The Mentor Is In

  • 16 Aug 2010 /  advice, teaching tips

    This is a companion to my last post about classroom maintenence. In this post, I want to segue from maintaining our physical environment, to maintaining our health.  Crafting a plan to manage illness for both yourself and your students can improve classroom performance.

    As I mentioned in the last post, I often swab down the desks with Clorox wipes. I am especially likely to do this during cold and flu season. One of my students recently asked me if I am a germophobe. The truth is, not in the least, when I am in my own home or garden or kitchen or what have you. However, if you teach five to seven classes a semester, packed with 30 to 50 students, and you see them all three times a week, it is prudent to take precautions. I’ve been pleased to see that, at least one school where I teach, tissues and hand sanitizer in large sizes have been placed prominently on my desk. I also recommend, per the CDC, ‘being vigilant about cleaning and disinfecting classroom materials’ and using a ‘EPA registered household disinfectant spray’ (http://www.cdc.gov/flu/school/qa.htm) like Lysol.

    One of the worst illnesses I have contracted in recent memory occurred when a student walked up right up to me, coughed, and then hoarsely whispered, “my throat is sore, I think I may have strep.” While I sent them right home, the damage was done, I had officially contracted strep and was eating jello for the next two weeks!  If a student is feeling unwell, my policy is to send them home. It is a judgment call, but if you can tell from the front of the classroom, that they are grey-faced and bleary eyed, don’t wait for them to decide. Send them home.

    It is one of the many ironies of our profession that half the class can barely manage to show up, while the other half drag themselves in come hell or high water. I’ve had students show up with bandaged heads, while others are calling in sick for the equivalent of a hangnail.  It is ultimately up to them, but most students are relieved by the reminder that they can get notes from a friend (or online) and that you can give them a makeup exam (again, I recommend online, but that is another post).

    As we head into the last lap of the Spring semester, it is important to remind them to manage their stress and health during finals. Basic advice, like getting enough sleep, taking a deep breath now and then, and eating right, can help them finish the semester without collapsing.  The same goes for us; keeping your body and mind healthy can ward off depression and burnout, and keep us at the top of our teaching game.

    A simple exercise is just to relax your jaw, you don’t even have to look weird while doing it. Keeping your mouth closed, just drop your jaw and let your tongue ‘float’ up to the roof of your mouth. I’ll bet when you do this, you didn’t even know how much tension you were carrying around in your face. Some other reputable ideas for stress relief can be found here (http://www.fi.edu/learn/brain/relieve.html).

    How about your own state of wellbeing? If you are sick, you should not agonize over the decision, call in and stay home. By making this a standing policy, you have eliminated the stress of making the decision over and over again.  What does ’sick’ mean, however? Many times, if we are already stressed and burned out, we want to ‘read’ a cold as ‘the flu’.  Again, it is a judgment call, but if an OTC cold medication and a cup of hot tea can set you right, you should probably go in. You can’t prevent people from catching colds, and as long as you wash your hands and keep your distance, you should be guilt free.  Anything that involves a fever, stomach upset, or muscle weakness should have you in bed, however. 

    If you can avoid cancelling class, by having a colleague show a movie or administer a test, do it. It is a fine line, between taking care of yourself and losing the momentum of a course.  Not showing up can sometimes feel like a breach of trust between your students and yourself, and it can result not only in lost time for lectures and activities, but the problem is compounded by the confusion and explanations necessitated by your return. Know your campus, if your sick notice is likely to get lost in the shuffle, is there someone else you can call in a pinch? At least to have them put a note on the door? If there is such a trusted ally, keep their office number on speed dial.

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  • 24 May 2010 /  advice, organization, teaching tips

    In my teaching philosophy, the student is embedded within a context, an environment, that can either help or hinder learning. Today I want to talk about an unsung aspect of classroom management: being the janitor.  In today’s cheeseparing world of section cuts and budget crises, the one thing you can count on is that every department on campus is understaffed, including maintenence.  When you consider how low a priority campus upkeep could be in the flush years, it should not surprise any of us to find ourselves now working in environments Mrs. Havisham would have despised.

    I remember, as an undergraduate learning (perhaps apocryphally) that outside windows at my alma mater were washed only every seven years. As an anthropologist, I am used to finding my departments stuffed in the basements and dungeons of the oldest and grottiest of buildings; perhaps as a nod to the archaeologists. So it is, that, over the years, I have learned to come equipped with a tub of Clorox wipes (desks not cleaned since the Cretaceous), my own whiteboard cleaner, air freshener (mold in the ventilation), and even WD 40! 

    This morning provides a case in point. Currently, my classes are being held in a building that is soon to be demolished. Outwardly full of charm, built in the 1920s in the Mission Revival style, inside it is wall-to-wall scuffed linoleum, broken window blinds, and fetid smells from facilities limping to extinction. “This building is dying,” said one of my students perceptively. 

    Bad enough that we suffer through jackhammers and metal saws as construction proceeds on the replacement building, or that the air conditioning is set to blast on or stay sullenly still according to an arcane formula that does not take California weather into account. I have to believe that taking control of the few things I can helps to provide a slightly saner, better learning environment for students, and a pleasanter workspace for myself. So I spent a few minutes today, before my first class, straightening out the desks, relegating the most outdated and cramped to the back and corners of the room. I wipe down the whiteboards, keep windows and doors cracked (yes, the building is THAT old, we have windows that open) to dispel the fumes.  I dusted down the computer station, and went around picking up trash, including vertical blinds that had broken off and sagged to lurk, waiting to trip the unwary.  Another few minutes while I push and tug the enormous brontosaurus of a wooden desk into a position that allows me to manuever around it with some grace.  Then, before the students trickle in, I have a moment to observe that everything is as ’shipshape and Bristol fashion’ as that old dying beast of a building is likely to ever see again. It is a good feeling, and I think students unconsciously respond to the sense of caretaking.

    Other times I have wiped down desks, handing out Clorox wipes to students and have them help. I’ve picked up all the pens and pencils and other assorted office supplies that accrete, and hold little auctions, five cents here, ten cents there, with the change being available for the odd student who 1) forgot their Scantron and 2) has no change to get one from the vending machine. I’ll wait for months before finally chucking out the piles of work some professors leave behind in the nooks and crannies. I’ve climbed under desks, even helped reorganize the wiring from computer to outlet, so as to prevent an OSHA incident.  

    Stock the stapler strapped to the wall? Guilty. Sprayed WD 40 so I can open ancient, rusty windows. Mea culpa. I really don’t mind the DIY aspects of my job, as it isn’t like I do it every day, I just think of it as a Zen exercise in awareness. I find that tackling a classroom once a year can help, and I think it may even have a salutary effect on my fellows inmates (cough, I mean, colleagues).

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  • The question, dear Horatio, is how often do you change your course material?  Textbooks come out with new editions seemingly every year (or bi-annually at the very least) but to those of us in the trenches, the ability to revisit our lesson plans is limited by the fact that generally we teach year round.  In the week here or there between semesters, I am either getting caught up from the previous term, prepping for the upcoming term, or taking a much needed vacation. Meanwhile, new editions, and their rivals from other publishers, are piling up in the mail room. I only recently discovered that the mail room is delighted to send them back for me, so I now no longer lug around unrequested pounds of books destined only for:

    A dusty shelf

    A needy student

    A school library

    That takes care of the ones I do not wish to review. But what about the textbook I already use? Nowadays the very choice is taken away from us, to use the 12th edition instead of the 13th, since everything is bar-coded and computerized and bookstores are compelled to purchase the latest and greatest from the publisher. This regardless of whether you think they made a grievous error in the latest revision or not!  What about my collateral material? The stuff I have painstakingly collected and collated over the years? In Cultural Anthropology changing one ethnographic example could mean the tossing out of an ancillary article or rendering an exercise meaningless.  What is a body to do?

    I have arrived at a compromise, a series of re-vamps in steps, ranging from the micro-scale in terms of time and effort (skimming each new addition for landmines); to acts requiring a modicum of effort (deleting an activity here, substituting an article there); to the large, complete overhaul.  The first I conduct immediately upon receipt of the newest edition, running through the text with a fresh, juicy highlighter pen, making sure all of my old friends (the Maya! the Ju/Hoansi! the Trobriand Islanders!) are all still in their places with bright shiny faces. I made need to make a correction or two on the fly (I had one overhead that I think I had to delete the prefix un- from every single class for years, because it was just so insignificant I never would remember it until it popped up in class) but little time is invested or wasted.

    The next scale I have to rethink at the beginning of every term, as I write the schedule of readings for the syllabus. This one is hemmed about by the structure of the semester, how many days and hours, and even when the term is taking place (e.g. I can only offer the New World Thanksgiving extra credit in fall). Some readings fall by the wayside, because no matter how much I love them, they just do not fit with the pace or focus of the course.  Others I may include as filler, knowing I am liable to drop them when I need some extra time. Sometimes they get dropped from the new edition, when my Talking About Peoplereader dropped a Sidney Mintz article, it was a body blow; taking a chunk of lecture and an in-class activity with it.

    The largest task, the complete review and re-vamp, I do about every four to five years.  This means pulling apart the sinews holding the class together; reviewing my entire philosophy on the subject, how it should be taught, and what students should learn.  I check over recent literature on all of the main subjects: Are people still practicing polyandry? Have I mushed together Arnold Van Gennep and Victor Turner? How about Band/Tribe/Chiefdom/State, has that been superseded by new post-modern interpretations?

    I throw away out of date articles, delete exercises that have served their purpose or are no longer being well-received. I edit my lecture notes, inserting all of those things I have been saving up (u- for example) and adding new pictures or graphs.  I upload salient items to the latest online platform, writing new bits as appropriate. Then I stitch the entire edifice back together, dress it with a table of contents and a lesson plan overview, and pack it into a clean binder.  Et voila! I am done.  At least until the next course’s overhaul comes due, that is.

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  • 05 May 2010 /  teaching tips

    One of my little tricks of the trade is to get my students moving.  I sprinkle activities throughout my course design that makes them get out of their chairs, walk around, stretch, and even go outside. This helps keep the oxygen flowing to their brains, and is well worth it, pedagogically speaking.

    Classroom desks are invariably small, rigid, and uncomfortable. Many times the classroom is overheated and stuffy.  Afternoons we spend lecturing to the postprandial crowd. With the best of intentions, we all lapse into a monotone drone at some point or another.  Students start dropping like dozy flies. Heads jerk, yawns are stifled, eyes droop. 

    Rather than take it personally, jolt them out of their stupor.  I admit a predilection for the onomatopoeic BAM! BOOM! ZAP! But there are other ways to wake them up which you can build in to your repetoire.

    During my physical anthropology class, we demonstrate brachiation by having everyone stand (who can) and swing their arms around in a circle. “Ever seen a dog do this?” I ask? They laugh, the stretch re-sets them, and they can sit down for another fifteen minutes or so of lecture.  We also stand up and sort ourselves by height and gender for a demonstration in sexual dimorphism.  They can move around in the fossil lab, swapping out skull casts and using my computer to look things up.

    In my cultural anthropology class, I have at least three ‘get up and move around’ activities: the Survival exercise, where they wander the campus for about twenty minutes to reorient themselves after a quiz; the Disney exercise, where they draw maps of a space they are analyzing on the whiteboard with markers; and the Totem exercise, where they draw their ‘totem animals’ on the whiteboard with markers.

    The Totem exercise has a dual purpose, in that it is meant to make them contrast their own work with cave paintings, so that they see the level of sophistication inherent in ancient art. At the same time, with so many of them sheepishly wandering up to the board claiming, “I can’t draw” it allows me to segue into my salutary lesson titled, “You can get better at anything with practice.”

    Our culture is permeated with the fallacious idea that some people are just naturally good at things. If you are not lucky enough to have drawn the ‘art gene’ or the ‘math gene’ then oh well.  No need to try and get better. In fact, this concept is downright disrespectful to everyone who does try to get better, by denying their hard work and assuming they just come by it easily, naturally.  It is like that old joke about how do I get to Carnegie Hall? Practice, practice, practice.

    Over the years I have had students come up to me, surprised that they now enjoyed (and are good at) math, science, what have you. Especially the women. Gee, what cultural messaging could they have been receiving?  I point out that as they are older and in a different setting, their motivation and purpose for being there are also different.  At that moment you can see the lightbulb going off over their head. Aha!

    Building the physical back into our pedagogy can help train limbs and minds weak from disuse, remind them of the joy of drawing, observing, teamwork. At the same time, it wakes the sleepyheads back up, so that you are no longer staring at their bridgework.

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  • 19 Apr 2010 /  advice, teaching tips

    This past week, there was an article in InsideHigherEd about a professor who found herself yanked from her biology classroom at Louisiana State University after students complained about her exams (http://www.insidehighered.com/news/2010/04/15/lsu). Apparently, this tenured veteran, with thirty years under her belt, was known for her rigor and high standards and she had recently returned to teaching introductory courses for non-majors, after fifteen years of upper division courses. Her teaching style included giving quizzes every class, and having up to ten answers to some of her multiple choice questions, whereupon 90 percent of her class failed the first quiz. I highly recommend reading the entire article, for all around, the scenario was extreme:

    Quizzes every class?

    10 answer multiple choice questions?

    Ambiguous wording about ‘rewarding students who improve’?

    Writing and delivering good exams is an art that only develops with attention and practice. I have seen some terrible exams from colleagues over the years, including tree killers that waste enormous amounts of paper just through poor formatting. After much experimenting, I have found the following parameters to work well for me:

    Four to six exams for a semester (so about one every three weeks). An exam should aim to cover no more than three or four chapters in an introductory textbook, maybe more if the chapters are thematically linked into modules with clear meta-questions.

    I call mine ‘quizzes’ but just because they tend to be under 100 points. That is a personal preference. All of mine are the same format and length, including the ‘final exam’. I would put in a maximum of 50 questions, worth two points each. These are a mix of multiple-choice, true/false, and matching. I find these are the best question types for testing actual reading and retention of course material.

    I base my exams strictly on the textbook, leaving lecture for exegesis and illustration. This way, students can defend their choices, or find my errors in a fair and consistent manner. If I based my exams on lecture, the possibility that I misremembered what I delivered that day could be detrimental to student interests.

    I generally do not use short answer or essay questions in my introductory courses, as experience has taught me that I tend to be somewhat overly helpful in my interpretations. We all want our students to do well, and we can often figure out where they are going with their gobbled-gook, but how fair is it to the student we don’t automatically understand or connect with?

    I tend to cluster questions in terms of where it occurs in the textbook, as I believe this can often help ‘cue’ the student’s memory. Questions also gradually get more difficult as the exam progresses – this is a subtle reassurance to students who may get panicky in the face of exams. Lobbing a few softballs to warm them up helps to make sure that test performance is based more on what they learned (or didn’t) than on pure fear and adrenaline.

    The majority of questions should be answerable by about half of the students; with tiers thereafter of questions only 25 percent and 10 percent could answer. This separates the sheep from the goats, the students who are good test takers from those who actually did the work. It is fair for students who work hard be rewarded, and those who did not to be left behind at the hurdle.

    Speaking of fairness, questions should not be “tricksy” and misleading. I think we sometimes overinvest in the process, and this leads us to the creation of the kind of over-elaboration I brought up at the beginning of this post.

    Finally, I think it is important to imbue students with the sense that exams are important academic rituals. Give them proper instructions leading into the exam, and how to close it out. Make sure that classroom discipline is observed, with quiet for people who are still working. Enforce time-limits uniformly, or students will feel betrayed that some folks appear to get preferential treatment. Make sure your accommodations have been signed off on by whoever handles ADA issues on your campus. Have exam procedures clearly laid out in your syllabus, and be able to explain your decision-making process to students who ask rational and polite questions. Last but not least, get exams graded, entered and back to students quickly. Frankly, no more than a week should elapse, otherwise you have moved on to other material and the exams will no longer seem relevant.

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  • 06 Apr 2010 /  grading, teaching tips

    Over the years I have given a great deal of thought to grading, incentives, and fairness.  One anecdote will illustrate what started me on the road to thinking about how often our grading systems can slip into the red zone of unfairness was an incident when I was a TA in graduate school. The professor I was teaching for (mind you this is anthropology) maybe didn’t have the clearest grasp of basic math, like percentages, means, modes, and medians.

    This professor had constructed a wildly illogical method for ‘smoothing’ out those pesky in-between grades, you know, the ‘so close to an A minus that you can taste it B plus’ and the ‘oops, one slip of a digit can send this guys off the map into F land’ kind of grades.  His system, and sadly I can’t remember all of the gory mathematical details, had the effect of rewarding good students for doing well, and punishing bad students for doing poorly, that enhanced the bi-modal distribution of his grade distribution.

    He is not alone in this, and I remember some of my thinking on this subject was sparked by an NEA Higher Education Advocate newsletter (http://www.nea.org/home/37810.htm) which reported that quite a few of our colleagues have somewhat sketchy grading practices (I’d love to hear some further examples from you in the comments section!)

    An example drawn from my son’s elementary school can help illustrate what can happen. Recently, a teacher was trying to incentive effort by measuring performance on multiple choice exams, while not understanding some of the statistical effects such a practice would have:

    If students improved their math scores by one percent, they were rewarded. Students who did not improve got extra work, and students who had already done well were also rewarded. Problems ensued because they had created a two-pronged incentive system that rewarded good students for doing well, and rewarded poor students for doing ‘better’ but punished the middle for not improving even when they have exceeded a statistically average outcome. I like to call this the, “you got a B but you should have gotten an A so I am giving you a C” rationale, courtesy of a former social sciences teacher of mine.

    This system is arbitrary. Let’s see why:

    If a student is struggling in class, and got say, a 59%, then brought it up to a 60%, they received a reward though they are still performing below the average; whereas the child who got an 80% and didn’t make any improvement got extra work. Statistically speaking, it’s much harder to close a smaller gap than a larger one. Also statistically speaking, a low performing student could still, through random chance, improve their grade by one point more easily than a higher performing one.  To further ‘de-randomize’ the experiment, the teacher had actually removed the top scoring students from needing to improve. What if they had gone DOWN on the second try? They have luck on their side on multiple choice exams just as much as any other student. Regression to the mean practically stipulates that some of those pupils would have performed more poorly.

    I appreciate the attempt to incentive effort - and believe me, I know how hard it is to do this sort of thing; I wrestle with it all the time with my own students.  But I think seeking to reward ‘intent’ by measuring it with performance on a multiple choice exam, is a recipe for unhappiness.  Here are some things I do in my classroom to when I want to incentivize either effort or performance, but do not wish to conflate the two:
     
    For rewarding performance
     
    If you get 100% on an exam, I give you a 5$ gift certificate (like to Starbucks). This is a straightforward outcome, you either achieve it or you don’t. I’ve given out two in the past five years.
     
    For rewarding effort
     
    I have a ‘maps’ assignment that we never get time to finish (a filler activity) so I send them home and say, ‘hey, you can work on this at home, or not, your choice.’ Then, in a future class, at the end of the session, I’ll give them 15 minutes to work on the maps, but those who did them at home get to turn them in and leave early. This rewards extra effort.
     
    To promote effort

    I will often reward everyone for trying whether they all ‘deserve’ it or not. Nothing succeeds quite as well as liberal praise. Further, I am a big believer that stickers and candy, judiciously applied, remain as great a motivator for eighteen as they do for eight.

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  • 02 Apr 2010 /  advice, teaching tips

    Pedagogy is the art of getting people to learn. As college professors, teaching people how to learn is at the heart of our profession.  The activities we assign need to be geared toward that end, and so this post is about tips for creating effective assignments, ones that motivate learning through action.

    My richest vein for creativity that I tap tends to be my own undergraduate experience.  I think all of us had some version of the experience of listening to a professor talk about ‘political economy’ or ‘hegemony’ as if we should know what they were referring to (fill in the appropriate term from your discipline).  Another common one is seeing the words, “Needs More Analysis” written in red ink on a term paper.  Most students have only the haziest understanding of what analysis means, so to ask them for more of it is an exercise in futility.  It’s like the canard, ‘how can I look up a word in the dictionary if I don’t know how it is spelled?’

    What were other gaps or frustrations you experienced?  How can we anticipate and fill these for students? Going beyond this, what are some useful aspects of your discipline for ‘real’ life? How can we get students to apply theory to transcend their understandings of everyday existence?

    I personally aim for them to ‘think different’ at the end of an activity.  I also like to intersperse activities such that they wake up oxygen starved brains and shake up sleepy limbs – so one example is that I have students do a Survival Exercise after a quiz in Cultural Anthropology.  I have them team up, and taking notebooks and pens, they head outside on campus, looking for useful plants and animals in their immediate environment:

    Instructions for Patterns of Subsistence/Survival Exercise

    • Get into groups of four – each group will be a band.  Pick an animal to be your totem, i.e. The Squirrels.
    • During this class period you are going outside to collect data on as many useful plants and animals as you can find on campus
    • You have ½ hour to head outside, scout around, and note down (no picking) as many plants and animals as members in your group can identify, name, and use.
    • When the half-hour is up, return to the classroom to compare notes with the rest of your tribe.  Remember, the tribe is counting on your for survival!

    Rules

    • You may also write down (no picking) plants and animals that you know for a fact are at another location on campus.
    • If you find nothing, your whole band is considered to be deceased.  You lose! You join the spirit elders and help to break any resulting ties.
    • When considering a plant or animal – think about all uses: edible, drinkable, inhalable, topical, etc.
    • Don’t forget all parts when identifying uses – roots, leaves, seeds, and so on.
    • If you unknowingly pick a poisonous plant, you will die or at the very least experience extreme discomfort, at my discretion.

    Reward

    • For every useful item you identify, you get one (1) point. 
    • Every item means, if you identify a root for roasting, seeds for toasting, leaves for salad, and flowers for tea, you would get four (4) points.
    • The band with the most points will become the tribal leaders.

    As students read about hunter-gatherers and their patterns of subsistence, they will be able to compare the numbers of useful plants they can identify (usually 10-20) with the thousands used by groups like the Ju|’hoansi (http://www.peoplesoftheworld.org/hosted/juhoansi/). 

    This exercise thus also helps them begin to deconstruct pernicious us/them attitudes about ‘civilized/primitive’ which is a primary learning objective in any Intro to Cultural class.  In terms of promoting pedagogical goals, this exercise uses vocabulary terms (band, tribe, totem) while it also promotes teamwork and cooperation, and gives them a transition from one learning module into the next. 

    I came up with the exercise by thinking back to how little exposure I got to everyday plant life until I went out and learned it on my own, as it isn’t really something we learn in passing.  Hopefully, the exercise shows students the utility of paying attention to one’s own environment for sustenance, as well as sparking some general interest in the natural world around us.

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  • 24 Mar 2010 /  teaching tips

    This blog has been geared toward introductory classes and those teaching them, since my assumption is that a blog on teaching tips will be most attractive to new professors, and new professors largely teach the introductory courses.  This is also a blog geared toward adjuncts, and though some of us may be lucky enough to garner courses in our specialty area, the truth is, we are the Sherpas of the academic world – and the bulk of our workload will be made up of teaching sections of  ____________ 101.

    If you are teaching introductory courses in your discipline, it is highly likely that you will also face a preponderance of freshmen, so I see this blog as dedicated to the newest of the new on both sides of the podium.  If this is you, then you may have found one of the most obscurely difficult tasks to have been defining what your actual job is.  My theory is that, around those of us in iconic jobs (professor, priest, cop) there is actually a veil of mystery about how we really go about our days. 

    On the sitcom Friends, there was a running gag about how no one knew what Chandler Bing did all day (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chandler_Bing) but in truth, his type of job is much more familiar to most people; sitting at one’s desk, doing data entry, going to meetings, the old 9 to 5, etc.  But us? Who are we and what are our actual jobs? How shall we conduct ourselves in a way that communicates our role most effectively?

    This question becomes most acute while in the classroom filled with fresh faces, some of whom can still be in high school.  As I mentioned in my last post, these students may still insist upon calling you “teacher” and “Miss So and So” despite your doctorate. It is therefore up to us to enculturate them into a universe that more closely resembles the nineteenth century Russian civil service than it does a cult of Druids hacking down mistletoe with golden scythes in the groves of academe. 

    Formality helps, and in my opinion, you are doing students no favors if you encourage them to call you by your first name.  Eventually, they will run into someone who yells at them over this.  I am slowly leaning toward also calling students by an honorific and their last name, though I have not yet put this into practice. This is, of course, a controversial subject, generating much heat and light in the blogosphere (https://netfiles.uiuc.edu/hschein/www/readings/What%20Should%20We%20Call%20the%20Professor.htm).  Robert T. Tauber in his book, Classroom management: sound theory and effective practice, going into the details of ‘naming’ practices on page 398, essentially argues that this somewhat old-fashioned orientation breeds respect between student and professor (as long as it is not deployed sarcastically).

    Stereotyping our students as teacups and krispies may be fun,(http://www.slate.com/blogs/blogs/xxfactor/archive/2009/03/19/we-don-t-want-to-raise-teacups.aspx); but the idea that Millennial students are vastly different from those who have come before  has little empirical validity (http://chronicle.com/article/The-Millennial-Muddle-How/48772/) and thus is not terribly helpful as a guide to understanding them, their worldview or behavior.  Regardless of generational differences, however, one fundamental schism between high school and college remains; high school is mandatory while college is a choice. Therefore students need to be swiftly weaned from the idea that we will chase after them like mother hens, and in fact, the relationship is reversed.  If they want our attention they will need to fight for it like lumberjacks at a pancake breakfast.  Keeping in mind, this is 180 degrees from their previous educational experience, where teachers and parents jointly decided their fates.  Now, even the most intensely involved parent must, perforce, distance themselves from the day to day activities of their chicks.

    The other day, a student came up to me after class, and wanted me to provide him with an individualized refresher on the assignment that was coming due.  I told him ‘no’, and explained that, as written in the syllabus, he needs to get together with fellow students to obtain information that he may have missed in lecture.  This is not to be mean, or even as a time-saving device (it isn’t) but I do it because I want to encourage them to be responsible for their own education.  Developing a collegial network of their own is, counter-intuitively, conducive to their independence. They no longer need to dangle from my apron strings, expecting me to individualize my course for them after the other forty students have filed out of the door.

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  • 15 Mar 2010 /  teaching tips

    Folks new to the college experience, whatever their age or pathway, are expecting teachers.  The trouble is that teaching is a whole other profession, with a completely different educational profile, and divergent values, habits, and beliefs from those of us who went through graduate school with the understanding that we would be working at the college level. We are not trained in pedagogy, for one; a basic assumption is that students come to college already provided with the tools to learn, and our job is to communicate discipline-specific information.  If you make this assumption the basis for your self-definition, and communicate it from the outset, you will save yourself a lot of grief.

    When students come to college, many may discover for the first time that they have need of remedial instruction in some skill areas.  If you, the professor, define your job as one of helping remedial students, you will never get around to doing what you are actually being paid to do.  Even if we have received some pedagogical training, and are willing and able to assist floundering students, we are not often granted the time or resources to do so. Most adjuncts do not receive payment for office hours, or office spaces with which to meet students. The so-called adjunct offices at one State university where I teach are no better than veal fattening pens; with no phones or computers, they are at best stables where I can be kept quietly in an out of the way location until I am activated.

    We are also not counselors, and thus we should avoid advising on any issues but academic ones.  Students come to us with heart-wrenching stories of love gone wrong, disengaged parents, mix-ups with the justice system, and psychological impairments to name just a few. When this happens, and it is usually communicated in the cracks of time between classes, keep in mind that to directly assist in these matters is to risk legal complications which an adjunct can ill-afford.  Compassionate professors will wring their hands at this state of affairs, so it is critical to keep in mind that campuses DO have the staff and resources to help students in need – it just isn’t you:

    • Instead of conducting unpaid office hours over the open trunk of your car, learn which departments on campus have student support offerings, and put those in your syllabus.
    • Do not hesitate to refer students to on-campus resources, such as the writing center, in your evaluation of their work.
    • When students arrive, three weeks into the semester, still lacking books, it may be because they haven’t learned to navigate the channels of financial aid, or even understand that it exists! 
    • Students with spotty attendance records may be struggling with health issues, and likely have no idea that the campus health center exists, or what it can do for them. 
    • Be careful, however, in referring students for mental health, or perceived disability; this can backfire.  When accommodations are asked for, just make sure you are aware of campus regulations, and keep the lines of communication open with DSPS.

    Rather than trying to be all things to all students, you can best help them with a comprehensive and up to date knowledge of what kinds of resources are available on campus, and how they might access them.  Let the professionals on campus do their jobs, so you can concentrate on your own.

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  • Despite the many social and demographic changes that have resulted in colleges and universities welcoming a wider variety of non-traditional students (from returning women to life-long learners) the biggest chunk of our students will likely be relatively fresh out of high school, and still in need of a little in loco parentis to get them started.  Many of these hatchlings are still waiting for someone to tell them what classes to take, when to arrive, where to get materials for class, and how to study.  One area where we can contribute is in the arena of organization, and preparation.

    On the first day, in addition to going over the syllabus and reading schedule, I spend time discussing what I call ‘geek kits’; meaning  those varied sacks, cases, Ziplocs of supplies the best students keep handy in their bags.  I am prompted to go over this thanks to my own undergraduate days, where I might have won an award for LEAST prepared scholar, always cadging a pen and paper, or taking notes on my hand.  So what should go into a geek kit? At a minimum, students need pens, pencils, erasers, a sharpener, highlighter pens, white-out pens (http://www.witeout.com/pens/) and Post-It flags (http://www.postitflags.com/) for marking relevant passages in their books.  A portable three hole punch (like the Binder Buddy from ACCO) and a mini stapler are also essential.  While we are at it, a couple of USB sticks wouldn’t come amiss. Many students don’t think to backup their work and bring it to campus in the event of the inevitable ‘printer failure’ that comes at crucial moments.

    Do you think this seems obvious? Goes without mentioning? Is anal-retentive overkill on my part? I would have thought so too, until you spend fifteen wasted minutes while people run around asking each other for supplies so they can turn in a paper, or take a Scantron exam (in fact, my syllabus now mentions not only that they will need Scantrons, but the model number, the color, how many they will need, and where they can purchase them).  It was either that, or go out of my mind answering those questions several times per class, with six or seven classes, every semester.  Preempting them in this fashion makes me a calmer, nicer, professor.

    One funny extension of the geek kit comes from a student of mine, who created a ‘Finals Week’ survival kit to fit inside of an Altoids tin*.

    “1. Starbucks prepaid coffee card - while I normally don’t splurge on Starbucks, while studying for finals I just gotta have some joe.

    2. Rubberband - I need a rubberband to wear around my wrist. When my mind begins to wander, I snap myself back to reality and remember to focus-focus-focus.

    3. 4 No-Doze tablets - just in case I begin to fade too early, I’m too tired from working all day, or the library is really, really quiet, I can load up on caffeine pills and stay alert.

    4. 2 Advil tablets - all that studying gives me a headache!

    5. 5 Sticks of Juicy Fruit - to fight boredom and/or dry mouth.

    6. Half a dozen Altoids - for refreshment and/or to fight coffee breath.

    7. Two dozen sour lemon candies - to help focus, fight boredom, and counteract any Altoids aftertaste.

    8. 1 Think Organic Chocolate Coconut snack bar - to fight off any hunger pains and provide energy.

    9. A handful of paperclips - I like to use them to mark pages in my notes and text books that I may need to re-review several times (key concepts, graphs, etc.).

    10. A container of pencil lead - just in case.”

    *If you would like to make your own Altoids survival kit, as another student put it, “in case of a zombie attack, or an asteroid hitting the earth…” you can find suggestions at:

    http://www.fieldandstream.com/fieldstream/photogallery/article/0,13355,1225788,00.html

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