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Aufgabe I

Aufgabenstellung

1.

Outline the obstacles Stacy Torres faced in pursuing her education.

(30 %)

2.

Analyze how Torres presents her journey to academic success. Focus on the use of language and its effect.

(30 %)

3.

Choose one of the following tasks:

3.1

Comment on Stacy Torres’ statement “belief and love can only take you so far” (l. 63). Also refer to the text at hand and materials studied in class, such as Sarfraz Manzoor’s autobiography Greetings from Bury Park.

or

3.2

You are taking part in an international online workshop titled “Diversity in a Changing Society.” Write an article for the workshop website in which you assess the importance of experiencing diversity in various areas of life.

(40 %)

Material

Text: Stacy Torres, “My Path to Academia Was like a Hollywood Story. But Becoming a Professor Shouldn’t Take Miracles” (2023)

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Unlike kids who dreamed of becoming singers, actors or athletes, I grew up wanting
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to be a waitress.
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This early career goal made sense given my working-class background. My secretary
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mother had barely graduated high school. My father, who'd entered the country as
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an undocumented Chilean immigrant without a high school diploma, worked as an
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elevator operator in the Chelsea neighborhood of New York City, where I was raised.
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School was always my refuge, especially after my mother died when I was 16. With
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her death, I became a primary caregiver to my three younger sisters – and was
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responsible for running the household. That often meant assisting my sisters with
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homework or explaining something to my father in simplified English.
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After the realization that I'd taught informally for years, I gave up on waitressing and
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aspired to become an English teacher instead.
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I went to school with the children of ex-Hippies and artists. I often heard talk about a
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place called "college." I couldn't picture it, but I wanted to go, since everyone else
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seemed headed there. To further my educational pursuits, Dad scavenged the trash
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for books, giving me a guide to plants for a garden I didn't have, a random volume
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"M" of the World Book Encyclopedia, and Pablo Neruda's poetry. His newspaper
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delivery friend passed along multiple papers that "fell off the truck" for me daily.
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The path to higher education for those of us from lower socioeconomic classes is a
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narrow one. Our most plentiful opportunities are those that would veer us off course.
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Few, if any, get second chances.
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I certainly had my close calls.
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A well-meaning high school guidance counselor almost diverted me to the allied
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health vocational track, which would have had me skip college to be trained as a
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certified nursing assistant.
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No thanks. I earned six college credits in advanced placement classes instead. [...]
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Without anyone to help me, applying to college and filling out financial aid forms
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involved a lot of 17-year-old guesswork. Even the matter of what schools I should
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target was a mystery. I remembered a kind, middle-school math teacher who
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attended Fordham University. So, I added it to my list of three.
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I got in and attended Fordham on a mix of scholarships, need-based grants, and
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Federal Stafford loans. I studied comparative literature and sociology while juggling
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my family responsibilities and the burdens of a commuter student who didn't have a
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computer or a quiet study space. [...]
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Sheer will and determination powered me through hardships and toward my degree.
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I lived an ascetic existence of study and caretaking. I had no social life or friends. I did
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have the motivation passed down from my parents to try to make something of
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myself.
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I'd long idolized my teachers and wanted to pursue a doctoral degree that would
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allow me to become a college professor. But I also intuited a need to understand my
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own traumas before I could hope to examine others' experiences. Studying nonfiction
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and memoir writing, I reasoned, would offer me a way to wring some lemonade from
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life' s lemons.
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So, I began a master of fine arts program at Columbia University, where I attended
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writing workshops with people from vastly different class backgrounds. One
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classmate's essay divulged his father's position as a credit card company president,
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and how he bought the house of a family friend, then-Senator Joe Biden.
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I'd learned to push buttons for tenants in my father's elevator.
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Many assumed I was from working-class Queens, surprised to learn that I'd grown up
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in Manhattan. They never made that mistake about a white, blonde classmate who
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attended my same elementary school.
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It was the same when I eventually attended a PhD sociology program at New York
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University. Many of the students in my class had professor parents. One co-authored
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peer-reviewed journal articles with her Ivy league professor father, who helped
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teach her the ins and outs of academic publishing like it was the family business.
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After graduation, the stars aligned to bring me to the Bay Area when I received a
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prestigious UC President's postdoctoral fellowship at Berkeley. It was instant love.
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The universe ultimately boomeranged me back to the Bay when UCSF recruited me
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to my current position, after two years in upstate New York as a professor. [...]
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I'm no longer the little girl who wanted to wear a lace-fringed apron and carry an
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order pad, but my mind's never far from my beginnings. My family's love carried me
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to great places, bolstered by teachers who believed in me when I didn't always
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believe in myself. But belief and love can only take you so far.

(772 words)

Quelle: https://www.sfchronicle.com/opinion/openforum/article/professor-education-collegedegree-17760379.php.

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