Racializing The Bird. And Creating an Organizational Culture of Happiness.

Whew.  The last 9x9x25 post of the semester.  What to write about?  So many topics, so few sentences.

So, I choose to briefly discuss two discoveries I made this week.

DISCOVERY #1

While browing my phone, I discovered one could "emoji" the finger (aka, the bird).  But to my chagrin and perturbation, I saw that this crude symbol has also been racialized--that is, you can flip off someone on the internet in a variety of skin tones, which could take on a number of meanings, none of which could be good.  This is what my research turned up:

"The Reversed Hand With Middle Finger Extended emoji supports skin tone modifiers. A yellow (or other non-human) skin tone should be shown by default, unless an emoji modifier is applied."

I share this not to be provocative (ok, maybe a little...but I got your attention!), but to draw attention that bigotry is alive and well, and unfortunately on the rise.  We--the human race--have found yet another way to denigrate each other, based on nothing other than the color of our skin (over which we have no personal control).  This discovery--and its potential to stir up hatred and turmoil, at both a group and personal level--truly saddens me. 😢

DISCOVERY #2

This month's (November 2017) issue of National Geographic features "The Search for Happiness."  In it, persons from Costa Rica, Denmark and Singapore (the happiest places on their respective continents) are highlighted.  (Interestingly, the U.S. is the only country in North America where less than 75% of the population experiences "daily happiness," as measured by social scientists.)

The article, which dissects the "science of happiness," reports the following:

"The researchers who publish the annual World Happiness Report found that about about three-quarters of human happiness is driven by six factors: [1] strong economic growth, [2] healthy life expectancy, [3] quality social relationships, [4] generosity, [5] trust, and [6] freedom to live the life that's right for you.  These factors don't materialize by chance; they are intimately related to a country's government and its cultural values.  In other words the happiest places incubate happiness for their people."

What if, I wondered, an organization (such as Yavapai College) would take the "happiness" of their students, staff and faculty seriously?  We know (also from research) that persons with a positive "approach" attitude learn more!  

What if the leadership and culture of the college was reshaped with the well-being of its constituents in mind (rather than some other motive--finances, enrollment, ego, getting on the latest educational band-wagon, etc.)?  What would these six characteristics of national life look like at the institutional level?  Allow me to speculate.

[1]  Fair, equitable and regular economic compensation of employees (something like a commitment to a salary schedule that was a part of our college culture a decade ago).

[2]  Job security, at ALL levels (including an appeals/greivance process for administrators).

[3]  A highly collaborative planning, teaching and learning environment (shared governance).

[4]  Loyalty to the institution (based on the above 3 environmental traits) that creates a culture of going "above and beyond" instead of "tit-for-tat."

[5]  Transparency at all levels of the organization, resulting in mutual trust and respect.

[6]  As much professional autonomy as practically possible.

One of the main takeaways for me was that the citizens of these happiest countries actually trusted their governments to look after and encourage their well-being.  In analyzing 500,000 surveys of immigrants who had moved to Canada, social scientists found that within a few years of arriving, the happiness of those immigrants increased.  "Seemingly their environment accounted for their increased happiness."

I believe It is possible to create a flourishing college environment.  But it would require a high degree of intentionality and attention to human factors, even over programs, curricula, personal agendas and so many other things on which we tend to see as highly important.  A "happy" college would no doubt be a productive and welcoming place for teaching and learning.

Failure to Read... What Am I Doing Wrong?

A few weeks ago, I expressed to one of my classes that I was concerned that they were not reading the material listed (by date) on the course syllabus, re-emphasizing that this was important information.  I also announced that within the next week or two, I was going to give an in class quiz on the reading assigned for that week.  "Like a good Boy or Girl Scout, BE PREPARED," I admonished them.

    So two weeks later, I gave a quiz over the reading for that week.  The first question on the quiz was:

   I ___________ read Articles #12-14 on Poverty."  
     a.  did
     b.  did not

There were three other short answer questions on the quiz, each on asking for the gist of the article.  I didn't ask any "picky" questions, or any detailed "trick" questions.  All I wanted to know is if they'd read the articles and had a basic comprehension of the main ideas of each.  The reading totalled less than 25 pages.

Most of the class finished very quickly.  This worried me.  And when I graded the quiz right after class, my fears were confirmed.

100% of the class answered "b." to the first question--not one student had read the articles.

The "answers" (read "excuses") I got from my students were pretty typical.  I heard these before.

• I really don't have time to read all my school assignments.
• I didn't think the articles were that interesting.  
• (Students who read them last semester said they were very interesting.)
• I couldn't find my book. (Seriously??!!!!)

And while these answers didn't thrill, the one that broke my heart--the one I hear most often--was:

• I don't really like to read.  (Often accompanied by the qualifier, "That is, books.  I avoid them if at all possible.")

Even as I write this, my heart is heavy and I get discouraged.  Am I failing as an instructor?  What is going on?

There are a number of reasons, I think, why students don't read.  Here's my beginning list, and I would invite any of the readers of this blog (if there are any out there) to add to the list or elaborate on these:

• Students don't feel competent or confident in their own reading skills.
• Students weren't really required and held accountable for reading in high school.
• What students HAVE read in school has been boring, so they assume ANY school (even college) reading is boring.
• The reading is too complex for their current reading level.  (For college transfer courses at YC, we require only a 9th grade reading level.  It's almost impossible to find books in sociology and psychology that are written at that level.)
• Perhaps the biggest reason is that, for many of our students, technology (that is, entertainment technologies, including smart phones) have replaced text as the primary medium of communication.  Books (even e-Books) and reading is seen as "old fashioned" and unimportant in todays tech society.

The research is clear:  Reading engages and develops the human brain in a much different and deeper way thnt visual images alone.


I see getting students to read as one of the foremost challenges for professors.  Yet developing a love of reading--which goes hand in hand with a love of learning--is perhaps our primary task.

                        
Thoughts, anyone?

To Canvas or Not To Canvas: A Rebellion Against Sameness (Part 4... the last one)

"What you've all been waiting for!" (I seriously doubt it, but I can indulge in this delusion.)

What do I do if I don't use Canvas?  (I'm referring here to face-to-face courses, and some hybrids.  While you could apply some of these techniques to online teaching, obviously not all are applicable).

In nutshell, here it is:

1.  I use paper everything (almost).
Every assignment, every announcement, every handout... anything I would put on Canvas I give to students in paper format.  "Hard copy."  Our print shop is great--timely and efficient (they even deliver close to my office!), so I can produce paper copies almost as efficiently as I can post stuff on Canvas.  This accomplished several things:  *I know my students actually SEE the assignments or materials.  *They can manage these things in a real, physical way (it seems to be slightly harder to ignore something on paper than in the Canvas shell).

2.  All assignments are turned in "hard copy" in class.  I get between 30-100 emails a day (some of then junk, but I still have to delete them).  I spend a lot of time each day on the computer just managed "stuff" outside my courses.  When I don't require things turned in on paper, I find students frequently use the "email option" to turn in papers late, etc.  (Then I have to have strict policies, etc., to help students be responsible.)  I find students turn in more assignments on time when it has to be in paper at the beginning of class.  And students are forced (theoretically) to pay more careful attention to their work, rather than banging out something on the computer and submitting right before class.  Granted, it doesn't work perfectly.  I still get "my dog ate it" and "my printer ran out of ink."  But it seems to breed a bit more conscientiousness.  Two advantages I find in grading:  1)  I can be more "creative" in the way I mark papers--can circle,

highlight, make frowny faces, write comments between the lines, etc.  And students comment that this seems more "personal" than typed comments (although, admittedly, Canvas has some nice grading features).  2)  My grading is more portable.  I don't have to have my laptop or desktop computer to grade.  I can sit by the lake and contemplate the wisdom of my students.  I can grade a paper or two when waiting for a meeting or appointment.  My "office" becomes portable without my computer.

3.  I use Excel to post grades.  Ok, so I've taken a little bit of heat for this by some (not students).  I use the last four digits of students' Y numbers and have a running total of their grades.  It's very easy to read.  Yes, students can see how others in the class are doing (not by name, just the grade).  It let's students know how they are doing relative to others.  I've had no complaints.

4.  I use a course website (actually a blog site) as a repository for course documents.  Students are never "required" to go online.  They could successfully complete the course without ever going to the website.  However, everything I give out in class--including PowerPoints and videos I use (which I don't give out as paper copies) are all housed on the website.  If students lose the paper copies, I direct them to the website, where all the course materials (including assignments) reside.  I either link things like videos directly to the site, or I upload them in Google Docs and provide links on the course website (students never have to go to Google Docs).  There are lots of privacy and link options that I didn't find difficulty to learn how to manage.  One big advantage is that the material doesn't disappear, ever, as it tends to do in Canvas.  Students have access to it (theoretically) forever.  I try to keep it simple.  An actual live example of my course website is https://soc142fall2017.blogspot.com/.

My primary motivation in this is to limit the dependence on technology while increasing human interaction in my classes.  I am grateful that other faculty are immersing students in more of the technology--it's definitely a skill they need to know.  But in my disciplines--Psychology and Sociology--which are all about human behavior, I choose to emphasize the human-ness.  And at the same time conduct my own mini-rebellion against sameness.  A rebel, I like to think, with a cause.

To Canvas or Not To Canvas: A Rebellion Against Sameness (Part 3)

I have made a choice.  My choice has been (drum roll, please) not to use Canvas in my classes.

Before you start throwing rocks, or report me to the TELS Police, let me explain.

The Feared TELS Police!!!

I have nothing against Canvas.  It has a lot of nice features.  And some of my choice involved the difficult decision to forgo some of those features, like the Gradebook and the ability to automatically email my classes in one fell swoop of my finger.

I have nothing at all against those who choose to use Canvas.  Some of my best friends use Canvas! J  And some of them are some of the best professors I know.  So, no, I’m not out to get Canvas.  (I bet, after that last sentence, it is breathing a big sigh of relief!)

I’m not a Dinosaur.  I do know how to use Canvas.  I have used Canvas, for online, face-to-face and hybrid courses.  My decision was not arrived at out of technophobia or total incompetence.  (Although I do despise new versions of any computer program—Windows, Word, Canvas… I’m equal opportunity update hater!)

I made my decision based on a few (what I consider) important factors.

First, I listen to my students.  The complaint I hear the second most in regards to their academics is the cost of textbooks.  The major complaint I hear is about Canvas, and the time they spend trying to figure things out.  Trouble they’ve gotten into because they thought they submitted an assignment, but somehow it got “messed up” and they lost points (sometimes a lot of points).  How they struggle to navigate the different classes.  How they “hate” the technology.  (Again, it may not be the technology’s fault, but I still listen to my students.)  My perception is that,more often than not, the technology impedes or distracts many students—especially first generation or not-the-top-of-the-class students—from actually LEARNING the material.  To them, it is more about surviving the technological environment.  (Occasionally I get a student who mildly complains about me not using Canvas, usually at the beginning of the semester.  By the end, no one’s complaining.  And I get a lot of thank you’s.)

Secondly, I have seen the tech environment reduce professor/student interaction.  Instructors are not on campus as much.  Communication over email or other electronic forms lose much (some say up to 80%) of how we communicate in ways other than words—the human part of the interaction.  With our traditional students, reduced interaction limits the opportunity we have to help them mature and think critically.  With our non-traditional student, we miss chances to discuss life issues and support them as they reinvent themselves.  Much of what is learned—and taught—in college is outside our teaching disciplines.

Thirdly, I witness that technology is making some (many?) students “lazy.”  Technology is about “speed” and “efficiency.”  The “get it done, and get it done quickly” mentality pervades.  It may help our students learn if we can slow down the pace of learning a bit.  (I fully realize that this doesn’t translate into dollars for the institution, but may result in future dollars for students who learn better.)

So what have I chosen to do instead?  Stand by for the next blog…

To Canvas or Not to Canvas: A Rebellion Against Sameness (Part 2)

So, last week I tried to convince you that NOVELTY forms the basis of learning—if something is “new” we pay attention to it.  We can’t help it, that’s just the how the brain works!

But on the other hand routine, standardization, automation and sameness work well for us as teachers—it makes our professional lives a lot easier!  But it also may prove a disservice to our students.  It may metaphorically (or literally) put our students’ brains to sleep.

So what are we to do?  

Here’s the bottom line:  We choose.  As harsh as it may sound, we choose our own ease and comfort, or we choose to prioritize student learning.  Ouch.  But this is what excellent teaching is all about.  I can be a mediocre or even a good teacher, or I can choose to strive to be an excellent teacher.  And the result of that choice is the kind of learning experienced by my students.

A short aside:  I hear (and you do, too) people who are non-teachers complain about how “easy” teaching is (and how overpaid teachers are).  It angers me and drives me nuts (er, more nuts that I already am).  But sometimes I’m chagrined because if I choose, it can be fairly easy, especially with the “tools” that are available to me these days!  The difficult part of teaching is the creative aspect—keeping things novel and fresh and alive for students (and myself!)

So I make a choice.  I make a choice to attempt to have students experience something different and unexpected every class.  I try to make entering the classroom “novel” each period.  (The greatest compliment I get is when I overhear students say, “I never know what to expect when I come into this class!”  I am fairly confident that they are probably going to learn something that day.)  I consciously and conscientiously attempt to switch between the whiteboard, Powerpoint presentations, discussions, lectures, YouTube videos and movies.  I change up the seating arrangement, or have students move from “their own” seats to a different location in the classroom.

Students don’t always like this, at least initially.  They have been conditioned for more than a dozen years to sit in rows, stay quiet and let someone else do much of their thinking for them.  But over the course of the semester, I hope they begin to recover a genuine love of learning.  I’m convinced the only way to accomplish this is to “shake things up.”  It may be good pedagogy, but for sure it’s good neuroscience.

NOTE:  I don’t do this perfectly.  Or consistently.  Speaking candidly, I just get tired.  My brain doesn’t function and my “creativity” runs out.  But after I quit feeling sorry myself, and get revived, I strengthen my resolve to teach excellently.  It’s a process that’s been going on for over 30 years, and isn’t finished yet.

Next week I’ll share another way I have tried to introduce novelty in my courses—a rebel with a cause!

To Canvas or Not To Canvas: A Rebellion Against Sameness (Part 1)

Sameness is the enemy of learning.  In fact, “sameness,” in the neuropsychological sense of the word, is the exact opposite of learning!

Before you go postal, please read on and let me explain.  We know that the only time the brain 

registers anything is when there is change—change in movement, change in sound, change in lighting, change in odor, change in sensation, change in thought.  You get the idea.  The brain is the ultimate “change detection” machine.  Our perception is always the perception of something changing.

If that is true (and it is J), then it stands to reason that the more things are “familiar” and “ordinary,” the less we perceive things as “novel,” consequently less real or new learning will take place.  We know this from everyday experience:  We drive somewhere and don’t have any recollection of things we experienced along the way; we think we misplaced something, but find it where we would “expect” it—because of our repetition (what we’ve already learned), our habit.  This is not to say that these are bad things—they aren’t!  Our “prior learning” saves us all kinds of brain and physical energy.  But when it comes to learning something new however, NOVELTY works for us while SAMENESS works against us.

I sense students fall into a routine of “sameness” when all their courses “look alike,” when they know what to expect every class.  Maybe it’s:  “Come in.  Sit down.  Listen.  Take Notes.  Pack up.  Leave.”  Or, “Log on.  Watch Video.  Discussion Board.  Take Quiz.  Log out.”  Class after class after class.  The same goes for how the course actually “looks”—that is, how the presentation of our material “appears.”  For instance, if all our courses are on Canvas, and all our Canvas shells literally “look alike,” then that routine works against generating novelty and change, which is the basis for

perception and learning.  (I’m not speaking of things not unorganized, inaccessible and unclear to students, but a sense students may have of things being “cookie cutter” or “mechanical.”)

Here’s the rub:  “Sameness” works well for us teachers!  It reduces the amount of work we have to do.  Like assembly production.  Once we’ve got a system “down,” then we can go (more or less, and in online classes it’s often more) “automatic.”

The whole goal of education, I think, is not to make teaching “easier,” but to help students “learn better.”  Hence, we find ourselves in a conundrum—be less novel and more efficient (which results in less effective learning for students, but less stress and work for us), or be more novel and creative (which means we have to work harder so that students learn better). 

To be frank, over the last decade—with the exponential spread, adoption and reliance on electronic learning systems, I’ve witnessed a lot more of the former.  This correlates with multiple measures of decline in student learning, both at the secondary and college levels.  So what are we to do?  (Stand by for Part 2 next week!)

What Students Don’t (Yet) Know

I really hope my expression of shock and disbelief wasn’t visible to the class.  I literally was having a hard time believing what I was hearing.

We had just completed watching the motion picture, The Great Debaters, starring Denzel Washington and Forest Whitaker.  Set in the 1930s at Wiley College in the east Texas town of Marshall and Harvard University, the film tells of the journey of the Black college’s debate team.  There are some disturbing scenes, including one of a Negro being tarred, feathered, hung and set on fire.  (But the ending is feel-good, as the Wiley debate team bests Harvard’s speakers on the topic of Civil Disobedience.)

We were in the midst of answering the question I often ask when I expose students to new perspectives or ideas through movies: “What did you learn that you didn’t already know?”  A student who is one of the better performers in the class raised her hand and shared,

                               “I never knew they lynched Blacks in the South.”

I was speechless.  While I don’t expect my students to know a lot of details about race relations in the past (even the recent past), it never dawned on me that anyone would not be aware that violence against African-Americans in the South was commonplace.  (As I write this, a story is breaking about an 8 year old mixed-race boy who survived an attempted lynching by older boys two weeks ago in New Hampshire.)

Ok.  I totally understand that one of the major objectives (and, at community colleges, maybe THE major objective) is preparation for employment and economic development.  But what kind of society are we creating if our students don’t understand where we’ve come from and where we are (or aren’t) in terms of important social issues?

Yavapai College’s “Pathway Initiative” has some very positive dimensions, but as I listen to the talk of curtailing the general education requirements--including critical thinking and historical awareness--from our degrees, I wonder if we’ve really thought through the long term implications as to what kind of world we might live in if our students don’t know ever know what they don’t (yet) know.

Numbers. I wonder...

I teach statistics.  Have for years.  And not just any kind of stats.  I teach "social and behavioral statistics"--I've spent a good deal of my career trying to figure out how to measure and analyze the way people think, act, feel and learn--as individuals, in groups, societally, globally.

We can learn a lot from numbers.  But I wonder.  I wonder if we have gone "quantifiably crazy."

I received one of those “freebie” books in my mailbox a few months ago.  You know, the book that the companies desperately HOPE will become your next text.  The titled intrigued me:

Everybody Lies:

Big Data, New Data and What the Internet Can Tell Us About Who We Really Are

After 252 pages exploring everything from baseball to sex, the author—Seth Stephens-Davidowitz, a big data economist—writes,

                Numbers can be seductive.  We can grow fixated with 

                them, and so doing we can lose sight of more important 

                considerations.

He caught my attention.

      While the desire for more objective measures of what happens in

      classrooms is legitimate, there are many things that go on there

      that can’t readily be captured in numbers. . . . 

      The problem is this:  The things we measure are often not 

      exactly what we care about.  We can measure how students 

      do on multiple-choice questions.  We can’t easily measure

      things like critical thinking, curiosity, or personal development.

      Just trying to increase a single, easy to measure number. . . 

      doesn’t always help achieve what we are really trying to

      accomplish.

It is a good thing to be “data aware,” but maybe not such a good thing to be “data driven.”  By allowing data to “drive” us, we may miss a good deal of what the educational journey is all about.

I wonder. . . 

Thoughts from the Train

I am writing this blog somewhere between Barstow and Needles, CA while sitting in an Amtrak train. (I'm actually writing this on my phone, as the WiFi on the train doesn't seem very reliable. ) I've spent the last four and a half days with the Prescott Student Leadership Team at the Circle of Change Leadership Conference at Cal State Dominguez Hills.  It's been an incredibly wonderful and exhausting experience!

Nonetheless, Olympic size reflection, here we go!

1.  What did I learn?
   *That my colleagues have some really great thoughts (no surprise there).
   *That this kind of reflection is good for me!

2.  Was it tough?
   Yes and no.  Certainly making time to write was a challenge.  But once I got started, it seemed to flow.  For those passionate about teaching and learning, how could it not?

3.  Who inspired me?
   *The TELS team.  Thanks, Thatcher and Curtis!
   *My awesome co-bloggers!
   *My students.  They got excited about what I was writing and always had insightful input.
   *The Student Leadership Council, who each accepted the challenge to contribute a "student's perspective" to this event.  I'm proud of you!

4.  How will I change based on my experiences of the last 9 weeks.
   *I have recommitted to be more reflective about my teaching--and my life in general.
   *I am recommitted to writing more--more of what I am passionate about.
   *I want to continue these important conversations, with a view to seeking the improvement of my/our instruction.

5.  What was frustrating or delightful?
   *Frustrating that I couldn't find time to respond to ALL of the amazing posts!
   *Everything else was delightful!!  Let's do it again next year!  Or even next semester!! 😆

The Joy of Teachers: Thriving on Our Collegiality

One of the best parts about teaching for me--especially here at Yavapai College--is the outstanding colleagues I get to teach along side.  But it's more than that.

My colleagues are my friends.  We literally laugh and cry together over life's jubilant surprises and horrendous curve balls.  And we play together!

Steve and Mark on the South Rim.

Steve riding on the Grand Canyon Greenbelt

Every year I've done the 9x9x25 seems to coincide with some epic bicycle ride with my YC colleagues.  Curtis Kleinman and I rode from Prescott to Downtown Phoenix via Yarnell and Wickenburg one year--all 113 miles of it.  Another year we did the "Tour de Yavapai"--starting out at Chino Valley and riding to all our campuses--CTEC, Prescott, Prescott Valley, Verde Valley and Sedona:  85 miles and lots of ups and downs.

On this Veterans Day, Steve Doyle (Geography) and I headed up north to the South Rim of the Grand Canyon.  Outstanding weather (cool but sunny) greeted us as we cycled from the Visitors Center to Tusayan on paved bike paths winding their way through the ponderosa and pinion pine forest. Fortunately, we ended up at Wendy's just in time for lunch!

We rode back into the Park (it was free to all visitors on Veteran's Day!), and took the turnoff through Mather Campgrounds to Grand Canyon Village.  Winding our way through train depot, El Tovar Hotel and the Bright Angel Trailhead, we intersected Hermit Road and headed west.

Park entrance on the bike trail from Tusayan

Hermit Road is closed to vehicles except for the Grand Canyon busses.  So the road was (more or less) ours for the taking.  We stopped at all the viewpoints, including the Powell Memorial.  The air was clear and the rock colors appeared especially red.  We spied the might Colorado River and its rapids a mile below us.

About 2.5 miles from the end of the road, the Rim Trail is paved and open to bikers.  We weaved our way up and down and around (avoiding right turns that could have put us at the bottom of this grand ravine!), finally arriving at Hermit's Rest.  The "hermit" (he really wasn't) was a Canadian gentleman who helped set up an "upscale" resort (canvas tents and cots, with dining service provided) at Hermit's Camp, a half day's trip down into the Canyon.  He and his partners set up this experience to avoid the "tolls" charged on the Bright Angel Trail in the early 1900s.  When the Grand Canyon became a National Park, the Bright Angel Trail was then open to all, and Hermit's Camp fell on hard times.  The ruins are still visible from the Rim.  The                                                                        "rest" at the top of the Canyon remains.

After munching down energy and chocolate bars, and washing them down with Gatorade, we headed back east toward Steve's car.  As we re-entered the Village, we paralled a truck guiding a herd of about 20 elk (including a half dozen young calves) away from the populated area.  We also witnessed a couple of deer crossing the rode right in front of us.

Steve's "Map My Ride" app said we burned almost 2,000 calories, climbed almost 1,800 feet during the day, and covered 34 beautiful miles.  We ended the day pleasantly exhausted.

YC means lots of things--great teaching, inspiring relationship with students, service to the community.  But it's also a fertile ground for life long friendships.  For this, I will be ever grateful.

Steve Doyle and Mark Shelley at Hermit's Rest, South Rim of the Grand Canyon.

How Silent Phones Disconnect Us

"What phones do to in-person conversation is a problem.  Studies show that the mere presence of a phone on the table (even if turned off) changes what people talk about.  If we think we might be interrupted, we keep conversations light, on topics of little controversy or consequence." *

So what happens when students have their phones sitting out when class is going on?

One could surmise that a similar dynamic occurs as does in the conversations the researchers above studied.  The presence of a cell phone on the desk anticipates an interruption.  The phone owner's attention is split between what is going on in class and what might be going to happen on the phone. This is the phenomenon of "continous partial attention," the practice of which uses up most of our focal energy in switching from object (phone) to object (classroom).

But what about the people around, who don't have their phones out?  They, too, we've discovered, are practicing continous partial attention.  And what's more, there seems to be a decrease in the connection everyone around feels to the class and to each other:

          "Conversations with phones on the landscape block empathetic connection.  If
           two peple are speaking and there is a phone an a nearby desk, each feels less
           connected than when there is no phone present."*

What does that mean for the learning that takes place in our classrooms when cell phones are in view?

The implication of the research is that students are less focused on what is going on (even if they are not actually on their phones), and that students feel less connection with each other and the instructor. My experience in the classroom is that this is indeed the case.  There is something powerful about even the potential of a desireable interruption.  Our "always on, always with us" technology makes this temptation even more ubiquitous.  "We are not as strong as technology's pull," a student told Turkle.  "Phones exert a seductive undertow," she concludes.*

It's really not Draconian to ask student to turn OFF their phones AND put them out of sight.  In preparation for this blog, I asked a number of students about this practice.  Overwhelming their response sounded like this:  "If you tell us to put our phones away 'just because you said so' or 'this is my rule,' we kind of resent it.  But if you explain to us that phones, even when we can see them, could cause us to miss out on something, we get it.  That's cool."

Students are not unaware of the cell's seductive allure.  And most of them really want to be "fully present."  They appreciate our intervention.

Turkle concludes, "Even a silent phone disconnects us."* (emphasis in original)


* Sherry Turkle, in Reclaiming Conversation, p. 21, 31.

The Great Reversal: A Question to Ask Ourselves as Faculty

"How am I doing in my teaching?"

If we're even half-way conscientious (and perhaps a bit self-conscious!), certainly as faculty we ask ourselves this question at a somewhat regular interval.  It's natural--and commendable--that we'd "self-evaluate" our craft!  After all, part of this 9x9x25 Challenge is intended to help us do just that!

But I wonder if that's the right question?

I can be confident and/or convinced that my "teaching" is good--maybe even excellent.  But how do I know if that self-evaluation is correct?

Maybe my positive assessment reflects a certain mastery of  the  course material.   "Certainly, I must be a great teacher because I know my subject so well!"  No doubt this is a prerequesite for pedagogical prowess.  But is it enough?  How many of us can remember professors who were close to genius when it came to the "knowledge" of their discipline, but couldn't teach their way out of the proverbial paper bag?

Or perhaps my good self-assessment reflects a comfort with the way I've decided to teach.  My lectures or activities or online courses are fine tuned (I've actually perfected them over the years), my tests are spot on, and my classes run like a well-oiled machine.  This has the potential of being a very good thing, but is it necessarily a good gauge of teaching?

Or... maybe I'm commended by my colleagues and supervisors regarding my teaching.  I welcome this as affirmation that I'm on the right track!  But is it really an accurate assessment of how I'm doing as an instructor?

I would like to propose that this question, "How well am I teaching?" may actually be a wrong and even miseleading question, regardless of the answer.  However well I know my subject, or how flawlessly my class seems to run, or what others say about my teaching, these may not be an accurate barometer of my effectiveness, because all of these are "teacher-centric" assessments.

IF the goal of education isn't to evaluate how teachers teach, but to facililtate students actually learning (sometimes in spite of our teaching), then instead, the most helpful question (it seems to me) is

"How, what and how well are my students learning?"

What if I reversed my normal "self-talk" as a teacher, and used this question as the gauge of my success?  What if I judged my performance on how well my students were able to apply what I think I've been teaching, instead of just looking at the mechanics and process of instruction?

What if I actually ASKED MY STUDENTS if, in fact, they were actually learnng?

A Tale of Four Classrooms

As I walked through the hallway, I glanced into a classroom.  Students were sitting in rows, blurry eyed.  No one had books or paper out.  No one was taking notes.  Honestly, no one was doing anything.  The instructor was standing behind the computer podium talking.  Students were nodding off.

The next classroom looked like a behive.  Students were in small groups conversing, standing up writing on white boards, examining and critiquing each others work.  Periodically, attention would focus on the instructor, who was moving about from group to group.  A whole class discussion would briefly occur, then students would go back to interacting with their groups.  Toward the end of the class, the groups were rotating around the classroom, taking notes off the whiteboards that other groups had created.

In a third classroom, the instructor had moved the tables in a large rectangle.  Students were sitting around the table, interacting with each other in a "popcorn" fashion.  A few raised their hands, but most of all the students spoke up when they had something to say, while still being respectful of the group.  And their was a lot being said.  It was difficult to tell exactly who the instructor was--the students seemed to be instructing each other.

No one, except the professor, was in the last classroom,  although books and backpacks littered the place.  Come to find out that the students were in a different building examining a set of posters for which they were assigned questions.  After a while, teams of two students trickled in, each set of partners conversing rapidly about their discoveries.  When everyone returned, they went over the questions and shared their answers together.

"We've been conditioned to sit in rows, look at the back of peoples' heads, not turn around, to sit quietly, not talk and not think," a student told me this week.  No wonder discussion can be difficult: Education is not "supposed" to involve the free, energetic and some chaotic exchange of ideas (at least not in the minds of many of our students).

But they really do want to discuss.  They want to try out ideas.  They want to be challenged.  But both the physical set up of most of our classrooms and many of our pedagogical techniques are not very conducive to creating curious, expressive and excited scholars.  And WE need to break out of the "passive learning" mold.  If you need some inspiration and instruction, head over the the Family Enrichment Center next to Building 1.  They'll be glad to let you look through the glass as those preschoolers "learn."  Look at how their classrooms are set up.  Observe the interaction between teacher and student, and student-to-student.  We could learn a few lessons.

I smile to myself each time I see the signs posted our classrooms, "It is COLLEGE POLICY to return the furniture to its original arrangement."  As if "the original arrangement" is some kind of "sacred seating," and also the best arrangment for learning.  For one, it's NOT "college policy" (though it may be the "preferred procedure").  And secondly, it's probably not even good pedagogy.  But it IS great for dulling the mind.

The Doors Are Locked at YC!!

Friday I came to school to work and for some meetings, arriving upstairs in Building 3 about 11 am.

Three “automatic” doors leading to my office were locked.  Yes, on a work day.  (What about students wanting to drop off papers, or who would arrange meetings on this day in which they had no classes, so they actually had time to meet?)

Daily, many of these same doors are locked.  Students can view at least eight faculty offices from either end of the back hallway of this building, but can’t get through to them due to locked doors.  One each of the outside double doors at each end of the building leading to the faculty offices and classrooms are locked down every day. 

Students by nature are intimidated from coming to see faculty in their offices (despite our begging, pleading, encouraging and sometime even requiring them to do so).  Unfortunately, the slightest barrier will discourage them.  Even though we may not want to admit it, these locked doors send a not so subtle message to our students:  “Keep out!  You’re not really welcome here.”

Thursday I had a student, who I didn’t know, stick his head into my office and ask, “How do I find my way out of here?”  At any given hour of the day one can find Richard, Ivonne, other staff and numerous faculty acting as “catacomb guides,” assisting students in finding the secret passageways to faculty workplaces. Clearly, our office spaces (and they are legion!) in Building 3 were not designed to encourage student-teacher interaction.

We know that student-instructor interaction is a KEY to the ubiquitous call for “completion” and “retention.” But it seems like we’ve neglected to think carefully about this key component:  Students' physical access to their instructors.

Granted, at this point it is totally infeasible to redesign our office layout.  But, given that limitation, shouldn’t we be doing EVERYTHING POSSIBLE to encourage student interaction?

When I’ve enquired about this situation, I’ve been told that the locked doors are a result of “county codes” and “security.”  But if this is the case, why is it not uniformly enforced across campus?  The double doors to the Rider Diner, Library and—yes—even the Administration Building are both almost always unlocked.  Why is it more restrictive for students to visit their teachers?

This raises several questions:

*  Are we perpetuating, even creating, a “culture of fear” on our campus in the name of so-called “safety”? (Please excuse the sociologist in me.)

*  Why can’t we have open conversations with facilities, campus safety, administration and others involved on how to lessen these restrictions and make our offices more inviting and accessible to students?

*  We are working so hard to make “Pathways” for students degree programs, certificates and career goals.  Why is it so difficult to clear “pathways” for students to the offices of faculty, when we know that is such a key to student success?

*  Have we been so taken by automation that it overrides our goal of educating? What are we thinking?  Really?

Education at YC: Is It Just a Show?

"As of now, I feel as if a diploma is just a certificate that I need in order to get the job that I want.  I know that I am not the only student who feels this way.  With the technology I have access to, most of the situations that can come up where school is useful can be googled.  It is getting to the point that there is no real point in school.  It is just for show.  Are students really there to learn or to receive a certificate so they make more money each year?"

This came as a response to an assignment in a "critical thinking" class I'm teaching this semester.  And it was not from a traditiionally-aged student.  My response was manifold.

My first reaction was that of a sense of failure.  What have I done or said to make this (or any other student) think that the ONLY reason for education is to increase their annual income?  By expressing this, I'm not at all diminishing to importance of the economic rewards of education!  I certainly feel that's a very important part of things.  But this student (and evidently others) seem to feel that the goal is to "check off the box," get a piece of paper, and move on.

Another simultaneous reaction was one of shock--but not of surprise.  Shock that this sentiment, which we've all heard before, was scrolled in black and white!  There is a boldness to the statement that rattles me to the core.

Perhaps most of all, I felt a deep, deep sadness in reading the student's views.  A sadness that kind of sounds like, "Is that what higher education has come to?  Just a utilitarian hoop through which to jump?  What about all the other glorious insights about myself, others, and the physical and social world that can be experienced in the classroom?  What about the relationships that can be made with fellow students and professors?"

I also had to ask myself if some of the messages we are sending as an institution encourage such a shallow view of learning?  Pathways, retention, completion, dual enrollment, "early start"--all of these have value, IF considered in the larger context of learning and personal development.  But have we emphasized these to the point that the love of learning is being lost?

I know--part of this attitude is a result of the "conditioning" students have undergone in 13+ years of "compulsory" education before they get to us, where for the most part they sit in desks in rows, and see themselves (rightly or wrongly) as vessels being force-fed full of information.  With "Google" at their fingertips, I understand that they may feel college is more or less useless, IF accessing information is all it entails.

But is there more?  How do I, as an instructor, communicate that "more."  And how do we, as an institution, escape for our "institutional trappings" and communicate that "more"?

I wonder.

Instant, Easy Learning!

"I'm really frustrated," a student came up and announced to me at the end of a Statistics class last week.

"What is frustrating you?  How can I help?" I responded sympathetically... at least I tried.

"I'm not getting it,  I've spent hours on this class, and I still don't understand," she pined.

"Not getting what?"  I figured if we could isolate the specific concept she was struggling with, then maybe we could explore it and help get some clarity.  But that's not the direction she was going.

"Everything.  This whole class.  I should be able to get this, but I don't."

"Well, this is probably a new way of thinking for you," I reassured the student.  "It takes some time.  You're smart, and I'm sure most of this will fall into place for you.  We're just laying the groundwork now.  We'll go over these ideas again, do a lot examples and practice scenarios.  It's a bit like learning a foreign language--if you hang it there, it will come!  Maybe you shouldn't be quite so hard on yourself."

"But this should be easy!  I should be getting this quicker!"  The tone indicated that the student was expecting mastering by the end of the end of the fifth week of the course, even though the student didn't add the class until the end of the third week, and was still 'catching up.'

Not coincidentally, this is the same student I wrote about last week, who had finished two 3-credit online classes in two weeks.  I began wondering if there was a connection between the student's experience in those courses, and their current frustration in mine.

This is not an isolated complaint.  I've heard this in many different forms, particularly in classes with a strong critical thinking emphasis, and classes where students are exposed to new concepts which they haven't yet thought much about.  Maybe I'm overstating the case (althought I doubt that I am), but it seems like the prevalent attitude among many students is that learning, even in college, should be "quick" and "easy."  That putting more than a minimal amount of effort into a course precipitates more than a small degree of exasperation.

I think this is a change I've observed, perhaps over the past decade or so, in college students.  (Looking back, I expected college to be challenging!  And I wasn't disappointed!) Perhaps it is a societal trend.  With lots of "information" at our fingertips, maybe we've mistaken "access to information" for "acquisition of knowledge and/or skills"?  Maybe because so much comes "instantly" to us--from instant breakfast and instant coffee to instant communication--that we also expect "instant education."

On another level, I wonder if WE--as educators--are responsible for fostering this "instant, easy learning" phenomena?  Have we emphasized "efficiency" so much that we have lost sight of what is "effective" and long-lasting?  Have we set up systems that prime our students with the idea that education is meant to be fast and relatively free of effort?  Does their perception of  our emphasis on "completion" undermine the priority for learning?

"Patience, persistence and perspiration make an unbeatable combination for success."
Napolean Hill, author and advisor to Presidents Woodrow Wilson and Franklin D. Roosevelt
1883-1970

To Learn or Not to Learn? Is that the question?

The Wednesday of the third week of school a student shows up in my office.  Below is the actual conversation:

STUDENT:  I'd like to get in to your _________ class.  [The blank is to protect the innocent and/or the guilty).

ME:  Wow.  It's a bit far into the course.  We've already covered quite a bit, and it might be difficult for you to catch up.  Why do you want in now?

STUDENT:  Well, I signed up for two online courses, and now I'm done.  So I need to add more credits.

ME:  What courses did you complete so quickly?

STUDENT:  _____________  and _______________.  [Again, blanks to protect...  Both the courses would be considered solid, transferrable academic courses.]

ME:  Ok.  Could I ask how you were able to complete them so quickly?  [At this point, I'm trying to hold back my shock... it must have worked.]

STUDENT:  You could take the tests as many times as you wanted.  They were automatically graded.  I just kept taking the tests until I got the grade I wanted, then I moved on to the next one.

ME:  So how much did you really learn?

STUDENT:  My high school speech teacher said if you remembered something for 48 hours then you "learned" it.  I think I learned most of it.

ME:  [Several moments of silent, but disguised, disbelief.]  Well, I guess.  Let's at least get you the syllabus and the first few assignments.  If you can't catch up, there is no shame is dropping the course, right?

STUDENT:  Yeah.

The student is struggling in my course.  They are dedicated, but probably won't be inducted into the Mensa Society anytime soon.  But how they are doing in my course isn't what is gnawing at me.

At the rate the student completed those online courses, they would be able to obtain their entire Associates Degree in just over one semester; their full Bachelors degree in a year and half a summer--in about 1/4 of the time a full-speed ahead undergraduate could complete their studies.  This entire scenario raises some serious questions for me:

• How much learning took place as this student completed a 3 credit claas in a week?
• Could a student (this student also has a family with a young child, and commutes quite a distance) even complete the required reading (and really READ it) in a week?
• What were the quality of these online courses?
• Is setting up an online course for such "rapid completion" really doing our students any favors?  [Sure, they can check of the "required course" box and move on, but is that really the goal of higher education?]
• Is this typical of the design of our online courses?  How effective is this for students' LEARNING?
• Are students taking more online courses because they are "easier" and "less challenging" than face to face courses?
• Is convenience King?  [I know, that's snarky and facetious, but I do wonder!]
• Is anyone monitoring the quality of the online courses at Yavapai College?
• Is anyone else alarmed?