Surely You Understand...

I had stopped by T’s office unexpectedly, most likely to get a signature on graduate school paperwork or some other tedious hoop-jumping event. Before leaving, T told me about a recent department head’s retreat he had attended. He had found one session particularly thought-provoking, a session presented by an associate professor in the psychology department on the science of unconscious bias. She had shared the results of a variety of published studies providing evidence of the subtle gender biases that, even amongst the most progressive individuals, still play out in all facets of academia from mentoring, to hiring, to evaluation for promotion and tenure. He remarked on the results of one study regarding the evaluation of teaching by students. Apparently, one study had shown that students, independent of gender, tend to evaluate female instructors more harshly than their male counterparts. Although the study had not gone on to identify the cause of this difference, the authors provided multiple hypotheses to explain the phenomenon. For instance, women are more often associated with mothering or nurturing roles. Therefore, students are more likely to evaluate female instructors who “tow-the-line” with regard to grading policies more harshly because they are not fulfilling the expected role of nurturer. Whereas a male instructor with similar grading policies is more likely to be viewed as just “maintaining high standards” of his students.

I remember wondering if, as a student, similar unconscious biases had influenced my own evaluations of instructors. I also remember making a mental note to look the study up, to examine the research methodology, and possibly replicate the study in the sciences. But I quickly turned my attention back to my own research, and the arduous task of dissertation writing. It wasn’t until this semester, over 2 years later, that I really found myself thinking about this research again.

At the beginning of the semester, my body had not yet started to display to the world that I was pregnant. By the end of the semester, however, I was approaching my 32nd week and was clearly showing. My “baby bump” had become an explicit advertisement of motherhood. And coincidentally, I began receiving requests from my students that were… well, just different than what I had encountered the previous year teaching the same course. I first received an email from a graduate student enrolled in my course. He wrote to me, rather boldly, with a “proposal” as he called it. He explained to me that he had not been able to attend my class regularly because of his pregnant wife’s OB appointments. As there was a participation component to my course, he proposed that he be evaluated using a different grading scale that omitted participation. He felt this was a fair proposition, and noted that surely I would understand since I was also pregnant.

Another student emailed me after the final exam asking me to please consider the fact that she was a single mother when assigning her final grade. She was performing poorly prior to the exam, and was certain she had bombed the exam and as a result be on the border between a C and a D in the course. If she did not achieve a C she would be forced to retake the course, setting her back in her program an entire year. Surely I would understand how difficult it must be as a single mother? Couldn’t I make an exception?

It wasn’t that I had never been asked to “cut some slack” for one student or another. But these requests were more direct and tailored toward me as a mother-to-be. At first I was angry and unsure how to respond. I thought of all kinds of snide replies. Like replying to the graduate student by saying, “Actually, no, I do not understand. As you duly noted, I am pregnant. But I didn’t miss any classes due to my OB appointments.” Or to the single mother, “No, I couldn’t imagine how difficult it is to be a single mother. I only know what my own mother shared with me of her own experiences as a single mother, as she worked her way off of government assistance while supporting two small children.” Then I questioned whether or not I was being insensitive, after all, what if I had been in their shoes as a student? Anyone can have a bad semester. Should this one semester, this one course, really have that much impact on any one student’s future?

In the end, I denied their requests for special accommodations – I towed the line. Right or wrong, I applied the same evaluation criteria to these two students as I did to the other 248. But I haven’t stopped thinking about their requests, or rather, the rationale behind their requests. How, if at all, would their actions have been different if one of my male counterparts had been teaching instead? More importantly, does it even matter?

The Secret Handshake

One day, very early in my pregnancy, I received a small package in the mail. Delighted to see something other than a bill or one of my husband's sailing magazines, I quickly tore it open. A flat bundle of tissue paper emerged, and in it was a delicately painted bit of metal in the shape of an expectant woman. "To the world you may be just one person. But to one person you may be the world," decorated the woman's flowing skirt. I reached into the envelope again, and this time withdrew a card. In it, my friend explained that she had received this same gift during her first pregnancy. She had decided to pass it along to me, to welcome me to the "motherhood" as she called it. It was as if she had taught me a secret handshake, and in doing so invited me into an inner circle that would continue to be a source of strength and inspiration throughout the following months.

What may seem like a small gesture to some has become a reminder to me of the graciousness, generosity, and compassion of my friends. The friend that sent this to me had been trying to get pregnant for several months, something I was completely unaware of when I first shared my news with her. Despite her own struggles, her response to my pregnancy was selfless; she rejoiced for and with me. And since then, she has continued to be my advocate . She is just one example of the numerous women in my life whose qualities I try to emulate (often with only moderate success!)

I don't think my fellow members of the motherhood realize all that they've done for me or what I anticipate they will do for me after my life officially changes forever with the birth of my first child. Or maybe they do, and that is why it is such a powerful yet unspoken alliance amongst women. On days such as today, when I find myself in the quiet of the early morning, or late in the sleepless nights, when I face all my fears about being a mother, a wife, a professional, and a friend, I ultimately find solice as I reflect on all that the women in my life have accomplished in these very same roles. To my mother, my sister, my dearest Tucson friends (with and without children)... to ALL of you, thank you.

Any questions? Anyone?

As a graduate student in science, questioning was a key component of enculturation. In the early years when our knowledge was incomplete, questioning was a way to demonstrate not only one's motivation to learn but also one's progress in achieving mastery. Later, questioning became a way to solidify expert knowledge, to test and extend ideas, and to advance in the field as a respected peer. As a faculty member, questioning has taken on new significance. Not only is it a way for me to continually exercise and expand my understanding, but it is a way to push my students' thinking forward.

Maybe that is why, for the past two nights, I have been unable to sleep. Our first OB appointment approaching, I was paralyzed with anxiety. I was questionless. Every book, website, and mother I consulted emphasized the importance of having a thoughtful list of questions to drill the OB with. And here I was, a person who questions the world for a living, and I couldn't think of a single question to ask. I hardly believed that I know everything there is to know about pregnancy, far from it. But I couldn't help but feel like, well, women have been doing this for centuries without books or modern medicine. What could I possibly ask that would unveil some new knowledge that these women had not already uncovered?

So there I was, lying quietly yet wide awake, when my husband gently probed my quiet unrest in the dark. I asked him what we should ask of our doctor. What questions did he have? What were we missing? The urgency with which I posed those questions of him was overwhelming to me. Normally, his calmness in responding would have only fueled my anxiety. But he quietly pointed out that maybe it was too early for questions. They would come. And I realized he was right. Just like my first-year graduate student, questions may not come quickly, nor will they necessarily be the most meaningful. But eventually I would learn what questions to ask.

Our appointment went fine. When my doctor asked if I had any questions, I sighed. "No." I replied, "I know I should, but I don't have any." She simply smiled and assured me that there was nothing to know at this point that I hadn't probably already read. Despite her words of encouragement, I had to silently calm the academic inside me. I'm not questionless often -- but they will come.

Wackademia: What it is, and what it is NOT

I'm starting a new blog, partly because I wanted a more user-friendly venue. But also because I felt the increasing need to share my thoughts during a very transitional time in my life. Or maybe it's not really transitional, perhaps I am finally living my life and I am so completely astounded by the realness of it all that I need some place to dump it all. Either way, I intend to share my musings about marriage, motherhood, family, and the everyday as I wade my way through the next six (or so!) years of what I've started calling "wackademia", the crazy, challenging, rewarding, and perplexing professional path I've chosen to follow (for now).

So what to expect? Frank stories about life on the tenure-track from one of two (soon to be three) women in an all male science department. What not to expect? Ranting feminist soliloquies about the inherent cultural inequities in 'the ivory tower' or cutesy stories about being a working 'mommy'. The blogger market is already full of jaded women and self-righteous charity cases. I was once told that the only way to change a culture is to live by example. So, here I go, my opportunity to make a difference in wackademia.