How to Recover from a False Start?

Experimentation and spontaneity can create a dynamic and exciting classroom environment, but what happens when experiments flop? For over three years now I’ve been teaching American Political Thought online. The students are required to complete weekly readings and short writing assignments in addition to a midterm and a final. But after a very successful summer course on Media and Politics where I had students create and maintain blogs on Tumblr, I decided to try something new. I scraped all of the traditional assignments and replaced them with a class blog called: what would the founders do? The idea was simple: our class would work together to provide robust commentary and insight on contemporary events based on key themes and arguments from our reading. In addition, I challenged the students to develop strategies to build a readership and offered extra-credit points for the articles with the most comments and shares. The possibilities seemed endless. But the project failed to launch. One, two, three weeks passed without a single student posting on the blog. Despite daily reminders, pleas, trouble-shooting technical difficulties only three students out of fifteen participated on the page. Frustrated and at a loss, I decided to change course. In an attempt to recover I scrapped the project and returned to my old syllabus. I gave students an option to pursue a dual track – they could continue writing for the blog or they could do reading responses. Only one student opted for the blog. By changing the syllabus three weeks into the semester, I risked my authority as the professor but it allowed me to reengage the bulk of students who were otherwise lost. While I survived the semester, I paid for it in the number of email clarifications I sent and perpetually tardy assignments. It also meant that this semester, I have been much more hesitant to experiment.

Teaching Through the College Transition

In my three years teaching at UMass, I’ve had hundreds of students.  If you count my time as a teaching assistant, that number would be in the thousands.  In all that time, I only met one set of parents – it was move in week and we bumped into each other at a café. 

While secondary school teachers are in a game of chess, negotiating school administrations, unions, helicopter parents and students, College professors are playing checkers.  They have the distinct advantage of singular, content-based focus.  In other words, all they have to worry about is education.  But the singular focus, risks myopia.  College marks that strange, awkward (and now prolonged) transition to independence and adulthood.  It’s those very struggles that often enter into the classroom sideways – chronic tardiness, sleeping in class, plagiarism, generally being unprepared.  Which makes me think – is the single focus flawed?  Would a broader perspective help professors connect with students and teach their material?    And if so, what would that look like? 

UMass, Amherst’s Residential Academic Program (RAP) might provide a model:  Students live together in the same dorm and take three classes together – one in the dorm room.  It’s an opportunity for a small college experience at a big research university.  The class provides a bridge between college life and college responsibilities.  As an instructor, there is one big difference – it’s not just an educational environment, it’s a social environment.  While in my traditional classes, students hardly speak to one another before or after class, in RAP classes, I often had a hard time getting students to stop talking. 

On the one hand, it made my job more difficult – I had to balance a social dynamic in addition to class requirements and content instruction.  But on the other hand, it helped deliver a more meaningful classroom experience for the students.  Many of whom, stay in touch. 

But the parents – for better and for worse – are still absent from the picture.  I’m not suggesting that helicopter parents should make the trip to college.  But is there a presence of absence that should be acknowledge or considered?  And if so, what does that look like? 

Reading an Op-Ed in the Washington Post this morning by Michael Gerson reminded me that there is a complex social and familial dynamic – alongside the complex economic calculation – underpinning the college experience.  And professors would be crazy to think that that doesn’t creep into the classroom. 

Creating A Meaningful Classroom Experience

I reserve a lot of my class time for students to brainstorm ideas, reflect on assignments and share their work.  Last semester, a little past the halfway mark, we were shifting our focus to the final research paper – the classic 15 page college research paper, the kind that students put off until finals week and then, like an Octopus swimming in a sea of coffee, type 100 pages overnight in a caffeine induced frenzy.  I asked students to take out a piece of paper and fill in the blank: I am writing about x because I want to find out about y.  And then, I asked them to pose a question about their topic. 

I sat and watched the students write for a few minutes and then started the classic show and tell discussion…who wants to share?

But the first student who shared threw a curve ball.  We talked for a few minutes about her topic and then I asked, “what’s your question?”

“Will it be meaningful?” She replied.

That’s not really what I meant, but she struck at the heart of a major and often over looked question that students struggle with: what’s the point?

I remember when I was writing my Master’s thesis, I called up a friend who I trusted and admired and asked him to help read a section and help me think through a problem.  We had a long, creative and reflective email exchange.  But in his last note he wrote: I don’t know why you spend so much time on school, but I hope you find it meaningful. In other words, what’s the point?

At the time, I didn’t have a good answer. I had lots of ideas about how my work was “meaningful” that didn’t necessarily comport with reality…I’m changing the world #Obvi.  In retrospect, it had more to do with answering a question that pricked me.     

But back to the classroom.  So, what makes a paper meaningful? And what makes it meaningless? 

I threw the question back to the students and we launched into a forty-five minute discussion about college. I can’t say the conversation was on topic, but I learned a lot about the way students think about their role in the classroom.

Here’s some of the feedback:

1. A paper is meaningful if it contributes to a larger, local or national conversation.   
2. A paper is meaningful if the student feels like they have the opportunity to gain some mastery over topic or subject. 
3. A paper is meaningful when students have a personal connection to the question or the topic.
4. A paper is meaningful when students receive a good grade.

The irony, of course, is that if the students fulfill the first three items on the list, the last will almost inevitably follow.  While every student could point to a handful of classes or papers that met these criteria, the majority of classes fell short.  So what makes a paper meaningless? According to the students:

1. When the Professors are looking for a preset answer.
2. When they are trying to meet the professors expectations.
3. When they are assigned a topic (When every student writes on the same topic).
4. When they receive a bad grade.

As an instructor or a professor, it’s likely that you have an intrinsic (and possibly delusional) love of your work – how else could you have survived graduate school?  Regardless of your fantasies, it’s unlikely that your students feel the same way.  But that doesn’t mean they can’t learn.  Helping students find meaning in their work and in the classroom makes teaching and learning easy.  It means that students are more likely to meet deadlines, read assignments, write drafts and deliver quality “A” work. 

Using Prezi to Create Dynamic Content for Online Courses

The first time I taught an online class, I wrote and posted 26 lectures.  Originally, I had thought about filming virtual lectures (complete with laugh track).  But I lacked the time, technology and talent to create engaging stylized videos.  Instead, I came up with talking head videos that were more painful to watch than the Nyan Cat on repeat.  So I posted the lecture notes instead. 

This semester, in an ongoing attempt to break out of blackboard, I started to experiment with Prezi – the flash-based presentation software that allows the users to move in three dimensions.  While nothing can replace the face to face experience of the classroom, Prezi adds a dynamic, interactive and playful quality to the information…even more so than video. 

Traditional slide show software like Power Point, are poorly suited to online classes.  Slide shows that artfully incorporate images and key concepts can be great for large presentations.   But they are only ever a compliment to the presentation, not the presentation itself.  Flipping through slide shows without the presenter – even really good slide shows – feels too much like story time at the public library.

But Prezi actual stands in the place of the presenter and encourages the user to have a unique interaction with the content.  It allows you  to move back and forth between the details and the big picture.  It puts the user in charge and allows them to move through at their own time.  They can follow links, watch videos, listen to audio-casts, look at images or simply read the text.   

Four Key Qualities of Good Teaching

Last year, I had the honor of receiving the Distinguished Teaching Award at UMass, Amherst…really it was “a” DTA…I think there were five recipients in all.  But still, it felt good to be recognized, especially in a field where recognition rarely extends beyond the immediate classroom experience.

 

After I won, more and more people started to ask me about good teaching.  Of course, sometimes the questions come out sideways: So, what makes YOU such a good teacher?  

Despite the questionable sincerity, these interactions forced me reflect further on teaching and student feedback and distill the key elements of my experience.  So here’s how I answer:

1) Create a meaningful classroom experience -- Most students don't know why they are in college, nevertheless why they are in my class.  Being able to craft a compelling narrative that connect with the students and that helps explain why the work matters will go a long way.  After all, if the students are bought in, than everything else falls into place. 

2) Value the knowledge that students bring to the classroom -- everybody has something to offer, you just need give your students a chance to share and contribute. The key is to be able to take their knowledge and experience and connect it back to the course content and the larger narrative of the class. 

3) Balance preparation and spontaneity -- it's easy to prepare and it's important to prepare, but if you focus only on preparation you tend to get bogged down talking about the trees while missing the forest.  Spontaneity creates the opportunity for dynamic and lively discussion.  It opens up the opportunity to value the knowledge and experience that your students bring to the classroom – the very thing that you can’t know or prepare for ahead of time.

4) Put students first –in grad school, we’re taught strict reverence for our discipline, but that doesn't always translates to good teaching; we’re taught to put content first and students second…or third.  What does it mean to put students first?  Part of that is valuing the knowledge that they bring to the classroom.  The other part is investing time in students: that means flexible office hours, reviewing drafts, and answering emails 24/7.  It entails a challenging commitment to students.  But it's a commitment that pays off tenfold in classroom outcomes.