In Gee’s book Why Video Games Are Good For Your Soul he references the idea of turning learning into a game-like experience, in order to tap into the innate pleasure that humans receive from being challenged, solving problems, becoming more skilled at something, and learning in general. This seems to make sense; learning CAN be fun, and if that element exists, motivation is not really a problem. I am curious as to how he would address an idea that he himself brings up before discussing the individual video games to which he applies his theories; the idea that not everyone likes the same games. Different elements, genres, story lines, demands, etc. etc. appeal to different individuals, and thus the gaming industry produces a wide variety of products to appeal to potential consumers. Schools are somewhat similar in this regard–there are different classes and subjects offered to students on an elective basis. But what about those required core classes? How can we develop motivational learning tailored to all of our different “consumers”? Gee doesn’t directly address this idea, and I don’t know if I have an answer either.
What this moment in Gee’s writing did make me think about was those students who already fit the mold of what he is suggesting; those students to whom school IS a game, and one that they enjoy playing, at least in the sense that they are motivated to pursue “continual opportunities for learning, problem solving, and becoming more skilled” (Gee, 29). The pleasure that we get from video games, according to Gee, is easily transferable into a metaphor for these types of students. They see classes, grades, assignments, etc. as individual challenges and opportunities to do well and succeed, in order to “get to the next level”, whether that be the next unit, class, grade, etc. Each assessment, for a student who does well enough to be self-satisfied with his/her performance, is like another puzzle in a game; success = fun, or at least it leads to continued motivation to keep progressing in a similar manner to how they achieved that success. Class ranks or GPAs are like the high score list on an arcade game or in an online forum; just as some gamers will play over and over and over to perfect their strategy and attempt to dominate a game so thoroughly as to gain a top score, many students are motivated by the thought of being valedictorian, or the best in a certain subject matter or class. Through this (rather unoriginal) lens, part of Gee’s vision is clearly already alive and well in high achieving, highly motivated students that do experience success.
But what ABOUT the other side of the coin? In my experience playing video games, there have been a few that I just don’t get, or don’t like, or, the worst, can’t figure out. When this is the case, I will sometimes make a few feeble efforts to get into the game, especially if I have invested money into it or if it was recommended to me from a friend. But more often than not, I simply turn the game off–why continue to play a game if it isn’t fun? This makes me think about the students in my classroom who do have a hard time connecting to what we do, staying motivated, or even simply enjoying their time in the school setting in ANY manner (academically, socially, etc.). Yes, I strive to build relationships and find ways to connect to these students and find SOME way to activate that innate desire for learning, but it doesn’t always happen. I get “turned off”. My class becomes similar to a game that is attempted, determined to be boring or not fun for whatever reason, and buried under a pile of other interests, activities or concerns. It is frustrating to me, but I worry much more about how that situation may repeat itself for that student in other classes or in future situations. I don’t have the answers for solving this problem, but I do continue to seek them. Let’s call that my own professional “game”–merely sticking with the metaphor and not trying to diminish the seriousness of helping all students achieve. I hope to experience the pleasure and satisfaction of overcoming this problem as I continue to develop my skills as an educator.
The question of “what literature is the best to teach to which age group framed with which standards” is one that will always boggle my mind, if not completely escape me. Shoot, you can even simplify this to “what literature is best to teach” and it still seems, to me, like a near impossible to answer question. Yes, I will be staying as far away from the position of curriculum director as possible; although I have decided to “face my fear”, as it were, and be a part of the curriculum review team next year in my district (gulp). Still, as we have moved through chapter 7 of New Learning, I have found myself drawn to the sections revolving around the literary canon and other methods for selecting and utilizing worthwhile texts into a classroom environment (if not a curriculum).
In my department, there has been an ongoing skirmish of sorts over the past few years about using non-traditional texts in the classroom. We have a few teachers who are very passionate on both sides of the issue, and I have found myself merely dipping my toes in the water, as it were, with trying out some non-traditional (sort of) literature in my classroom on a limited basis. My point here is that I am very limited in terms of the amount of practical classroom experience that I have had, and I haven’t always felt totally comfortable jumping in to the argument with gusto. But I would like to connect this argument to the Learning by Design approach, so here goes.
My classes are American and British literature, and the curriculum is chock-full of the classics–Hawthorne, Dickinson, Whitman, Emerson, Thoreau, Wharton, Steinbeck, Fitzgerald, Hemingway; Chaucer, Shakespeare, Orwell, etc. etc. etc. So after three years of teaching this, and several years of experiencing the canon from a student’s perspective, I feel pretty well versed in this type of English experience. And for the most part, I have found that students will either largely embrace or largely reject whatever piece of literature we are reading–there aren’t really a lot of lukewarm feelings about Macbeth or The Great Gatsby (unless we are just talking personality! :] ). My method of judgment is this: not just are students reading, but are they actually engaging in the subsequent class discussions and activities? If even the subject and themes that the novels bring up result in disinterest, then I would count that as a rejection.
Now, do I know that the same wouldn’t be true with other more modern, youth-oriented, audience-oriented (and whatever other adjectives) pieces of literature? Not necessarily; and please understand that there is no scientific method behind this blog post. But this is where the connection to Learning by Design comes in. What I have found is that the “Experiencing the known” method of constructing knowledge is an absolutely critical one. The rest of the unit can be crisp, clean, well-thought out and engaging, but it won’t be quite as good unless students are hooked early on and made to think that they should care about what it is they are experiencing. And this can be the power of “breaking away” from the canon, as painful as that may be for some educators. Whether it be through instructor selected literature or student selected individual reading, I hope to be able to work some different experiences into my classroom–just so that students have the possibility of building another “repertoire”.
I would especially love to hear back from anyone that has a student choice unit built into one of their classes!
I absolutely love talking about “stuff” in class, which is why I think I so thoroughly enjoy my job as an English instructor of 11th and 12th graders. I love hearing other peoples’ perspectives, and I especially love watching my students make connections between the literature that they are reading and the experiences that they are going through as individuals. Even when the conversations are somewhat repetitive and predictable from one class to the next, I find myself enjoying the experience of students building knowledge for themselves based on the texts that we are reading.
But hands down, my favorite moments during discussions are when a student finds, explains, or uses a quote, brings up an idea, or responds to my question in a way that is completely unique to my experience. Maybe this is a bit selfish of me, but I love being able to say, “I’ve never thought of it that way before.” Or: “I’ve never had anyone approach it from that angle, and I think you might really be on to something there.” Or even: “I have no idea how to respond to what you just said, but it was great!” Ok, it is extremely rare that a student comment has left me speechless, but I think you likely get the idea.
Part of a successful English classroom, to me, is establishing the comfort level of the students so that they may open themselves up to share their unique and individual knowledge and experiences. Listening to views that are outside of a student’s experience and perhaps even outside of his/her comfort level is something that I believe is invaluable, even if it creates tension or awkwardness. When people explain where they stand and WHY they believe what they do, it adds a layer of depth that reading and writing simply cannot accomplish on their own.
Double post! Love playing catch-up!
I was browsing through a random pile of books in the library the other day and came across an old favorite of mine–one of Bill Watterson’s many Calvin and Hobbes collections. For the life of me (and I did spend some good time searching yesterday!) I cannot find the actual strip on the internet, but here is the premise:
Calvin and Hobbes see a snake. Hobbes asks if it’s poisonous. Calvin wonders how you know. Hobbes suggests that if it bites you and you die, it’s poisonous. They watch it move along, wondering how it glides. Calvin sees it flicking its tongue and wonders why they smell with their tongue. Hobbes asks if they have eyelids. Calvin wonders how it swallows something bigger than its own head. Hobbes says that Mom might get them a book so they’d know the answers. As they run to the house, Calvin stops. It’s summer, and he’s on vacation. He doesn’t want to learn anything. Hobbes says if nobody makes him do it, it counts as fun. With that, Calvin and Hobbes get a book and learn about snakes. (source)
It is this unadulterated voracity for learning that totally sums up my early relationship with classic literature, or any reading, for that matter. For a LONG time growing up, I could not meet a book I did not like. I read Goosebumps, Fear Street, and the Hardy Boys; I also delved into boxes in the basement that held books from my parent’s school days. Soon the worlds of Twain, Vonnegut and others became my own. Even books at school couldn’t deter my love for reading. I was determined to read as much as I could, because I was under the impression that reading made you smart, especially if you read the right books.
This “easy path” through my reading experience lasted until about my 9th grade year, when the books started to get a little more challenging, and we had to think about them much harder than ever before. I was still determined to read as many of the classics as I could, but I would likely now put off a few until later–maybe I’d like them better as I got older. And then I began to hit some novels that I had–gasp!–an extreme distaste for (off the top of my head, I particularly remember Crime and Punishment and The Invisible Man being particularly “unreadable” during my sophomore year of high school). At first, I was puzzled–was there something wrong with me because I didn’t like these books? (Alright, so it was probably more like “everyone else is crazy, these are crap!”–I was 16).
Looking back on that experience now (and the several other distasteful run-ins I have had with powerful, card-carrying members of the Western canon), I feel for my students that cannot get in to the literature, no matter how many opportunities or angles my colleagues and I provide for those students to experience some part of the literature in a manner that is in some way “on their level.” Reading doesn’t necessarily have to be an enjoyable experience for learning to take place, but like anything else, it certainly wouldn’t hurt for reading to be enjoyable, especially seeing that it is something rather essential for success in the classroom (if I figure a way around it, I’ll be sure to let you all know).
There’s much more to be said on this, but I’ll end with just a few more thoughts (and perhaps come back later). First, I think that Prue’s comment on my wiki-post this week was exactly right–who says newer books can’t be just as useful in producing knowledge, or whatever it is we want our literary texts to do, then our “tried and true” members of the canon? My curriculum is more or less chosen for me, although I do try to sneak some more modern texts in whenever I get the chance, and the students typically appreciate it.
My last thought for now is this: I think there are far more students of the English language these days who are the opposite of where I was as a student then there are that are similar to myself. That is, while there certainly are students out there eager to tap in to the depths of wisdom held by Milton, Shakespeare, Melville, Hawthorne, etc. etc. etc. (ad nauseum?), I think there are far more that are turned off by this type of reading for any number of reasons. Which only creates bigger problems when we try to cram more down their throats. I would rather get a kid to read a novel that “may not teach him as much” than have him pick up great literary insight from Sparknotes.
Happy reading!
Making up a little ground here, but I did want to go back and address some of my thoughts on social cognitivism. This moment in my classroom–a student was taking a quiz, held his hand out and said, “hey, life is a first person shooter!”–was a prime example of the unique capability of humans to reflect on their own existence. A few of the other students scoffed at him (too cool for video games), but several others nodded or murmured their agreements. A few other comments were even sparked because of this–”hey, have you ever thought about _____ before?” This is a type of self awareness that I think we rarely focus on, yet I think it can lead to some great reflective thought or conversation.
There was a similar moment in another class of mine that very same day as we were discussing (surprise, surprise–I swear I do teach other novels!) Brave New World. This discussion was based around the following quote:
“What if life were perfect? What if we lived in a perfect world of perfect people and perfect things, with everyone and everything doing the perfect thing at the perfect time. What if, at one perfect moment in your perfect world you decided…perfection is a perfect bore! What if, at that perfect moment you noticed, for the first time, a button marked “surprise”. What if, in that perfect moment, you paused, considered all that was included in the concept of surprise, took a deep breathe, pushed the button, and found yourself exactly where you are right now, doing and thinking, exactly what you are, right now?“”
This led to some really interesting discussions about how students view their own lives, how they view their current standing (these are seniors with, at the time, about 4 weeks until graduation), and whether or not they would want to change–either from now or from what most admitted to be an inconceivable perfect world.
I think what was most interesting about the juxtaposition of these two moments was the number of furrowed brows, puzzled looks, and broken sentences that took place around these instances. Metacognition seems to be such a tricky task, especially to those that are not familiar with it, because it asking the brain to do something that it does not normally do–think about its own existence and function. Yet just as reflection is an essential part of effective teaching, it seems that reflecting on thinking and learning can open up channels of thought and dialect that would otherwise go untapped. This to me is “cogito ergo sum” in action.
As I thought about how to get back into the business of blogging after taking just a bit too much time off, I knew I wanted to comment on those behaviors that I have seen in my school and in my classroom that would make Skinner himself nod his head knowingly. Certainly, we all have routines that we have established with our students–they know when and where to turn in papers, or how we will begin class or ask for their attention during a transition, as just a couple of examples. But beyond these “typical” management-type behaviors and procedures, I wanted to comment on another behavior that I have noticed, that seems to repeat itself in the same manner with which Skinner’s rats would press the lever in their boxes while hoping for a morsel of food. I am talking about every teacher’s favorite question, especially when it occurs during the midst of a thoughtful discussion, or after the introduction of an intentionally open-ended writing assignment, or the day before a test as material is being reviewed: the question of “Why can’t you just tell us what we need to know?”
Now the reason that I am commenting on this question during the week in which we are discussing Behaviorism is that I feel this question must, in some way, be a learned behavior that develops in a very behavioristic manner. To use Skinner’s terms, the stimulus for the students here is some type of assignment or assessment that does not present them with an immediate or easy path to success. Their response is to try to elicit from the teacher an easier or more direct path to their goal–whether that be achieving a high grade, or simply completing the assignment and working towards passing the class–by asking the above question.
Skinner’s research also states that a behavior will continue (or become “learned”) if the response is supported by a reward. If the response to the stimulus does not result in any type of reward or punishment, it is not likely that the response will be repeated on a regular basis. However, once the behavior IS rewarded, it is likely to continue, or at least to be repeated again at some point in response to a similar stimulus. In the classroom situation described above, the reward would come in the form of acquiescing to the “demands” of the student, or in some manner creating that easier “path” for the student to travel–even if this was not the initial path down which the teacher had intended the students to go.
I am not trying to comment on a right or a wrong way of answering that age-old question, because that is not my place. I am simply stating that it may be interesting to consider certain behaviors in our classrooms in light of Behaviorist theory in order to reflect upon what it is that we may be reinforcing or extinguishing through our own responses to the stimuli presented to us by our students.
[PS--if you are reading some of this as tongue-in-cheek, that was PARTIALLY my intention 
]
At parent-teacher conferences on Thursday night, I met a father of a young man that I have in class. This particular young man is reasonably gifted academically, but very image-conscious and constantly trying to play the “tough guy” in class. I have had a few disciplinary interactions with him, mainly revolving around his use of his cell phone in class, and every time I have attempted to discuss the issue with him, he has become extremely defensive, to the point where it becomes a much more significant issue than it ever needed to be. So I was actually looking forward to discussing these ideas with his father–until his opening question, spoken in a none-too casual tone, of, “So, Adam, how long have you been teaching here?” I am “only” in my third year of teaching, and I certainly don’t think I look much more than my 25 years, so perhaps his question was a fair one–but at the time, in the context, it was one that “ruffled my feathers”. I moved past it and we discussed several aspects of his son’s progress in my classroom, including the behavioral issues, in a professional manner. We came to a mutual understanding about what was really important, although I was still a bit miffed about his opening question.
Another experience that has resulted in a lot of internal reflection recently has stemmed from my sponsorship of the Gay-Straight Alliance organization at my high school. When I went from co-sponsorship of this group last year to full sponsorship this year, I knew there would be a certain perception from the students that would go along with that decision. I was totally ok with this, because I am not gay, but do firmly believe that all students should have the chance to feel safe, cared for, and equal, especially while they are at school trying to learn. As the group has made progress in terms of events planned and carried out within the school, there has been a growing sense of resistance amongst the students and the staff–even to the point of one of my closer friends on staff telling me that there are several staff members who speculate behind my back as to my own sexual orientation (I hesitate to even do this, because it is not the point, but I am straight). Again, I see this as being a natural by-product of where I teach–the environment is rapidly growing and diversifying and those that prefer exclusion are having a hard time adapting.
The reason I bring up these experiences and thoughts is because they speak significantly to my identity as a professional and as a person. For one, I often feel either very “grown up” for being twenty-five, or not very grown-up at all for twenty-five. Having ditched a serious girlfriend last summer (a subject for another blog entirely), living with a roommate and a dog do not give me much of a “tied down” feeling; my next biggest responsibility after my work and my homework is my dog and my marathon training program–both of which have little to no affect on other human beings. On good days at work I feel like I have been at it for much more than three years–on other days I feel like I am still “playing” teacher. I struggle occasionally in my role as GSA advisor, because while I do have friends that I care for deeply that are homosexual, and I do truly believe that gay rights are extremely significant, I occasionally feel uncomfortable with the actual thought of homosexuality itself, in a manner that is difficult to explain–but that remains beyond the point.
The primary idea here is this: if I still have these identity “waverings” within me, being several years removed from high school and almost three years removed from undergraduate work, then certainly I cannot expect my students to be locked in, or even mildly consistent in their identities, especially in the way they outwardly express themselves. In realizing this, I find myself placing an even greater stress on the concept of allowing people to be who they want to be, and trying to learn from each other along the way. ”Growing up too fast”, although cliche, seems to be a reality for more of my students than not; several relate stories of taking care of much younger siblings, having to contribute to the family’s income, or being the most responsible person over the age of 15 at their place of residence. All this comes while these students are trying to deal with the normal identity issues that come with being 16-18, struggling with class, friends, extra-curriculars, and deciding on their futures. Responsibilities are far out ahead of emotional maturity, and this creates tremendous identity issues for those students that get caught in the middle. I don’t have any answers, but I truly feel like this is an issue at the heart of problems that develop for students at the high school level.
A brief update:
Definitely some progress from last week, although there are still some questions that I have, especially involving the other categories besides the activities. I have all of my “short” descriptions up and on the site (some of which probably need revision, as I have come to a new understanding of what goes on the teacher side vs. what goes on the student side). I have some of my longer descriptions written out (internet problems persistent at home tonight…maintenance guy couldn’t fix it yesterday), and I will be looking to add these to what I already have done as soon as possible.
I have had some conversation with Rachael about how to proceed here, and she was helpful in guiding me to an example and offering some suggestions about entering the activities. I am wondering if this is supposed to be a very time consuming process–obviously, the final product will be excellent, and it seems that the idea is that it should be able to be used by anyone to teach the unit; it just seems that there is potentially a ton of work that needs to go in up front! I’ll get through, and look forward to class tonight with hopes of some further clarification or idea generation.
As you can probably pick up from the double-post, it has been a busy 10-14 days here for me. I attended a conference two weekends ago and so got a little behind on paperwork, both for the classes that I teach and this class that I am taking. Even with a couple of LATE nights, it has been an effort to catch up. I am just glad to not be sick at this point in time; and I continue to be amazed with the efforts and production of my classmates. You all are an inspiration!
That being said, I haven’t done much beyond simply adding in the activities to the cglearning site…I have begun to work on connecting the modes, and I would like to go back and add a task or two to my placemat, but I have quite a few questions about how I am to go about filling out the different aspects of the learning element. For example, how do I customize what goes in the student box vs. what goes in the teacher box? What do I need to think about for the objectives boxes? How much detail do I go into in the short descriptions vs. the long descriptions? How do I make it (GULP!) look good?
I was unable to discuss things over with Prue or Rachael very extensively, but I look forward to getting feedback from them (or anyone else) on how to continue to move forward in this task–as well as any tips to make it seem less daunting. Thanks!
I have obviously had a while to chew on this topic, so I am hoping to be able to clearly express my thoughts as I try to catch up on my blogging (double post, here I come!). On the topic from last week, I would like to again try to apply to situations that I have experienced in my current school district. It would seem that here in Waukee, Iowa–an upper-middle class community with a significant but diminishing agricultural demographic and a very high growth rate–APPEARING to be in favor of assimilation, and even to a point, inclusion, is rather popular, and a game that students play very well. Everyone seems to know the right thing to say in class. This is nothing new to this topic, or even to my blog. But on occasions where I have probed deeper either in class discussions, individual talks with students, or in my role as the advisor of the school’s Gay-Straight Alliance, I have found that quite frequently the students are experiencing tremendous inner conflict between following the expectations (and demands) of their families versus exploring their own individual and culturally constructed views of acceptance, tolerance, and the like.
For many students, this struggle seems to be absolutely heart-wrenching. For example, there are several students in GSA that have been told by their parents they are not allowed to come to the meetings any more–even after explaining that the purpose of the group is not to promote a homosexual agenda, but rather to work toward eliminating discrimination and hateful actions in the school environment. One girl even avoided speaking to other members of the group for several weeks for fear of reprimand from her parents. Several other members have had their own sexuality questioned by their parents because of their decision to be supportive. The fact that there is purposefully an “S” in the title of the club aside, these revelations are simultaneously disturbing and illuminating to me. The forces acting on a student emotionally, intellectually, and (sometimes, sadly) physically to choose how they contribute to exclusion, assimilation, or inclusion are much more complicated than they appear on the surface. To me, this raises the question of how or if we will ever be able to label a class or a group as entirely inclusive (or if this is a goal?), let alone a school, community, metropolitan region, state, country, etc.
Also, if assimilation or inclusion are happening only through trivial actions or words, do they “count”? Is it fair to ask students to identify against the home culture constructed by their parents? If we take the route of acknowledging that students have a myriad of demeanors that they adapt to different situations, and trust that they will know how and when to “select” the “right” one during experiences in the real world and in the work world?
Additionally, I wonder about the students that do speak out against even simple issues of assimilation or inclusion, with no deeper explanation than “this is what I have been raised to believe by my parents/grandparents/older siblings/etc.” In the face of the massive (albeit slightly diminishing) homogeneity of the locale where I teach, I feel a certain responsibility to my students to do what I can within my curriculum (which is also rather homogenous) to demonstrate that the rest of the world is a very different place than Waukee, and that at minimum they at least need to be aware of and prepared for this idea. I can’t necessarily say that I can cover all backgrounds or share many earth-shattering personal experiences with diversity. But I do struggle with the idea of what type of responsibility I have to step in the middle of these generational, family loyalties, teachings, and traditions if they seem to be of a destructive nature, or at least resistant to anything beyond the realm of moderate exclusion.
