense of the word. E ducation as an institutional system relies on assessing observable behaviorsÂ… if not, what? How can we design programs avoiding the high stakes placed on obs ervable behaviors, and using activities that encourage looking from the inside out? Practical Implications Phenomenological research is not meant to build theories, determine general laws, predict, or control. Phenomenology aims to describe meaning structures of human consciousness. We can each reflect on our own experience and (pre)conceptions of our Â“self-as-teacher,Â” but how close is our lived experience to what interns are experiencing in the moment of student teaching? Accurate and detailed information about the lived experiences of other people permits a more multi-faceted view of the experience we call Â“teaching,Â” and complements our subjectiv e knowing, including our knowledge of research on teacher knowledge, beliefs and lived stories. By using a systematic and replicable me thod, and a critical analysis, I generated what I present as universal trustworthy, plau sible, and ethical meaning structures for situated individual experience of people in the process of becoming teachers (Chapter 5). My hope is that these universal descriptions wi ll lead to fuller unders tandings and help us theorize from a pedagogical perspective how sp ecific student/teachers navigate specific
244 internships. As a teacher, a student, and a t eacher educator, I canÂ’t help but consider possible practical implications of these results. In this section I will use imaginative vari ation in a different way: Rather than discovering the essential by eliminating the une ssential, I will use it to speculate on what a program might look like in practi ce if we were to try to act on these insights. Just as a writer should consider a review erÂ’s reactions for what it te lls her about how successfully she communicated her intentions for a pi ece, and how revision might improve the message, we can consider how closely the m eanings these student/teachers took away from their student/teaching experience matches our goals for teacher education. I will start from the general structural description in Chapter 5 and imaginatively vary reality to consider what the experience could be like in other circumstances. The following Â“practical implicationsÂ” are drawn directly from the aspects of experience described in Chapter 5, which is in quotation marks and italicized. Boundaries Â“Being in a nine-week student teaching assignm ent is a strange and conflicted place of multiple roles, selves and obligations that are continually coming in and out of focus.Â” Â“Roles and functions do not mesh, blend, or flow smoothly one into one other. Boundaries are sharp, but not al ways immediately clear.Â” Â“. . . student/teachers exist simultaneously in three very different spaces, each with different, sometimes contradictory, sets of rules and functions. . . . Feelings and filters may overlap or get mixed up during student teaching.Â” Make boundaries clear. Be an ally in identifying collisions and overlap between distinct roles and filters.
245 Â“Which space a person is in at any given mo ment is not always vi sible to an outside observer, or even to th e person him or herself.Â” Pay attention to what student/teachers say and do for what it tells about where they are. Work together to sort these out and try to put each in its own context. Multiple s/elves Â“The student teaching experience is a time of awareness of multiple selves, each with its own identity, specifications, voices, accents, context, rules, passions, and filters. Each self also has its own emotions. The self (or selves) a person experiences at any given moment is determined by the meaning that person attributes to an unfolding situation, and meanings for situations shift depending on felt role.Â” Personality is an important component of who one is as a teacher. Create safe spaces for interior work and dialog about self-cons truction. Reflection may not be the answer. How we are may be more important than what we do in this respect. Place students in classrooms in pairs. It may be that two people in the same space can see/intuit much more than people in other life spaces. Entering the community Â“All of this in a context which you did not participate in designing and have little say in changing since your tenure in that context is so brief.Â” Ideally, student/teachers would be in their practice teaching classrooms from the first day of the school year, like anthropol ogists in the field Â– becomi ng a member of a community takes time. Give students a teacher role (even if assi stant teacher) as soon as they enter the classroom.
246 Â“[Student/teachers operate] from an epheme ral, unstable, and sometimes non-existent power base . . .. Student teaching is about developing relationships , making connections, and finding balance . . .Â” Make students Â“collaborating teachers Â” instead of student/teachers. All of the student/teachers commented on the difficulty of entering an established community with its routines and roles, and how they felt this prevented them from being authentically Â“teacher.Â” Bea says it the most succinctly: I think the first day is so esse ntial to any, to . . the entire feel? . . of the classroom? . . . like with the internship, the observati on the first two weeks? Um . . . kinda . . kinda just made me, like a, a student . . . to the kids. You know? Because IÂ’m just observing . . .. And you know, like, like, Â“Oh, sheÂ’s a student . . . watching Ms Simon teach and then sheÂ’s gonna do the same thing. When Ms Simon leaves. . . . I think, from the beginning, if, I was give n the opportunity to just . . . you know, throw my face in there, or whatever, IÂ’m a teacher. [. . .] (Bea, interview, June 14, 2005, lines 912-921) Having had some classroom teaching experience before entering a masterÂ’s program should be a requirementÂ—it is not easy to process new knowledge about teaching and to imagine yourself in the role of teacher if you have never been in a classroom as a teacher. But obviously, this is hardly practical. Nor is it necessarily desirable, as it implies putting people with undergraduate content degrees directly into classrooms with no pedagogical education. Getting students immediately into the cl assroom as teachers in some capacity would give them a space to explore an embodied awareness of a new reality as they pursue university classes as students.
247 The supervisor Â“How a student/teacher experiences his or her roles and functions, and overall self, is highly determined by his or her supervisor(s).Â” Not all cooperating teachers are excellent mentor s, just as not all teachers are excellent. Work to create time and space for educating new mentor teachers, and for the on-going professional development of mentors. Work together to facilitate positive interactions with student/teachers. Permission to Â“do-overÂ” Â“. . . permissionÂ” to explore a new profes sional self identity empowers a student/teacher and provides a relatively safer space to make decisions and deal with whatever outcomes may emerge. At this end of the continuum Â“mistakesÂ” are not experienced as Â“failure,Â” but as having learning potential.Â” Create a climate in which Â“do-oversÂ” (as oppos ed to Â“mis-takesÂ”) are acceptable and anticipated as a normal reaction to not lik ing an outcome for whatever reason. This reinforces a sense of authorship in student/t eachers. Instead of teachers deciding (actually or virtually) that something is a Â“mis-take,Â” it permits a new teacher to decide he or she doesnÂ’t like a result and want s to do it over because . . .. Who decides Â“. . . the outcome, which is decided by another, is a critical determinant of his or her entire future.Â” Â“You are continually being watched, evaluat ed, and judged, overtly or covertly.Â” Â“. . . not finishing a lesson plan ca rries the threat of failure.Â”
248 Invite student/teachers to participate in ev aluation and assessment of their student teaching with self-evaluation and/or self -assessment instruments that encourage the exploration of multiple reasons for observed events. Avoid high stakes final assessment of student teaching. This might help to de-emphasize Â“studentnessÂ” in this context in favor of an increased colleg ial professional teacher focus. Separate the mentor and the assessor roles. A Â“regularÂ” teacher Â“You have consequential responsibility for actions that are not necessarily your choice. As a student/teacher you are never exactly the same as a regular teacher.Â” Make the student a Â“regular teacher.Â” Give student/teachers voice, choices and responsibility. Dave attributes his growing sense of t eacher self to his supervising teacherÂ’s sensitivity in knowing when not to ask him to show her his lesson plans but let him just do it, or when to be physically absent from the room. At these moments, he truly felt what it was to be the teacher. Respect authority Â“[As a student/teacher] you have to respect the teacher, defer to her authority, and accept her evaluations of your performance.Â” Make student/teachers their own author ity figures. (see self-assessment.) As a Â“regularÂ” teacher assessing his or her own performance, the student/teacher would have the authority to judge and must respec t this authority (i.e., him or herself), and accept his or her (self-)evaluations/assessments. Work collaboratively to set parameters, rationale, and sufficiency criteria.
249 The real authority Â“When you are a student/teacher there is always some Â“REALÂ” authority somewhere in the background with final responsibility fo r whatever happens in the classroom, even if she is not physically present.Â” Be explicit and consistent in word and action with students that the student/teacher IS the authority while they are in the classroom. Interact with the student/teacher as anot her professional who is expected to be professionally responsible. Dave knew he had full responsibility for asse ssing students so, as a professional, he checked with his supervising teacher and adju sted his parameters for his first assignment accordingly. He recognized that the teacher in whose classroom he was practicing had valuable knowledge about the context that would help him balance how he responded/graded without accepting any sub par efforts. Authorship of inquiry Â“The content, purpose and process of inquiry ar e experienced differently if authored by a Â“teacherÂ” or if carried out by a Â“student.Â” Leave decision-making to the student/teacher. Foster a sense of authorship in their inquiry. Collegial inquiry Â“Inquiry involves professional questions or wonderings that lead to growth.Â” Â“Regardless of the venue, i nquiry by student/teachers is characterized by constant wondering, insecurity, doubt, and so me degree of frustration.Â” Â“[Inquiry] is a conscious goal-driven proce ss that involves active observation, question posing, and decision making about anything, including questions that are theoretical,
250 practical, or that concern deeper me aning about phenomena inside or outside the classroom.Â” Allow time for inquiry to develop. Make it a part of everyday professionalism, and distinct from a student assignment. Making inquiry a collegial undertaking can cr eate a democratic power dynamic, model professionalism, and reduce frustration. Insecu rity is ameliorated when one can share doubts with a colleague. A cooperating teacher carrying out her own inquiry that blends with a student/teacherÂ’s, or working collabo ratively on the same inquiry project can create the environment Dave highlighted as being so helpful to hi m feeling more like a teacher. (A few years ago a student/teacher I will call Â“SusanÂ” described for me one of her better experiences in this same program. Her cooperating teacher conducted her own inquiry project that was parall el and complementary to the SusanÂ’s. Each explored her own topic, and then wove the results t ogether, leading to more knowledge of the classroom they were practicing in and greater feelings of self-efficacy for both teachers.) Limitations of the Findings The principal limitations of phenomenol ogy as a methodology were mentioned in Chapter 3. These include the situatedness of participants, the situatedness of the researcher, and the reliance on verbal language. In this section, I di scuss limitations of phenomenology and critical discourse analysis as I used them. However, before addressing methodological limitations , I would like to address tw o issues relevant to this particular study: sample size and Â“the students who disappeared.Â”
251 Sample Size Small sample size is not necessarily a limitation in phenomenology. Various authors suggest that five to 25 interviews is normally sufficient for trustworthy results. For some phenomenologists a sample size of one is sufficient. Theoretically, once no new themes seem to be appearing in new inte rviews, the researcher can consider the interviews as exhaustive in te rms of what they reveal abou t essential meaning structures. Although I base my results on only five intervie ws (plus my Â“self-interview), I did have a sense that I was reaching exhaustion since no new themes were appearing that were not unique to the person being interviewed. For this reason, I do not consider sample size as a limitation in this case. It is, however, a powerful argument for further res earch. I believe my results could be made more trustworthy either by re plicating the study with a larg er group of student/teachers, or by checking the results of this study by sending the gene ral structural description (Chapter 5) to as wide a group of other stude nt/teachers as possible, provided they are in a similar brief internship, and asking them to comment on how clos ely the description resonates with their experience. I will come b ack to future research after the limitations section. The Student/Teachers Who Â“DisappearedÂ” In Chapter 3 I explained my reasons for re stricting the sample to a possible pool of 14 people. Ten of these 14 signed the informed consent letter agreeing to participate in the study. Four of these ten were, unfortunatel y, not available for an interview in June, but shared their writ ten work nonetheless. One has to ask about the other four st udents who Â“disappearedÂ” before the study even began (i.e., the four who never responde d). Did the ten student/teachers who agreed
252 to share their experiences, either in an inte rview or in writing, already feel secure in themselves as teachers in someway and want someone to validate that feeling, rather like my feeling when I went into my formal st udent teaching? Did the four students who did not respond to e-mails or who did not appear fo r scheduled interviews not want to discuss the experience for some reason, apart fr om the normal busy student end-of-term schedule? It would have been interesting to have interviewed more student/teachers than the six people I interviewed. On the other hand, carrying out a phenomenological study entails a certain degree of self-selection. To access a universal description of meaning, we need participants who can clearly articu late their experience and are not confused about it. Polkinghorne (1989, pp. 47-48) suggest s that participants be chosen who a. can express themselves clearly and easily b. do not feel inhibited about expressing feelings and emotions c. can describe somatic feelings that might accompany emotions d. have experienced the phenomena of interest recently e. are not just responding to the researcherÂ’s interest but are interested in the experience on their own behalf f. have the time to dedicate sufficient th ought and attention to their answers It is possible that the four students who disappeared might have done so for reasons relating to some of these requirements, a nd would not have provided trustworthy data, even if I had persisted in tracking them dow n. All of the student/teachers I did interview met requirements Â“a-d,Â” and Â“f.Â” In terms of requirement Â“e,Â” I had the opportunity to talk to all of the participants during their student teaching and the meanings they expressed during the June interview seemed c onsistent with meanings they had expressed
253 earlier. Meanings were also c onsistent with artifacts from the internship semester. Also, the four students who signed the informed c onsent letter but were not available for an interview had been in my student/teaching seminar group. My records (including audio recordings) from those meetings, which ev eryone involved consented to my using, indicate similar meanings. Based on these sources, I beli eve all participants were hone stly interested in this research on their own behalf. Several of th em commented during the interview that our discussion had helped them see things they hadnÂ’t previously realized and so had been useful for them. In light of these consider ations, I do not believ e we can know if not having interviewed the other four possi ble volunteers is a limitation or not. Limitations of Phenomenology The process and outcomes I described here represent only one possible description of the experience of learning to become a teacher, and of becoming socialized into teaching. Â“A phenomenological description is always one interpretation, and no single interpretation of human experience will ever exhaust the possibility of yet another complementary, or even potentially richer , descriptionÂ” (Van Manen, 1984, p. 40). I expect that a different research er, in a different place, at a different time, and/or with a different perspective might offer an alte rnative re-presenta tion of meaning, and alternative implications for this situat ed, human way of being in the world. Although I followed an empirical method, Â“. . . interpretation is inherent in all inquiry and, more generally, in all understa ndingÂ” (Hein & Austi n, 2001). I can make my pre-conceptions explicit to a great extent, bu t I cannot eliminate all context factors from this study, including my own perspective. Th ese results are specifically situated contextually, temporally, and epistemologi cally: The project was designed and carried
254 out from a particular (i.e., pedagogical) pers pective, and framed by a specific model of the self-as-narrative. Limitations of Critical Discourse Analysis The use of CDA as a secondary analysis in this context presents another limitation because of its subjectivity. To successfully interpret meanings, the interpreter must be fully versed in the context s/he is analyzi ng. The analysis also Â“depends upon [. . .] the interpreter's interpretative and strategi c biases" (Fairclough, 1999, p. 207). This is problematic for this study since the prim ary methodology is undermined by the same limitation (i.e., the researcher starts from and refers to personal knowledge of the experience). Although both methodologies prof ess to present systematically and methodologically obtained empiri cal meanings, both depend on the same subject (i.e., the researcher) who is observing, analyzing, and fi nally construing meaning. (I wonder about the extent to which this helps maintain th e status quo by merely confirming the meanings one expects, wants, or is able to see.) Some might argue that cr itical discourse analysis might not have been an appropriate methodology here, even for a s econdary analysis. The aim of critical discourse analysis, as the name implies, is to study natural language to see how discourses work to structure roles and power. The final prod uct is language focused. In a sense, I was looking from the opposite directi on. Instead of looking at and theorizing how and why language is used differently in differe nt roles, I took it for granted that it is and looked for how people used it differently as support for understanding different ways of being. I took the principles of CDA as given (e.g., who we are and the way we speak are inextricable). Then, based on my membership in both communities and familiarity with
255 student and teacher discourses, I made some a ssumptions about the nature of discourse in the language of a student and that of a teach er (e.g., a Â“teacherÂ” will speak with more certainty; submission will be more evident in the discourse of a student). Finally, to support the meanings I had found phenomenolog ically, I looked for coherence and/or disconfirmations between content, deliver y, and linguistic form based on these assumptions. I believe that a full discourse analysis (e.g., to have studied the nature of the discourse in different situa tions) would have been a new and different study. It would have entailed a different research design a nd I would have needed more and different natural language samples from each participant in various venues. If one accepts the argument that language and being are inseparable, and that one is affected by the other, I believe that for my purposes the use of CDA was adequate for a secondary analysis in this study. Language Dependence [T]he signifier (form) and signified (content) constitute a dialectical and hence inseparable unity in the sign, so that one-sid ed attention to the si gnified is blind to the essential material side of meaning, and one-sided attent ion to the signifier (as in much linguistics) is blind to the essential meaningful ness of forms. (Fairclough, 1999, p. 207) A final limitation of phenomenology and critic al discourse analys is is that both seek meanings in verbal language. Words will never entail exactly the same collection of images and concepts from person to person 100% of the time; each of us builds our own unique bundles of meanings, with shared and individual features. The fewer the shared components of a bundle, the more imaginat ive and metaphoric the language (Lakoff & Johnson, 1980). Shared semantic bundles enab le the use of symbols to signify communicatively, but there is much room fo r unnoticed misunderstandings. We use the
256 same words but do we mean the same things? To what extent do we share meanings? We can understand each other (or think we do) ba sed on the shared meanings but we can never know for certain the full extent of the entailments of another person. The phenomenological technique of imagina tive variation goes some way towards reducing possible error in this respect. By imaginativel y altering possible meanings during analysis in light of knowledge about the person, the context and the rest of the data, the researcher can feel more confident of her understandings. We can all see/hear the signi fier (i.e., form) of a text . It is relatively unambiguous, assuming that we agree on what it means to us e one lexical form instead of another. For example, we can probably agree that there is greater self-identification in Â“IÂ” statements, and that using the editorial Â“youÂ” or the pronoun Â“oneÂ” distances the speaker from the action they are expressing. Compare EveÂ’s use of pronouns in this excerpt from her interview: [I have highlighted the pronouns.] I donÂ’t even necessarily think that I need to break down that barrier. Um . . .[. . .] you have to realize, like, we Â’re not there to be friends, like we Â’re there to learn and so. . . Sometimes I lose sight of that [. . .] (Eve, interview, June 9, 2005, lines 583586) She begins to speak of her own actions, move s to a generalization that refers to all teachers, and then moves back to her own existence and actions as part of a group. Changing the pronouns in this segment woul d change her meaning and her Â“personaÂ” considerably. Consider the effect had she said: Â“ One has to realize that one is not there . . A person can lose sight of that . . ..Â” Analysis of the signified (i.e., content or meaning) as I have just done assumes transparency and fixedness in the signifier such that the researcher can unambiguously understand the meaning being signified by the si gn. If we take the position that language
257 is not transparent, interpreting the content or signified from the text alone is problematic. In discourse analysis, the researcher can assi gn meaning to what is said and claim his or her interpretation represents what the creator of the text wanted to signify. However, can we take it for granted that what the read er/hearer (i.e., the re searcher) understood as signified (i.e., meant) was the same as what the speaker/writer intended to signify (i.e., mean)? I agree with FaircloughÂ’s caution about one-sid ed attention to e ither signified or signifier. I would add that uncri tical acceptance of the researcherÂ’s re-presentation of the signified is just as risky. Fo r that reason member checking was an important part of this study to verify my analysis of relationships between si gnifier and signified (i.e., form/meaning), even if this is not a regul ar component of pheno menological research. A final limitation of this study is the impo ssibility of a perspe ctiveless standpoint, despite attempts to bracket theory and pre-conceptions in phenomenology. This limitation suggests many possibilities for further resear ch. I approached questions of knowing from an expressly pedagogical standpoi nt. It would be interesting to explore the questions of self I have pursued here from different pe rspectives (e.g., psychologi cal or sociological), or by looking from the outside through different theoretical constructs of self, instead of looking a-theoretically at indi vidual experience from inside as I have done. Other ideas for future research are discussed in the next and final section of this chapter. Future Directions The aim of this study was to understa nd meaning for a situated group of student/teachers in a specific place and time. However, being in the world as a teacher is a narrative that each teacher constructs th roughout his or her career from on-going life
258 experience. It would be intere sting to define different es sential meanings for being a teacher by repeating the study with groups of: First-year teachers Substitute teachers Teachers who enter the profession via altern ative routes (both during and after their entry year) Teachers with various years of experience Teachers in a variety of cont exts (urban, suburban, rural) Teachers and/or interns in professional development schools The list is possibly endless. Personally, the mo st interesting next step is to explore how teachers in other countries, particularly countries that are officially bilingual, negotiate the experience of student teaching, and how context, history and language play a role in their construction of teacher-self. Another aspect of the situated experi ence studied was being a student of a profession. It would be interesting to study the internship experi ence for people entering other professions (e.g., helping professions su ch as medicine or social work; or nonhelping professions such as engineering, archit ecture or graphic desi gn). It would also be interesting to study the more general proces s of change as one acquires, by whatever route, a professional identity. Finally, I feel my brief look at languag e and metaphor use only scratched the surface with respect to insi ghts it might contain for understanding the process of professional role development. The data ar e also rich in described experiences and language related to power dynamics in the cla ssroom, and power relations in society at large as these concern teachers and teaching. More detailed critical discourse analysis of
259 the same interviews and internship artifacts with a goal of explori ng these issues would be interesting future projects. I will end this dissertation with a chap ter dedicated to some final thoughts on the issue of role and role change, and inquiry in t eacher education.
260 CHAPTER 9 CONCLUDING THOUGHTS One might argue that for any contemporary [ teacher ] there is a tension between the public figure [. . .] and the Â‘normal personÂ’ , IÂ’ve argued elsewhere . . . that in the case of [ Ann ], the public figure is always anc hored in the Â‘normal personÂ’. . . (Fairclough, 2003, p. 181) Composing Public and Private Selves An essential aspect of the student teaching experience, according to the student/teachers interviewed in this st udy, is seeking to balance multiplicity and contradiction as they acquire a new dimensi on of self. Norman Fairclough described this tension as the process of incu lcation of private self into public role. I have adapted the quotes above and below this pa ragraph to sum up the meaning these student/teachers were describing. In the original text, Fairclough is referring to the relationship between Tony Blair the politician and Tony Blair th e man. I took the liberty of substituting Â“ politician(s) Â” with Â“ teacher(s) Â” and Â“ (Tony) Blair Â” with Â“ Ann Â” to represent my meaning. Â“ Ann Â” represents any teacher: [T]eachers have to address and carry along di verse constituenci es, and that is increasingly so as political alle giances become more volatile. [ Ann ] the [ teacher ] can be seen as not a unitary Â‘characterÂ’, but a Â‘characterÂ’ composed of a number of diverse [ Anns ]. In part, this is a matter of audienceÂ—for instance [ Ann ] the Â‘decision makerÂ’ . . ., [ Ann ] the leader . . . [O]ne can also see [ Ann ] shifting between these various identi ties in a single speech or interview. (Fairclough, 2003, p. 181) Being a teacher (or a student) is a mental sp ace as much as it is an institutional role. The role develops within the mental space within the component Â“UNDERSTANDINGÂ” in my theoretical model. This space is cons tituted by an existing se lf-narrative woven out
261 of experiences, values, emotions and know ledge, and tells a person who he or she is . When someone chooses to educate him or he rself to enter a prof ession, it is the whole self that sets out on the rout e. In a teacher education program, we can plan to educate and/or train the institutional role, but how do we influence (i nadvertently or deliberately) the development of the mental space? This development happens in a personÂ’s conscious and unconscious mind at different levels of aw areness. It is not something available for training, and maybe not even educating. It cannot be listed like other curricular objectives. But it certainly is influenced by a student/teacherÂ’s whole experience. That experience becomes part of a pers onÂ’s way of being as a teacher. Even though I have made a few practical suggestions for doing in this text, my objective was not (and is not) to draw implica tions for practice or critique any program. This research is more about inviting teacher educators to join me in engaging in thinking about whom and how we are as (teacher) educators. How do we share space with student/teachers as they develop their own being a nd becoming as teachers? These results prompt me to consider how I am with stude nt teachers, and to what extent I notice, validate, and make clear whic h actions they already do that are, in fact, inquiry as stance and inquiry as systematic research. I wonder how disposed we are as teacher educators to recognize and explicitly a ffirm student/teacher actions that can be qualified as Â“inquiry as research.Â” How do we take advantage of opportunities that present themselves to bring an existing inqui ry stance to the attention of new teachers, who may or may not recognize it in them selves? If such oppor tunities do not occur naturally, how we encourage i nquiry as research and an i nquiry stance? Might we even inadvertently discourage these ways of bei ng if our procedures focus us too much on
262 specific behaviors that are listed on observation and/or assessment forms? In the education of whole teachers, we need to go beyond considerations of ways of doing, and consider the space we leave for developing new ways of being. Components of Self-as-Narrative I began this text with the question Â“What is the self?Â” , and I set out to explore it using phenomenology. Although this methodology atte mpts to be a-theoretical, a specific model of Â“selfÂ” oriented my perspective and framed this study: the Â“self-as-narrative.Â” According to that model, self is theorized as an on-going narrative construction. If this model is sound, I should see as pects of narrative in the se lves my participants were presenting. As I worked, I referred on more th an one occasion to a li st of ten necessary components of narrative proposed by Jero me Bruner (1991). I considered how his necessary components of a lite rary narrative fit a Â“selfas-narrativeÂ” model and found coherence in every aspect. Therefore, I c onclude this model is a powerful one for construing the self in this study. In Table 91 I compare BrunerÂ’s co mponents of narrative with their application to a Â“self-as-narrativeÂ” model. Pre-Service Teacher Knowledge Rereading the situated and ge neral structural descriptions of Chapters 4 and 5, we can see that these pre-service teachers alre ady have a lot of s ophisticated teacher knowledge, as well as many of the dispositions Â“. . . necessary to help all students learnÂ” (NCATE, 2002, pdf version, p. 10). We can also see connections to th eir university work in the theories they have built, and in the plans they made for the classes they taught. Some student/teachers tried to apply their knowledge about teaching and discovered that to move from the theoretical ideal to the real, adjustments are necessary. In these
263Table 9-1 BrunerÂ’s (1991) components of narrative contrasted with the Â“self-as-narrativeÂ” model. BrunerÂ’s narrative components Self-as narrative model 1. Narrative diachronicity Events happen in some meaningful sequence, usually time. We e xperience our developing self in terms of rate of growth (or stagnation) in time. 2. Particularity Any narrative refers to some particular instance of the gene ric. Each person experiences his or her Â“selfÂ” as a particular, autonomous, unique example of Â“teacher.Â” We inculcate an institutional role with our whole personality. 3. Intentional state entailment Some intention is ascribed to actors in a narrative. We ascr ibe different intentions to different aspects of self. From a Western, humanistic pers pective of Â“autonomousÂ” thinker with a free will, we ascribe Â“authorsh ipÂ” to particular characters in our self-narrative. Perceived degree of authorship of intention contributes to how the on-going self-n arrative is being constructed. 4. Hermeneutic composability Any text is subject to hermeneutic interpretation (i.e., the Â“rightÂ” way to understand a text ). It represents the meaning intended by the author, and extracted by the reader. The question with any narrative is which meaning was intended by its author, what meaning the Â“readerÂ” understands, and how similar these are to each other. In any interaction, the Â“selfÂ” we present to the world may or may not be interpreted accurate ly as we intend it to be interpreted. The way we are perceived/receiv ed by others, will influence our actions and our continuing construction.
264Table 9-1 continuedÂ… BrunerÂ’s narrative components Self-as narrative model 5. Canonicity and breach Narrative entails some canonical state (script) that is breached. The script is the background, NOT the narrative but rather what enables narrative to exist. The narrative tells about the bre ach, not the canonical state. There is a Â“canonicalÂ” or Â“ide alÂ” teacher in the mind of a student/teacher. The self-narrative tells how this self is with respect to the ideal. 6. Referentiality Narratives do not necessarily refe r to an external reality; they may constitute reality. Reference, then, refers to connections within the narrative itself, and c oncerns how parts refer to each other. In our construction of self, we es tablish internal referentiality. Our self-as-teacher must corres pond to each of our other selfas-. . .. (our multiple other roles: writer, wife, friend). 7. Genericness Â“Narrative genre (e.g., romance, farce, tragedyÂ…)Â… can be thought of not only as a way of constructing human plights but as providing a guide for using mind [Â…].Â” (Bruner, 1991, p.15) There are many types of generic teachers: authoritarian, caring, and so on. We decide which the main character in our self-narratives will be. We live our lives as victims, or saviors, winners or losers, competent or incompetent . . . These metaphors for self will also inculcate the teacher self.
265Table 9-1 continuedÂ… BrunerÂ’s narrative components Self-as narrative model 8. Normativeness Narrative can diverge from a norm. This feature concerns the subjunctivity of narrative and it s potential to surprise: Â“Â… to Â“subjunctivize,Â” to render the worl d less fixed, less banal, more susceptible to recreation. Lite rature subjunctivizes, makes strange, renders the obvious less so, the unknowable less so as well, matters of value more open to reason and intuition.Â” (Bruner, 1986, p. 159) We write our self-narrative with reference to perceived norms. The degree to which we conform or diverge from the norm depends on the respective values we place on conformity and surprise. 9. Context sensitivity and negotiability Understanding a narrative depe nds on knowing its context. Background knowledge and context influence how we create, and how we understand a narrativ e (or not). This point is related to hermeneutic composability, but is more concerned with inter-textual and co ntextual relationships. Also Â“addressivityÂ” of an utterance (Bakhtin, 1986). We construct our self-narrati ve within the bounds of its setting(s), and within the bounds of the stories we know we can and cannot write for that setting. We know who we can and cannot be, and the dialogs we can and cannot have in terms of wh at we know about our context and the power we feel we have to use it, ignore it, or change it. 10. Narrative accrual Â“[N]arrative . . . accruals eventually create something variously called a Â“cultureÂ” or a Â“historyÂ” or, more loosely, a Â“tradition.Â” (Bruner, 1991, p. 18) "Self, then, is not a static thing nor a substance, but a configuring of personal events into a historical unity which includes not only what one has be en but also anticipations of what one will be." (Polkinghorne, 1988, p. 150)
266 interviews, we saw the results of people attempting to demonstrate (as teachers) theoretically effective teachi ng practices they had discu ssed (as students) in their university methods classes (e.g., cooperativ e learning, group work, writers workshop), and to which they also felt attracted philos ophically. We saw that they didnÂ’t always consider, for whatever reason, how such practices must be tailored and practiced if they are to become useful for the classroom they are used in. The result was experienced as a disconnect between what students were hear ing in their university classes and the practical reality of the classrooms in whic h they were teaching. This often led to frustration when their plans didnÂ’t work the way they we re supposed to. Frustration became an essential aspect of the student/teaching experience. To what extent do/did student/teachers unde rstand that students need to learn activities, routines, and pro cedures? Did they have enough ti me to play with ideas and discover how to make them work? For example, a quick-write is not in studentsÂ’ genes, and may take a few months of gradual guide d practice, something Rich was apparently not aware of when he tried it once and it didnÂ’t work at all as antic ipated. He construed this as a problem of distance between his uni versity professors a nd instructors and the real classrooms of todayÂ’s sc hools, or their inexperience with the ages and types of groups with whom he was working. Sometimes a student/teacher tr ied to conform to or model his or her teaching on the routines, procedures, and att itudes of the cooperating teac her, even if these were sometimes experienced as inconsistent with the student/teacherÂ’s personal understandings of what teaching should be, or of what he or she was Â“supposed to be doingÂ” for their university professors. These e xperiences generated some cont radictions and confusion for
267 the individual among his or her ideal teacher self, his or her real self, and his or her student/ teacher self (as s/he pe rceived it was, should, or had to be in the student teaching assignment). Field Experiences Surely one reason for designing field experiences and placing them in teacher education programs the way we do is to give new teachers a space for experimenting with teaching techniques and strategies. The field ex perience is also a cr itical opportunity to help student/teachers discover and define th eir personal inculcation of a new (to them) institutional role. But to do so, they must authentically experience themselves as Â“teachersÂ”: Until a person is actually in a setting, in a role with mind, body and emotions, it is impossible to truly devel op an experiential meaning for pa rticular ways of being in a setting. The insights this study produced, coupled with reflection on our rationale(s) for field experiences, can add to our understandings of the complex place of these experiences in teacher education. Within the student/teachersÂ’ descriptions of the meaning of their field experiences, and th eir selves in them, I find support for the following conclusions: that a greater degree of authority is perc eived as a part of the institutional role Â“teacher,Â” confirming a belief I expressed in Chapter 1. The student/teachers in this study seemed to consider this in stitutional authorit y essential to being the Â“teacher." We are not at present particul arly successful in facilitati ng a sense of self as teacher during the field experience. In this study we saw that th ree of the five teachers experienced themselves essentially as students, and two of them experienced themselves as student/teachers, albeit with teacher moments.
268 The question this raises is whether we are satisfied with this situation: Is it important to foster a sense of teacher Â“selfÂ” during this time, and, if so, how we might go about doing that? Professional Roles and Functions Roles and functions are key and inseparable concepts in this research. Role is a noun and refers to who (i.e., a real person) or what (i.e., an institutional person). Â“WhoÂ” is both a way of being and a way of acting. Â“W hatÂ” refers to systemically structured patterns of functions, rights and responsibil ities that constitute an institutional role. Roles as Â“what,Â” are also social constructs. We donÂ’t just fill soci al roles; we invest them with our unique personalit y. In the process, we adopt an d adapt accepted narratives such that they are coherent with our on-goi ng self-construction, our values, dispositions, emotions, knowledge and experience. The way we organize our multiple perspectives on Â“selfÂ” creates our individual enactment of a ge neric role. This management effort is an emergent work as we try to keep our role s coherent amongst each other. The balance we seek is what creates th e kind of professional we are continually becoming. Learning how to teach is more than learning how to function in a role. It is learning how to be part of a system. Sets of functions constitute roles, and complementary sets of roles function together as a whole. Each of these function/role systems will be uniquely influenced by its social and physical c ontext. In addition to learning what to do to be excellent, teachers need to understand who they are and how they participate in the procedural system of educating in the sp ecific time and place they are practicing (as opposed to the generic institution of education). It is both something to learn, and a developing awareness of becoming.
269 Part of a System Scientific research and know ledge are premised on the belief that if we understand how the parts of something work, we can contro l one or more of the parts and direct the system to accomplishing our will. In the mode l I follow of classroom as an open system, reactions and product are emergent, and the syst em is open to perturbations from within. To return to the issue of being vs. doing , teachers (in this case student/teachers) are an integral part of such a system, in additi on to being accountable for managing it. If we know ourselves and how we are in the system and how we interact with other elements in the system, we have a tool to create or or ient perturbations from within: With this knowledge-of-being we can nudge the system to our will. Being successful in an open system also re quires flexibility and authority to adapt and invent, diverging from standards, pre-co nceived ideals, and co mmon sense wisdom if necessary. It interests us as teacher educators to encourage experiences that foster the growth of a thinking, empow ered, inquisitive way of being. For this reason student/teacher preparation shoul d explicitly include attenti on to being. It should also foster the disposition to observe, and devel op the ability and knowledge to systematically analyze what is happening in the classroom sy stem in order to take action based on that knowledge. Multiplicity, Contradiction and Energy Multiplicity and contradiction are two components of the essential meaning structure of being a student/t eacher, as described by the participants in this study. They lived this as a negative and frustrating experience. But, c onfusion and contradiction are not necessarily negative. Confusion can be ne gative if it diverts a student/teacher from the authentic, self-generated inquiry into hi s or her own practice that would allow him or
270 her to confirm and/or adapt his/her ex isting knowledge base, and construct new knowledge. It can also be negative if it im pedes a person from experiencing him or herself as an autonomous decision maker. But, from confusion comes new ideas. Contradiction produces tension, which produ ces energy, and energy is essential for the work of construction. How can we constructively channel the energy these experienced contradictions generate in wa ys that help student/teachers sustain a momentum that will keep their apples in the air instead of crashing to the ground or taking off in random trajectories? Â“AuthorshipÂ” is a critical tool for jugglers (i.e., teachers). Authorship energizes an inquiry stance and systematic teacher research. The experience of inqui ry is different if someone feels obligated in some way to do so mething or if a person decides he or she wants to explore an idea in order to assess fo r him or herself how it works in a specific context. Also, from self-authored inquiry co mes the satisfaction of successful realization. A strong sense of authorship serves to justify authority. Teacher educators also have multiple commitments. My biggest question in concluding this study is how we might use th e complex aspects of experience described here to positive advantage while maintaini ng our accountability to the many stakeholders in teacher education. In Chapter 1, I contrasted our mission with our procedures. If we are to be accountable to our institution but also to our students, which we must be to both, we have to find a way to balance convergence a nd divergence, as well as being and doing: How can we train and educate ways of ac ting, while making space for (re)constructing ways of being? How can we help student/t eachers learn how to juggle their multiple roles
271 and responsibilities, and bring a new way of being into balance? Learning to be is above all an interior process: Ultimatel y, we answer questions ourselves.
272 APPENDIX A INFORMED CONSENT LETTER Dear student, My name is Katherine Kiss and I am a Ph.D. candidate in the School of Teaching and Learning, College of Education at the University of Florida. I am conducting a research project in which the scientific purpose is to explore the phenomenon of role change from student to teacher. I am writing to ask if you woul d like to participate and explain what you will be asked to do in the study . If you agree to participate, I will ask for permission to select quotes from the writings you do for homewor k. I may also ask for permission to quote short excerpts from some of our discussions in the seminar meetings associated with the student teaching field experi ence (ESE 6945) and the Practic es course (ESE 6344) during the Spring 2005 semester. You have the right to refuse permission to use any quotes I select that you do not wish to be made public. I may also ask you for permission to tape reco rd our meetings so that I can reflect on them later. Any quotations from your wr iting or statements will be anonymous. In addition to our regular coursework, I w ill ask to interview you two times about your internship experience. Each interview will la st approximately 1 hour. I will transcribe the interview and ask you to check it for correctness. To ensure that there is no possibility that your grade will be influenced in any way if you agree to participate in this research, I will not ask you to do any work that is not on the approved syllabus. I will not begin to analy ze the data until May 1, 2005. The course will be conducted and assignments completed as per the published syllabus. By agreeing to participate you are agreeing that after the course is over and grades have been turned in I can return to the material you produc ed during the course for analysis. In a second phase of this project, I may ask permission to interview you once more for 30-60 minutes, and observe a class sometime duri ng the coming year (i.e., your first year of employment). You do not have to answer any questions you do not wish to answer, nor share any written material you do not wish to share . I do not anticipate any risks as a result of particip ating in this study. There is no compensation or other direct benefit to you . However, as an indirect benefit it is hoped that participation will lead you to a deeper personal unders tanding of your new role as a teacher. If you agree to participate, your identity will be kept confidential to the extent provided by law. I will use pseudonyms and delete a ny information that clearly identifies you. The list linking you to this pseudonym will be dest royed at the end of the study. I will do all transcription of interviews and any recorded meetings, attributing your responses to your
273 assigned pseudonym. At the e nd of the study the audiotapes will also be destroyed. During the study, the list and the audiotapes will be kept in a locked file box. Only Dr. Townsend and I will have access to this informa tion. Your name will not be used in any report or publication that is pr oduced as a result of this study. Participation in this study is completely voluntary . Signing this form does not imply a commitment to participate in all aspects of the study. You can limit your participation as you wish. For example, you can agree to share your written work but not participate in the observation in phase II. You can withdraw your consent at any time. There is no penalty for not participating, nor will it aff ect your grades in any of your courses. You are free to withdraw from the study at any time without consequence . If you have any questions a bout this study you can contact Dr Jane Townsend, School of Teaching & Learning, 2403 Norman Ha ll, College of Education, 392-9191 ext. 231, or email@example.com, or Katherine Kiss, School of Teaching and Learning, 2403 Norman Hall, College of Education, 392-9191 x238, or firstname.lastname@example.org. If you have any questions about your rights as a research participant in this study, you can contact: UFIRB Office, Box 112250, University of Florida, Gainesville, FL 326112250; ph 392-0433 . Agreement: I have read the procedure described above. I voluntarily agree to participate in the procedure and I have received a copy of this description. Participant: __________________________________ Date: _________________ Principal Investigat or: _________________________ Date: _________________ Katherine Kiss
274 APPENDIX B THE INTERVIEW PROTOCOL INTERVIEW 1 PROTOCOL Â– New Teacher Role The aim of this interview is to learn about your experience in the role of Â“teacherÂ” during your nine-week internship. Please answer in as much detail as you ca n, and feel free to comment on the questions themselves, or add anything I may not have thought of to ask. 1. Describe how you experienced the role Â“teacher Â” during your inte rnship, including responsibilities, typical behaviors or anyt hing else that for you defines that role. Thinking back on your internship, what stands out to you now? Tell me about any experience during the internship of the sort: Â“Oh, I wish I had said/done x!Â” but you felt you couldnÂ’t do it for whatever reason. 2. Describe how you experienced the role Â“internÂ” Or Â“s tudent teacherÂ” in your internship. How was that different to the role of Â“teacherÂ” you just described? To what extent could you decide what to teach? How free/restricted do you think you were in terms of what you did? What difference do you think it makes if you donÂ’ t chose but are told what to teach and how? What difference, if any, did you notice when you are alone in the classroom? 3. Think about yourself as Â“student.Â” You can think of your presen t university classes and/or classes you had prior to this year. Pl ease describe your e xperience as a student, including responsibilities, typical behaviors or anything else that fo r you defines that role. 4. Thinking of the internship overall, wh ere would you place yourself on the following continuum: S -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------T 5. Please explain or give examples in your own words of the idea: Â“inquiry into teaching practice.Â” What are some specific examples of how you inquired into your practice during the internship?
275 To what extent did you feel that it was ok to inquire into your prac tice during that time? Thinking about our discussion of Â“roles,Â” wh ich do you associate with a greater freedom to inquire and why? 6. Please tell me anything you would lik e to share of your own biography and background that might be relevant to the roles of teacher/stude nt/student-teacher. How/when/whyÂ… did you decide to become a teacher? Who/what are the most important reasons you are here today? Describe yourself in terms of your culture, class, etc. 7. Is there anything else you thi nk is interesting for me to know about your experience as an intern teacher from your perspective?
276 APPENDIX C RESEARCHER QUALIFICATIONS: BACKGROUND Prior to beginning this study, I had done bot h qualitative and quantitative research projects. At the University of Florida I o fficially conducted three studies between 2001 and the present: 1. Exploring pre-service teache rs' conceptions of writing and the teaching of writing (IRB protocol # 2001-U-0848: 2001 Â– 2003). Results from this study were published as papers at NCTE 2002 and AERA 2005. An article is in revision for re-submission to the Journal of Teacher Education. 2. Exploring characteristics of interacti ons between future teachers and second language learners in tutoring dyads (IRB protocol # 2002-U-0975: 2002 Â– 2003). Results from this study were published as a paper at NCTE 2003, AACTE 2006, accepted for presentation at AERA, 2006 (not presented due to lack of funding to finance the trip). A paper written from th is study will also be presented at the annual ATEE (Association for Teacher Education in Europe) congress in Ljubljana, Slovenia, 21-25 October, 2006. A print article is in preparation. 3. Exploring the Influences of the Superv ision Process on Becoming a Teacher (IRB protocol # 2003-U-0228: 2001 Â– 2003). Results from this study were published as a paper at AERA, 2004. Principal studies before coming to Florida included:
277 1. Â“Writing Process ProjectÂ” (M.A. thesis de fended October, 1992) I carried out this action research concerning th e writing process in intermediate foreign language classrooms using a quasi-experimental design during the academic year 19911992. 2. Â“Student perception of teacher feedba ck on writing.Â” March through June 1995. Qualitative study involving purposive/crite rion sampling, think-aloud protocols, interviewing, transcribing, qualitative and quantitative analyses. Unpublished. 3. Â“The questionnaire as a tool in the form ative evaluation of teachers.Â” This study was commissioned by the directors of the institution at which I worked, and was carried out from September 1997 through September 1998. Results were presented in the form of a theoretical re port. Based on the research, I also created a tri-lingual questionnaire bank (hard copy and digital) as a resource by teachers and management in evaluating a nd assessing teacher performance. In addition, between 1990 and 2004, I completed va rious research projec ts as principal or assistant researcher during the two years of my masterÂ’s program in Barcelona (19901992), my tenure as staff development offi cer at my school in Barcelona (1993-1997), and the four years of my Ph.D program in Florida (2001-2004). In these projects I became familiar with multiple quantitative and qualitative techniques, and with their underlying epistemologies. The projects i nvolved interviewing, ethnographic fieldwork, classroom observation (taking field notes and using different rating instruments), quantitative data analysis us ing SPSS statistical software, and standard quantitative statistical techniques as appropria te to the project (e.g., calcula tion of t-tests, z-scores, chi square, Pearson product-moment correlati on co-efficients, ANOVA, and others.)
278 APPENDIX D EXAMPLES OF PEDAGOGICAL PHEN OMENOLOGY: STEPS 3, 4A, 4B Thematizing: pedagogical phenomenology, step 3 Table D-1 Example of thematizing from EveÂ’s analysis THEMES and COMMENTS INTERVIEW (VERBATIM TRANSCRIPT) Kate establishes a frame by summing up the purpose of the interview with 6 main points or questions to address: 1) ideas about the role of teacher; 2) anything that stands out that she wishes were different about the internship; 3) being an intern/student or student; 4)what inquiry is to her; 5)background info; and 6)how she experience the role of teach er during the internship. Eve begins with a question she had been answering a lot lately in job interviews: what it means to her to be a teacher. For Eve, a teacher must never stop being a student. If she is able to do this, she will be better able to create curiosity in the classroom. As a teacher/student, the teacher must learn about what she wants to teach, where to find resources, how to compile, condense, and present them K: SoÂ… do you have any questions? OrÂ… E: No, not that I can think of. K: Ok.. soÂ… just to give you a an overview, then IÂ’m .. gonna .. let you talk cause I discovered as I started transcribing conversations itÂ’s a pain in the neck when I interrupt. UmmmÂ… EssentiallyÂ… umÂ… as you know I wanted to go back and do you have any other ideas about role of teacherÂ…. Or.. .thinking back on the internship anything that stands out to youÂ… or specific moments that youÂ’re thinking (voice goes up) ooohhhh, I wish I hadÂ… or I should haveÂ… you know, that kind of thing and also the intern/student or the stude nt thing, if anything else comes out to you. And then I wanted toÂ… umÂ… talk a little about the issue of inquiry a nd then just find out a little bit more about you. So.. /E: OK/ Ok, so Â… if youÂ… umÂ… I guess just summarize how youÂ… if you could describe how you experienced the role of teacher during your internship. E: UmÂ…the role teacher, I guess, and this is interesting because I just had a slew of job interviews .. so.. um one of the questions that I was asked was, you know, what does it mean to be a teacher. And, to me, I had to sit down and say that in my experi ence the best teachers were always students. UmÂ… that is that, these .. aÂ… particular teachers were consistently and constantly honing their learning .. andÂ… didnÂ’t really let go of that moniker because it was very important to their identity still, and umÂ… kind of creating a curiosity within the classroom and I think that them mainta ining a studenthood helped facilitate thatÂ… um so, I guess for me, like the first way that I really began this teach er hat putting on was to figure
279 (i.e., plan) for students. This was student activity in the sense that students produce a finished product. Because she was a student for so many years, she applied this procedural knowledge to her new activity as teacher: receive an assignment, plan a unit, teach a unit, and finish it. out how I could learn about wh at I wanted to teach them. And, SoÂ… I,I would have a lesson plan, I would have an idea of, you know what, a subj ect that I wanted to approach in the classroom but then it really came to fruition when it became less on (inaud) just assignmentÂ… cause I was, I was typing up all of my lesson plans and umÂ… when it strayed from me sitting at the keyboard typing to um, ok, where can I find a book on this, and how do I get these resources, and how can I compile them and what cahow can I condense the main ideas in all of these resources to something that these students can use and um, and what am I getting from th is (in the process?). So, I know a lot of times, you knowÂ… even during like our seminar meetings we were told, well, you know, you donÂ’t have to do all thas much wo rk, and make, make sure that the students are working al so, like donÂ’t overdo, donÂ’t overdo your role of teacher. DonÂ’t feed them the information. Make sure that the information is there so they have to kind of work to obtain it. And um ..I think sometimes I overstudented myself Â… byÂ… by like.. doing all the work ..ahead of time andÂ… /K: hum/ andÂ… so I wonder if ..uhÂ…my idea of of t eacher as student Â… kind of too far sometimes. Â… AndÂ… K: What would (inaud) the stude nt part of it? /E: I guessÂ…/ (inaud) E: the searching but also the finished product because I wanted to produce, and I wanted to present, because as a Â… as a student for so many year s, like thatÂ’s what I know to do. I know to be given an assignment, and in this case the assignment is plan a unit, plan a lesson. And um, rather in and so, the student part of me is like, well IÂ’m gonna, IÂ’m gonna search this out, IÂ’m gonna make this unit, IÂ’m gonna teach it and then IÂ’m gonna be done and voila. So, thatÂ’s kinda Â… um Â… where I see the student ..coming in. ItÂ’s like this is a finished product, look what I did, look what I did. I want somebody to like look on it, and somehow grade it, and somehow judge it andÂ… [line 43] Example of themes summary in pedagogical phenomenology (step 4a) Eve begins with a question she had been answer ing a lot lately in job interviews: what it means to her to be a teacher. For Eve, a teacher must never stop being a student. If she is able to do this, she will be better able to create curi osity in the classroom. As a teacher/student, the teacher must learn about what she wants to teach, where to find resources, how to compile, condense, and present them (i.e., plan) for students. This was student activity in the sense that students produce a finished product.
280 Because she was a student for so many years, she applied this procedural knowledge to her new activity as teacher: receive an assignmen t, plan a unit, teach a unit, and finish it. However, in the internship Eve was not exactly a student to the same degree she had been before. The internship was less about the doi ng of the assignments than the process of taking information and adapting it to a form that students needed and could use. So, on the one hand, she thought in terms of Â“end gameÂ” and performance. On the other hand, she had present in her mind that this was a hoop or a process she had to go through on her way to becoming a teacher. Eve describes how at first she wanted to c ontinue in the role of student, dependent on someone else to set parameters and expect ations. However, her university professor required that they collaborate in setting parameters and evalua ting; she required that they come out of their student role s and act more like teachers. She indicates that this new self is still diffu se and not well-defined but hopes that she can find in herself the authority to establish a nd judge parameters, and that the willingness she had as a student to meet such paramete rs, which she identifies as student ambition, will then be an asset. [Â…] Example of themes listing in pe dagogical phenomenology (step 4b) PRINCIPAL THEMES: TEACHER As student (constantly learning) Can structure for students and set parameters or expectations Sitting at keyboard planning (finding, comp iling, condensing, planning for presenting to students) Creates curiosity by ma intaining Â“studenthoodÂ” Finds ways to channel her goals and student goals together Clothes, voice, and language contribute to image STUDENT/TEACHER At first Â“overstudentedÂ” by planni ng and doing too much? for students Received and assignment, planned a unit, pr esented it, finished it: finished product Supervisors made her come out of student self STUDENT Depends on teacher to judge, set parameters, deadlines (implicit) is curious Does work that is assigned Is judged or evaluated Defines ambition as meeting expectations successfully Performative role, end game INQUIRY The Nature of inquiry (research question 3)
281 Studying, planning, observing students, getti ng feedback, and decisioning (a and post priori) Plans set precedents but that does not mean they are set in stone Freedom to inquire (research question 4) Teachers encouraged her to set her own inquiries OTHER THEMES Completion, end game, deadline Hoops, jump and how high, step, leap into Performance, evaluation, setti ng parameters, precedents, judging A Â“selfÂ” that is curious, monitors, knows, organizes, has authorit y, is autonomous and makes her own decisions Diffusion/formation of self Logic, Organization, Planning, Structure, Other-determined, Order, chunked time vs. Energy, Creativity, Freedom, Independence, Au to-determined, Inspiration, Flexibility Feeling, feelers, antennae, passion, being happy SELF: Being able to be authentic self; Be ing able by myself (to see, understand, set goals); Multiple selves with multiple faces/voices Language as action Barriers and boundaries
282 APPENDIX E A SITUATED STRUCTURAL DESCRIPTION OF MY OWN MEANINGS (I.E., ANSWERING MY OWN QUESTIONS.) RQ1: Role/s and functions of teacher and student Functioning in a teacher role is like bei ng at the center of a web with strands going out in all directions. There may be inte ractions going on that the teacher does not broker, but she is aware of th em and feels responsible for th em. Vibrations travel up the strands and there is a humming energy in the ro om. There are a lot of emotions associated with the role: joy, excitement, worry, anger, anxiety Â– energy communicates and connects. There is positive and negative tension in the energy. Power is not evenly distributed. As much as I try to create a democratic climate, I feel I have some sort of power and authority Â– I am not necessarily the Â“bossÂ” as much as the one who takes the responsibility or blame. I know I can speak and what I say is the rule. I am responsible for what happens in the classroom because I orchestrated things for better learning. Students rely on that and so defer, even if they donÂ’t understand. Sometimes they Â“rebelÂ” and take charge of the physical or inter-personal interactions. Everyone can sense the othersÂ’ position and state. The teacher does not have to be at the center of the room Â– students can always sense her presence. Teaching involves a lot a lo t a lot of planning, re-planning, and re-re-planning. It also involves constant attention in all directions. Unexpected things are always happening. The beginning of a class is accompanied by expectation, a sense of organization. The end of the class has a sense of disorganization and lack of time. When
283 things flow smoothly, there is a feeling of meshing and completion and you feel euphoric because you made the frame that brought that po sitive energy into being. When things get stuck or derailed, there is a lot of frustration. The role of the teacher is to plan and give learners a space to engage with some content. But learners also have to have their own goals (short and long term), and affirm their abilities. Basically, the teacher works to balance her age ndum with the various agenda in the classroom. She has multiple strategies to do this for the speci fic needs and interests of individual students all at the same time. A teacher works with heart, soul, and reason simultaneously. Teacher themes are emergence, time, collaboration and movement . There are rules that can be broken, and rules that must be followed. My metaphor for teacher is tree and fo r teaching dancing Â– two partners are synchronized and their bodies are moving sm oothly together when they dance well. When you start to think about the mechanics of the dance, though, you break the rhythm and the dance falls. Â“StudentÂ” (as opposed to learner) is a role defined by its being a participant in an institution. In that role, I feel I have to listen to the teacher, respect what they say and even if I disagree, keep it to myself. The teacher is the authority and it would be presumptuous to question their knowledge, at least in public. It can be hard to find spaces to get into the classroom. Frequently as a student I feel angry, or bored, or impotent at enforced helplessness. Being a student is often like being a child or a puppy being punished or chastised for something. I donÂ’t like to be controlled but I am as a student so there is a sense of struggle in that role Â– I have to sit down silently while the teacher can stand up and talk. I have to do what I am told, even if I donÂ’t want to or I thi nk it is stupid Â– if I wa nt to pass, I have to
284 do it. Many times I have to give the teacher credit for giving me ideas I had already prior to coming to the class. Since th e teacher is the teacher, they get to take credit for their studentsÂ’ ideas. Often a student has to pretend Â– to be listening, to be interested, that she is on task, that a teacher is smart. A student is ideally a learner, but not always. Now, as a student I am always observing the teacher. A learner is as an active, open-minded, curious, knowledge creator. Within the institution of education, the learner should be a collaborato r with different but equal rights to knowledge as any othe r participants, but usually isnÂ’ t. A learner is making his or her own connections, silently or vocally and engaging with other peopleÂ’s ideas. RQ2: Â…negotiating Â… changing role identityÂ…? Roles donÂ’t mix. Either I am student or teacher, never both together. They are not generally in conflict and never in collaboration. Nor do they come in and out in the same situation Â– I am either one or the other in a given context. The only time I feel student self coming into teacher self was when I had to teach peers and th ere is no difference between us in terms of what we know. As a teacher, I am more authoritative than my Â“normalÂ” self; I speak with a louder, firmer voice. I usually feel nervous, but sometimes confident. Sometimes I think nervousness and excitement are the same. The nervousness is usually about whether I will manage to get my plan done in the time I have (I usually donÂ’t), or about whether something will work and that the lesson wonÂ’t derail. RQ3: What does inquiry into teaching practice meanÂ…..? Teacher inquiry is always in proces s. It is on-going development as a professional. It can be planned, it can happe n spontaneously in the middle of any action, or it can be discovered retrospectively. It means constantly changing things around,
285 guessing, acting, reflecting and discussing. It means posing and answering questions about style, about students, a bout techniques, about strategi es and classroom processes, about curriculum, about how a team is working together, or about the administration. Part of being a teacher means continuously ques tioning everything (in and out of the classroom), since everything is related in the classroom, but is not always formally inquiring (i.e., writing down the inquiry). Like John Faneslow said, if it works, change it! RQ4: To what extent Â…free to inquire into Â…practice? I feel free to inquire in a ny situation. I donÂ’t necessarily feel fr ee to do anything about my inquiry, or to make it public. Even as a student in a classroom, I am constantly posing question, engaging with the ideas a nd formulating hypothese s (i.e., inquiring). I donÂ’t always speak or act to share my Â“findings.Â”
286 APPENDIX F EVEÂ’S TEXT In Chapter 6, I highlight EveÂ’s language in in dividual lines of her text. This is the whole from which those lines were taken. In the orig inal transcript, the ex cerpt begins at line 74 and ends at line 123. Due to formatting, line num bers in this example are different to the original and are therefore not included. A copy of the original can be obtained by contacting the author. E: [turn begins at line 65] Â… I was still in the student mentality where I was ready to jump X feet high. / K: right / UmÂ… So andÂ… a nd I thinkÂ… I wonder if thatÂ’s going to be an asset? I always identified that as like ambition and drive butÂ… am I going to be able to harness that and use and m.. take advantage of that when .. there isnÂ’t somebody .. telling me Â… / K: uhum / exactly what I need to be doing..how far I need to be running? So.. I Â… thatÂ’s .. thatÂ’s still up in the air and I guess Â… you know, if we talk again in December .. / K: hmmm / then weÂ’ll probably have a be tter idea of that butÂ… at this point I feel likeÂ… what I identified as th is like studently ambition .. mi ght kind of diffuse because it doesnÂ’t have Â… a selfÂ… like I need to learn that self-monitoring.. or I need to hone that self-monitoring to really like keep myself .. in line and make sure IÂ’m doing whatÂ’s best /K begins next turn/ in terms of my goals K: Do you think thatÂ’s a part of your pe rsonality? That, like, can you Â… do thingsÂ… umÂ… set your own hoops and so on, or / E: yeahÂ… I thatÂ’s / in other areas? E: Yeah, thatÂ’s a, thatÂ’s Â… a lot of it started from Â…lik e Â… being in..organizations and structure.. you know.. through childhood.. like be it the classroo m or like, you know, swim practice or whatever. And the, these are very planned and chunked Â… / K: uhum / you know, spaces of time that / K: yeah / it sort of Â… affects how you spendÂ… like well, I have free time now, what am I gonna do? Well for half an hour I can paint, for half an hour IÂ’ll write, and you know so I, I tend to ha ve this really interesting balance between logic and organization and Â… umÂ… energy a nd creativity and outlets so like it would even come down to like where I would Â… Â… where I would setÂ… set specific times of the day aside and this is when I write and .. umÂ… So, I,I have in the past set these parameters for myself and I found that Â… they did two things. One, they kept me focused and I would do them, I would do these perfor mance-based tasks within the time that I would set for myself butÂ… it was also very inhibiting? and oftentimes inauthentic when I set myself to themÂ… / K: ummm / So itÂ’s sort of like a double-edged sword. ItÂ’s like, yes, I can do these things butÂ… can I do them, you know, as well as if it were divine inspiration leading the hand that writes this brilliant whatever that IÂ’m working on? SoÂ… but then again, I, I also donÂ’ t have the personality to like sit and wait like Â“Oh, maybe IÂ’ll be inspired by the end of the day and then IÂ’ll create something wonde rful!Â” And a lot of times..um.. I canÂ’t trust that to happen.. so I try to crea te opportunities for myself by
287 setting these, these parametersÂ… umÂ… and I of tentimes feel like Â“uh, thereÂ’s too much, thereÂ’s too much! ThereÂ’s everything going on and I could be doing so much!Â” And if I didnÂ’t set .. these boxes for myself, I donÂ’t know how IÂ’d do it otherwise, which is ..an interesting paradox. And Â… what IÂ… And I hope that I can maintain that focus through teaching, in that I can haveÂ… I can categori ze and organize my goals and my curriculum .. umÂ… because I know I have that energy to go off and.. do it. But I need continuity and I think that itÂ’s gonna take me learning a lot of organization and then me learning how to listen to myself? and take myself? as an authority figure?, which IÂ’ve never had to do seriously before .. / K: uhum / because, you know , itÂ’s always been like a parent or a teacher or, you know, a professor saying Â“you have to do this or your grade will suffer or, you know, there are consequences here.Â” And of course, theyÂ’re sti ll consequences in teaching but, you know, when have IÂ… had to rea lly like listen to myself as an authority figureÂ… / K: uhum Â… K: yeah/ to such a degree . So thatÂ’s, to me, th atÂ’s sort of like the anticipated fear in beginning a teachi ng position becauseÂ… I thinkÂ… itÂ’sÂ… possibleÂ… for me to pass with mediocrity .. in the clas sroom. And I ..donÂ’t want to do that. I just hope that I can listen to myself when I catch myself falling into what I perceive as mediocrity in terms of my / K: uhum / teaching / K: uhum / because I guess my personality is that I want to push myself so I give my best all the time and thatÂ’s Â…I need to (laugh)Â… I need to figure out that balance.
288 LIST OF REFERENCES Allen, J., & Hermann-Wilmarth, J. (2004). Cultural construction zones. Journal of Teacher Education, 55 (3), 214-226. Ayers, W. (1990). Rethinking the profession of teaching: A progressive option. Action in teacher education, 12 (1), 1-5. Bakhtin, M.M. (1986). Speech genres & other late essays . Austin, TX: University of Texas Press. Bamberg, M. (1991). Conceptualization via narrative: A discussion of Donald E. Polkinhorne's "Narrative and Self-Concept." Journal of Narrative and Life History, 1 (2&3), 155-167. Behar-Horenstein, L.S., Mitchell, G.S., & Dolan, T.A. (2004). A multi-dimensional model for analyzing e ducational processes. International Journal of Leadership in Education, 7 (2), 165-180. Bialystok, E. (2002). Acquisition of literacy in bilingual children: A framework for research. Language Learning, 52 (1), 159-199. Billow, R.M. (1988). Observing spontaneous metaphor in children. In M.B., Franklin & S.S. Barten (Eds.). Child language: A reader . New York: Oxford University Press. Braun Jr., J.A., & Crumpler, T. P. (2004). The social memoir: an analysis of developing reflective ability in a pre-service methods course. Teaching and Teacher Education , 20 (1), 59-75. [Electronic version] Brownell, M. T., Ross, D.D., ColÃ³n, E.P., & McCallum, C.L. (2002, in preparation). Critical features of special education teacher preparation: A comparison with exemplary practices in general teacher education. COPSSE Teacher Education paper Â– distributed in class. Bruner, J.S. (1957). Going beyond the informati on given. In the President and Fellows of Harvard College (Eds.) Contemporary approaches to cognition: A symposium held at the University of Colorado . Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press.
289 Bruner, J.S. (1962). On knowing: Essays for the left hand . Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press Bruner, J. (1986). Actual minds, possible worlds . Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Bruner, J.S. (1987). Life as narrative. Social Research , 54 (1), 11-32. Bruner, J.S. (1991). The narra tive construction of reality. Critical Inquiry , 18 , 1-21. Bruner, J.S. (2004). The narrative creation of self. In L.E. Angus & J. McLeod (Eds.), The handbook of narrative and psychotherapy: Practice, theory, and research (pp. 3-14) . Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications. Burr, V. (1995). An introduction to social constructionism . London, UK: Routledge. Carrell, P.L., & Eisterhold, J.C. (1983) . Schema theory and ESL reading pedagogy. TESOL Quarterly, 17 (4), 553-574. Charmaz, K. (2000). Grounded theory: Object ivist and constructivist methods. In N.K. Denzin & Y.S. Lincoln (Eds.), Handbook of qualitative research, 2nd Ed. (pp. 509-536). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications, Inc. Christensen, D. (1996). The professional know ledge-research base fo r teacher education. In J. Sikula, T.J. Buttery & E. Guyton (Eds.), Handbook of research on teacher education, 2nd Ed. (pp. 38-51). New York: Simon & Schuster Macmillan. Clandinin, J, D., & Connelly, F. M. (1996). TeachersÂ’ professional knowledge landscapes: Teacher stories Â– stories of teachers Â– school stories Â– stories of schools. Educational Researcher, 25 , 24-30. Cochran-Smith, M., & Lytle , S. L. (1993). Inside outsi de: Teacher research and knowledge. New York, NY: Teachers College Press. Cochran-Smith, M., & Lytle , S. L. (1999). Relationships of knowledge and practice: Teacher learning in communities. In A. Iran-Nejad, & P. D. Pearson (Eds.), Review of Research in Education , vol. 24. (pp. 249-305.) Washington, D.C.: American Educational Research Association. Connelly, F.M., & Clandinin, D.J. (2000) . Narrative understandings of teacher knowledge. Journal of Curriculum and Supervision, 15 (4), 315-331. Creswell, J.W. (1998). Qualitative inquiry and research design: Choosing among five traditions . Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage.
290 Crotty, M. (1998). The foundations of social research : Meaning and perspective in the research process . London: Sage. Dana, N.F., & Yendol-Silva, D. (2003). The reflective educator's guide to classroom research: Learning to te ach and teaching to learn through practitioner inquiry . Thousand Oaks, CA:Corwin Press. Darling-Hammond, L. (1992). Teaching and know ledge: Policy issues posed by alternate certification for teachers. Peabody Journal of Education, 67 (3), 123-154. Darling-Hammond, L. (1997). The right to learn: A bluepr int for creating schools that work . San Francisco: Jossey-Bass. Darling-Hammond, L. (2000). How teacher education matters. Journal of Teacher Education, 51 (3), [electronic version]. Darling-Hammond, L. (2001, October 15). The Research and rhetoric on teacher certification: a response to Â“teacher certification reconsideredÂ”. Retrieved from the NCTAF website: http://www.nctaf.org/what snew/abell_response.pdf . Darling-Hammond, L., Berry, B., & Thoreson, A. (2001). Does teacher certification matter? Evaluating the evidence. Educational Evaluation and Policy Analysis, 23 (1), 57-77. Delandshere, G., & Petrosky, A.R. (1994). Ca pturing teachersÂ’ knowledge: Performance assessment. Educational Researcher , 23 (5), 11-18. Delpit, L. (1988). The silenced dialogue: Power and pedagogy in educating other peopleÂ’s children. Harvard Educational Review , 58 (3), 280-298. Dewey , J. (1933/1960). How we think: A restatement of the relation of reflective thinking to the educative process . Lexington, MA: D.C. Heath & Company. Dewey, J. (1938). Experience and education . New York, NY: Touchstone. Donaldson, M. C. (1978). Children's minds. New York: Norton. Dyson, A.H. (1993). Social worlds of children learning to write in an urban primary school. New York: NY. Teachers College Press. Edelsky, C. (1996). With literacy and justi ce for all: Rethinking the social in language and education, 2nd Ed. London: Taylor & Francis. Educational Testi ng Service (1994). Pathwise . Princeton, NJ: ETS
291 Elbaz, F. (1983). Teacher thinking: A study of practical knowledge . Beckenham, Kent, UK: Croom Helm Ltd. Ethell, R.G., & McMeniman. (2000). Unlocki ng the knowledge in action of an expert practitioner. Journal of Teacher Education, 51 (2), 87-101. Fairclough, N. (1995). Contrastive Discourse Analysis : The critical study of language . London, UK: Longman. Fairclough, N. (1999). Linguistic an d intertextual analysis with in discourse analysis. In A. Jaworski & N. Coupland (Eds.) The discourse reader (pp. 183-211) . London, UK: Routledge. Fairclough, N. (2003). Analyzing discourse: Textual analysis for social research . London, UK: Routledge. Fecho, B. (2000). Developing critical mass: Teacher education and critical inquiry pedagogy. Journal of Teacher Education, 51 , 194-199. Fendler, L. (2003). Teacher reflection in a ha ll of mirrors: Historical influences and political reverberations. Educational Researcher , 32 (3), 16-25. Fernandez-Duque, D., & Johnson, M. (1999) . Attention metaphors: How metaphors guide the cognitive psychology of attention. Cognitive Science, 23 (1), 83-116. Fu, D. (1995). Â“My trouble is my EnglishÂ”: Asi an students and the American dream . Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann. Fu, D., & Townsend J.S. (1998). Cross-cult ural dilemmas in writing: Need for transformations in teaching and learning. College Teaching , 46 (4), 128-133. Gardner, H. (1983). Frames of mind: the theory of multiple intelligences . New York: Basic Books. Garmon, M.A. (2004). Changing preservice teac hersÂ’ attitudes/beliefs about diversity: What are the critical factors? Journal of Teacher Education, 55 (3), 201-213. Gaskell, M.G., Marslen-Wilson, W.D. (1996) . Phonological variati on and inference in lexical access. Journal of Experimental Ps ychology: Human Perception and Performance, 22 (1): 144-158. Gee, J.P. (1999). An introduction to discourse analysis: Theory and method . London, UK: Routledge.
292 Giorgi, A., & Giorgi, B. (2003). The de scriptive phenomenological psychological method. In P. Camic, J. Rhodes & L. Yardley (Eds.), Qualitative research in psychology (pp. 243-273). Washington, DC: American Psychological Association. Glesne, C. (1999). Becoming qualitative researchers: An introduction . New York: Longman. Goldhaber, D.D., & Brewer, D.J. (2000). Does teacher certification matter? High school teacher certification status and student achievement. Educational Evaluation and Policy Analysis, 22 (2), 129-145. Goldhaber, D.D., & Brewer, D.J. ( 2001). Evaluating the evidence on teacher certification: A rejoinder. Educational Evaluation and Policy Analysis, 23 (1), 7986. Gowin, D.B. (1981). Educating. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Graves , D.H. (2003). Writing: Teachers and children at work . Portsmouth: NH. Heinemann. Grossman, P., Valencia, S., Evans, K., Thom pson, C., Martin, S., & Place, N. (2000). Transitions into teaching: Learning to teach writing in teacher education and beyond. CELA research report number 13006 . Albany, NY: National Research Center on English Learning and Achievement. Gurswitsch, A. (1974). Phenomenology and the theory of science . Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press. Hamachek, D. (1999). Effective teachers: What they do, how they do it, and the importance of self-knowledge. In R.P. Lipka & T.M Brinthaupt (Eds.), The role of self in teacher development. Albany, NY: SUNY Press. Halliday, M.A.K., & Matthiessen, C.M.I.M. (1999). Construing experience through meaning: A language-based approach to cognition . London, UK: Contiuum. Heath, S. B. (1982). Questioni ng at home and at school: A comparative study. In G. Spindler, (Ed.), Doing the ethnography of schooling: Educational anthropology in action . New York, NY: Holt, Rinehart and Winston. Heath, S. B. (1983). Ways with words . Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hein, S., & Austin, W.J. (2001). Empiri cal and hermeneutic approaches to phenomenological research in psychology: A comparison. Psychological Methods, 6 (1), 3-17.
293 Hill, H. (2001). Policy is not enough: Langua ge and the interpretation of standards. American Educational Research Journal, 38 (2), 289-318. Howey, K. (1996). Designing coherent and eff ective teacher education programs. In J. Sikula, T.J. Buttery & E. Guyton (Eds.), Handbook of research on teacher education, 2nd Ed. (pp. 102-119). New York: Simon & Schuster Macmillan. Hughes, B. (2004). The opposite intended effect: A case study of how overstandardization can reduce efficacy of teacher education. Teacher Education Quarterly, summer, 43-52. Imig, D.G., & Switzer, T.J. (1996). Changing teacher educat ion programs: Restructuring collegiate-based teacher education. In J. Sikula, T.J. Buttery & E. Guyton (Eds.), Handbook of research on teacher education, 2nd Ed. (pp. 213-226). New York: Simon & Schuster Macmillan. The Interstate New Teacher Assessm ent And Support Consortium (INTASC) Standards . Retrieved 4 May 2006 from http://www.ccsso.org/content/pdfs/corestrd.pdf . Janesick, V.J. (2000). The choreography of qualitative research design: Minuets, improvisations, and crystall ization. In N.K. Denzin & Y.S. Lincoln (Eds.), Handbook of qualitative research, 2nd Ed. (pp. 379-400). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications, Inc. JimÃ©nez, F. (1997). The Circuit: stories from the life of a migrant child . Albuquerque, NM: University of New Mexico Press. Kaplan, R. (1966). Cultural thought pa tterns in intercul tural education. Language Learning, 16 (1&2), 1-20. Key, D. (1998). Literacy shutdown: Storie s of six American women . Newark, DL: International Reading Association; Ch icago, IL: National Reading Conference. Kiss, K., & Townsend, J. (2005). Teacher inquiry: From knowledge to knowledges . Article in process. Korthagen, F.A.J. (2004). In search of th e essence of a good teacher: Towards a more holistic approach in teacher education. Teaching and Teacher Education, 20 (1), 77-97. Kozol, J. (1991). Savage inequalities: Child ren in AmericaÂ’s schools . New York: Crown. Kuhl, P. K., Miller, J. D. (1975). Speech perception by the chinch illa: Voiced-voiceless distinction in alveolar plosive consonants. Science, New Series, 190(4209): 69-72.
294 Kuhl, P. K., & Miller, J. D. (1978). Speech perception by the chinch illa: Identification functions for synthetic VOT stimuli. Journal of the Acoustical Society of America, 63 (3): 905-917. Lakoff, G., & Johnson, M. (1980). Metaphors we live by . Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Lakoff, G., & Johnson, M. (1999). Philosophy in the flesh: The embodied mind and its challenge to Western thought . New York: Basic Books. Lincoln, Y.S., & Guba, E.G. (1985) Naturalistic inquiry. Newbury Park, CA: Sage. Lindfors, J. W. (1999). ChildrenÂ’s inquiry: Using language to make sense of the world . New York: Teachers College Press. Lortie, D.C. (1975). Schoolteacher: A sociological study . Chicago, University of Chicago Press. Loughran, J.J. (2002) Effective re flective practice: In search of meaning in learning about teaching. Journal of Teacher Education , 53 (1), 33-43. Mahlios, M.C. (2002). Teacher role formation. Action in Teacher Education, 24 (1), 9-21. Marslen-Wilson, W., & Warren, P. (1994). Leve ls of perceptual representation and process in lexical access: Wo rds, phonemes and features. Psychological Review, 101(4): 653-675. McIntyre, A. (1997). Making meaning of whiteness: Explor ing racial identity with white teachers. Albany, NY: SUNY Press. Merriam, G., & Merriam C. (1977). WebsterÂ’s new collegiate dictionary . Springfield, MA: G. & C. Merriam Company. Merriam, S.B. (1998). Qualitative research and case study applications in education: Revised and expanded from Case study research in education . San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Mishler, E.G. (1986). Research interviewing : Context and narrative. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Moustakas, C. (1994). Phenomenological research methods. Thousand Oaks, CA: SAGE Publications. Munby, H., & Russell, T. (1990). Metaphor in the study of teachersÂ’ professional knowledge. Theory Into Practice, 29(2), 116-121.
295 National Council for Accreditation of T eacher Education (1997-2004). NCATE and NCATE/NCTE Unit Program Standards. Retrieved 4 May 2006 from http://www.ncate.org/docume nts/standards/unit_stnds_2006.pdf Nietzsche, F. (1955). ZarathustraÂ’s discourses . London, UK: Penguin Books. Nolan, J. Jr., & Hoover, L.A. (2004). Teacher supervision and eva luation: Theory into practice. Hoboken, NJ: John Wiley & Sons. Polkinghorne, D. (1983). Methodology for the human sc iences: Systems of inquiry. Albany, NY: SUNY Press. Polkinghorne, D. (1988). Narrative knowing and the human sciences. Albany, NY: SUNY Press. Polkinghorne, D. (1989) Phenome nological research methods. In R.S. Valle & S. Halling (Eds.), Existential-phenomenological perspectiv es in psychology: Exploring the breadth of human experience (pp. 41-60). New York: Plenum. Polkinghorne, D. E. (1991). Narrative and self-concept. Journal of Narrative and Life History, 1 (2&3), 135-153. Reid, A., & OÂ’Donoghue, M. (2004). Revisiting enquiry-based teacher education in neoliberal times. Teaching and Teacher Education , 20 , 559-570. Rennert-Ariev, P.L., Frederick, R.M., & Valli, L. (2005). Mapping the reform agenda in teacher education: The challenges for teacher educators. In E. Bondy & D.D. Ross (Eds.) Preparing for inclusive teaching: Me eting the challenges of teacher education reform . Albany, NY: SUNY Press. Reynolds, S. (2001). Teachi ng in a complex system. Journal of thought , summer , 33-38. Richardson, L. (2000). Writing: A method of in quiry. In N.K. Denzin & Y.S. Lincoln (Eds.), Handbook of qualitative research, 2nd Ed. (pp. 923-948). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications, Inc. Richardson, V. (1997). Constructivist teacher educa tion: Building a world of new understandings . London: The Falmer Press. Rickman, H.P. (1967). Dilthey, Wilhelm. In P. Edwards (Ed.), The Encyclopedia of Philosophy. Vol. 2: Volume Two (pp. 403-407). New York: Macmillan Publishing Co., Inc. & The Free Press. Ross, D. D. (1989) First steps in deve loping a reflective approach to teaching. Journal of Teacher Education , 40(2), 22-30.
296 Ross, D.D., Lane, H., & McCallum C. (2005). Description of the unified elementary special education Proteach program. In E. Bondy & D.D. Ross (Eds.) Preparing for inclusive teaching: Meeting the ch allenges of teacher education reform . Albany, NY: SUNY Press. Rumelhart, D., & Ortony, A. (1977). The repr esentation of knowledge in memory. In R. C. Anderson, R.J. Spiro, & W.E. Montague (Eds.), Schooling and the acquisition of knowledge . Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. Ryle, G. (1972). Can virtue be taught? In G. Ryle (Ed.), Education and the development of reason . London, UK:Routledge Press. SchÃ¶n, D.A. (1983). The reflective practitioner . New York, NY: Basic Books. SchÃ¶n, D.A. (1987). Educating the reflective practitioner . San Francisco: Jossey-Bass. Sergiovanni, T.J., & Starratt, R.J. (2002). Supervision: A redefinition . New York: McGraw Hill. Shulman, L. S. (1987). Knowledge and T eaching: Foundations of the new reform. Harvard Educational Review, 57 (1), 1-22. Smith, F. (1982). Writing and the writer . Oxford: Heinemann. Spearman, C. (1973/1923). The nature of Â“intelligenceÂ” and the principles of cognition . New York, NY: ARNO Press. Stake, R.E. (1995). The art of case study research . Thousand Oaks, CA: SAGE Publications Stewart, D., & Mickunas, A. (1990). Exploring phenomenology, 2nd Ed. : A guide to the field and its literature. Athens, GA: Ohio University Tabachnich, B.R., & Zeichner, K. (Eds.). (1991). Issues and practices in inquiry-oriented teacher education . New York: Falmer Press. Taylor, D., & Dorsey-Gaines, C. (1988). Growing up literate: Learning from inner-city families . Portsmouth, NH Heinemann. Tom, A. (1997). Redesigning teacher education . Albany, NY: SUNY Press Townsend, J.S., & Fu, D. (2001). PawÂ’s story: A Laotian refugeeÂ’s lonely entry into American literacy. Journal of Adolescent and Adult Literacy, 45 (2), 2-12. Townsend, J.S., & Harper, C. (1997) What future teachers know and donÂ´t know about language diversity. The Professional Educator , 20 (1), 35-44.
297 University of Florida, Co llege of Education (2000). Teacher Education Intern Rating Sheet (TEIRS), Gainesville, FL: University of Florida, College of Education. University of Florida, Co llege of Education (2006). Mission statement. English Education Homepage, Secondary English Proteach Program , College of Education , Gainesville, FL: University of Flor ida. Last accessed June 14, 2006: http://www.coe.ufl.edu/English/ Valli, L., & Rennert-Ariev, P.L. (2000). Iden tifying consensus in teacher education reform documents: A proposed framework and action implications. Journal of Teacher Education, 51 (1), 5-17. Van Manen, M. (1977). Linking ways of know ing with ways of being practical. Curriculum Inquiry, 6 (3), 205-228. Van Manen, M. (1984). Practicing phenomenological writing. Phenomenology + Pedagogy, 2 (1), 36-69. Van Manen, M. (1990). Researching lived experience: Human science for an action sensitive pedagogy . London, Ontario, Canada: State University of New York Press. Vygotsky, L. S. (1978). Mind in society: The devel opment of higher psychological processes . Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Vygotsky, L. (1986). Thought and language . Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Walsh, K. (2001).Â“Teacher certification reconsidered: Stumbling for quality.Â” The Abell Report . Retrieved from http://www.abell.org/ . Wayne, A.J., & Youngs, P. (2003). Teacher ch aracteristics and student achievement gains: A review. Review of Educational Research , 73 (1), 89-122. White, M. (2004). Folk psychology and narrativ e practice. In L.E. Angus & J. McLeod (Eds.), The handbook of narrative and psychot herapy: Practice, theory, and research (pp. 15-51) . Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications. Wickman S.A., Daniels M.H., White L.J., & Fesmire S.A. (1999). A Â“primerÂ” in conceptual metaphor for counselors. Journal of Counseling & Development, 77 , 389-304. Wilson, S., Floden, R., & Ferini-Mundy, J. (2001) Teacher preparation research: Current knowledge, gaps and recommendations . Available from the Center for the Study of Teaching and Policy, www.ctpweb.org
298 Zamel, V. (1995). Strangers in Academia: Th e experiences of facu lty and ESL students across the curriculum. College Composition and Communication, 46 (4), 506-521. Zeichner, K. M., & Liston, D. (1996). Reflective teaching: An introduction . Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates.
299 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH Katherine Kiss was born in Philadelphia, Pe nnsylvania. After receiving a B.S. in psychology in 1975 from Boston College, she wo rked and traveled extensively to many parts of the world until 1987 when she decided to settle in Spain. In 1992, she completed her masterÂ’s degree at the Univ ersity of Barcelona in fore ign language teaching, and then continued to work at the same university as an English and writing teacher. During the seven years she was at the University of Bar celona, she also worked independently as a researcher and collaborated in government and private university in-service and preservice teacher educa tion programs in Barcelona and other parts of Spain. She is specialized in the teaching of foreign language, and foreign and second language reading and writing. In 2001 Katherine won the Presiden tial Fellowship from the University of Florida, and moved to Gainesv ille, Florida to pursue Ph.D. studies. In 2005, she returned to Europe and is presently living with her husband in Florence, Italy. After graduation, she plans to continue her work in teacher education and her research in existential phenomenology in the area of professional deve lopment in Europe and the United States.