A.B.C = Academic Birth Control

I find myself in a strange state of mind these days. Being 8.5 months pregnant, I feel obligated to be excited about the impending birth of my daughter, yet after years of not being a mother (including several not knowing if it would ever be a possibility -- like many, this daughter of mine is a miracle baby in the works), I keep thinking that it would be perfectly acceptable to remain (human) child-free. My husband and two cats are already more than enough of an immediate family for me, and we have the unconditional love and support of our extended family and friends. So there's no hole in my heart, no particular yearning for "completing" or "enhancing" our brood.

But this is leading me back to my perpetual professional worry about graduate students -- the ones who want to remain in academia, follow in their professors' footsteps, and be happy forever.

Of course there are many success stories -- young scholars who break the mold and sustain long, productive careers -- but as many an education journal has noted, the glut of highly qualified persons has diluted the tertiary education job market to the advantage of universities and their administrators. In other words, it's easy to hire cheap, eager "help" to perform tasks that hardly tap their existing wellsprings of expertise and stunt their potential growth indefinitely.

So, as with environmental issues ("save the planet, don't reproduce"), even we junior faculty members are ambivalent about encouraging prospective graduate students, especially those who want to earn doctoral degrees -- thinking that they will live in research bliss, have flexible and life-friendly schedules, and enjoy solid incomes with super-secure benefits. Historians are particularly nervous about predicting the future but it is evident just based on present-day information that a miniscule percentage (conservatively 5-10%, ambitiously 20-30%) will reap such rewards (and even then, there will be many trade-offs).

But like our advisors, and their advisors, discouraging students from dreaming of academic careers is an awkward business. It's difficult if not impossible to tell a student, "You already don't have what it takes" or "You are highly unaware, whether consciously or unconsciously, of what academic life is truly about." Many of said students receive these criticisms as mere challenges or blanket statements -- some are so optimistic that they believe you are just wrong. It doesn't matter that their grades are just average or only slightly above average. It doesn't matter that they do not exhibit the basic traits of successful professional academics. They will somehow be exceptional, sometime in the indeterminate future.

It's even hard to dissuade outstanding students who have a reasonable chance at establishing academic careers, but may 1) be more well-suited for other professions, 2) have external obligations that will hinder them from developing their scholarship. Dealing with a student in the former category is slightly easier; one can always suggest the two-track plan for their graduate studies so that they can ultimately decide whether to remain in the academic sphere or to pursue a more lucrative/personally fulfilling line of work. Students in the latter category, to be honest, inspire sympathy but also a great reluctance to encourage their dreams. It breaks my heart to talk with a student who wants to be a professor for the "good pay" in order to support a large family but also expects to have plenty of free time to care for elderly and/or younger relatives. Holding a faculty position that comes with generous compensation is not guaranteed (far from it, the wicked voice in my head always cries), and those high-income jobs often entail working long hours and sacrificing evenings/holidays/any scraps of free time one might care to enjoy. Assuming that academics are wealthy and under-committed is a tremendous folly.

I haven't worked out the right way to deal with the majority of students who want to become future faculty -- I have only been able to endorse three out of a hundred students without any reservations to date. I've developed several pitches about alternative careers, as well as the aforementioned two-track plan, and the joys of earning a terminal Master's degree and moving on to the world of work with no less pay than a first-year PhD-endowed assistant professor. I try to teach skills along with knowledge in my courses so that undergraduates see history as a pathway to many different professions, not just teaching and research. I don't mince words about the positive and negative aspects of an academic career, and I will always apply a needle to burst highly romantic (and unrealistic) notions about academia.

Yet I always find that A.B.C. is a delicate matter, and it's a diplomatic quandary how to teach students to be happy *without* chasing the academic dream, much like many people in the 21st century are quite contentedly child-free.

The Force of Filial Piety

I'm now in the stage of pregnancy that can be most aptly likened to the final leg of a marathon, an event that I am more familiar with as a former high school athlete and enthusiastic (if not so talented) recreational runner. My physical and emotional resources are exhausted. I greet each day with an ever-weakening resolve. As my sister-in-law mentioned to my husband once, "I just need this kid to be born."

While none of my present conditions are in any way novel (thank goodness), I must acknowledge my daughter-to-be's unconscious sense of filial piety. Crawling onto my soapbox, I must proclaim to all that we academics are 1) not as lazy as we may seem, 2) but are in fact, always working. Since I started my Master's degree in 2000, I have not actually taken a complete day off from work (yes, that includes periods of family-mandated vacations, wedding, and all) aside from three episodes of medical emergencies. Whether reading, writing, grading, managing administrative tasks, or doing the myriad of other things that academics must do (so to correct another myth, we do have set responsibilities -- it's not just a buffet of self-selected activities), my mind has been married to the academy for about thirteen years.

So it amazes me that I will be compelled to not only vacate the office for a set period of time but that I am already feeling the literal and figurative weight of shifting my energies in a different direction. The customary symptoms of pregnancy brain and weight gain have slowed me down, physically and mentally, in considerable measure. I have learned to take hour-long breaks between two-hour work periods just so I can catch my breath, store up enough oxygen, and firm up my back. I have to wake up as soon as I feel able so I can maximize my day, and stretch my concentration to reach the endpoint which is becoming ever earlier, from 1am to 12:30am, and I suspect, may reach 11pm (the bedtime that my father has always advocated) before long.

My daughter-to-be's impending arrival has also spurred me to finish many non-academic projects while I possibly can, including editing a family history, submitting a publication proposal for a children's book that my sister and I have been working on for several years, and organizing everything in my home so that my husband can find everything while I'm preoccupied.

And quite impressively, I will be taking a semester off from teaching -- which I have not done since I started working as a teaching fellow during my PhD studies and then as a faculty member. I know I should rest up during this precious sabbatical so that I can be more productive in the future, but I also hope that my daughter will be amenable to keeping me company as I do more reading and writing than I have been able to schedule in the past few years.

My mother took a picture of me when I was three years old, which has gained a bit of notoriety after being featured in some slide shows. I was deep in thought while working on my typewriter (yes, my parents expected a lot from me in the literacy department) and on my right-hand side was a doll wearing only a diaper, lying on the table. One former boyfriend deduced that I would be a negligent (wife and) mother. Friends have teased me for being overly dedicated to work. My husband, a fellow academic, said, "Well, just remember to put some clothes on our real-live kid."

I shall keep my better half's recommendation in mind, and in August, I plan to be sitting in front of my computer (although finding a typewriter would be great fun too) with daughter in portable crib, grateful for her filial piety in giving me some much-needed "selfish scholar time" (only research, no teaching and admin) and the pleasure of her company.

Mothering without a Mother

I have thought long and hard about writing this post, because I have a wonderful mother-in-law who has done everything in her power to love and care for me just as if I had been born to her, two excellent fathers (my daddy, who has always seen me in the most positive light, and my father-in-law who provides much support and encouragement), and a husband who has all but carried our daughter-to-be (and to his credit, he has volunteered to do even that, if it were at all possible). So for having so many blessings, I have nothing to complain about...

But still, the feeling of remorse that my mother, who passed away last November, will not be physically present to witness the "big day" (arguably of greater magnitude than my wedding, which was just the formality preceding the real treat of being married), is growing ever heavier. I'll be frank and say that for all that we both tried to make things work, my mother and I were not naturally compatible. I disappointed her a lot, and I often wished I could be the ideal daughter that she had always hoped to know. Despite a lot of creative effort, I could never become as close to her as I had wished. We had to be content with me trying to make her happy but expecting to fail in achieving that objective time and again.

So perhaps this occasion would be like many others -- full of love, yet many imperfections hanging in the air. I know my mother was not that fond of babies or small children (she articulated this sentiment many times so I am not just hypothesizing) so a granddaughter may have brought as much stress as joy. But the bottom line is that all along I wished that she and my beloved late grandmother would be with me when I became a mother.

I have no specific purpose in posting about this subject, but I would like to express my wish that I can at least channel some of what I learned from my mother, my relationship with her, and combine it with what I have learned being a mother figure to my students. I understand that my daughter may feel the same way that I did as a younger person ("Why can't Mom and I be closer? Why doesn't Mom feel satisfied with my achievements?") but conscious of my own experience, I'll try to assure her that I accept her as is, foibles and all.

I also hope that I can forge my own path as a mother, even though I will make a lot of mistakes and may not suit my daughter's style, as with teaching students who have diverse personalities and learning preferences.