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.