teaching philosophy
Not a day goes by that I do not speak, read, or write in Spanish. With the incoming cultural generation, wonderfully swelling with latino immigrants and Spanish heritage speakers, experience in the language represents far more than a simple box to check in order to fulfill General Education requirements. The present American reality reflects a dynamically hybrid society, richly composed of diverse ethnicities, backgrounds, and cultures, and requires a sophisticated level of mutual respect and understanding for us to truly appreciate one another. As a Spanish professor, my primary responsibility is to create an environment for my students that fosters unprejudiced cultural understanding, allows for deep critical thinking, and ultimately prepares them to engage with the Spanish-speaking world in a way that for them was previously impossible.
During the course of my undergraduate and graduate (MA) studies, I had the unforgettable opportunity to introduce the prodigious Spanish Golden Age to elementary, middle, and high school students across the Western United States. Dressed in full Golden Age theater attire, my colleagues and I would present brief descriptions of prolific writers such as Lope de Vega, Tirso de Molina, and Calderón de la Barca, contrasting them to better-known authors (e.g., Shakespeare) and more modern popular figures (e.g., J.K. Rowling). I frequently had the special chance to observe Spanish-speaking heritage students swell with pride as I decisively told them that this remarkable artistic legacy belongs to them–that Golden Age literature is theirs by cultural inheritance. Not to be underestimated, many of their classmates, especially those who only spoke English, expressed growing enthusiasm for both learning Spanish and reading Golden Age literature.
Most memorably, I recall a visit to the Slate Canyon Youth Center in Provo, Utah. Unmistakably a youth detention center, the Slate Canyon Youth Center is the unwelcoming home for many convicted youth. One author describes it as, “a jail for children.” In 2006, I walked through its doors, discarding anything that could perceivably be used as a weapon: my keys, my sunglasses, even my cellphone. After dressing into our costumes and patiently waiting in the recreation room, we uneasily observed our audience―young men and women all dressed in the homogenous orange jumpsuit of a detainee, shackled together at their feet by a small yet sturdy cord of chains―shuffle into the room. The opening and middle of our presentation―facts about the comediantes, general knowledge of the Siglo de Oro―went well and I apprehensively set about inviting audience members to participate in our typical closing scene. Bereft of our stage weapons (no metal objects were allowed in the center), I was hesitant to ask for volunteers. To my surprise, we were able to quickly locate a cast of characters. What I found most astonishing, however, was how engaged the audience became as their fellow participants recited their lines with conviction, acted out their parts with determination, and received deserving applause for a noteworthy performance. Several supervisors thanked us for offering this unique experience to the detainees, many of whom felt cast off by society like an unwanted burden. As a graduate student, I realized the powerful, uplifting effect of education; teaching became an opportunity to serve and inspire.
Experiences such as these come far too infrequently in our profession. At the time, I was the student guided by brilliant mentors. Today the tables have turned; now I am the professor seeking out ways to dissolve common misperceptions, share knowledge of a culture I love and admire, and truly connect in a meaningful way with my students. My teaching philosophy is to discover and practice innovative, creative, and fulfilling techniques that resonate in profound and important ways with those I teach. Whether that entails visiting the local youth detention center, supporting local Hispanic businesses through extra-curricular opportunities, or simply encouraging the students to act out scenes from a play in the comfort of our classroom, multiple methods exist to inspire our students and expand their cultural knowledge.
Such an opportunity arose in 2018, when I collaborated with three of my friends and colleagues (Dr. Jason Yancey, Dr. Esther Fernández, and Dr. Jonathan Wade) to form Dragoncillo, a puppetry troupe dedicated to bilingual storytelling. We committed to translating and adapting plays from the Spanish Golden Age for modern elementary and middle school audiences with one pedagogical caveat: we wanted our students to perform the roles. After some trial and error, we created a technique where students can rehearse and learn their parts in less than two hours, allowing them to perform with shadow puppets without the need to memorize lines. In May 2019, my students had the chance to bring these plays to the elementary schools in Storm Lake, Iowa. The overall experience—from the rehearsals to the performance—was immensely rewarding and several of my students commented that this was “one of the best things [they] had ever done.” The contagious laughter, thoughtful questions, and generous praise during each performance affirmed that the audience felt the same way.
If we as teachers can instill such enthusiasm for Spanish literature–i.e., a love for reading Spanish texts in Spanish–, surely we can build a strong sense of cultural appreciation–i.e., a love for learning about others and their cultures–among our students. This imperative for tolerance becomes especially necessary in the classroom, where different backgrounds, upbringings, and biases collide on a daily basis. The traditional role of teacher, as one that essentially relays knowledge to others, necessarily transforms into one that detects mutual interests, diffuses disagreements, and inspires and motivates students to seek out connections in their own lives, relating their experiences to others and embracing their perceived differences in order to build lasting relationships of comprehension and understanding.