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.