But... OK: Reflections on 2014 9x9x25 Challenge

I shouldn't.  I'm spread so thin, but..

I can't.  I don't have time, but...

No good this year.  I really don't have anything to say, but...

Why?  Does anyone really read those things?  But...

OK.

There are a bazillion reasons why I shouldn't have participated in this year's 9x9x25 Challenge.  The lines above are just the beginning of a very long list.  But...

I knew the benefits, from last year's challenge.  I knew it would be good for me, my teaching, my students.

Added stress?  Yep.

Frustrating?  At times (not so much about the challenging, but just about another thing on my plate, my life).

Here is my short list of why--when I probably shouldn't have--I decided to participate.  And some suggestions for making the decision to participate again not so difficult (hopefully).

Participating in this project causes me to think and reflect.  Between classes, meetings, special projects, grading papers (not to mention a semblance of a life outside Yavapai College), often times I admit I kind of get in "auto-teach" mode.  I really try to be conscientious, progressive, innovative, on the cutting edge, yada yada yada.  But honestly, some weeks its just survival.  Committing to writing about teaching each week forces me into self-evaluation mode.  That's probably the biggest benefit.

This challenge motivates me to try new things in the classroom.  After all, who wants to read about the same old stuff, different day?  (Not me!)  Several ideas that had been percolating in my brain for some time (even years) get an excuse to come out and play.  It's kind of exciting!  And I've felt (justifiably so, I hope) that it is "safe" to share failures as well as successes.

I love pilfering others' ideas.  Again this year I'm reminded of what creative, motivated and brilliant colleagues I work with.  I've stolen several ideas that have been shared through these blogs (although I'm not saying what, for fear of retribution and to protect the innocent).  My teaching is definitely better for it.

The whole deal gives me a chance to write.  I really love writing.  Just seems I don't do enough of it (and it probably shows).  But I get to set aside time to do what I'm passionate about--writing, and writing about teaching.  Ok, I shouldn't need an excuse.  But it helps to have a little "push" from Todd and the folks in TELS.

Most of all, the Challenge inspires me.  I've been doing the full-time teaching gig for almost 30 years.  Seen a lot of things come and go.  And as much as I would like to think I keep myself fired up each semester, the truth is I can use all the help that's out there.  Getting to read the musing of others in the same boat really does fan the flame.  (Although I'm not sure about my mixed metaphor here--fires in boats aren't usually a great combo!)

What would I change?  Not much, but here goes...

* I'd make it shorter--not the length of the blogs but the number of weeks.  It's probably  just me, but I find myself losing steam after about six weeks.  What about a 6x6x6 Challenge--xix weeks, six blogs, six paragraphs?  So "666" may not be the best number to choose, but the product (216) isn't so bad, is it?

*I might suggest that the format be simplified for those who want to read.  I had several people who weren't writers come to me and say that they wanted to read more, but had a hard time finding their way around on our site.  Too many clicks, too much scrolling, too confusing?  What about a Table of Contents of some sort where readers could see the name of the articles (maybe a one sentence abstract) and the author, and just click on what or who they were interested in reading?

*How about, instead of just "comments" on each blog something more interactive, along the lines of a discussion board, where readers could actually dialog with the authors?  And maybe auto-reminders when someone made an entry on your article, so you could go look and respond?

*Maybe don't do it in November.  From a personal perspective, the Challenge competes with National Novel Writing Month (Nanowrimo), which challenges insane persons (present company included) to write 50,000 words in one month.  (I did it last year, but am failing miserably this time around).  I'd love to do both, but it's become a bit much.  Besides, November starts getting crazy when it comes to classes, grading, etc.

That's it.  Should we do it again next year?  ABSOLUTELY!  I can't, I shouldn't, BUT...

Serendipity...

I admit, I was annoyed.  Tired.  Irritated that, despite a fairly "strict" cell phone policy for my classes and my feeble attempts to enforce it, several of my students check their cell phones more often than they take a breath.

So today, mostly out of a sense of frustration, but with the ever-professional tone of a seasoned instructor, I admonished:

"Ok.  Every pull their cell phones out."  (And literally EVERYONE did.  It's rare to find a student without one these days.)

"Hold it up high over your heads."  (They were mildly amused by this.  My hidden motive was to check their compliance with my instructions.)

"Turn it on silent--not vibrate or cutesy music or clever ring tones, but completely silent."  (Their amusement was short-lived, but I sensed the instruction was not unanticipated.)

"Now, set your phone in front of you, face down, as far to the front of the table as you can."  (They did, with no protest.)

The lesson today in this First Year Experience class was, coincidentally, on focus.  So I quickly wove that theme into my instructions, making it appear that this action was purposeful and premeditated (which it was, but not for the reasons I stated--a "test" to see if they could maintain focus for the remainder of the class.)

For the first time in weeks, Every student (except one) was locked in to the lesson instead of staring down at their crotch, fiddling in their pocket or trying to discretely rifle through their backpack.

At the end of the class, I asked how many of them had be tempted to reach for their phones.  No one said they were, and by their relaxed body language and facial expressions, I believed them.  Totally serendipitously, I had discovered something... something that I already knew in another context.

When I facilitate growth groups, we talk about "keeping our 'shadow self'--the part of that we hide, ignore and deny--in front of us so we can be aware of it's influence on us.  It can be illustrated like this:

Have someone stand behind you, with their hands on your shoulder, and try to shake them off without putting your hands on them or facing them.  It's virtually impossible, because for every move you make, they can make a counter move way before you are aware they are doing so.  As long as you can't "see" your shadow, it can hang on to you and even control you.

Now, have the individual stand in front of you, and move where you want to move.  Unless the person is a 250 pound lineman for the NFL, even if you are not as strong, you can actually DIRECT THEM to where you want to go.  Your forward leverage is more powerful than they are in this position.

Having their phones in front of them seem to make the students feel they had more control.  I would hypothesize that if their phones were even placed at their sides, the effect would not have been as great.  By having their eyes on their devices in a setting in which they didn't need to use them gave them POWER over their technology.  It was amazing.

I wish I could say I had the genius to realize this before.  I didn't.  It was just a "defensive maneuver" born out of desperation.  But it worked, and became an awesome teaching moment.  Any time when students become empowered it is.

Serendipity.

The Road Most Traveled: Kleinman/Shelley Prescott Valley to Phoenix by Bike

18 Miles Out of PV, Curtis broke a spoke

For the third year in a row, Professor Kleinman and I execute our own "Fall Classic."  Two years ago we rode from Prescott to Phoenix via Wickenburg (113 miles).  Last year we inaugurated the "Tour de YC," cycling to all of YC's campuses: Chino Valley to CTEC to Prescott to Prescott Valley to Verde Valley to Sedona in one day (85 miles, over Mingus Mountain).  (See http://theachingthoughts.blogspot.com/2013/10/the-tour-de-yc-over-mountain-and.html.)

This year, Curtis suggested we ride from his home in Prescott Valley to Phoenix to tour the new Mormon Temple on Happy Valley Road.  I was honored that he invited me on the tour, and suggested we make it a two day affair, overnighting in Arcosanti.  Curtis is a Prescott native and I've been in Arizona since 2000, but neither us had been to Paolo Soleri's "urban experiment" just north of Cordes Junction.

We left Curtis' house at 1:45 PM, and were cruising strong until about 18 miles out, when Curtis's "classic" (ancient?) Specialized bike evoked a rubbing noise.  On closer inspection,we discovered a brokeb spoke on his rear wheel, which bent the rim.  We tried straightening it, but it only ended up worse.  Curtis's faithful wife and three sons came to the rescue.  We popped the wheels off our frames and loaded all into the minivan and headed back to the Kleinman home.

It was pushing 5:00, and we needed to make it to the bike shop by 5:30.  We transferred our gear into my truck, and made it to High Gear just before closing.  They found us a stronger wheel that would work, Curtis purchased a couple of tires that fit, and we were set.  After stopping by my house, we headed out--bikes in tow--to Arcosanti to spend the night. Professor Kleinman suggested we grab the new Pretzel Bacon Cheeseburger at Wendy's; probably the best decision of the day!

We arrived at Arcosanti; it was pitch dark with millions of stars flooding the desert sky. Few lights were on at the comples, but we managed to find our key and received directions to our Guest Room.  We were glad we were in a truck and not on bikes!  The road to Arcosanti is not paved and has been an obvious victim of the torrential rains of late.  Room D was spartan--basically a concrete cube with two twin beds and a shower that sprayed on a tile floor next to the toilet (sans shower doors).  After rinsing off the sweat and grime, we talked about school, the trip, family and life until the late hours.  It was sweet fellowship.

Curtis enjoying his breakfast before our tour and ride to Phoenix.

The next morning we enjoyed a continental breakfast at the cafe, then took a one hour tour of the "arcology" (architecture + ecology).  EVERY STRUCTURE, down to the minutest detail, is designed to be functional.  There is no heating or air conditioning in the entire village, but the temperature remained comfortable due to "passive solar heating and cooling."  This is truly a visionary place.  When (if) the entire complex is completed, it will be a self-sustaining city of 5,000 people.  Currently about 100 people live and work in Arcosanti.  [One of the great take-aways from this trip is the real possibility of incorporating a tour of Arcosanti into one or more of my sociology classes.]

Among other things, we were able to witness the pouring of bronze into compacted sand molds to fashion bells, for which this place is famous.  Evidently, Arcosanti's founder and architect, Paolo Soleri (who also apprenticed under Frank Lloyd Wright) was able to make enough money from the crafting of these bells to finance the initial construction of his habitat.

Pouring of the bronze for the casting of the bells in Arcosanti.

After the tour, we drove to Cordes Junction, parked the car, and commenced our 53 mile ride to Phoenix.  More than half our ride would be on the shoulder of I-17--the only paved route to our destination.  The shoulder was wide and fairly safe, except it was littered with all kinds of "treasures"--and "alligators" (the name given to those pieces of steel tire belts shed from semi trucks).  There was no way to miss all of these (especially going downhill at 40 mph!), and these items would be the cause of some consternation.

I experienced the first flat just as we pulled off I-17 at Black Canyon City.  I thought I had located the culprit, but several miles later my rear tire went flat yet again.  I located the offending wire fragment (from an alligator), and with a pair of vice grips and Curtis' help was able to extract the pointy thing from my tire casing.  About 10 miles down the road, Curtis was struck with the same curse.  He fixed the flat and we moved on.

At New River we were running low on fuel (meaning we needed nourishment), so we stopped at "El Pizzaria" (which Curtis quickly pointed out was grammatically incorrect--it should have been named "La Pizzaria") for several tall glasses of ice water (it was now in the mid 90s), a cheese quesadilla and breadsticks. Sufficiently stoked with carbs, we were now off the freeway and raced our last 18 miles to where Courtney and the boys were once again waiting for us.

We ducked into Circle K's restroom and transformed ourselves from sweaty cyclists to civil citizens (but probably still a bit smelly).  After parking at Wet 'n Wild's lot,  we were shuttled on a tour bus to the Temple a mile away.  The tour was definitely a treat--a reward for the hard work we'd put in.  It was easy for me to appreciate the architecture, art and symbolism of this religious sanctuary.  And it was great to have an expert (Curtis) with me, to explain the "ins and outs" of the massive structure.

Three tours--Arcosanti, a bike tour, and the Temple--in one day!  I think it's safe to say we were 'toured out."

So what does this have to do with teaching and learning?  EVERYTHING!  This was real life.  This is where learning counts.  I learned about architecture, religion and mechanics on this day.  And I was able to do so with a close friend and colleague.

Mark and Curtis and the Mormon Temple i Phoenix

To Allow Resubmissions or Not to Allow Resubmissions—THAT is the Question! (William Shakespeare, sorta)

Going to class, studying, reading--TO LEARN.  Not just for a grade, but to actually acquire knowledge and/or skills.  How do I, as an instructor, make that happen?  I’ve been asking that question for almost 30 years of full-time college teaching.  I’ve yet to come up with a fail-safe, satisfactory answer. 

Obviously, “giving As” to motivate intrinsic learning is not likely to work.  (See last week’s blog for my experiment with that strategy.)

Still, I never cease struggling with that question.  If I really don’t want my students to learn, why am I doing this anyway?  (Please don’t evoke the “big paycheck” or “easy job” argument—that will only instigate more inflammatory blogs.)  Obviously we do (I hope) want students to learn, or we wouldn’t still be here.

I have come up with a few conclusions to the dilemma of student learning (some of which are still tentative).  I’ll offer up this one, for what it's worth.

Q:  How many psychologists does it take to change a light bulb?

A:  Only one.  But the bulb has really got to WANT to change!

Students are like these metaphorical light bulbs.  They have to WANT to learn. 

But I can’t “make” learning happen.  No teacher can.  Learning is truly an “inside” job.  I’m not sure I can even “facilitate learning” (although I REALLY like that idea!).  Perhaps it’s safe to say I may be able to “facilitate learning” for those who really want to learn.

I can’t change anyone, nor can I make anyone learn.  So my cynical self says, “Why bother?” 

My idealist self responds, “Because it makes a difference to some!”

One of the challenges of teaching at a Community College (or, in my experience, at any undergraduate institution) is that there is a wide array of motivations as to why students attend.  There are a number of teaching [entertainment] strategies to engage students—for those who really don’t want to be here.  Many of these are excellent.  If students don’t have the internal, intrinsic motivation to learn, by all means let’s do what we can to “engage” them!  But what I want to address here is the “learning” part.

Many  students “don’t get it” the first time around.  We provide reading assignments, lectures, videos and feedback on assignments, but it’s still clear that the lesson we’re attempting to teach, the learning we wish would occur, is not happening.   We assign a grade to that student’s attempt, and that’s the end of the issue.  (“See ya next semester!”)

I've come to conclude that—often—I've been guilty of quitting too early.  Our “traditional” grading system assumes that if they can’t do the paper right, can’t complete the quiz or exam, can’t conduct the experiment correctly the first time, they aren't learning (or don’t want to, or can’t).  [An exception to this is often writing instructors who not only permit, but require, revisions and rewrites.  Why do we promote this for English and not for all the other subjects?]

We've bought into a mindset that learning is a PRODUCT, not a PROCESS.  And we evaluate students based on that belief.  Often this frustrates the students (especially those with “mixed motives” about attending college, but also those who really want to learn).

An alternative is for me to be a PART OF THAT PROCESS.  What this means is not just giving students feedback, but giving those who really want to learn and improve (for whatever reason) the opportunity to do so.

So for the past few years I've given my students the option of redoing almost ANY assignment (within a reasonable time frame—usually a week from when I return it) with no penalty.  I ask them to submit the original, graded assignment with their re-submission (so I can see if the changes were merely cosmetic or substantive).  I STRONGLY ENCOURAGE  them to “think deeper” in their re-do.

This is a totally optional activity.  And I’m very clear to my students this is NOT primarily about the grade FOR ME, but about their learning.  I tell them I’m much more interested in the expansion of their knowledge and skills than I am giving them a bad grade.  Amazingly, not a lot of students take me up on this.  That’s their choice.  But the option is there, on almost every assignment.  In most cases, if students are motivated, I will allow unlimited rewrites until THEY are satisfied with their work.

There is a definite downside to this.   More grading.  UGH.  I LOVE most aspects of teaching, but grading is without a doubt the worst part of my job.  However, more times than not I find that grading re-submissions is quite rewarding. 

Like the metaphorical bulb, it’s definitely FUN to see the light go on.

A World Without Grades

In my ideal world --as a faculty member of Utopian Community College in Nowhere, AZ (which is not the same place as Nothing, AZ; see photo)-- I would totally do away with grades.

Grades, I say.  Away with you! Feedback?  Yes! Evaluation?  Absolutely!  But no grades. Students would take on the responsibility of self-assessment (with sagely guidance from yours truly).  Learning would be for learning's sake. Period.

I actually tried that once.  While teaching at Grand Canyon University, a colleague and I taught a course in "The Sociology and Philosophy of Education."  He was on the Ed Faculty, and I a sociology professor.  We had 30 students, mostly Juniors and Seniors--almost all education majors, "Future Teachers," if you will.

We told them the first day of class that everyone would receive an "A" if they wished.  We had carefully planned the course and laid out what we felt were pretty engaging and meaningful assignments and projects.  None of them, however, was "required."  Nothing at all was required.  Not class attendance, not assignments, not tests.  Nothing.  We were going to offer them an opportunity to learn and stretch themselves.  It was totally up to them whether they wanted to participate or not.  In any case, their grade was not on the line.

We hoped, seeing that most of these were aspiring educators, that they would take us up on our challenge.  After all, at that time GCU was a private, not for profit, on-the-expensive-side University. These were "seasoned" college students.  Of course they wanted to learn, right?  Well.... not so much.

The first few weeks class attendance was great, and the interaction dynamic.  "Ah-ha!" we said to each other.  "Our students ARE outstanding!  They want to be here solely for the sake of learning!"

Our jubilation was premature.  Attendance began dropping off.  Fewer and fewer students completed assignments.  By the end of the semester, our average class attendance was down to five (but these students were super-engaged!).

We did send out a notice that we STRONGLY RECOMMENDED and would HIGHLY APPRECIATE everyone's attendance at the last class session.  Almost all the students showed up. During that class period, we had them self-assess.  We handed out our "final exam" with just one question:

"What grade should you be awarded in this class and why?"

The vast majority of them responded, "A.  Because tha'st what you said we'd get, regardless of our performance."

A few responded, "B.  I didn't do most of the work, but I did SOME!"

Those hardest on themselves were those five that had weathered the entire course.

So, was the experiment a failure?

A disappointment, for certain.  But from a sociological perspective, not a failure at all.  We had succeeded in demonstrating that--even with an otherwise highly motivated and talented group of undergraduates--the conditioning of our education system toward reward through grades (not learning) is nigh impossible to erase.  Has our educational system all but obliterated our love of learning?

This, to me, is an extremely sad commentary.  Some may argue that if college courses were "more relevant" then students would be more motivated.  Personally, I doubt it. Others might argue if the delivery were more dynamic, students would learn for its own sake.  Perhaps, but none of our students told us the class was "boring" or "irrelevant."  They were honest in saying that if they didn't HAVE to learn to get a good grade, they would simply "make better use of their time" and study for other classes in which they didn't already have an A.  For them, the choice was strictly utilitarian.

The class probably had a greater impact on us as instructors than it had on the students.  I guess I'm idealistic enough that this experiment didn't totally destroy my desire for students to learn for learning's sake.

How do I deal with this idea of "learning beyond grades" now?  Stay tuned...

Students Don’t Know What They Don’t Know… or THAT They Don’t Know!

Last week, Sheila Jarrell (our Registrar) came into my College Success class to share about how the college “works” in terms of registration processes, grades, transcripts, appeals, etc.  I think it’s fair to say that most of this was new information to the students.  To be honest, I even learned some things that, if I was a student here, would have been very advantageous.

At one point we put up “vocabulary words” regarding terms we use in higher education and asked the students to tell us what they understood about them.  The first words that Sheila threw out to the class were “Academic Standing”—you know, whether a student is in good standing, academic probation (or financial aid probation, which is different than the academic version), etc.  Certainly the class would know SOMETHING about this, right?

Dead, still silence.  The “deer in the headlights” look.  Not a clue.

The point here is not what “Academic Standing” is.  What struck me (and not for the first time) is the ASSUMPTIONS we (who have gone through the higher ed process and have obtained graduate degrees) make regarding what our students know and don’t know.  Many of us have been teaching for decades, and the processes for navigating a fairly complex culture and the strategies for success are second nature to us.  Indeed, they are a “taken for granted” part of our academic culture.

But students straight out of high school or coming to us from the work force for the first time don’t have this “insider knowledge,” much of it critical for their success.  I have likened coming to college as moving to another country to live.  Stepping off the plane, everything is quite foreign.  The “taken for granted” knowledge about how the world works suddenly doesn’t cut it anymore.  We experience “culture shock.”  Our students, for the most part, experience “college shock” when they come here for the first time.

When I first arrived in Indonesia to live in 1980, I remember stepping off the plane in 90 degree heat with 90+ percent humidity (with all the smells that accompany that climate in an overcrowded, Third World city like Jakarta), finding breathing (a normal activity for most of us) a very different, and even difficult, experience.  On the taxi ride to my accommodations (a frightening experience in and of itself), I saw numerous billboards advertising what seemed to be different kinds of “air.”  (The ads were written in Indonesian, a language I literally knew not one word of at the time.)  This kind of made sense to me, given my immediate experience.  I quickly learned that “air” (pronounced ‘aye-er’) in Indonesian was the word for “liquid or ”water.”  The billboards were pushing juice and soft drinks!

After teaching what has become our First Year Experience course for five semesters, I am convinced that the majority, if not all, our new students experience this kind of disorientation, EXCEPT--because this is Prescott and our policies, procedures and ways of doing things are expressed in English--they often don’t realize how disoriented they really are!  They need “air.”  It doesn’t matter how smart the students are or how well they did in High School or their jobs, college is still a new culture.

Bottom line is simply this:  Students don’t know what they don’t know, or even that they don’t know!  We wonder why our retention and completion rates are low when we don’t equip our new students with the “cultural knowledge” to be able to survive and thrive in this new place.  It seems we could almost say that, if we encourage or expect success, we have a kind of moral obligation to provide our new students with what they need, in terms of information and strategies, to succeed.

That’s why I am an unapologetic advocate of mandatory new student orientation and a required First Year Experience course for all new students.  I deeply want our students to succeed, both at Yavapai College and in life.  We can’t expect this if we don’t intentionally equip them with the tools to navigate our “cultural environment” (which, by the way, sometimes even confuses us!).

"Enabling" or "Empowering"?

Lately, I've been reconsidering some of my classroom practices in light of the question, “Am I really helping my students?”  Is accepting late work helping creating student responsibility?  Is the option to “re-do” assignments a learning tool or an excuse for not doing one’s best the first time around?  Does my attendance policy coincide with the expectations of the “real world” after college?  If students chose to play on their cell phones in class, should I really care?

The lens to which I am drawn in order to assess these issues is the concept of “enabling” versus “empowerment.” 

In short, “enabling” is when I—either intentionally or inadvertently—reinforce a behavior or habit that does not or will not serve my students well.  An example of this might be allowing students to show up late to class regularly.  Certainly this behavior will have negative consequences in their future endeavors.

“Empowerment” on the other hand, is when I provide students the structure and opportunity to move forward, to progress and to perform in ways that will enhance their present and future outcomes without instilling unwanted practices that may not work to their advantage later on.

I wish this were an easy exercise—“Yes, that empowers my students,” or “No, that doesn't help them at all.”  What I’m finding is that there are many shades of gray.  

So a second perspective I’m employing is whether my intended procedure just serves them for the short term (e.g., this course, this semester) or does it have the potential to reap long term benefits for the student.

It’s sometimes easier for me to “enable” students because it makes my life as an instructor easier.  So what if they miss class?  They’re adults (almost), right?  Who cares if their papers are late?  It’s just an academic exercise.  I admit the temptation to streamline things for myself.

But that’s not why I’m here.  That isn't why I chose to teach.  I want my students, perhaps later in life, to say to themselves, “I’m glad my instructor insisted on this practice.  It’s sure helping me now!” instead of “I wish my instructor had made me do that.  I’d be a lot better off if he had.”

Attendance, late work, resubmissions, cell phones.  These are some of the issues I’ve been re-contemplating.  I’d like to know what issues others have been dealing with and how.