Teaching and Truth-Telling

"Our course syllabus states that if I see or hear a phone during a class session, I will ask the owner to leave.  Because I have seen your cell phone out during today’s class, you need to leave immediately and quietly, and you will receive an absence for today.  Before returning to our next class session, you must meet with me during my office hours.  Please email or call to set an appointment time.”

This message is on a slip of paper I handed to a student yesterday. It was our third class meeting.

On Day One, we reviewed the course syllabus. I made sure to emphasize the importance of students leaving their cell phones off and stored away.  Despite these instructions, this student kept his iphone in plain sight—alternating between setting it on his desk and making good use of it.  At one point during class, I spoke with him privately about needing to put it in his backpack.

On Day Three, he repeatedly composed text messages during our class-wide discussion.

Our topic?   The value of a college education.
The course?  College Success.

He announced that this was his second time to take the course, since he stopped attending last semester after three weeks.  On his student information form, he listed one of his other teachers as “witch.”

And I lost count of how many times he said, “I don’t really care” during class.

But as his fellow students were moving into groups, I discreetly gave him the above-mentioned slip of paper.

Suddenly, he started caring.

I’m not certain of all he said, but I definitely heard “drop this class,” this before he slammed the door--hard.  We all heard that.

Later, I received an email saying how unfair I am.   The subject line for his parting words?  666.

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That was yesterday.

Today, do I regret my actions?

Should I regret them?

Earlier in my teaching career, it’s likely that I would have said “yes.”

If someone had described yesterday’s events to the teacher I was two decades ago, I might have said I had sympathy for her.  Secretly, though, I would’ve believed that the teacher could have—no, should have—handled the situation differently. I would have thought that her inability to engage the student, shown clearly by his unwillingness to comply with her expectations, was an obvious indicator of her need to significantly adjust her approach.

I would have believed she needed to be, well, more.
More welcoming.
More winsome.
More relatable.
More patient.
More articulate.
More flexible.

More willing to meet the student right where he was.

I would have put an invisible black mark by her name—a reminder that I would not be modeling my teaching after hers.

I would have viewed her as something other than the kind of teacher I wanted to be. And I would have worked hard—really hard—to avoid coming anywhere close to a situation that would call me to dismiss a student from my class.

That was then.

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Now, I’ve taught off and on for around two decades, mostly at my current community college.  And I love teaching.  Love my students.  Love challenging them to learn, grow, sharpen their skills.  Love watching many of them do just that.  Love the opportunity to perhaps make a small contribution to that process.

But I’ve certainly had my share of classroom challenges:

The student who seems fiercely committed to sabotaging my efforts at helping him learn.

The student whose dogged determination to do good work is overbalanced by significant deficits in foundational academic skills.

The student who mistakes my concern for her as a person with my intention to give her a good grade, regardless of the quality of her work.

The student who resents the whole notion of needing a college degree in order to qualify for a job.

The student whose general disenchantment with our educational system causes her to mistrust anyone claiming to possess knowledge that she might benefit from exploring, learning about, developing.

Such individuals appear in my classroom more rarely than those who are academically prepared, personally motivated, trusting of the educational system.  But the more challenging students do arrive on a regular basis. And though their presence adds a level of difficulty to the experience of teaching, I also believe each one of them offers something important to the classroom.

Why?  I suppose it has to do with my own belief—rooted in my faith—that each student, regardless of his or her abilities or attitude, has unique and vital gifts to offer his or her world.  My world.

So even during moments when a student’s actions make it difficult to view him or her from that perspective, I do try.

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I’m sure the student I dismissed yesterday did not experience my actions as caring.  The email he sent later made his perspective abundantly clear.

But that doesn’t mean his perspective is accurate.

As I tell my classes each semester, I am charged with what I consider a hefty responsibility:  My role as their teacher is to nurture the knowledge and skills that will help them achieve their goals on the job and in life. And each student has something—often many somethings—that he or she will need to learn in order to reach those goals.

This need to learn more isn’t a deficiency. It’s merely a fact. And regardless of whatever “shortcomings” my students might have, I’m confident that they are capable of good things, that they have something valuable to offer their community.  So when a student is selling himself short, or robbing herself (or others) of the opportunity to learn, I’d rather that student hear it from me now, instead of from a used-to-be-employer.

Some will suggest that I should have politely ignored his behavior.  Twenty years ago, I would have said the same.  And what if I had taken the high road, courteously turned a blind eye? Wouldn’t that be the more magnanimous response? 

Consider this:

Pretending along with this student that his actions are acceptable seems a bit like being an accomplice to a behavior that is likely to hurt him in the long run. If malevolence is wishing or acting in a way that will bring ill on a student, that kind of “magnanimity” seems terribly short-sighted, and maybe even selfish:  By turning a blind eye, I’m not taking the high road; I’m taking the easy one—and at my student’s expense.

I have to wonder how, where, and from whom this young man came to believe that such behaviors are going to work for him on the job and in life.  I can’t answer that question (though I have a few theories); however, I certainly don’t want to reinforce that idea.  If I do, I am selling him a lie.

Sometimes telling the truth is going to create discomfort. For all of us.

It certainly did yesterday.

A few decades ago, I would have seen that discomfort as a cue that I needed to be more as a teacher, or perhaps expect less from my students.

Today, I see it differently.

Motivation

[The following paragraph--an excerpt from a paper debating whether Pellissippi should provide laptops to students--is by Gus Green, who just completed my English 1010/Freshman Composition I course.  It appears in its original version--as he submitted it to me.] 

               Computers would enhance educator’s abilities to communicate information, improving student’s success.  Often, teacher’s ways of presenting information in class does not effectively educate every student because of people’s varied learning styles.  For instance, I still have to review material in multiple ways to remember everything because the teacher talked the entire class or only wrote notes.  These ill thought out approaches don’t accommodate for the three different styles of learning,  including visual, auditory and kinesthetic.  Visual learners comprehend best by seeing written notes and writing content down (Ellis).  Auditory learners absorb information best by hearing it and talking out lout (Ellis).  Kinesthetic learners digest work the most by doing hands on activities or building three-dimensional representations (Ellis).  The addition of computers would help with engaging all the different styles.  In a recent research project teachers got encouraging results integrating technology into a New York school system.  During the experiment, fourth grade teacher Sarah Kougemitros used computers to aid her teaching by “blending online learning with traditional teaching” which “motivated” her students (Martinez).  Her kids read from a computer but had the choice to read it themselves or listen to a recorded version.  With the computer’s flexibility more students understood the material. This looks like a simple success but it helped aid students who normally “would zone out and not be engaged” (Martinez).  If integrated, computers would contribute needed interaction in Pellissippi classrooms creating an engaging learning experience.

Works Cited

Martinez, Barbara. “Blending Computers into Classrooms.” Wall Street Journal (online). (2010). ERIC.  Web. 17 Nov. 2013.

Ellis, Dave.  Becoming a Master Student. Ed. Dave Ellis. 13^th ed. Boston: Wadsworth, 2011.42-44. Print.

QrePfG: Question regarding Parenting for GRIT

So, what does Parenting for GRIT {PfG} look like on Tuesday morning at 8:15?

Try this:

Choosing *not* to deliver the item your child forgot to take to school today.

Even though said child will experience unpleasant consequences as a result.

Even though you, too, may have to experience the unpleasantness which can accompany said child's reaction to these consequences.  And the unpleasantness of hearing said child's unhappy--or perhaps disrespectful--reaction to your decision.

Even though said child's regrettable reaction may call for additional and unpleasant consequences.  Consequences which, of course, you will need to implement.  Which, of course, involves even more unpleasantness.

Is this what PfG looks like on Tuesday morning at 8:15?
Or does it look different?

Curse-ive

Just today, a colleague inquired about how I give feedback on my students’ papers.  Specifically, this person wanted to know whether I print my comments, or use cursive. 

The question is a fair one, and it's part of an ongoing discussion amongst teachers.  After all, instructor comments are an integral part of students' understanding how to write better.   Because they are so important, we faculty members frequently talk about the most effective and efficient ways to provide written feedback on the many papers our students write. 

My colleague’s next observation, though, gave me pause:   

“I have found that most students cannot read cursive anymore.” 

I suppose I shouldn't be all that surprised in light of our increasing reliance on technology for all things communication-related.  After all, as one article details, there's been a significant decline in the teaching of cursive writing.  This could be one reason some of my students really don't like to write.  

Many, for example, have a fierce aversion to note-taking in class.  So, when I announce each semester that I don’t post my PowerPoints to D2L, and that I rarely even use technology during class, some are visibly chagrined. 

“But how are we supposed to remember what happens in class?” they ask—a  question I love to answer.

“Take notes each day," I say.   "Jot down some of what we discuss.  Annotate your textbook.  Or, if you are planning to resell it, write on post-it notes and stick them next to the text we’re discussing.”   

Some of them take my advice.  Others don't.  So I'm growing increasingly accustomed to students who, because they don’t like to write, simply choose not to.

And, believe it or not, I feel their pain.  After all, no one has ever accused me of ultra-legible handwriting. So why don't I use script, or--better yet--do all my grading on the computer? 

My colleague's question caused me to reflect on why I haven't changed my ways.  And this led to another (perhaps more significant) question:

How should college faculty (and perhaps all educators) respond to the knowledge that cursive is difficult to read for some students?  Should we adjust in order to accommodate this trend?

Please share your opinions here . . . you don't even have to write in cursive! 

[by Anne Lowry Pharr, gritology moderator]

D2L or D2P?

The following is a response to an earlier post and provides a different perspective regarding the merits and pitfalls of D2L.  Thanks to Mary Willis, who teaches English at Pellissippi State, for these thoughts.
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I go back and forth about how I feel about putting assignments up on D2L. I must admit, it would be much easier if all students would just come to class, participate, and take notes! I spend a great deal of time developing my course, and sometimes it is frustrating to think that a worksheet with little explanation or something I write as an afterthought on D2L is all one student might take away. But some students are in it for nothing more than a grade. To me, that sounds more like only the Desire 2 Pass instead of the more hoped-for Desire 2 Learn!

Thankfully, there is a mixture of students in every class, some extrinsically motivated and others intrinsically motivated.  When D2L is used effectively, it can actually build stronger bonds between all types of learners and help the class evolve into a budding community of writers who are excited to share and learn together. 

In the past, my students have commented that they felt much more comfortable talking in class once everyone started opening up on the D2L discussion boards. To me that is good news! A student likely will be more interested in coming to a class where his or her peers are excited to talk to one another and participate in classroom discussions.  One can hope that even the most disinterested of students would somehow find this kind of energy contagious and become more active in the class! 

Also, I often tell my students to use each other, so I’m glad to see them on D2L discussion boards sharing what they missed, asking each other to look over their essays, planning to meet up in the ERC group study rooms, and asking each other what assignments are due and when. In these ways, I find D2L effective.

Hopefully the announcements about assignments and homework are reminders for the students and nothing more. As a teacher, I will try just about anything to get my students more excited about my course. At the end of the day, though, all I can do is cross my fingers and hope that as many students as possible catch the Desire 2 Learn.

Why Grit?

Recently, I was forwarded a letter sent to all Webb School parents by headmaster Scott Hutchinson.  The excerpts below have been used with his permission:

"It is an increasingly common observation among educators and employers that this upcoming generation lacks the 'grit' to be a powerful and positive force in the workplace of tomorrow. By most accounts, this is true in large part because our children in general have not experienced, and worked themselves through, failure in various scenarios throughout their lives. They have not heard enough nor successfully processed enough constructive criticism to fully develop or participate in the critique process inherent in the workplace where they will spend the bulk of their careers."

Hutchinson's ideas echo Madeline Levine, author of the 2012 publication, Teach Your Children Well: Parenting for Authentic Success.  In her book, Levine points out that college admissions counselors describe today's students as "'failure deprived'" (184).  She goes on to assert that giving children opportunities to develop resilience--a non-cognitive skill--contributes far more to their overall success than focusing only on intellectual development.  

But in order for a child to develop resilience, s/he has to fail first. Which, as Hutchinson points out, can be hard for parents to tolerate:

"[R]escuing a child from any type of crisis or failure is so easy for me to recognize because I am so guilty of this as a parent. I am only now understanding how often I shortcut an important process by bailing my child out when a storm is on the horizon. . . . [M]any of us, when we are not fully thinking through the long-term consequences of our actions but just trying to ease the short-term discomfort of our child, find ourselves stepping into an equation that would best be served without us."

The tendency for parents to shield our children from the unpleasantness that accompanies failure can be well-intentioned.  No one wants her child to be discouraged.  And allowing her to experience such feelings is often seen as poor parenting.

But I'd argue that it's not.

In fact, I wonder whether making a habit of rescuing a child from failure--a practice I'll call over-parenting--may be a primary contributor to many of the problems our children face today.  Problems like apathy, low confidence, entitlement.  

And a lack of resilience, which our children desperately need.

Hutchinson acknowledges that stepping back as a parent isn't just counterintuitive; it's downright hard, and he admits his own struggle to do so.

"I am guilty as charged, and knowing what I should do . . . and having the discipline to do it may still be a ways off."

Obviously, it takes grit to help children develop grit.

But our willingness to do just that--to step back, to stop overparenting, to sacrifice the time and energy it takes to allow children to strengthen their resilience muscles--this may be one of the most powerful ways we will equip them to become self-sufficient, competent, and confident individuals.

[by Anne Lowry Pharr, gritology moderator]

Work Cited  

Levine, Madeline.  Teach Your Children Well:  Parenting for Authentic Success.  New York:  HarperCollins Publishers, 2012.