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AnecdotesStimulating short stories in support of mutually satisfying communicationsUpdated/corrections/edits 12/15/24 (Viewing tip: Resize this window so that each line has about 10 - 12 words.)
Permission to copy/publish/reprint these stories is always granted via Contact Us (no fee) with the following acknowledgment, "Contributed by Kerrith H. (Kerry) King" or ". . . by Community Communications." homeworkThe Homework Story —could also be titled, "Homework: Assigning vs. Communicating."This story goes back to 1973 when I was teaching speech-communication part-time on the Manoa campus of the University of Hawaii. Students reported on their Instructor Evaluation Form that they thought they learned more with me than with other faculty members. It was also a time of awesome struggle in my second marriage; coincidentally, the Sp-Com Professors were communicating much the same as my now ex and I. The faculty members were bad-mouthing and making each other wrong about combining the Speech and Communication Departments. Most disconcerting was the fact that although my students said they learned a lot from me I knew they were still deceiving their parents at the end of my course—still withholding energy-sapping thoughts and childhood perpetrations [deceits, lies, abuses] from them. [The majority of parents, using what we were teaching them about communication, train their children to deceive them, evidenced by the fact that most dating teens con each other into deceiving both sets of parents so as to have sex.] —in truth, my students mirrored me and my ex and the faculty. Whatever we were teaching, thought I, it sure wasn't communication. I had just completed Werner Erhard's est Training and his Communication Workshop for Educators so I had a glimpse of what was possible. I left the university and as a communicologist (a Leadership-Relationship Communication-Skills Consultant/Coach) started my ten-person support groups. Since then (44+ years) the vast majority of clients have come through referrals—with no paid advertising. Although the interim stories are interesting The Homework Story takes place in 1987, 14-years later, with me retiring to the Big Island of Hawaii and another part-time teaching position, this time on the Hilo campus of the University of Hawaii. Once again my subject is, "Introduction to Speech-Communication." I was excited about the opportunity. I had just spent fifteen years working with some of the most prominent business persons on Oahu Hawaii (multi-cultural to the max). We're talking about thousands of first-person experiences in the cultural melting-pot of the Pacific Basin; I knew I'd be able to do an excellent job. I had learned from personal experience that leaders need constant daily support in telling the truth (honoring their word—keeping agreements, creating agreements that work, and restoring and maintaining their integrity (verbally acknowledging procrastinations and perpetrations, especially verbal and non-verbal abuses). It's my first day: I have a fresh haircut, an ironed aloha shirt, and word-processed outlines. I'm cool and ready to go. The 22 students are great. We have fun introducing ourselves, getting to know each other, communication courses are like that. We co-create the class agreements. I'm on schedule with my 50-minute class and I've left a generous 5 minutes to assign the homework. They leave in good spirits and my next identical class comes in. I'm on a roll. Like the others they are mostly freshman from the Big Island of Hawaii's high schools. We have a fun time with lots of laughs (I enjoy the lyrical sounds of Pigeon English). As with the first class we co-create the Class Agreements and I assign the identical homework ("Read the first chapter"). As always, I end classes exactly on time. It's day two: After about five minutes of scheduled small talk, so as to create some space for communication to take place, I have them form into small discussion groups and share what they got from the reading assignment. I immediately noticed that the majority had not read the first chapter. And, none had raised their hand (per a class agreement) to say so. H'm, I could have sworn I communicated. Well, it's my responsibility. I had lapsed into doing my imitation of communication; obviously, I had not communicated that I meant for them to do the homework. So, I modified my outline, cut short the discussion groups, and allowed myself 10 minutes to assign the homework. This time I made certain they got that I meant it.* They reaffirmed their commitment to the Class Agreements, one of which was to do the homework. They left in great spirits. As soon as the second class was seated I asked, "Raise your hand if you did the homework?" One third raised their hands. I acknowledged those that did and those that didn't. For the remainder of the class I had them do small-group work on a subject I took from the first chapter, the foundation for the remainder of the course. Again, I allowed ten minutes to assign the homework. I was certain they heard that I wanted it done. Note: It became clear that they were mirroring my objection to the required textbook (communication-skills are seldom changed through reading) such as with you reading this now. Day three: I begin with, "Is there anyone who didn't do the homework?" This time about 50% of the class raised their hands. The same thing happened with the second group. Obviously their definition of the word agreement was homegrown. With both classes I now set aside 15 minutes to communicate the homework. We talked about the reasons they proffered as to why most didn't do the homework; they had graduated from high school without learning that reasons serve as barriers to getting, to acknowledging, the truth. Most had an understanding about the correlation between personal integrity and outcomes (karma) but few had had a direct experience that anchored in a commitment to maintaining ones integrity. Day four: About five in each class didn't do their homework; not always the same students either. I had them choose study partners and they exchanged phone numbers and times to call each other (much the same as with my Support Groups). They each agreed to be responsible for the other doing the homework. Eventually, we spent the whole class talking about what this was about. They shared, ". . . most teachers don't expect everyone to do the homework." And, ". . . they don't check homework consistently." "They just say, 'Here's the homework' but they don't mean it." The students also reluctantly confessed that other UH Instructors and Professors were "not as strict" as I was, and that ". . . high school teachers accept reasons." Another student candidly said, ". . . yah, it's easy to con teachers." After the class two students went to the Dean with tears in their eyes complaining about me. I got a call from the Speech-Communication Department Chairman "requesting" that I meet with him and the Dean. They asked, condescendingly, "What are you doing?" [as in, What in the hell are you doing?]. I glibly answered what I took to be a rhetorical question; "I'm teaching students how to communicate." They looked at each other and almost in unison said, "No, no, no! Your job isn't to teach them 'how' to communicate. Your job is to 'introduce' them to the fundamentals and principles of communication." I'm sure my jaw dropped. I felt embarrassed, humiliated, and upset. With both a B.A. and an M.A. in Speech-Communication I had never made that subtle yet significant distinction before. In one crystallizing moment everything became clear to me. No wonder most high school teachers have a difficult time inspiring students to do the homework, no one has ever modeled for them how to produce that result. It's not a leadership-skill that's taught to education majors at the university level; myself, I was fortunate to have been exposed to many different leadership-support skills during my childhood as an orphan and tours in the Navy and the Army. The Chairman continued,
I mumbled something about one of the agreements the students made on the first day—to communicate any upsets with me first—and, that I wished the Dean had asked them, "Have you talked to Mr. King about this?" I knew from their comments, and the fact that I wanted to be right and make them wrong, that it was hopeless. I should have gone to them both, at the beginning of the semester, and asked if they would support my students in honoring their agreement to communicate upsets to the person with whom they have the upset. Duh! As though I didn't know the university faculty communication model (appropriately referred to as the Adversarial Communication Model) supports (behind the back) blaming badmouthing. The Dean then said that he and the Chairman would sit in on one of my classes the following day. I said that it would be OK as long as they would agree to sit in the circle and participate in the discussions and, be willing to be coached if I saw that their non-verbal communications were affecting the space. They both said that they didn't want to be a part of the discussion, merely to sit in the rear and observe. I told them they would influence the student's participation. Unbelievably, they both argued that their presence wouldn't affect the students. I realized in that moment that I did not have the skills, nor permission, to remind them of something I had learned in a freshman speech class—that observers always affect outcomes (read about entanglement). I told them that it wouldn't work for me to have them observe. They were upset; neither verbally resolved their upset through to mutual satisfaction with me; they did not come to my class. The two students transferred to another class. I gave the rest of the students a choice, ". . . a watered-down easy course, or, the best I knew how." They unanimously opted for the latter. I finished the semester and founded Community Communications, a truly nonprofit (no one gets paid) educational organization. I later discovered that 19 of my 42 freshman students had been enrolled in remedial comprehension and composition courses, partly because their high school teachers had been afraid to insist upon homework being turned in neatly and on time—their teachers understood how to communicate subject matter but job-survival triggered fear resulting in mediocrity. For four+ decades 25% of the nation's college freshman have required revenue-generating remedial comprehension and composition courses to learn what their K-12 "teachers" failed to communicate. —Kerrith H. (Kerry) King * I.e. "If you show up for class without your homework done, hand me your parent's telephone number when you arrive. We'll call a parent and have a speaker-phone conversation with them so that everyone can hear the reasons." It's an example of, "I really really mean it!" Note: One of the agreements a parent makes is to be available for phone calls days and evenings. They must agree to receive all calls. If you liked this story please press the "I liked . . ." button. Upon pressing the button the page will refresh as though nothing happened. |
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