True Confessions

Tales from the front lines

True Confession: Advocacy is hard

True Confessions

Advocacy is hard, at least it sometimes feels like it. I am very much inspired by my fellow librarians who are able to tell their stories eloquently. I believe in that ethos. (Check out Heather’s post on telling your library story). I want to shout about successes from the rooftop. And sometimes I’m able to do it, other times it isn’t as easy. Advocacy is a skill I’ve had to develop over the years – it doesn’t always come naturally to me.

I do know I can advocate well with patrons. It feels good to talk about library services, tell library users what is new and talk about where the library is going. I’m enthusiastic about library services, so I love to share what we provide. I can speak confidently about the library in a non library settings, too. The profession is in the middle of a transformation and I like to share that with others. My job is a unique one, and as a youth librarian focusing on technology I have learned the importance of advocating outside the library building about the different programs and offerings at libraries.

However, when it comes to one area of advocacy where I am still learning. I often find myself struggling when it comes to advocating internally. I’d like to think that I’m failing forward, but sometimes it just feels like a fail. Advocating in-house is a challenge, and I’ve had to figure out how to communicate effectively. I tend to get excited about things quickly and am naturally very optimistic (I relate to Leslie Knope), but I’ve discovered this can sometimes backfire. I try not to let it bring me down instead I take a bit to regroup then figure out a way to keep moving forward.

In March, Robot Test Kitchen will spend some time talking about advocacy. We will discuss strategies and small changes that can help make advocacy more approachable. We are going to be open and honest. We hope you join in the conversation. Stay tuned.

Punching Above My Weight

Raspberry Pi, True Confessions

It’s Sunday morning and I wake up thinking about computer monitors. Specifically, where can I get more for cheap, and where will I store them and how will I get them, smoothy and safely, into our multipurpose meeting room at the library every other week. And this gets me thinking about extension cords and how we probably need some more since the outlets are only around the perimeter of the room, and these kids want to look at each other, not stare at a wall.

I’m also thinking about these Minecraft Circuits In Real Life kits, and trying to figure out if any soldering is actually involved despite them being listed on a site called Soldering Sunday, which is kind of like how some folks probably find themselves here in the Robot Test Kitchen and wonder what’s robotic about paper airplanes and marshmallow towers. I have a lot on my mind.

I tell my husband I need to figure out more things to do with the Raspberry Pis that piqued my initial monitor musing. I’m worried that my coding club needs more ideas, maybe a project to bring them back together again since they’ve grown in number and mostly paired up and are working on individual projects. “Are they networked yet? I found these cool soundcards for cheap. What about moisture and heat sensors? There’s so much cool stuff you can do with them! ” he says. I tell him what the ten kids (ten! TEN! This time last year I was happy when I had three!) did last Thursday and how no, they’re not networked and one of the three isn’t working, and we’ve only gotten Minecraft Pi loaded on one.

He reminds me how far I’ve come before asking, “You do realize how much you’re punching above your weight here, right?” Boy, do I. Every day I’m reminded of that.

I’m energized by the enthusiasm of the middle schoolers who come to my coding club every other week, who ask why can’t we do it every week, and who excitedly show me the JavaScript games they’re building together outside of club too. But yes, I know I am punching above my weight, every time they ask me a question and I reply with, “Well, what have you already tried? At which point did you get stuck?” and then ask if anyone in the room has had experience with that problem, and can they come and help this guy over here work through it because that’s the only answer I have.

I’m reminded of it when I read the components lists for simple project kits and need to Google several of the pieces and then only gain a surface level understanding of them.

I’m reminded of it whenever I read about what much bigger libraries (and only a little bit bigger libraries) are doing with makerspaces and technology with their youth and am paralyzed when I think about how I would go about implementing similar projects.

As my friends in tech often say, and as I often feel even in the library world, “there’s a legion of people out there who know more than you and they’re coming fast and furious.” The struggle is to see this not as a threat, but as an opportunity to learn, to grow, to collaborate, to keep on punching. None of us needs to be the best, we just need to keep going.

I am punching above my weight. But I’m punching. I’m thinking about it on Sunday morning when I wake up. I’m looking for answers from colleagues and peers and strangers. I feel like I’m cheating when I ask my tech-field husband’s advice because really, shouldn’t I be able to figure this out on my own? What kind of example am I setting if I’m relying on my husband‘s knowledge to do my job?

On better days, I remind myself that the example I’m setting is the one the Maker movement wants set: I’m setting an example of trial and error, of collaboration, of shared workspaces and cocreation. I’m trying. I’m failing. I’m thinking. I’m learning. Maybe not as fast as I want to be learning, but it’s happening. Like Michelle reminded us, our one-year-ago selves would probably be impressed with where we are. And I need to check myself – constantly – and pull myself back to the present, where it’s about those ten (ten! TEN!) tweens & teens in my meeting room every other week who are doing their own thing, doing things that they couldn’t do a year ago, and not about me one bit.

I’m a big believer in the Search Institute’s 40 Developmental Assets and every time I read through them, I feel better. Coding Club – even as thrown together and chaotic as mine sometimes feels – is giving these kids the opportunity to add to their asset lists. What we’re doing matters, and it’s working, and by perservering when it’s hard, I’m modeling exactly what I hope they get out of it. I’m not in this to help teens become excellent coders, Maker extraordinaires, or jumpstart their app creation businesses. I’m in it for the long haul.

I’m in it to be a part of their community of caring adults who believes in them, supports them, provides a safe space where they are valued, and the skills they need to persevere, and encourages them to keep it up, keep punching above their weight. In coding club, in everything.

Seeing opportunities instead of problems

True Confessions

My library is located in close proximity to several schools. Some of the kids get picked up by their parents and some go to the park district’s after school program, but a large number of them come to the library every day. I’ve heard several people describe it as a “swarm” after seeing the number of kids entering the library at once. In the past few years, several people have also said to me, “It’s a shame their parents use this as a babysitting service.” I’ve always felt affronted by that sentiment, just as much as when I hear, “It must be nice to be a librarian because you get to read all day.” In the past few weeks, I’ve been thinking a lot about exactly why the babysitting comment bothers me and how best to respond to it, as well as general frustration with our “after-school problem.”

First, I think the babysitting comment indicates a need to change our perspective about how we define the community we serve. To bring up babysitting only focuses on the parents responsibility (which I certainly don’t want to minimize). Young people in the library aren’t just children of members of the community; they are the community. They aren’t just important because someday they will vote and have careers and families; they are just important. I may be preaching to the choir, as this is something that awesome librarians have known for many years.

Second, I’ve noticed that a lot of complaints center on how these middle schoolers are using the library after school. Some are browsing for books and doing homework, but many are also eating snacks, chatting with friends, playing board games, and playing Minecraft or other computer games. This does not mean they are using the library as a recreation center; it just means that they have a broad definition of what the library is used for. Many adults remember the library of their childhood as a quiet place for reading and studying, and to this day reminisce fondly about the card catalog and learning the Dewey Decimal system. The many young people who come to the library today will not have those same experiences, but I assure you they are creating memories of their own. When they are adults, they may look back at the hundreds of hours they spent at the library and recall the programs they attended, the librarians who greeted them by name everyday, or how they played games with their friends. Let’s not impose our memories of how we used the library when we were young on how the library should be used today; these kids are members of the community, and this is their library.

Librarians tend to be detail-oriented, and some of us may be so wrapped up in the details of doing our jobs that we forget to take a step back and ask why we do our jobs. Every once in a while, ask yourself, “What does the library mean to this community?” and “Who is our community?” The fact that sometimes up to a hundred kids come into the library has been framed as our “after-school problem,” but I prefer to think of it as an opportunity to for these kids to be engaged in their community. I’m going to reframe my own thinking on another issue as well: rather than thinking about the problem of those who complain to me about the library being a babysitting center, I’m going to see it as an opportunity to advocate for these young people and the role of the library in the community.