Composition: The Why of It

Dr. David A. Janssen

 

Bill Prairie was one of my best friends in high school. He drowned up in Alaska when he was just twenty years old. Not long ago, I ran into his mother, and we got to talking about Billy. Of course, we shared warm memories together, but I did not share with her my most persistent memory of Bill, mainly because I don’t think it would mean the same thing to her as it does to me. I wish that I had a dime for every time Bill would ask a teacher, “Why do we have to know this?” He would ask that question on the first day of class, and he would pester teachers to no end with it to the very last day. More often than not, Bill would wear a teacher down to the point of “I said so.” Maybe that’s all he was doing, and that possibility accounts for why I never told Bill’s mom, but I like to think that, perhaps, there was another method to Bill’s madness, which is why I’m sharing this memory with you. Maybe he really wanted to know why. The memory is important to me as a teacher because an honest why deserves an honest response. We all know that children at some point make the delicious discovery that simply asking why, why, why can drive a parent crazy. I wonder if that’s because why, categorically, is the most difficult question to answer; what, where, when, who, and how pale by comparison in their relative simplicity. Why is the tough one. That said, I would like to try to explain to you why you need to complete two semesters of English Composition.

             Of course, the easy answer is that the University System of Georgia said so. But, why? Certainly, Georgia is not unique in this regard; all states in the country have similar writing requirements. Volumes and books have been written in order to answer why. Here is why, I think: writing is the most complex mental, emotional, spiritual, and physical human activity that any of us can undertake in our lifetimes. Don’t get me wrong. I am not claiming that writing is more physically demanding than, say, pole-vaulting, but even as I write this I am conscious of the dance my fingers perform on the keyboard. What I mean is that writing takes every bit of us. Writing demands of us hands, arms, eyes, left and right sides of the brain and everything in between them, hearts, and souls. It’s an incredible feat to be able to write. One thing that writing shares with pole-vaulting is that it takes practice in order to do it well. That is one very important reason why you need ENGL 1101 and 1102.

             It may occur to some of you, as it did to me when I first entered college, that you already know how to write. In a sense, you are correct because you could not have gotten through the in-doors of ENGL 1101 and 1102 without already having demonstrated a certain level of skill. It is possible that you will have, initially, a very frustrating experience in these classes if, like me, you went through grade, middle, and high school being rewarded with A’s for your writing abilities and discover that the evaluation of your writing in college is lower, perhaps considerably lower. Why does that happen to so many of us in college? Simply put, the demands and expectations of you are greater now; the bar has been raised. You will be asked to jump higher than ever in order to go through the out-door of ENGL 1101 and 1102. 2

             It’s not that we are trying to make all of you into little Shakespeares; most of us can’t jump that high either, yet. You can bet that all teachers dream of playing a part in the education of the next Shakespeare, but we tend to have more practical goals in mind. Our hope is that the skills you develop in ENGL 1101 and 1102 will themselves continue to develop in your life as a writer beyond the out-door. Dr. Gloria Henderson, who has taught English at Gordon College for eighteen years, says it best: “composition courses are designed to prepare the students to write, to research, to examine critically, and to document the kind of essays that will enable them to succeed in college—whether at the two year level or in graduate school—and later in their careers.” You may imagine a future for yourself that doesn’t include graduate school, or you may fantasize about a career that doesn’t involve writing. It is possible to lead an illiterate life, but one would have to work ridiculously hard to achieve such a bizarre goal. Consider a job application, any job application. The first impression of you will be formed by how you present yourself on the page. Or, think about a love letter. It’s doubtful that “Do you like me” followed by yes/no boxes is going to win any heart in the adult real world. Whether it’s a job application or a love letter, effective writing wins. The ability to write well is a prescription for success in any professional, social, or personal endeavor. In Making the Most of College, Richard Light convincingly argues this very point:

 

Robin Worth, as part of her doctoral thesis, surveyed alumni from the class of 1977, people now in their forties. One of her questions was “How important is each of the following skills to your current work and endeavors?” She then listed twelve skills, such as “use quantitative tools” and “lead and supervise people.” More than 90 percent of the alumni ranked “need to write effectively” as a skill they consider “of great importance” in their current work. (Light 54)

 

It is true that numbers can speak for themselves. Perhaps why is not the question, but why not?

             So, I haven’t even scraped enough shavings from this iceberg to make a snow-cone, but I hope that I have helped to clarify why you have to take ENGL 1101 and 1102. Regardless, ask your English professor.

 

 

Works Cited

Henderson, Gloria Mason. “Re: Handbook.” E-mail to David Janssen. 16 April 2003.

Light, Richard J. Making the Most of College: Students Speak Their Minds. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 2001. 53. 3