As a mom of four boys, there is a lot of testosterone in my house. Decorating schemes include various shades of blue, red, and purple (as well as planets, Star Wars, and dinosaurs). But my office is all mine to decorate as I see fit. And that means a space with quite a lot of pink, family photos, humorous images, and just a touch of glitter. When I look around my office, every object and decoration fills me with joy (Marie Kondo would be so proud.)

Please join me on a virtual tour of my office!

The first thing you’ll see is my rustic brick wall, adorned with as many decorations as I could fit using custom brick-hanging devices. There’s a cross-stitching of shoes made by a former colleague, photos of my boys when they were younger, a punny piece of art from First Fridays, and a light up R from a former student.

Next, you’ll probably notice the side of my file cabinet / shelving unit. It is adorned with artwork from my children, spanning back to preschool all the way to this year! I also have a Glitter Board, where students can contribute their own artwork, stickers, fliers, and snowflakes (Why? Who knows! I’ll take it!) I offer students extra credit to add something to the board, which also sneakily gets students to my office to hopefully create a habit of visiting Office Hours and reaching out if they need help.

On my blue wall (painted by the school during last year’s renovation, without even consulting me about my preferred shade of pink), I bought deep shelves from Amazon to display more awesomeness. At the top are family photos from 2019 (simpler, pre-pandemic times) which probably should be updated to more recent pics, but I just love remembering their little faces! The bottom two shelves are devotes to student project pieces: a cross stitch of a student and her boyfriend as well as a broken heart from Interpersonal Communication, a fake cigarette carton (culture jamming assignment) and a magic broom from Intercultural Communication , a fake plant from a Xeriscape service learning project in Public Speaking, and a mock graduation cap and self portraits of a student in Introduction to Communication.

This file cabinet was in my office at GCC in 2013 when I was an OYO. I was so excited to have my own office on campus after being an adjunct and part=time speech team coach for five years. I lined the shelves with adorable wrapping paper to give the look of wallpaper to an otherwise (let’s be honest) pretty ugly piece of office furniture. When I returned back to GCC in 2019, I was in a different office, but a year later, after some office switching musical chairs, I discovered my old file cabinet! When you love something, let it go…

Since then, I’ve developed a pretty serious addiction to Starbucks tumblers… so much so that I had to expand my display from home to school (mostly to protect my partner from knowing exactly how many cups I now own). I found a three-tied display shelf to but on top of this cabinet along with fun prices of art and travel memorabilia. And a few books are stored here, too.

My primary view is facing my computer screen… and screen… and screen. It is somewhat overwhelming to have so many screens’ I feel a little bit like Batman in the Bat Cave, just without the sweet Batmobile.

I have my degrees hanging proudly on the wall, a corkboard covered in art and speech team awards, and more photos of my babies. I got a ring light during the pandemic, and it comes in handy to prevent me from looking quite as ghostly on virtual meetings.

So, that’s it! My office is a place of joy even on days that are not quite as joyous. I turn on my Scentsy fragrance, grab a chocolate from the “In case of Dementors” jar, and enjoy my colorful work oasis. Swing by the next time you’re near FO-2!

As I read the prompt this week, I heard the Barenaked Ladies’ song singing to me, “When you dream, what do you dream about?” (I’ve embedded the song below if you need to get this ear-worm in your head.)

My dream classroom is a little far-fetched, but for the sake of the dreamers who dream big dreams out there, here it is!

I teach Communication, so all of my classes have different components and styles of speaking, including Public Speaking and group presentations. One important lesson is adapting to the environment, in our case, the classroom that we’re assigned. This replicates many “real life” public speaking situations where the speaker may not have control over the room chosen for the speech: the keynote speaker didn’t chose the city, the hotel, or the Gray Cliffs conference room where the opening banquet (and speech) will take place, nor did the speaker get to pick the audio visual equipment provided by, or absent from, the venue.

In these ways, adapting to a classroom situation and speaking with the tools available in the conditions available become an important skill for budding speakers. However, one annoyance for me as a Com teacher is the disclaimers we have to make due to the classroom restrictions. Outside of academia, it is rare to speak to a group of people who are each sitting in a desk… in a room not designed for public speaking… at a specific duration of time. These are the challenges my dream classroom would overcome.

In my dream classroom, the room would be magically adaptable to any speaking situation. The classroom could become an auditorium, with theater style seating (and theater-quality projection systems, just for fun!) This would include a formal, raised stage as many presentations take place in environments such as this. Students would then get to practice filling a large space with projected volume OR how to navigate the complexities of using a microphone (handheld, attached to a podium, ominously clipped to a shirt and worn around prior to the actual speech… begging for a comical pre-speech gaff.) Students would learn how to enter and exit from a stage, literally stepping into the spotlight of the audience’s perception. They may have to navigate speaking while professionally lit, where one often cannot see the audience… yet should still appear to connect with them.

But this classroom is magical. (And sure, theater has it’s own type of magic.) It would not only be a stage, because often times, speeches are not performed in such a formal, professional venue.

My magic classroom would also become a Board Room. In the fashion of many Board Rooms, this one would be long and narrow and have artful (yet totally distracting) windows. A Board Room creates new challenges. First, it is an awkward set-up. The long, skinny format means that people in the back are craning around people in the front. If the focus is not the center of the table (and let’s hope you’re not here to table dance), then everyone in the audience, except perhaps the chairperson sitting at the head of the table, must turn their chairs or heads to see the speaker. Board Rooms usually have some sort of audio and maybe even a visual outlet, but for most meetings, these go unused. Therefore, when tasked with turning on this state-of-the-art equipment, most attendees will be pretty helpless, and technical difficulties will arise.

The speaker/student would be tasked with navigating these challenges of a real-life speaking situation. Did the student contact the venue prior to the speech to ask about equipment and set-up? Did the student arrive early to get their presentation loaded (and to allow time for the receptionist to call Duane from IT to come in and figure out how to get this speaker’s portable projector linked to the network and turned on)? Once this technical portion of the speech is running, the speaker must then find ways to connect with an audience in a much more intimate space while also maintaining professionalism and likability. Oh, and landing that client with superb persuasive skills.

But my magic classroom wouldn’t be complete without being able to transform into a Banquet Hall. Many speeches occur at special occasions such as weddings, graduations, retirements, and a multitude of awards ceremonies. Usually there is food served at these events. Speaker are tasked with presenting the oral tribute while the audience is tasked with orally ingesting banquet-quality food.

Banquets are usually arranged around the meal. Therefore, tables are usually circular, pre-set with dinnerware, and large enough to accommodate 4-12 diners. Speakers are usually on a stage or dance floor. This set up forces some members of the audience to move their seats or their heads/mouths away from their meal to face the speaker while others are forced to chose between their meal and the speaker while others try to manage eating while listening/watching. Add in formal clothing, and you can see the recipe for potential disaster.

Speakers are competing over multiple distractions and must plan their speeches accordingly. Good speakers manage the distractions by being captivating, epic presenters but also by being aware of timing and appropriateness of the occasion.

My magic classroom would be able to transition seamlessly from one set-up to another. We could replicate any type of speaking situation students might be preparing for from presenting a sales pitch to a group of investors to leading military training at Boot Camp to being a guest reader at Dr. Seuss Week at your child’s elementary school. My classroom would magically change shape, location, accessibility of equipment, all with the push of a button… or a swish of the wand. Accio, magic classroom. (I had to try.)

But until my magic classroom manifests itself, I will continue to do my best to prepare students for the many challenges of “real-life” speaking situations to hopefully create more aware, diligent, and ready students.

So maybe… the magic of the classroom lies within those of us lucky enough to teach.

I have a confession to make. I am a super giant nerd. In case this hasn’t been obvious in previous posts, read on to confirm. I think it started back in my undergrad when I learned that I would have to take a statistics class for my psychology degree. I was dreading the class because I struggled with math for my entire school life.

However, something miraculous happened. Statistics just clicked for me. Suddenly, math made sense! When the numbers I was calculating actually connected to something tangible and meaningful, my brain could compute. And right there, my love for an early research was born.

My first year of grad school, we had to take a basic Communication Research classes: one course in quantitative studies and one course in qualitative studies. It quickly became evident that the “side” you chose predicted your personality: “Quantoids” were deemed the nerdy number-crunchers whereas “Qaullies” were the philosophers of thought. (I wish I had made up these labels as a joke. Alas, kids are cruel even as adults.) I was a “Quantoid” yet I rejected the nerdy implications of the label… to the extend that I re-designed my thesis dissertation as a qualitative study just to prove I wasn’t only a statistics nerd. But even in the early onset of my academic career, I loved numbers. I loved seeing the statistics as useful metrics for how my students performed, thus helping me assess how well I was succeeding as a teacher.

All this is precursor to explain and justify my affinity for assessment. For many of my colleagues, assessment draws one of several negative reactions: ambivalence, annoyance, confusion, or a general feeling that it is a waste of our precious teaching time.

For me, assessment is the opportunity to collect valuable data and to use that data for the noble purpose of improving education for students, whether that means improving students’ comprehension or grades or helping me to deliver my content more effectively.

When I hear “assessment,” my brain immediately goes to formal, mandated assessment required in colleges to obtain and keep accreditation credentials. I first think of identifying a specific college or district student learning outcome and finding a quantitative way to calculate students results in that particular category.

For me (and fellow nerds), this is exciting and fun, while for other people, this is the workplace equivalent of having a root canal. However, the more I have studied the formal side of assessment (as a department assessment coordinator and currently a course co- lead), I realize that assessment does not have to be a huge, formal, quantitative research undertaking.

We assess in our classes every single day formally and informally, directly and indirectly, with grades and without. We are all familiar with the traditional forms of assessment like exams and papers. Most of my classes have a heavy emphasis on public speaking. In my COM 225 class, which is Public Speaking, a whopping 75% of their grade comes from speeches. These are the formal assessments of the class.

But to help students build the necessary skills needed to deliver great presentations, I administer many practice activities and skill building activities throughout the semester. These are rarely graded, but are required as part of the students participation. I realized that these are an excellent source of formative assessment; they assess the students’ current strengths and weaknesses so I can provide more direct feedback. This results in improved scores on the students graded tests, but even more than that, it provides a place where students can practice their skills and gain more confidence, and helps to foster a more friendly and knowledgeable audience, which decreases students’ nervousness.

One such activity is something I call the Actor’s Studio. A group of students will be assigned a particular concept from the lesson of the day. The students create a skit where they demonstrate the concept for the rest of the class, then the audience (the other students) try to guess the concept being demonstrated.

I love this activity because it requires creativity from the presenters as well as collaboration with their fellow group members. It also uses higher level thinking along Bloom’s Taxonomy. Rather than simply defining the concept, performing a skit requires deeper understanding to be able to apply the content to a scenario. In addition, it helps the rest of the students practice good audience behavior with active listening and critical thinking. This helps me identify areas where students clearly “get” a concept and areas where students could be confused.

Another activity I use for assessment is the Great Debate. In this activity, I put a resolution on the board that clearly has at least two sides. I start with a lighter, pop culture prompt such as “Joaquin Phoenix was the best Joker.”(We move on to more serious issues based on the class and their interests.) Upon initial reading of the resolution, students have to place themselves against one of three walls in the room: the right side if they agree with the resolution, the left side of the room if they disagree with the resolution, and the back wall of the room if they are undecided or ambivalent.

Next, I asked for a volunteer from the “pro wall” to explain why they support this particular resolution. The speaker has one minute to attempt to persuade the rest of the audience. At the end of the one minute I ask if anyone has been persuaded? If so, they can move to a different wall. Then, I ask for a volunteer from the con side to explain why they are against the resolution. Again, the speaker has one minute to attempt to persuade us. And students are allowed to relocate should they be persuaded. This activity engages students and encourages them to analyze information as well as their decision-making.

In the debrief to this activity, we discuss which speeches persuaded us and why. Regarless of the actual topic, the stratgies we use to convince others to change their mind (or feelings or attitudes or beleifs or behaviors) are the concepts of Persuaive speaking fromt he textbook. This activity assesses understanding of the concepts while also challenging students to apply the concepts in real life.

These two activities hopefully help to demonstrate the variation Assessment can take, from formal and traditional to playful and, dare-I-say fun.

After working all day at a retirement complex, I stopped by a local Dutch Bros for a caffeinated pick-me-up. In the traditional fashion of a Dutch Bro, the barista wanted to know my life history. He causally leaned out the window and asked, “What are you up to today? Going home from work or on your way to work?”

“No,” I replied. “I just got done with work. Now I’m going to school.”

“Cool! What class are you taking?” He asked in enthusiastic Dutch Bro fashion.

“Oh,” I corrected, gently. “I’m actually teaching class. Public Speaking.”

He furrowed his brow. “Wait. So, you left work… and now you’re going back to work?”

I laughed at his confusion. “Yeah, I guess so,” I answered. “Although teaching never really feels like work.”

And that’s when I had a career-changing epiphany. I worked full-time as the Director of Resident Relations at a luxury retirement complex. I enjoyed my job, being a liaison to residents and managing a department of 28 people, but it definitely felt like work. Whereas, my “part-time job” of being an evening adjunct instructor and assistant coach for the Speech & Debate (or Forensics) Team was fun and invigorating.

I had the realization right there in the Dutch Bros line (perhaps one more reason it always takes so long.) Maybe, just maybe, I should be spending 40 hours a week doing what I love instead of only squeezing in a few classes after “work.”

By this time, my oldest son was not quite one. Having a baby had changed my priorities, but it had not, yet, significantly changed my work schedule. I was still working my normal 8am-4pm job, then teaching 2-3 evening and online classes per week, then traveling to California (and elsewhere) about twice a month for speech tournaments… now with a baby in tow. Something had to give.

By all intents and purposes, it should have been coaching Forensics. This took up 10-15 hours of coaching per week in addition to traveling on the weekends, and it paid the least. But, I couldn’t give it up. I couldn’t let go.

I took some time to reflect. I realized that I loved teaching and coaching. I loved connecting with students and helping them to become better speakers. I loved being a coach and leading a team. I’m pretty very competitive. Forensics gave me an outlet for my competitive drive and my creativity. Teaching gave me a platform to continue to publicly speak and to kindle students’ love of learning, too.

Sometimes inspiration comes in the form of a mentor or a beloved family member. I certainly have stores to draw from. My favorite teacher in high school, Mrs. Farrington, who taught Speech (This should have been a sign) and was the club adviser for TAFE, the Texas Association for Future Educators (yet another sign.) I became the President of the club, mostly just to get to continue working with Mrs. Farrington. I signed up for every speech competition she recommended. (My awards include being the Hutchinson County Cattelwomen’s Beef Ambassador for both 2000 and 2001. I can’t make this up.) Mrs. Farrington is also the person who first introduced me to the world of Speech & Debate. I competed for 3.5 years in high school, then went on to compete in college as well. I still remember her combination of classy authority while also making me feel valued, like an “insider” working with her not just for her. As a high school student, that was a great feeling, but as an adult, we still desire this feeling of inclusion. I strive to impart these feelings of autonomy and support for my students.

I also remember my grandfather, who retired from the Navy and came back to our home town to run the family business, an office supply store. But when Walmart moved to our small town, our little store (like so many others) went out of business. My grandfather, “Gramp,” went back to school. He drove to the nearest college 2 hours away to complete his degree in Special Education. Upon graduation, he accepted a teaching position at a middle school in an even tinier town than ours almost 3 hours away. He rented a small apartment across the street from the middle school and walked to work every day. He came home on the weekends, but sometimes we’d go stay with him, which felt like a special treat. A few times, I even got to go to work with him. I met his students and his teachers aids; I observed the rapport he had with his students and the passion he had for connecting with students who struggled in the education system. I saw my grandpa in a new light. He seemed so happy and capable. I was proud to share my smart and funny grandfather with these students. His colleagues shared with me glowing complements about him as I drank my hot chocolate from a coffee mug in the teacher’s lounge. I like to think I got my sense of humor from him, and this is a vital tool for my teaching.

These are just two pillars in my life who inspired me, long before I knew that I would someday become a teacher. I believe that no matter what career path I chose, these inspirational figures would still have guided and shaped me to be my best.

But sometimes, inspiration comes in a less obvious form… like perhaps the form of a Large Caramel Annihilator from Dutch Bros. So to that fateful barista, I say “Thanks a latte.”