Author Archives: A. M.

About A. M.

Information professional focusing on academic librarianship through a critical lens. Research interests include education and multiliteracies, critical race theory, gender studies, and African American studies. I am currently employed as an academic librarian. I am also a family genealogist in the process of uncovering the people and places behind my ancestry. I enjoy digging up new facts, reading, and writing in my free time. My opinions and thoughts are my own.

Coming out as Black: Negotiating identity in professional settings

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“If every time we felt unwelcome in a space we decided not to stay, then that space would, indeed, be no longer for us. In taking ourselves out of a place, we designate that place as not our own.”

~ Rori Picker Neiss

As a professional of color, I have a lot of experience being in spaces that seem to not be for me. When I say it wasn’t for me, I don’t mean that as a reflection on my ability. I say that as a reflection of the structures, expectations, and allowances of professionalism within those environments.

Last week, I attended ACRL. Frankly, I came into the conference feeling tired and not much like being there. I was coming out of a couple of emotionally intense weeks, because of stuff going on in my personal life. The last thing I felt like doing was going to sit with a bunch of strange people and talk about the same ol’ conference things. But before I got to ACRL, I attended the #critlib unconference that preceded it. There was a session at the end of unconference that ended up being mostly LIS practitioners of color talking about self-care. One of the things that came up over and over again was this feeling of isolation as an Only, along with all the accompanying issues that come with being an Only: the lack of community, the lack of understanding from administration and colleagues about social issues related to cultural identities, the lack of recognition of work and professional accomplishments, the need to work two or three times as hard in order to prove your existence was/is not a mistake. The microaggressions.

I attended #critlib with one of my good friends, which was cathartic in and of itself. The circle-talk on self-care was good, but I still wasn’t really feeling ACRL. On the second day, though, I ran into one of the women from the #critlib circle and we talked. And then I connected with other librarians of color and we talked. I ended up with a group of conference buddies who redeemed my conference experience. And it was nice to know that my frustrations with the conference and the profession were not all in my head. It also touched something deep inside that I didn’t realize needed touching.

The conversations I had with my professional peers of color at ACRL reminded me of one I had during my intergroup dialogue (IGD) facilitator training this past summer, in which one of my IGD peers of color and I talked about the idea of coming out as Black in the workplace. And what it means to work in a predominantly white workplace versus one with a high percentage of people of color. I volunteered at an African American cultural heritage institution before I started my residency and I remember telling my IGD colleague about how amazing it was to be in environment with so many African American professionals and to not have to feel on guard all the time or to feel like I had to constantly explain myself, my culture, or my existence. Being there felt like home. And that’s not a feeling I often get to have in a professional setting.

One might argue that your workplace shouldn’t feel like home. And I agree to a certain extent. I mean, I’m at work to do my job, get my paycheck, and go home. But when, like in one of my past workplaces, you overhear your white colleagues publicly joking about African American death as a good thing, because then there are less of them around…it does something to your psyche. How likely is advancement, professional support, or even exposure to the right information or opportunities, if the death of people who look like you is fodder for lunchtime jokes? It contributes to a hostile workplace.

I wasn’t always conscious of or vocal about these things, though.

I started my professional career in early childhood education. I worked as a literacy educator with a nonprofit that partnered with the local school system. My first year, I was one of few people of color on the team. The second year with that organization, I transitioned to a different role. For one part of my job, I worked solo in multiple elementary schools. The other part of my job was collaborative in a different school. My colleagues were all women of color. The leadership in our organization were mostly white. Most of the teachers in the schools I worked at were white. Most of the students and their parents were African American.

As an educator, I was trained to teach, but not make waves. I was supposed to be respectable, above reproach. Care for the children, yes. Advocate for them, yes. But also, stay in your lane. And don’t be visibly Black. I had private conversations with African American teachers about how frustrating it was for them to work in predominantly white environments. How they watched their colleagues of color get forced out. The pressures they dealt with. I would talk to white colleagues and hear about how so-and-so was such a horrible teacher, had attitude issues, etc. And then I’d talk to my Black colleagues and get a completely different story from their perspective. And one of my personal miffs: in most school systems, teachers aren’t allowed to wear anything on their heads unless it’s for religious reasons. I used to wear headwraps a lot, before I graduated undergrad. So I was particularly salty about that detail. I got over it, though. But you know who wears headwraps, right? Mostly Black and brown people.

Additionally, becoming a professional in predominantly white spaces meant learning whole new schemas about how to conduct oneself; the language, the ways you interacted with those in seniority. For example, I grew up in a pretty traditional African American community. There, elders were highly respected. You don’t talk to adults any old kind of way and you don’t call them by their first name without a title (Aunt, Uncle, Ms., Mr., Brother, Sister). And there are reasons for this that go back to historical oppression outside the community. It was really hard for me to transition to calling those older than me and those in authority by their first names. Likewise, becoming comfortable with challenging authority and speaking out when I saw something wrong. It took time to get to that point. To make it more difficult, when I encountered older Black adults in my work, if I accidentally step outside the bounds of what I knew to be culturally acceptable, I would be scolded. Because I should know better. I had to know both worlds and when to apply which rules with which people.

My first LIS job was a private university, which had a predominantly white student body. I was the only person of color on my team and maybe department (there may have been one other, but I don’t know how she self-identified). There were a handful of us on the entire library staff, but it was a very siloed institution. It was here that I first “came out as Black.” Growing up and training to be a teacher, there was a strong emphasis put on looking professional. For this reason, I typically wore my thick, natural hair in braids or twists, I wore small earrings, etc. But while at that institution, a few things happened:

  1. I was deep in the middle of genealogy research. Something about learning who I was and where I came from gave me confidence. You know they don’t teach African American history…anywhere. It’s a niche subject. But as I realized my family has been here a long time and played a major role in building this country; even after being disrespected, mistreated, and forgotten, we’re still here. So you can’t tell me what to do.
  2. Wearing natural hair became more en vogue. I’ve always been natural, but I used to think natural hair worn “out” was not professional. Seeing other people rocking their tresses made me curious to try it.
  3. I began studying African American studies and gender studies as a discipline (self-taught knowledge is still knowledge). The library had a decent collections budget and I voraciously read anything that came in in my interest areas and mulled over things a lot.
  4. I found my voice. The school was a very liberal institution, meaning that people considered themselves open minded (whether they were or not). It was a great environment to start pushing the envelope and having dialogues with colleagues and students about critical issues. The more I raised my voice, the less I was inclined to stay quiet. And there were always things to bring up.
  5. The dress code was very casual. Like, t-shirt and jeans casual. I still tried to be semi-professional, because as an Only…well, you know.
  6. I met other Black women in academia. Let me tell you, Black women in academia are a special breed. Black women in general are some of the most supportive, giving, fierce, amazing people that ever were. Then add the fire and tenacity it takes to deal with academia nonsense on a daily basis and you get the picture. They opened their arms to me.

The end result was that one day I said, To hell with all this. And one day, I came to work with my hair out and hoop earrings. And that was my coming out day. Granted, I think my speaking against stereotypes of Southeast DC, objecting to generalizations about Black folk and microaggressions, and staging a mini temper tantrum over being ignored in staff meetings had already outed me. But it was now complete. And there was no going back. I had some of my best hair experiment days while at that job. My signature earrings made their way into my professional wardrobe during that time. And you know what? I was still regarded as a quality employee. You know what they say about positive-negative reinforcement.

When I came into my current job, I toned it down a bit. At least initially, until I got the feel of the environment. Though I did inquire prior to my first day, whether purple hair would be okay, as I was on a purple braids kick at the time. I ended up showing up with red braids instead. And proceeded to go through purple, red, and blue braids for my first several months. People commented on my frequent dye jobs. I forget that a lot of white people don’t know many Black people and don’t know about extensions. 🙂

It’s also a more conservative professional vibe, when it comes to dress and attire. (I miss my jeans.) Over time, I’ve tested the waters by rocking my fro. Which at times, feels uncomfortable, because I am, once again, one of a handful of people of color. I’ve found that no one has said anything, at least not to me directly, but that some of the white faculty I work with are endlessly fascinated by my hair and the rapid transitions I undertake in styling. I’ve gotten used to the comments about my earrings and take it in stride. I get that I am different. Every day is another lesson in code-switching and identity balancing.

On the weekends, you might find me in a headwrap with sunglasses and wide-legged pants, being all the way Black. Or you might find me in sweats and braids, curled up under a blanket, being all the way introvert and Black.

 

 

Disclaimer: I was talking to a friend some time ago about code switching and the process of “becoming professional,” both within and outside of academia. She encouraged me to write about my experiences. This is my attempt to do so. In so doing, I make no claims of speaking from the black experience, the black female experience, or the black information professional’s experience. Though there may be some similarity to the experiences of others,  I speak from my experience alone. 

 

 

 

Holiday reflections on “self” and self-care

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As I prepare to embark on a much looked-forward to break, I wanted to share some reflections from another blog of mine:

…I attended a presentation on campus for a candidate interview. At the conclusion of the presentation, the candidate asked the attendees to share one thing they were going to do between now and inauguration day to practice self-care. Almost everyone in the room shared something about looking forward to being with family. Given the rather uncertain present and the constant immersion into justice and works of equity, the people, I think, were stretched thin. They were tired.

As I listened to each person speak, I thought of how little we actually know of each other. How we wear the mask and hide our eyes for safety’s sake, in order to survive. The vulnerabilities that we allow to be seen are only the tip of the iceberg. But with those who know us best, the masks fall off. The tiresome duties of being human can be left on the floor with dirty laundry as, in some respects, we’re allowed to be young again. Holidays are sometimes more than days off work, but days off call, to refresh our human performance. For we all perform in some way.

Everyone intrinsically desires to not have to fake it. But we are afraid, even in our desire, to be real with those who may despise our realness or wound us in their quest to know. And so we reserve our truest selves for those few. Home represents the ability to go to a place where we can be nurtured, safe, and know that we belong. We only want to be held. When not with physical arms, with space and energy.

For some, family is biological blood; for others, family represents the people to whom you belong, blood or not. Family is people who can’t get rid of you if they wanted to; family is who we always come back to; family is those who know our crazy and our calm and love us still. However, whatever, family means to us, family allows us space to be the whole people that we are, in all of our messiness.

And this is what we want, most of us. To be wholly present, in all of our messiness. But we only do this with a few. Parents, siblings, lovers, friends. These are the ones we call family. The witnesses to our need to be known and to know. To be counted. To be seen.

You are terrifying and strange and beautiful. Something not everyone knows how to love.

— Warsan Shire

So love the families you have, whoever they be, and be loved. In that, know that your definition of family is enough. You love what’s yours; others love what is theirs. And therein, let us be grateful.

I’m thankful for the people I call family, whether blood or not. And I’m thankful for the opportunity to recharge and gain a fresh perspective to bring back to work in January. I hope everyone has a wonderful winter break and if indulging in holidays is your thing, enjoy it to the max!

To 2017, whatever it may bring.

In which I return to my lists

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The sun is perfect and you woke this morning. You have enough language in your mouth to be understood. You have a name, and someone wants to call it. Five fingers on your hand and someone wants to hold it. If we just start there, every beautiful thing that has and will ever exist is possible. If we start there, everything, for a moment, is right in the world.

~ Warsan Shire

It’s been a whirlwind semester. Remember how in Cinderella, the clock struck twelve before she had a chance to fully comprehend everything that was going on? I can identify a little bit with Cinderella.

I had a lot of good intentions for this semester. I was going to reflect each Friday on my instruction for the week; I was going to keep up with my blog; I was going to be on top of all the things….in case you haven’t guessed, none of that happened. I scheduled, planned, and taught classes and then scheduled, planned, and taught some more. The lightning spark reflections happened only in my head. But even if I never got to write any of it down, I did learn some things from my first semester of permanent-track employment.

Each year, I make a long list of things I want to accomplish or focus on throughout the year. I check in with myself periodically over the months; sometimes I add things to the list. I let other things go. At the end of the year, in December, I check in for the final time and celebrate my accomplishments and create a new list for the next year. I’m in the process of writing my 2017 list, but I wanted to share some of my  work-related list items that were either formal or informal “wants” for 2016:

Apply for jobs in the fall – I think I can safely cross this one off the list. I was offered and accepted a permanent track position at Towson University in July, so I get to continue to work with wonderful people in a supportive, creative environment. Excited to see what happens in the next few years.

Learn a new skill or brush up on an old skill – This semester, I’ve taught sessions for incoming freshman, seasoned upperclass-ers & grad students. I’ve worked with a lot of different faculty members and had to adjust my instruction to stress different skill sets in different classrooms. I also guest lectured in a few sections of a School Library Media course. What a cool way to be involved in the future of education and library practitioners! I was also a mentor for our student leadership program at the library and served on a hiring committee or two.

Cultivate new experiences (#NoRegrets) – In Spring 2016, I taught an undergrad course as an adjunct at one of our sister institutions. This semester (Fall 2016), I’m co-facilitating a course-integrated intergroup dialogue group. It’s been challenging and rewarding at the same time and I’ve learned a lot about myself as an educator, learner, and individual. Pretty neat experience. For next semester, I’m planning a student symposium with a theme of activism and resistance in the 1960s, which has also allowed me to get out and connect with others on campus with whom I might not ordinarily cross paths.

Get published (article, book, whatever) – I’m really excited about having a book chapter proposal accepted. It won’t actually be published for a few years, but I’m crossing it off my list nonetheless.

Be smart, keep learning – I’ve discovered so many new authors, talked to new people, and been exposed to many new things this year. I presented at some conferences and listened to people present at others. It all makes my learner’s soul very, very happy. Regardless of formal education, I believe everyone should be learning always (and we often are, even when we don’t realize it). Formally speaking, I also went ahead and applied for a Ph.D. program, to start in Fall 2017. We’ll see what happens. *fingers crossed*

I.

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“You are you even before you grow into understanding you are not anyone, worthless, not worth you. Even as your own weight insists you are here, fighting off the weight of nonexistence. And still this life parts your lids, you see you seeing your extending hand as a falling wave— I they he she we you turn only to discover the encounter to be alien to this place. Wait. The patience is in the living. Time opens out to you. The opening, between you and you, occupied, zoned for an encounter, given the histories of you and you— And always, who is this you? The start of you, each day, a presence already— Hey you—”
― Claudia Rankine, Citizen: An American Lyric

I’m bad at publishing blog posts in a timely manner, so I started writing this at the beginning of November:

Last weekend, I participated as a staff facilitator in the university’s social justice retreat. It was a beautiful experience. I had the opportunity to work with college students (grads and undergrads) who were passionate and invested in making the world a more inclusive, welcoming place for everyone; regardless of age, race, gender, sexual orientation, religion, citizenship, national origin, language, socioeconomic status, or belief system. I got to hear their life stories and share some of mine. It was intense and mentally exhausting, but also so meaningful.

During that weekend, I re-learned the power of stories and of seeing, really seeing people for the individuals they are. I was humbled by the openness with which these young people came. And they challenged me to try to do better, again. To be recommitted to living out my beliefs. And to strive to stand boldly for what I believe in: human dignity and the right to be seen.

One of the students in my small-group made a comment on Saturday about the reality that America could elect a leader with fascist views. Up to that point, we’d been laughing and being fairly lighthearted in our chatter. When she said that, we all sobered up and the reflections in our minds would be read in our eyes: What would this mean to America? What would this mean for me?

To get to the retreat, we drove through ardent Trump supporter territory. There were signs every other foot. Some big, some small, some hidden by overgrown fields ill-suited to staying in their places. I even saw Trump/Pence signs on the lawn of a church. The irony is that their mission statement (because I looked in up) included a focus on ministry to at-risk populations. I wondered to myself how they defined “at-risk.” 

And then there was the huge Trump sign in a field, with the “T” missing and a notice that it had been vandalized by the intolerant. What defines tolerance and intolerance?

It’s now post-election and Trump has been named president-elect. There have been many newspaper articles, blogs posts, social media rants, and frantic tweets about the ramifications about the election. I’m not going to add to that right now.

What I do want to say is that while attending the social justice retreat I was challenged in ways that I did not expect to be challenged.From that experience, these are the things I learned:

  • “Your assumptions are your windows on the world. Scrub them off every once in a while, or the light won’t come in.” ― Isaac Asimov
    • Never assume that you know someone’s life story, the things they wrestle over, or their perspective, just because of how they look or what you perceive to be true from prior experience.
  • “We’re all stories in the end.” – Steven Moffat
    • As the retreat coordinator said, it’s not facts that change lives, it’s stories. The more we take time to engage with others on a genuine level, the better off we all are. It doesn’t mean we’ll all agree on everything (spoiler: we won’t). But it is hard to ignore someone’s humanity while listening. Build relationships and take time to be present. It’s about dialogue, not debate. Debate has it’s time and place.
  • “No one knows for certain how much impact they have on the lives of other people. Oftentimes, we have no clue. Yet we push just the same.” ― Jay Asher
    • During the retreat, we had little paper bags in which we could leave (positive) comments for other people to recognize the brave, supportive, or noteworthy things they’d done during the weekend. At the end of the retreat, everyone had a chance to retrieve their bags and see what notes others had left for them. Sometimes I forget that other people besides me can see me living.
  • “A life is not important except in the impact is has on other lives.” ― Jackie Robinson
    • Also, on the last day, we did this activity. Maybe it sounds cheesy; maybe it was. But it was also humbling and warm-fuzzy feeling to realize that the things I did, just going throughout my day, meant something to someone else. And vice versa.

I have a quote wall in my apartment with sticky notes of phrases and ideas I want to remember (also perhaps cheesy). Each of these quotes went on my wall and hopefully it will serve as a constant reminder to me to, in the words of Luuvie Ajayi, “Do better!”

 

#NDLC2016: Reflections on the Opening Keynote

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I’m at the National Diversity in Libraries Conference 2016 this week, which is hosted at UCLA. This morning, the opening keynote speaker, Lakota Harden, left her notes on the podium and decided to speak from the heart. She shared a bit of her experiences growing up on a reservation, being the descendant of individuals who have endured horrible things as a result of federally sanctioned genocide. She spoke about attending boarding school and losing her language, because they were not permitted to use the words they’d been born into. She spoke about sitting at her great-grandmothers’ knees and regaining a little bit what she’d been torn away from, what her ancestors had been torn away from. She spoke of remembering and honoring the pain, of acknowledging the truth. And she spoke to the tearing away that many have descended from in the name of colonization. She also spoke of the existing wounds that her people, the Lakotas, bear and the deep wounds of American Indians across the nation. The poverty and broken families. The alcoholism and drug use. The homelessness and imprisonment. The atrocities that continue. And the people who come to reservations in search of the dead, expecting the living to perform a nativeness that is contrived. People who will open hands, wanting, needing to get rather than to give and just be present. She spoke of the borrowing…stealing of cultural values and practices by majority cultures that don’t take the time to know the humanity behind them. As she spoke, it resonated with me. Not just because I appreciated her sharing and was moved by her honesty, but because, as she said, we all have backgrounds filled with woundings that we’ve had to live through, cope with, and survive. And for many of us, we’re still trying to find our survival.

As a librarian of color, and more specifically, as an African American woman in the United States, I’ve had to come to terms with the heaviness that is my cultural heritage. Like Lakota, I have found the beauty amidst the sorrow, but it comes from acknowledging that past. Often, like her, I hear people say things like, “Well, slavery was hundreds of years ago, don’t you think it’s time you guys moved on?” or “Why don’t you guys [black people] stop protesting and just get a job? or “Why don’t parents in urban communities care about their children?” No one is really interested in talking about the past, because it’s messy and it’s painful. But the things we witness today are deeply rooted in a continual cycle of loss and trauma. To break that cycle, we have to talk about it. And we have to acknowledge that it is, and will continue to be, the legacy that some communities have to deal with.

Trauma brings about injury and unless those injuries are directly addressed, it’s impossible to move on. When talking about issues of poverty and lack of education in urban communities of color, it makes me sad that the conclusion too often drawn is that parents don’t care about their kids. Sure, there are always the exceptions, but I think deep-down, the vast majority of parents care about their kids. But how does one cope with challenge after challenge without relief? For individuals in impoverished communities (and poverty doesn’t always look like slum towns), I believe there is a great deal of depression and mental health issues that have gone unnoticed and unaddressed for generations. Wounds that go unaddressed continue to fester and these generational symptoms of brokenness continue to plague my community as well as hers.

Lakota spoke of being inspired by the strength of her ancestors and invoked the strength of the ancestors of any people group who has ever suffered loss and trauma, whether the separation was chosen or not. When I first came into librarianship, it was through genealogy. I discovered the archives while investigating my own family history. Through uncovering details about my grandparents and great-grandparents, and gg-grandparents, I learned more about the nuances of American history and the role that individuals and communities play in shaping futures.

In America, racism has played a huge role in the shaping of futures, both for people of color and those who are not. For the black community, racism didn’t just mean slavery. It continued well beyond that. It meant laws and a legal system that was designed and upheld to keep blacks in a subhuman status. It meant not having access to certain types of employment. It meant not having funding for quality education resources. It meant not being able to travel through certain towns after dark or being able to use the same restroom or water fountain. It meant having to step off the sidewalk if a white person walked towards you, or having to avert your eyes for fear of being regarded as disrespectful. With the consequences being great. It meant being called out of your name and being reminded at every instance that you are less than. It meant being made to walk to school, while the white kids rode the bus and having your change slapped on the counter while someone else got to have theirs in their hand. It meant being told that the closer you were to white, the better you were. It meant being denied love and marriage to the person you cared about, just because of the way your skin looked. It meant being you could be a crime. It meant being you could be worthy of death. And the law would look the other way, because sometimes the person under that hood or behind that gun, was the law. It meant you didn’t know who you could trust and so you had to build your own communities and economic infrastructure. But then it meant losing all of that, sometimes over and over again, at the whim of a people who didn’t want you to succeed.

And this wasn’t 1865. It wasn’t 1967. For some, this type of legal ostracizing ended as late as the 1980s or 1990s. For many, it continues today under different labels and ways of being.

It causes scars.

Trauma is life changing and when your people experience trauma after trauma for generations, it has an impact.

As people, as a profession, the core of what the communities we serve are asking for is to be recognized as human. To find a place where they are not made to be othered in a way that shadows the trauma they’ve already felt for so much of their existence and the existence of all the blood that runs through their DNA.

Acknowledging truth isn’t about shaming or blaming, but it is about giving voice to those who have been silenced for so long. For any people group who has known trauma and injustice, there will be parallel stories. When we talk about making the LIS profession a space that is welcoming and inclusive, we need to start by acknowledging and then sitting in that. Sometimes in silence, if we need to. It also means owning our collective pasts and the roles our pasts have played in affecting the pasts of others.

It’s a lot. I know it’s a lot, but since our profession exists for the building and edification of people and the preservation and sharing of information, we don’t really have the luxury of picking and choosing which groups get included, whether explicitly or implicitly.

 

Where I’m at.

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It’s officially been one month since I assumed my new role. Classes start again in about three weeks. And it’s my birthday month. Yay birthday!

Before birthday (and the start of classes), though, comes a lot of prep work. I’m in the process of emailing faculty from the liaison departments I inherited. Our library is also in the process of switching over to Libguides from an in-house system, so I’m creating course guides for my assigned TSEMs and creating shell course guides for classes I’ve confirmed instruction for, but haven’t nailed down the specifics yet.

I have to admit, I still feel weird emailing professors and saying, “Hi! I’m your new liaison librarian.” But the more I get “Oh, that’s awesome. Can you come teach a session?” the more it sinks in. Part of my role involves supporting student retention and success, so I’ve been reaching out to faculty members teaching classes that either haven’t had a library component before or haven’t had a library component in a long time. Which is cool, because I’m basically building from the ground up.

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It seems there were a lot of problems

We’re also in the process of weeding the general collection. I’m working with the American History section (E in LCSH), which includes gems like the ones on the left. Also, can I add “a distinct negro strain” to my list of phrases? “Flavor of blackness” is also on the list. I found most of them in the archives 🙂 I’ll have to find them and share them at some point. Good stuff.

Also, I decided to take advantage of a few MOOCs*, because I like learning and I wanted to brush up on my education background knowledge, for a few reasons. A.) I work with the teacher education program on campus and it’s been a little while since I’ve actually studied education, besides leisure reading of articles and blogs. B.) I came across the University of Chicago Urban Education Institute a few weeks ago and was fascinated by the concept of a program that encompasses applied research, a school, and a teacher training academy. C.) I found an online course taught by
the director of the UC Urban Education Institute. and D.) I’m planning to apply for a Ph.D. program that will in part be focused on education and literacy. So I’m taking two MOOCs. One is Critical Issues in Urban Education  (offered by The University of Chicago, as mentioned) and the other one is Literacy Teaching and Learning: Aims, Approaches and Pedagogies (offered by the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, with a focus on multiliteracies. Yes please.) 

So that’s what I’m up to. Oh, and I’m presenting at a conference next week, so I’m mentally preparing for that. Also, I can’t wait!

 

 

 

*MOOC = Massive Open Online Course. Interestingly, I’ve seen a few articles recently that describe MOOCs either designed in part (or whole) by students or that feature student contributions. I wonder what possibilities exist in that with information literacy and developing instruction modules for distance learners or larger classes where possibilities for F2F instruction are limited. Hmmm….

 

New job!

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Roughly a year ago, I was interviewing for jobs and sleeping off my grad school fatigue, trying to figure out what to do with my post-MLIS life. In July 2015, I ended up accepting a two year residency at Towson University and moving to the Baltimore region.Within that role, I’ve had the opportunity to complete a rotation in Technical Services, Research and Instruction, and part of a rotation in Special Collections and Archives. I learned a great deal in each division and count the residency as a valuable part of my early career formation. However…

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Professional me

I won’t be completing the remainder of my residency, because I’m excited to announce that I have accepted a permanent status (same as tenure-track) position as a Research and Instruction Librarian!! As of July 1st, my position became official. I knew coming into the program that there was no guarantee of post-residency employment, but I’m really happy it worked out for me to stay.

Within my new role, I will responsible for liaising to the College of Education; supporting student outreach and support, with a focus on retention of at-risk populations; and assessment of instruction programming. And you know what they say, other duties as assigned.

So here’s to the next few years of greatness as I work on building my dossier 🙂