When many students get to campus, they're so lost and scared (whether they will admit it or not) that they cling to whomever they marginally know. "Oh, hey! I sat three seats behind you in U.S. History our sophomore year of high school." "Yeah, I vaguely remember that." "Can we make each other feel less lonely for the next couple weeks?" "Sure." Nobody ever explicitly has one of those kinds of conversations with anyone, but the dynamic among newly-arrived freshmen is similar. I remember going to IHOP with a couple people at some absurd hour of the night my first day here. I knew maybe four of the dozen people, and those I knew, I think I have talked with them perhaps ten times since. Not because we don't like each other, but we all found a support network and friends in other places. Acquaintances can be like your best friends when you're surrounded by strangers.
Once I found college organizations and people with whom I shared much in common, things became easier. One of the biggest differences I noticed between high school and college is interaction among students of different ages. I would say that 95% of my friends in high school were in my same grade. Part of the reason is that high school is much more linear and standardized with its curriculum. In college, I began to make friends with people of many different ages. It didn't matter that I was 18. It didn't matter that some people were 22 and sometimes even older than that. The four years between 14 and 18 and much greater than the four years between 18 and 22. Hence, the college experience for me seemed immediately to be much more community oriented. I had frequent conversations with people who had more experience than me, and I learned a lot about what was to come. Without realizing it, I was drawn into the largest game of telephone ever started.
Most of you have played telephone, but for the sake of not assuming, I'll give a quick explanation. In telephone, one person chooses a message to whisper to the person next to them. That person in turn whispers it to the person next to them, and so on, and so on until the last person receives the message. By that point, if the original message chosen was long or crazy enough, the message is quite different. At college, the game of telephone is similar, but obviously much more complicated. The idea is the same: passing a message along. "Gameplay" is different: no one knows what the original message was; there are countless messages being circulated; each person adds their own experience to the life of the message. Maybe you think this is a stretch, but just think of a pair of cans connected with a length of string and an iPhone: they're essentially the same... except for a bunch of differences.
When you get to college, you begin to be told things by those who have more experience. I think most people, unless they are unfortunate enough to have no older friends, have this experience. "Beware the freshman fifteen!" "Don't sell your textbooks back to the bookstores. They give you nothing." "MATH 347 is a weed out course. If you make it through okay, you'll be fine." The truth of some of the statements is questionable, but I would say that a majority of the advice I received was helpful, or at least worth thinking about. My friends who had been on campus for longer than I had been were informally acting as mentors to me. I was their appreciative apprentice. Some of what they said, I passed on to others ("Beware the freshman fifteen!"); some, I ignored ("You don't want to minor in anthropology if your major is math."); other messages, I created on my own and continue to pass on ("Avoid a senior crisis and do some of the things you've always wanted to do now, like join an a cappella group!") Mentoring relationships on campus aren't hard to come by, and most of us are in them; we just don't realize we are.
Tying mentorship of some sort into ANTH 143 (our project), would be fantastic. If we could link students who have taken a course with those who are currently taking it, we eliminate the difficult task of finding someone with the type of knowledge you would like a mentor to have. If we can bring some formality and structure to the mentoring relationship, maybe it will be more effective. I think that when you're trying out something new, success is measured by how well you were able to implement your idea. Let's say I put something into place the best I can, and it flops. Success! I found out that's not the way to go. I hope that whatever we come up with for ANTH 143 works out and helps both the former and current students, but if even if it doesn't, we will have tried something new. The next pioneers have one fewer option they need to consider when thinking of how to make the largest game of telephone the best game of telephone.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Gaining EXP Like Crazy
When I played Pokémon as an adolescent, I used to try to spread out the experience points (EXP) among my monsters so that they would all be well-rounded. I beat the game (that is, defeated the most difficult opponent, not caught everything for you purists) without too much difficulty. However, I had the easiest time beating the game when I decided to invest in only one monster. My fiery chicken friend was remarkably powerful, and he acquired EXP at a rate that suggested that it might be discontinued soon. It's funny that in this addictive video game, the best way to win, for me, was to go against the "being well-rounded" approach we are so used to supporting and instead become as one-dimensional as possible. It makes me wonder. When I look around, I see lots of well-rounded people, but the ones who make it to the top of their fields have spent disproportionate amounts of time pursuing one goal, whether it be comedy, golf, or eating hot dogs. I wouldn't trade many of my lesser abilities for greater proficiency in one, but I might consider it. For instance, I still remember waaay too much about Pokémon. I would gladly trade this knowledge for knowledge in a more important realm, which would probably qualify just about any other knowledge realm. Experience is valuable; we learn from/during/within/preposition it.
Most of us can probably recognize when we've learned from an experience or course. I know I can tell in part because it's directly related to the way in which I learn. When I'm using the "bucket" approach instead of the much more effective (There's that word again!) "fire" approach, I don't learn as much. With the bucket approach, I take all the material covered, stick it in a "bucket" and pour it into my ear until it saturates my brain. My brain, soaking with real analysis or whatever, slowly leaks until what's left is the dried remains of whatever I poured that could not escape. WIth the match approach, my curiosity and desire for more experience sparks a fire inside that continues to burn as an ember, conflagration*, or something in between. The match method works better than the bucket method because it keeps feeding the desire to learn and know. (Yes, Mr. or Ms. Critic, sometimes fires go out. The metaphor isn't perfect.)
The results of learning can take two forms, which are suggested right smack-dab in the middle of our prompt for this week:
"Does it matter for this whether the learning is transformative, where your fundamental beliefs are altered, or if the learning is more surface, new ideas or skills are acquired but your world view remains intact?"
I believe that both occur in my life.
Sometimes, there's a place on one of my mind's shelves just waiting for knowledge to fill it. In mathematics, I find that there is a logical progression from one course to the next. That's why math is taught linearly so often. We can bring a student from counting to binary operations to pre-algebra to algebra, etc. As I learn math, I don't feel that my fundamental beliefs are altered. Most of the time, I am acquiring new skills that connect very nicely with my previously acquired skills. That's one of my favorite characteristics of math: it spirals and grows. I don't have to eliminate what I know, unless I've been taught incorrectly; I only have to connect it to what I already know. It makes sense as a coherent whole.
Other times, however, I need to reorganize the shelves in my mind before I can place an object down. I feel this has been more the case with my faith and its relation to the observable world. I believe the Bible to be God's Word to us. I also believe that science has shown us many observable truths. To me, science and religion are not mutually exclusive. This proves challenging when thinking of how the truth of the Bible and the findings of modern science can coexist. Until about 9 months ago, I couldn't see how the theory of evolution could possibly fit into the world view of someone who believes in Christ as his or her savior. However, my reading and re-reading of Genesis, my study of who God is, and prayer have brought me to a point where the theory and the truth can "live in harmony." It took me a while to reorganize my shelves, but I managed to fit new knowledge in without eliminating anything I believe to be true.
Of course, there are times when space simply needs to be cleared in order to make room for newly acquired knowledge. In this case, I think of it more as an upgrade. Why would I want to believe that I can hypocritically judge when the Bible says that I should lovingly confront? (Matthew 7:2-5 and 18:15-17) Why would I want to think that parallel means "two lines that never cross" when "everywhere equidistant" is such a better way of putting it? In other words, it makes little sense to me to keep knowledge that is outdated or just plain wrong.
In all of these ways, I think that learning becomes a part of me. What I know is useful if I can use it in my own life, but what I know is really meaningful to me if I can explain it to others. The more I truly know, the more I am able to discuss with others. Ideally, I'd be well-rounded and well-versed (like having a whole troupe of super-powerful fire chickens at my disposal!). I want to be able to use and teach what I know. And that's why I'm trying to gain EXP like crazy!
*Credit for my use of this $5-word goes to Ms. Tookey and her PSAT prep methods.
Most of us can probably recognize when we've learned from an experience or course. I know I can tell in part because it's directly related to the way in which I learn. When I'm using the "bucket" approach instead of the much more effective (There's that word again!) "fire" approach, I don't learn as much. With the bucket approach, I take all the material covered, stick it in a "bucket" and pour it into my ear until it saturates my brain. My brain, soaking with real analysis or whatever, slowly leaks until what's left is the dried remains of whatever I poured that could not escape. WIth the match approach, my curiosity and desire for more experience sparks a fire inside that continues to burn as an ember, conflagration*, or something in between. The match method works better than the bucket method because it keeps feeding the desire to learn and know. (Yes, Mr. or Ms. Critic, sometimes fires go out. The metaphor isn't perfect.)
The results of learning can take two forms, which are suggested right smack-dab in the middle of our prompt for this week:
"Does it matter for this whether the learning is transformative, where your fundamental beliefs are altered, or if the learning is more surface, new ideas or skills are acquired but your world view remains intact?"
I believe that both occur in my life.
Sometimes, there's a place on one of my mind's shelves just waiting for knowledge to fill it. In mathematics, I find that there is a logical progression from one course to the next. That's why math is taught linearly so often. We can bring a student from counting to binary operations to pre-algebra to algebra, etc. As I learn math, I don't feel that my fundamental beliefs are altered. Most of the time, I am acquiring new skills that connect very nicely with my previously acquired skills. That's one of my favorite characteristics of math: it spirals and grows. I don't have to eliminate what I know, unless I've been taught incorrectly; I only have to connect it to what I already know. It makes sense as a coherent whole.
Other times, however, I need to reorganize the shelves in my mind before I can place an object down. I feel this has been more the case with my faith and its relation to the observable world. I believe the Bible to be God's Word to us. I also believe that science has shown us many observable truths. To me, science and religion are not mutually exclusive. This proves challenging when thinking of how the truth of the Bible and the findings of modern science can coexist. Until about 9 months ago, I couldn't see how the theory of evolution could possibly fit into the world view of someone who believes in Christ as his or her savior. However, my reading and re-reading of Genesis, my study of who God is, and prayer have brought me to a point where the theory and the truth can "live in harmony." It took me a while to reorganize my shelves, but I managed to fit new knowledge in without eliminating anything I believe to be true.
Of course, there are times when space simply needs to be cleared in order to make room for newly acquired knowledge. In this case, I think of it more as an upgrade. Why would I want to believe that I can hypocritically judge when the Bible says that I should lovingly confront? (Matthew 7:2-5 and 18:15-17) Why would I want to think that parallel means "two lines that never cross" when "everywhere equidistant" is such a better way of putting it? In other words, it makes little sense to me to keep knowledge that is outdated or just plain wrong.
In all of these ways, I think that learning becomes a part of me. What I know is useful if I can use it in my own life, but what I know is really meaningful to me if I can explain it to others. The more I truly know, the more I am able to discuss with others. Ideally, I'd be well-rounded and well-versed (like having a whole troupe of super-powerful fire chickens at my disposal!). I want to be able to use and teach what I know. And that's why I'm trying to gain EXP like crazy!
*Credit for my use of this $5-word goes to Ms. Tookey and her PSAT prep methods.
Friday, November 6, 2009
You Gotta Sell It, Or I'm Not Buying
It is in a cruel situation I'm put most nights. Let me start off saying that I find it so maddening that my most interesting thoughts come to me as I drift off to sleep. They rise to the surface and pass before my closed eyes. Suddenly, it becomes a struggle of mind versus body. What a cruel state of affairs. Should I continue to lie on the bed, letting myself slip deeper into unconsciousness, or should I rouse myself and write down what seems like a gem? Most often, I choose the former. How sad. How cruel, and how sad.
Anyway, I am fortunate enough to remember some semblance of my last waking thought from yesterday night. I was trying to decide what to write for this week's post. "Effectiveness. Eliminating major requirements. Effectiveness. Eliminating major requirements..." The two thoughts bounced back and forth in some weird courtship dance until (finally!) mutual consent, conception, birth of an idea. So here it is, what you've all been waiting for: my first ever post in November.
Drucker discusses effectiveness in chapters 13-15 of The Complete Drucker. The individual must be effective, and he or she may accomplish this through contribution and knowing his or her strengths and weaknesses. An individual is NOT effective if he or she does NOTHING. You can have the best ideas, but if you fail to act, you fail to be effective. You can analyze the right problems, know the right choices, but if you do not provide or contribute toward a solution you are not very valuable at all.
Now, classes in our majors and minors are supposed to help us figure out more of what we need to know to be effective in our careers. These classes, I propose, are effective if they accomplish this. Then these classes are not effective if they fail to contribute to our eduction as engineers, teachers, writers, accountants, etc. Classes have strengths and weaknesses. They cover certain topics and neglect others so that, I think, we become more effective ourselves. All this is to say that I think I can, instead of looking at the individual and effectiveness, look at the major or minor course requirement and its effectiveness. And that's exactly what I plan to do, right here, right now.
The mathematics major is very effective. The beginning classes, like calculus and basic proof-writing, are absolutely necessary, and students are given plenty of choice among the more advanced courses, which I feel are challenging and worthwhile. The courses build upon one another. One can see the progression from one course to the next and connections among the courses. I think someone who is serious about math and has the desire to major in it at the U of I will emerge ready to effective in whatever field of mathematics he or she chooses to pursue. That is why I am not giving the math major much attention in this post; it is a well constructed, effective major.
Get ready to rumble, Mathematics Secondary Teaching concentration!
There are so many courses in the secondary education minor that need either serious work or serious scrapping. The core courses, a four-course curriculum and instruction sequence in mathematics (CI 401-404), are wonderful, and I have learned a great deal from them, but many of the others need serious help. The main problems with these other courses is that they are neither challenging nor convincing.
Take for example the course EOL 440, aka Educational Organization and Leadership 440: Professional Issues for Teachers. This is a one credit hour course, which is the first sign that it is not very important. One hour a week? It makes it seem right away like I won't be investing much in this material. The professor reads through PowerPoint slides having to do with all the many ways a teacher interacts with the law. The main thing I remember from this class is that the instructor at one time was going to become a priest. He also at one time was a superintendent. (I found out this semester from another professor that he is no longer a superintendent because of, in short, his not following some reporting procedures as he should have.) Nothing else stuck with me.
Nothing else stuck probably because the class was set up in a way that you could get an 'A' without any effort or interest whatsoever. Our homework consisted of some "quick writes" in class and journal entries outside of class. These required no reading. Tests were entirely multiple choice (multiple guess, as my high school Physics teacher liked to call them), and some questions were repeated multiple times within the same test! If you create a class where students do not have to do any studying at all, you've created an ineffective class. I "glided" through EOL 440. I'm not proud that I didn't have to do anything, but I am somewhat impressed that the University is able to create these classes that end up just being a completion checkmark. "Good job, Joe! You sat in lecture 15 times and made it to the final! You have completed your professional issues requirement." This course, and others like it, are not effective because they contribute virtually nothing to our education. EOL 440 never convinced me that I should invest my time into it. I didn't buy into it.
Existence doesn't assert meaningfulness. In chapter 14 of Drucker, he criticizes managers who justify their work by saying "I have [some number] of people working under me." Big deal! If you don't contribute to the greater good, you aren't very important. This goes for classes. Just because a class exists doesn't mean it says anything. I think that it's probably very important that teachers learn about professional issues, but that's just a feeling I get. EOL 440 didn't convince me of this. The professor, classroom, and journal entries were a clever attempt to make it seem worthwhile, but it didn't work.
I could analyze the class' strengths and weaknesses to attempt to make it effective, but that would take a while, and that's really not going to get us anywhere. The University, the College of Education, whoever is in charge of developing the sequence of courses that education majors must take needs to look over the curriculum again. Why is a class where no thought is required, well, required? Why is CI 473, Literacy in Mathematics, taught by someone who knows plenty about literacy but nothing about mathematics? Why are my two special education classes crammed into fifteen 3-hour sessions in one semester?
Some classes, like CI 401-404, are effective. They contribute to my education. The choices of what should be covered in those classes have been made well. If only the other classes were as effective, maybe more students like me would buy into them. As it stands, we leave them on the shelves.
Anyway, I am fortunate enough to remember some semblance of my last waking thought from yesterday night. I was trying to decide what to write for this week's post. "Effectiveness. Eliminating major requirements. Effectiveness. Eliminating major requirements..." The two thoughts bounced back and forth in some weird courtship dance until (finally!) mutual consent, conception, birth of an idea. So here it is, what you've all been waiting for: my first ever post in November.
Drucker discusses effectiveness in chapters 13-15 of The Complete Drucker. The individual must be effective, and he or she may accomplish this through contribution and knowing his or her strengths and weaknesses. An individual is NOT effective if he or she does NOTHING. You can have the best ideas, but if you fail to act, you fail to be effective. You can analyze the right problems, know the right choices, but if you do not provide or contribute toward a solution you are not very valuable at all.
Now, classes in our majors and minors are supposed to help us figure out more of what we need to know to be effective in our careers. These classes, I propose, are effective if they accomplish this. Then these classes are not effective if they fail to contribute to our eduction as engineers, teachers, writers, accountants, etc. Classes have strengths and weaknesses. They cover certain topics and neglect others so that, I think, we become more effective ourselves. All this is to say that I think I can, instead of looking at the individual and effectiveness, look at the major or minor course requirement and its effectiveness. And that's exactly what I plan to do, right here, right now.
The mathematics major is very effective. The beginning classes, like calculus and basic proof-writing, are absolutely necessary, and students are given plenty of choice among the more advanced courses, which I feel are challenging and worthwhile. The courses build upon one another. One can see the progression from one course to the next and connections among the courses. I think someone who is serious about math and has the desire to major in it at the U of I will emerge ready to effective in whatever field of mathematics he or she chooses to pursue. That is why I am not giving the math major much attention in this post; it is a well constructed, effective major.
Get ready to rumble, Mathematics Secondary Teaching concentration!
There are so many courses in the secondary education minor that need either serious work or serious scrapping. The core courses, a four-course curriculum and instruction sequence in mathematics (CI 401-404), are wonderful, and I have learned a great deal from them, but many of the others need serious help. The main problems with these other courses is that they are neither challenging nor convincing.
Take for example the course EOL 440, aka Educational Organization and Leadership 440: Professional Issues for Teachers. This is a one credit hour course, which is the first sign that it is not very important. One hour a week? It makes it seem right away like I won't be investing much in this material. The professor reads through PowerPoint slides having to do with all the many ways a teacher interacts with the law. The main thing I remember from this class is that the instructor at one time was going to become a priest. He also at one time was a superintendent. (I found out this semester from another professor that he is no longer a superintendent because of, in short, his not following some reporting procedures as he should have.) Nothing else stuck with me.
Nothing else stuck probably because the class was set up in a way that you could get an 'A' without any effort or interest whatsoever. Our homework consisted of some "quick writes" in class and journal entries outside of class. These required no reading. Tests were entirely multiple choice (multiple guess, as my high school Physics teacher liked to call them), and some questions were repeated multiple times within the same test! If you create a class where students do not have to do any studying at all, you've created an ineffective class. I "glided" through EOL 440. I'm not proud that I didn't have to do anything, but I am somewhat impressed that the University is able to create these classes that end up just being a completion checkmark. "Good job, Joe! You sat in lecture 15 times and made it to the final! You have completed your professional issues requirement." This course, and others like it, are not effective because they contribute virtually nothing to our education. EOL 440 never convinced me that I should invest my time into it. I didn't buy into it.
Existence doesn't assert meaningfulness. In chapter 14 of Drucker, he criticizes managers who justify their work by saying "I have [some number] of people working under me." Big deal! If you don't contribute to the greater good, you aren't very important. This goes for classes. Just because a class exists doesn't mean it says anything. I think that it's probably very important that teachers learn about professional issues, but that's just a feeling I get. EOL 440 didn't convince me of this. The professor, classroom, and journal entries were a clever attempt to make it seem worthwhile, but it didn't work.
I could analyze the class' strengths and weaknesses to attempt to make it effective, but that would take a while, and that's really not going to get us anywhere. The University, the College of Education, whoever is in charge of developing the sequence of courses that education majors must take needs to look over the curriculum again. Why is a class where no thought is required, well, required? Why is CI 473, Literacy in Mathematics, taught by someone who knows plenty about literacy but nothing about mathematics? Why are my two special education classes crammed into fifteen 3-hour sessions in one semester?
Some classes, like CI 401-404, are effective. They contribute to my education. The choices of what should be covered in those classes have been made well. If only the other classes were as effective, maybe more students like me would buy into them. As it stands, we leave them on the shelves.
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