Meanwhile, back at school... I was the only student whose presentation won the approval of a classmate. She was listening while pretending to be a school principal at a school board meeting. Yes, it is true that PISA 2012 provides data which identifies a positive relationship between cognitive problem solving and math, reading and science achievement. What it does not explain is how developing cognitive problem-solving skills (critical thinking) is a subjective process. A follow-up assessment to the PISA may allow the identification of variables leading to the quantification of this phenomenon. I used the Rasta Beach video segment to elicit emotional appeal (a non-cognitive construct) when there was no data to support my position: The EQ-i assessments substantiate academic success through non-cognitive interventions with allegory. Until published data supporting the efficacy of EQ-i (emotional intelligence) interventions becomes available, the results remain entirely anecdotal. Therefore, we must make decisions based solely on the assurances of a respected Canadian company. This substantiates the importance of having strong non-cognitive skills such as emotional intelligence (awareness), especially considering our current socio-political climate. Having them helps us identify them. This is an incredibly valuable lesson to teach our students. Being able to differentiate between cognitive and non-cognitive arguments provides an individual with understandings that allow an accurate interpretation of the validity of a position.
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5/15/2018 1 Comment Follow mi familiListen...
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| Here is the keystone of this chronicle supporting my claim that I came into Social Media with the skills to tell stories using art and technology. This is a video created from the PowerPoint presentation that I shared with university students in Taiwan. I am an international trendsetter in this area. | |
We got the clinic.
5/6/2018 0 Comments
“Fuck…” I got the job.
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Most people have some visceral reaction to adult content. As teachers, we are conditioned to have adverse feelings. This is an example of a non-cognitive construct. We bring this training onto our campus where we hold students to the same standards. Many, if not all, students experience hearing about or even sharing this type of information with each other every day. If you spend any time with the general population, you will see that it is the norm in the lives of many people… especially in California… even without easy access to the Internet.
Honestly, the content of that video is exactly what I heard the first time I stepped into a California school as a prospective employee. I was in the high school library. I had to type an essay as part of the application process and was waiting to use a computer. A student directly behind me started talking. The first word out of her mouth was profane. “What have I walked into?” I wondered. I sat down and began typing, “Fuck…” I got the job. |
Even more to the point, what about our students who must deal with this dichotomous reality? Is it reasonable to conclude that moving back and forth between these situations has a significant impact on their emotions? Are we, as educators, exercising appropriate care by ignoring this dynamic? Does the transition between these moments adversely affect their academic performance? Is it possible that the time and attention it takes to compartmentalize environments distracts from focus on studies?
Would providing additional support in the form of an emotional assessment designed to reveal and teach students how to manage different emotions provide additional coping skills that save time and increase comfort leading to more confidence and, ultimately, improved academic performance?
Would providing additional support in the form of an emotional assessment designed to reveal and teach students how to manage different emotions provide additional coping skills that save time and increase comfort leading to more confidence and, ultimately, improved academic performance?
Congenital joint weakness and premature deterioration complicated by a few injuries led to partial paralysis while pursuing my graduate degree at UCF in December 2000. That, and a couple of other factors led to my failing the 2001-2002 academic year. I returned to California in hopes that I could find somebody willing and able to rebuild the back of an indigent disabled veteran. The VA refuses to acknowledge my back condition to this day, so my hopes rested on the community-at-large. My little local family doctor encouraged me to go to UCSF and meet the chief neurosurgeon. I spent three years in physical therapy preparing for a two-part experimental surgery. A few kind-hearted folks in the neighborhood kept an eye out for my 14-year old while I spent five days in the hospital. Much to the amazement of everybody, I was able to get up and walk without assistance for a few minutes at a time. Statistically, I am in a wheel chair for life. Most of 2006-2008 was spent using a walker working to figure out how to strengthen my back enough to walk independently. One day, while at our PTA vice-president's house, I discovered I was able to dance across the floor without assistance because of the vibrations coming from the speakers. It was new music for me. When I smiled and asked about it, she told me it was reggae and she would make me a sample disc. She said be sure to listen closely because I would hear things about Rastafari. Amazingly, this was concurrent with the school district's embezzlement of our PTA money, the high school administration turning my son against me, and a few other people turning our community leaders against my family. Having been ostracized from everything I knew and loved, I spent my days dancing in the trailer on my property and learning about the music in YouTube while creating a blog in MySpace. I caught the eye of the Jamaican music industry who recruited me to be an artist manager. Eighteen months later, I walked out of what had become a life-threatening situation for me and my family at the hands of an historically racist community. Well, I didn't really walk so much as dance... literally... out of there. In the spring of 2010, I was called to perform on stage in San Francisco, Jamaica and The Gambia. It was amazingly painful, but I did it. Our lives were depending on it. My life had transformed into a perpetual state of hyper-arousal because I had become prey. On my way out-the-door, I dropped a copy of the 20-page MySpace blog that explained everything that had happened to me off with my long-time psychologist at the Ukiah VA: "Give this to whoever needs to see it. Let's do what we have to do to bring a VA to Clearlake." This is how I revived reggae online and on the west coast. Our persecuted populations could relate to me. I brought a substantial portion of the international reggae industry with me in Facebook. I was considered a modern miracle. My federal doctors were ecstatic, encouraging me to do more. It turns out Rastafari idren were also following me, and used the opportunity to unify the fellowship worldwide. I had become a headliner in my own right, an overnight sensation. One of my artist's was even opening for a Marley. Unfortunately, I was also the target of potentially-lethal jealousy. I already told you about that. As you know, this situation is also how I became an Ambassador, wife of the son of the first village Imam. When I told them my story, they wrote me into African history. Life was beautiful in Africa, but living there is hard. It was too much for me; I got sick and I had to come home. I hid at my daughter's house for six months rehabilitating and deciding how and when to return to California. While there, I learned that the feds were looking for my son; they had a scholarship to give him. They had also opened a VA clinic in town the month I had been hiding in The Gambia... ironic? Anyhow, as soon as I came home, I went to work. I spent my days at KMOB, the local radio show owned by Andre Williams, MC Hammer's lead singer. This is where I met that African-American minister who wore the FBI cap when we went out in public together. He was new in the neighborhood. He became my supervisor and mentor. He sent me to the city to ask about what had happened to my property after the neighbors and police refused to allow me back onto it in the fall of 2010. I discovered that they had listed it as abandoned and auctioned it to the neighbor who ran me out of there... the original owner... my ex-boyfriend who had helped me fix my back. Domestic violence at its finest? (tongue-in-cheek sarcasm intended). Seriously, when I realized what had happened, I called the California-state domestic violence hotline and they told me there was no program in Lake County. They needed me to bring it! My goodness. I was homeless and sheltering with friends, having just been told that I should stay "off the radar" and underground for at least 2-3 years. I think you know that part of the story, too. Anyhow, I noted their request and got busy trying to book a show. At that point, my online activities caught the attention of UNESCO. The man straightened things out for me... quickly. He let me know who was misleading me in the music industry, sent me to a school board meeting with an offer of international intervention, and recommended I move to Chico. At that point, my nerves gave out... too many years running on adrenaline? Jah know. It was the summer of 2012. My son had just earned his AA. I left the neighborhood and checked into a VA far, far away from here. When I told them my story, they told me it was time to sit down and enjoy my retirement. "You've done a great thing for the world," they said. I came home, slid into a recliner at my kid's house, and curled up behind a computer to simply enjoy the music and school myself on the structure of an industry. It was fun. My adrenaline levels finally started to subside and the pain grew... oh my lord, how the pain grew!!! My congenital condition, Elher's Danlos, is systemic; every joint in my body is in premature degeneration. With all that dancing, my muscles had grown toned and strong... pulling on my joints... and causing the most mind-bending agony. I spent months lying in bed allowing my body to reach a relatively comfortable state due to a little atrophy, and my back settled into the condition it is in now: I can usually stand and walk for a few minutes. I can still dance, but only when I am well rested and near a set of loudspeakers booming wild and wicked reggae/dancehall into my bones. This was 2012-2014. I moved to Chico and laid in bed looking out the window wondering what I was going to do with the rest of my life. My thoughts never wandered far from that invitation I had received to apply for admission into Harvard's graduate program and earn my PhD. In the spring of 2015, I applied to Chico State. It's been kind of slow for me. Because of my back, I cannot sit upright in a chair for eight hours a day, so I cannot take more than one class a semester... which, as luck would have it, has turned out to be a good thing because it is allowing society to evolve and start considering the concepts that I have spent the last forty years learning in the care of the world's finest physicians. When I started school in the fall of 2015, however, I had active skin cancer, an untreated tooth abscess, recently diagnosed Celiac disease, an abnormal breast x-ray and anemia so severe it would have warranted a blood transfusion if I had walked into an E.R.... probably pretty normal for someone who had lived several homeless years. Heavens knows how I made it through that first semester, but... anyhow... spring 2016 was a semester-off-school to start tending to medical issues. As the 2016-2017 academic year progressed, one of my son's friends moved in with me, I bought a little house near downtown Chico, and physical conditions were treated and cured. Free from disease, I began to feel emotions. This led to a realization that I have developed some monster coping skills. I have, after all, been surviving with poverty, disabilities and injuries all of my life. Now, I had grown aware. Our university was doing things that were causing me relief and distress at the same time, so I took my new skills and addressed the situation by investing last semester being a consultant for our new sexual assault awareness and prevention program. They listened. Things improved. I created a new professional title to describe my job: Online Instructional Designer for Trauma-informed Schools. My son brought his six-year old and the toddler. Everyone above the age of three (there are four of us) is now a successful school student. Which brings us to today... and my back... lol... around which revolves the rest of my reality...
Nanny Maroon
Official Title: Online Instructional Designer for Trauma-informed Schools. Unofficially: ... an aspiring community advocate with a teaching pedigree.
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