Tag Archives: assignments

Help One, Help All: Universal Design in the Classroom

Steve Volk, September 18, 2017

NOTE: All illustrations taken from Buffon, Daubenton, Lacépède, G. Cuvier, F. Cuvier, Geoffroy Sa, Encyclopédie d'histoire naturelle; ou, traité complet de cette science d'après les travaux des naturalistes les plus éminents de tous les pays et de toutes les époques (1860)

NOTE: All illustrations taken from Buffon, Daubenton, Lacépède, G. Cuvier, F. Cuvier, Geoffroy Sa, Encyclopédie d’histoire naturelle; ou, traité complet de cette science d’après les travaux des naturalistes les plus éminents de tous les pays et de toutes les époques (1860)

The headline immediately caught my attention: “Atmospheric scientist at Illinois is on leave after refusing to provide lecture slides to student with disabilities.” Not exactly the Kardashians or the latest scorched-earth quote from Sebastian Gorka, but striking to a pedagogy-nerd like me. As I clicked through to the article, I found that the scientist in question wasn’t just “any” teacher, but a Nobel laureate with 41 years of teaching to his credit.

 

Although I’m more interested in this article for what it says about the state of “Universal Design” thinking than for the actual controversy at hand, some facts in the case are still in order.

  • The faculty member in question is Michael Schlesinger, Professor of Atmospheric Sciences and director of the Climate Research Group at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign. In 2007, he was part of the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change which, along with Al Gore, was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for their efforts in building and disseminating greater knowledge about man-made climate change. Conservative bloggers, for their part, prefer to see him as an “environmental extremist.”
  • According to a report in the Daily Illini, Schlesinger refused “to provide a student with electronic lecture notes, even after Disability Services confirmed the need for accommodation.” Further research reveals that the real issue was Schlesinger’s refusal to share his slides with the student. In fact, he is quoted as saying that he offered to pay for the student to have a note taker in the class, but that he opposed sharing his slides because he was unwilling to give one student an “advantage” over others taking the course who couldn’t access the slides.
  • According to the University of Illinois, Schlesinger was “not currently teaching.” Schlesinger insisted that he hadn’t resigned and did not tend to resign. Rather, he wrote, “I intend to fight for a more balanced approach to assisting disabled students, an approach that does not disadvantage non-disabled students.”

The story can be read as an example of “nanny state” administrators stepping in to tell faculty how to teach their courses, or of crotchety faculty members who refuse to change their moth-eaten ways, even if it means noncompliance with university rules and federal legislation (Americans with Disabilities Act). For my part, I have no idea whether Schlesinger is the world’s best teacher or the world’s worst; I have no ability to judge him on the basis of a single act reported in the press. What did catch my attention was Schlesinger’s statement that he intends “to fight for a more balanced approach to assisting disabled students, an approach that does not disadvantage non-disabled students.”

364Universal Design for Learning

At the heart of Schlesinger’s statement is a belief that by accommodating one student (in this case a student with reported disabilities), an instructor is ipso facto disadvantaging all other students in the class. The clearest response to this pinched understanding came from James Basham, an associate professor of special education at the University of Kansas, who suggested that “if the professor has such strong beliefs about sharing slides with an individual student, he should simply share with all of his students.” Basham’s approach is the essence of what has been called “Universal Design for Learning.”

Universal Design for Learning took its inspiration from the architecture and product design processes pioneered by Ron Mace of North Carolina State University in the 1980s. A universal design approach aims “to create physical environments and tools that are usable by as many people as possible.” The curb cut is a perfect example: it was designed so that people in wheelchairs could more easily access sidewalks. But, if curb cuts proved beneficial for wheelchair-bound individuals, they were no less a boon for parents pushing strollers or shoppers bringing home the groceries. Curb cuts equally served old people with walkers and young people learning to skateboard. And that was the point. The idea of universal design is that by planning a design that takes account of the needs of everyone at the beginning of a process, rather than waiting to modify designs later when such needs become more visible or vocal, everyone would benefit.

Universal Design for Learning operates in precisely the same way. The Higher Education Opportunity Act of 2008 offers the following definition of Universal Design for Learning:

The term UNIVERSAL DESIGN FOR LEARNING means a scientifically valid framework for guiding educational practice that:

(A) provides flexibility in the ways information is presented, in the ways students respond or demonstrate knowledge and skills, and in the ways students are engaged; and

(B) reduces barriers in instruction, provides appropriate accommodations, supports, and challenges, and maintains high achievement expectations for all students, including students with disabilities and students who are limited English proficient.

By eliminating barriers to learning without eliminating challenges, everyone in the class can benefit, not just those who may have documented disabilities or who enter with different strengths than those traditionally valued by the academy. [On this, see Judy Marquez Kiyama and Cecilia Rios-Aguilar, Funds of Knowledge in Higher Education: Honoring Students’ Cultural Experiences and Resources as Strengths (Routledge 2018).] Universal design for learning in higher education recognizes that what needs to be “fixed” is not the learner but the the way in which teaching and learning occurs.

How It Works: Using Visual Materials

390I have little doubt that colleagues can provided many examples of how they have used universal design for learning principles in their own classes, sometimes without even knowing that this is what they were doing. I encourage readers to supply further examples from their own practice that I can use to update this article. I include the specific examples below as illustrations of universal design for learning approaches that have worked in my classes. Each instructor will decide what works best for your own classrooms.

This first example, using visual materials with a sight-impaired student, comes from a class I taught many years ago. It was probably the first time that I thought of a universal-design-for- learning approach, although I had no idea it was called that or that such an approach existed.

Matt was a student in one of my Latin American history surveys. (I use his real name because he later wrote a memoir and referenced the incident.) He enrolled in my course having spent the previous Winter Term in Guatemala. Matt was born with cataracts, developed glaucoma as a baby, and soon lost all vision in his left eye while retaining only partial sight in the right. So he came to my class with limited vision: he could read with the help of a computer and got around campus without a guide dog or cane. I made sure he was assigned a note taker and that the readings were available far in advance so they could be recorded for him. Soon after the semester started, however, his limited eyesight vanished completely when a corneal ulcer in his “good” eye became infected. As he was sitting in my class, he later wrote, “Suddenly the lights seemed really bright. Then it got really painful. By the end of the hour I could barely see well enough to get myself to Academic Services.” Matthew had become totally blind.

He returned to class surprisingly soon after, and I had to consider whether to ignore Matt’s new disability, to change my approach to a class that depended substantially on slides with visual (illustrative, not textual) content, or to accommodate him in some other way. I considered asking a classmate to sit beside him, describing the slides as I cycled through them. But the continual, if hushed, commentary would have foregrounded Matt’s disability, making him the center of class attention day after day. I could have sent him the slides ahead of time, but slides without commentary made little sense and I would been have constrained from changing  slides at the last minute to respond to issues that recently arose in class.

The solution I finally hit upon was actually quite consistent with universal design principles, as I later learned. I was forced to think about why I used slides in the class, and when I considered that I realized that some were relatively unimportant, a kind of visual filler designed to hold the students’ attention, and some were critical to the issues we were discussing. By treating each of these two variants the same (i.e., having them up for the same amount of time and not commenting further on the important ones), I was missing an opportunity to enhance everyone’s learning. I decided that when I got to an important slide, I would ask for a volunteer to describe what they saw on the screen; then for a second and a third student who would add depth to the description. Finally, as a class which including Matthew, we could discuss the visual representation and they ways that it helped us understand the subject we were studying. There was no need to call attention to Matt’s visual impairment or to provide him “special accommodation,” and all the students benefited by being made more aware of visual content, by developing their powers of observation, and by hearing others discuss the slide. By leading me to focus more on my goals, Matt helped me redesign my class in a way that helped everyone. The approach didn’t “advantage” Matt or “disadvantage” the sighted students: it helped everyone.

366How It Works: Note Taking

One of the more common accommodations faculty are asked to make is providing students with note takers. Indeed, Prof. Schlesinger, it would seem, volunteered to “pay the student” to hire a note taker in his class (something which led me to wonder whether he ever had prior contact with the Disability Services office at his university, since it undoubtedly would have provided, and paid for, a note taker). In any case, instructors generally ask students to inform us confidentially at the beginning of the semester if they require a note taker and are registered with Disability Services. Sometimes we’ll get a letter later in the semester if a student only recently registered or has sustained an injury that impedes note taking. I doubt that anyone thinks that the student who requires a note taker because she has broken her arm in a field hockey match is now getting an unfair advantage over the other students.

But let’s look at this a bit more broadly. I have no doubt that there were students in my class who had more trouble than others taking notes in class. Perhaps it was because English was not their first language; perhaps because they never developed good note-taking skills; perhaps because they just processed what was being said (often at a rapid clip) somewhat more slowly than other students. I also had no doubt that it would have benefited all students to read a set of notes taken by another student, just in case they missed some important in their own notes.

Thinking of the needs of all students a bit more closely, I decided to assign class note takers for my courses. Two students in each class were asked to take notes that they would share with the other students by posting them to Blackboard. (Students were excused if they qualified for a note taker via the Disability Services office.) Note taking became a (small) part of the final grade. I doubt that having class note takes dissuaded any individual student from taking notes, nor did it encourage absences, and my advice to students who had missed class was always to “get the notes from another student.” What had I accomplished? Many more benefited from this approach: students who didn’t qualify for a note-taker from Disabilities Services and yet could have profited from one; students who could have qualified for a note-taker but felt constrained from asking for one for a myriad of reasons; students who suffered a temporary physical problem but didn’t find the time to get themselves to Disability Services; students who wanted to complement their own notes with those from other students. No one was disadvantaged and everyone was advantaged.

How It Works: Assignment Design:

438When we think about universal design in terms of assignments, we often think of students who require additional time on exams. The clear design of assignments is another aspect of universal design that serves all students. Mary-Ann Wilkelmes, the principal investigator of the Transparency in Teaching and Learning in Higher Education project, has developed a simple protocol for assignment design based on explicitly answering three questions when creating assignments.

  1. The Task: What are you asking your students to do?
  2. The Purpose: Why do they have to do it?
  3. The Criteria: How will their work be evaluated?

Often we think that our assignments are clearer than they actually are because students don’t complain about them. But ask the reference librarians who are called upon to help students figure out what we’re asking for, and you’ll discover something different. Many seem to do perfectly well without these particular prompts. Maybe those who are better able to read our minds are just smarter and deserve a better grade. Um, no. They’re not any smarter, but they might be able to suss out what we’re asking for because they have a greater grasp of these “unwritten rules” of higher education. They have what Tara J. Yosso, a professor of educational studies at the University of Michigan at Ann Arbor, calls “navigational capital.” Students who have had strong preparation through high school, who have taken a boatload of AP or IB courses, attended college courses while in high school, or whose parents are college teachers know the unwritten rules of the game: they know how to read a syllabus, how to locate the unwritten assumptions of an assignment, or – most importantly – have the confidence to ask the professor for guidance if the assignment isn’t clear to them. First-generation students, low-income, or historically underrepresented students, on the other hand, have come to college with all the “smarts” needed to do well in their classes, but they may lack the “navigational capital,” not to mention the self-confidence, to succeed.

But it also happens that the best prepared students really can’t figure out what we’re asking them to do because we haven’t been clear. In this case, universal design in terms of assignment design serves everyone, ourselves included. By being specific about task, purpose and criteria, we can be clearer in our own minds as to what we’re asking for in an assignment while helping all students, those with a strong academic preparation and those who are newer to the game, do well on the assignment. Once again, everyone benefits, no one is disadvantaged.

How It Works: Extra Time on Exams*

One of the more difficult issues logistically is arranging for extra time for exams or quizzes. Here’s an approach from Erik Inglis of the Art Department:

In my intro class, I used to give an in-class quiz, which meant it was limited in time, and cut into content. Now I have the students take the quiz at home–which revealed to me that I didn’t care if it took them 15 minutes or 30 minutes to come up with the answer–instead it was a more a matter of the appropriate length of the essay.  So, instead of students having to request an accommodation, everyone can have as much time as they think necessary–and I give a word-count, not a time-measure, to set parameters.  I tell students that this is one of the many benefits of the honor code (although he worries that students might be tempted to use outside sources for a closed book exam).

Another colleague added the following:**

During my…years at Oberlin I have never given any student a timed assessment. To me the issue of how fast a student can produce information or analyze a problem is seldom a good assessment of what they are learning in class. Given that Oberlin has an honor code, it also seems to me to be a waste of valuable class time to have quizzes or tests during class — I have them all outside of class. I assign them pairs that vary on each quiz so that they DO proctor each other. I actually make half the quiz something that they complete working together and half something that complete alone but in the presence of the other student. I believe that the collaborative discussions they have about answers are useful pedagogically.

This colleague further noted that he had been diagnosed as dyslexic as a child and that he was always disadvantaged by timed exams in high school. When he reached college, he found many of his professors more sympathetic, giving him more time on exams. But, he added, “As a student I also felt like I had an unfair advantage [getting additional time] and I always made it a point to try to convince my professors…to allow all students to have more time on tests. I am pleased to say that many DID where it was feasible to do so. And I felt like my grade was fairer in classes when they did.”

Conclusion

When Professor Schlesinger remarked that he intends to “fight for a more balanced approach to assisting disabled students,” a universal design for learning approach could be what he is looking for. By encouraging us to design a learning environment that can serve all students, such an approach can move us away from a concentrated focus on students who require “accommodation,” and towards a consideration of changes that can aid all our students. In the end, all students will profit from a classroom in which all needs, spoken or unspoken, certified or not, are taken into consideration. Such would be the case if the professor, so demonstrably wise in matters of atmospheric science, simply shared his slides with all students.

NOTE: For more on this topic, see Elizabeth Hamilton’s article, “Universal Design and the Architecture of Teaching” (Oct. 16, 2016).

354* Added on Sept. 17 at 12:07 PM

** Added on Sept. 18 at 10:07 AM

“Choose your Own Adventure”: New Approaches to Assignments

Wendy Hyman, Associate Professor of English (Oberlin College), April 17, 2017

"Macbeth," Holinshed Chronicles Folio. Public domain

“Macbeth,” Holinshed Chronicles Folio. Public domain

Like most teaching faculty, I’ve experimented with an array of strategies for augmenting (and evaluating) student learning over the years. Some have been fairly conventional: response papers, short quizzes, class reports, blackboard posts, final research papers, cumulative exams, and the like. Others have been more creative and comparative: writing “biographies” of books in Special Collections (trying to discern something like the “life story” of a 400- or 500-year old object), curating an exhibit in the Allen Memorial Art Museum  (although a literature professor, my scholarship sometimes delves into visual studies), writing imagined dialogues between literary characters, selecting among textual variants in order to create mini “editions,” or creating “liner notes” to speculate whether Petrarch or Dante is the mysterious “Italian poet from the thirteenth century” in Dylan’s “Tangled Up in Blue.”

But until recently, one thing I had never experimented with was giving students a choice about which assignments to complete or when to complete them. After all, standardizing the “what” and “when” of student work not only enables one to anticipate the grading tsunamis, but also ameliorates the grading process itself (read a few essay-based exams in a row, and you quickly develop a rubric for what “A” or a “B” answers looks like). Plus, as a female—and, for a while there, young—faculty member, I worried that I needed to be stringent in order to be taken seriously. Like developing a cherished reputation as a hard grader, I thought of inflexible deadlines as my friend. My reasons for keeping things simple and keeping them on a set schedule were not entirely self-interested, however. Like many professors, I found myself persuaded by the oft-repeated truism that it is part of our job to teach our students respect for deadlines. Surely it is the rare academic who has never turned in an article, book review, or assessment report after a promised deadline, and I admittedly felt a bit hypocritical playing bad cop. But we hear again and again that the work world, unlike higher education, will not tolerate the foibles of the disorganized and dilatory; in order to best prepare our students to flourish after graduation, it thereby seems like it must be our mandate to keep them on schedule.

A Midsummer Night's Dream act IV, scene I. Engraving from a painting by Henry Fuseli, published 1796. Public domain

A Midsummer Night’s Dream act IV, scene I. Engraving from a painting by Henry Fuseli, published 1796. Public domain

But over the years I began to resent occupying the role of the disciplinarian who insisted on calibrating demerits for each day of lateness. In terms of contact with students, deadline management also places inevitable emotional friction into the least edifying part of the student-teacher relationship. I’d so much rather talk about how my student’s thinking is evolving than adjudicate whether they really needed another 24 hours to turn in the essay reflecting said thinking. More important, the rigidity seemed inimical to the kind of creative, inventive, higher-order thinking I wanted to foster in both my students and myself, and the impression I wanted to leave of their encounter with the material. Do I want them to remember that I was the person who taught them to turn in an essay on time even if they have the flu? Or the person that enabled then to do their best work because I had not discouraged self-care?

Stepping Gradually into the New Assignment Waters

A few years ago, a new class gave me a chance to test out doing a few things differently. It was a new lecture-style course, a 100-level Introduction to Shakespeare directed at non-majors. I therefore anticipated many first-time visitors to college-level humanities courses: opera singers and oboe players, geologists and mathematicians, pre-med students taking a required English class, or first-years who had promised a grandparent they would try out Shakespeare. I wanted to signal my understanding that each of these students would bring different interests and strengths to the table, and I also wanted the “opportunity costs” of trying out something new to be low. At the same time, with 50 students in the class (and half that many in another that was writing intensive), there was a limit to how much I could really personalize things. So I considered a compromise. What if, in addition to short quizzes and a final exam, I gave students a menu of 4 choices for the remaining 10% of their grade? And what if I allowed them to turn in or perform their student-choice assignment whenever they chose?

Christian de Köhler, Othello with Desdemona, 1859. Public domain

Christian de Köhler, Othello with Desdemona, 1859. Public domain

To my delight, the experiment went very well. Most of the students chose to do a recitation (option: to perform a soliloquy or group scene either in class or in my office), while others cheered them on. Several chose to analyze a film adaptation, while another analyzed a performance of the opera Otello. A few discussed a scholarly article about one of the plays, and a couple others even examined primary sources reproduced in our textbook. While a few did treat the assignment as peripheral, most really relished the opportunity to take agency in their choice, and to round-out the course’s approach with something more personal. Certainly, the recitations animated the classroom, and created a sense of mutual respect and group bonding that made the lecture hall feel more intimate. But best of all, I was enabling a kind of multi-modal learning even in a lecture course, and in a way that I think increased the student sense of buy-in.

All In: Choose Your Own Adventure

I was pleased enough with how this went that, last semester, I decided to radically increase the student-choice component of an upper-level course, giving students what I described as “choose your own adventure” approach to the majority of assignments. It took a good amount of planning to set up, a significant amount of flexibility to administer, and a willingness to take a real leap of faith in my students. But if it enabled me to focus less on my role as Keeper of Deadlines, and more on my role as enabler of scrupulous analysis, elegant expression, and metacognition, how could that be bad? It certainly seemed like a class called Shakespeare and Metamorphosis, which read Shakespeare in conversation with classical Ovidian myths about transformation, was an ideal place to ask for more self-direction from students—and to try out something new myself.

Ovid, Metamorphoseon libri XV.... Title-page. Collection of Hayden White and Margaret Brose, 1556. Public domain

Ovid, Metamorphoseon libri XV…. Title-page. Collection of Hayden White and Margaret Brose, 1556. Public domain

Of course, the details of any such experiment would need to be adapted to the learning goals of the course, the skill level of the students, and the exigencies of the professor’s schedule (full disclosure: I am not doing anything like this now, during my hectic 3-course semester). But for me, it looked like this: all students were required to write one analytical essay (6-8 pages) worth 25% of the grade; and all students would receive 15% of their grade for their attendance and participation in discussion. Beyond this, it was up to each student to determine the means by which they would find it most beneficial to be evaluated according to a menu of options that I provided. Admittedly, this took me some time to work out:

 

 

 

5%:    Start off class discussion with a substantive response to something we’ve read; pose         questions.

10%:  Oral presentation (5-10 min) of an article—summarize, analyze, point to ideas it raises;

          or Visual analysis (3pp) of an object in the AMAM in relation to Ovid/Shakespeare;

          or Response paper (3pp.) analyzing any primary or secondary reading for the day.

15%:  Annotated bibliography of 3 articles not on the syllabus (one paragraph per source);

          or Analysis (3-4pp) of a translation of one of our primary texts.

20%:  Attempt to create your own myth (!);

          or Continue the story of any Ovidian character.

25%:  6-7 pp. analytical essay on any primary source from the second half of term;

          or an Ovidian Shakespeare text (e.g. Venus and Adonis) not on the syllabus;

          or one or more myth(s) from another culture/linguistic tradition, etc.;

          or a Final exam comprising discussion of terms, passage analysis, and one essay.

50%:  Final original research paper, 16-20pp.; requires 6-8 secondary sources and a consultation with a librarian.

?%:    Online virtual exhibition/web page: let’s discuss what you envision, and agree on scope.

          or? I am open to other unconventional approaches.

This menu of options was followed by five samples of how a student might get to 100 points, and some ground rules: All students had to submit a personal plan by week 2 for how they intended to meet the course requirements (they were allowed to modify the plan after this date if their interests changed, as long as they submitted a revised plan and explanation). I stipulated that no more than three of any element could be submitted, urging that in most cases two would be better to expand the skill set developed. All students had to earn at least 20 “student choice” points by the end of week 10, unless writing the research paper, and all were required to turn in a sheet showing their “accounting” at the end of the semester.

Ovid, Metamorphoses, "Minerva at the House of Envy," 1664 - 1700

Ovid, Metamorphoses, “Minerva at the House of Envy,” 1664 – 1700. Public domain

There were scheduling issues I had to think through. I needed to allow only two discussion starters per day so as to not take too much time away from class discussion; that part was therefore handled by sign-up sheet. I had to take into account the registrar’s rules for the submission of final projects. And I had to help the students, primarily through one-on-one conversations, think through how to figure out their rubric. But here is where the somewhat dizzying logistics made way for intentionality and responsibility: because each student had to give serious thought to what their aims and intentions for the course were. Is this a semester, I asked them, in which you really want to work on your writing by tackling a series of short essays with ongoing feedback? Is this the semester in which you want to try bringing together your English and Creative Writing majors by writing your own myth? Are you interested in working on your research skills, and therefore want to develop an annotated bibliography? Do you need more practice giving in-class presentations, and can we set up a schedule for those? It almost goes without saying that by asking them to take responsibility for what they most wanted to work on, they were more likely to achieve it. And far from thinking that flexibility was a synonym for slack, the class truly set itself wonderfully high expectations: from a scholarly 20-page research papers for a graduate-school bound student, to a site-specific installation by a TIMARA major in Tappan Square, replete with an original score, which reimagined the town green as an allegorical landscape.

And what about those deadlines? As you might imagine, students were initially a bit overwhelmed by this array of options. They did their earnest best to come up with plans they could stick to. But as they kept learning, their interests changed, and so did their intentions. I accepted every revision. Likewise, as deadlines piled up, many students had to revise their own due dates. I accepted every new date. Each time, the students seemed apologetic that they had fallen short in some way, but I told them that, instead, they could use this as a wonderful opportunity to self-reflect about how they worked best, what they might need to prioritize differently in the future, and how much time they required for various tasks. Because in reality, the world of work very rarely dictates singular deadlines that can be tackled one by one. Instead, we all must learn to multitask in increasingly complex and demanding environments that reward us more for nimbleness than for rigidity. And that, too, is something that my Shakespeare and Metamorphosis students so deftly taught me.

Universal Design and the Architecture of Teaching

Elizabeth Hamilton, October 10, 2016


Elizabeth Hamilton is Associate Professor of German Language and Literatures at Oberlin College. She specializes in Twentieth-century West German literature and film, East German cinema, Postwar narratives of “Vergangenheitsbewältigung,” and Disability Studies. She is the Section 504/ADA Coordinator at Oberlin. (Section 504 is a part of the Rehabilitation Act of 1973 that prohibits discrimination based upon disability.)


Universal Design for Learning is not yet well known, yet a recent article in The Chronicle of Higher Education reveals that some educators are already casting doubt on its merit. Its very name suggests something too good to be true, as though “universal design” really meant “one size fits all.” Knowing that one size will never fit all, I grasp the need for caution. Still I favor this approach that asks me to know my students better.

Let me first underscore that universal design is not a teaching method. It is an approach to planning and to creating methods and materials by which teachers consider the widest possible range of learners from the outset.

Borrowing from architecture, universal design is a set of principles that enables us to plan for the greatest possible inclusion from the start of a project, as opposed to costly retrofitting to meet an overlooked need. Have you ever seen an unsightly ramp outside of a beautiful building? Or a sign directing wheelchair users to the back entrance?

finney-cropI mean not to disparage those measures, as access is better than no access, even as an afterthought. But it’s the process of design that interests me here. Why didn’t the architects think that a wheelchair user might use the front door every day, as a regular customer of this business or student in this campus facility—or as its director, or office-holder, or president? The ramp and the elevator are moreover just the most visible accommodations. Many adaptive or assistive devices are retrofitted onto communication services, programs, and policies. Again, this is honorable, but I think it is time to take the next step. Retrofitting is costly and the narrow thinking that preceded it is clear: the atypical user was not really on our minds when we built this institution.

We now know more than ever about systemic barriers and stereotype threat. We are beginning to grasp the real benefits of diversity and the costs of exclusion.

Universal design asks us, the architects of our curriculum, to respect diversity as an asset. In my view, this is the set of principles that will best allow us to translate our aspirations for diversity into an actual framework of accessibility. Because while universal design is often evoked in conversations about disability, its great gift is in the welcome it affords to all students who, for any reason (or in defiance of reason) are not in the center of the room or the center of our attention when we plan. I’m thinking here of first-generation students, international students, students of color, and students whose first language or gender identity or class or heritage give them frames of reference that can make access to our curriculum an uphill climb. Their perceived differences are too often cast as deficits and our responses cast as “providing for special needs.”

geschiedenis-van-de-gemeenten-der-provincie-oost-vlaanderen

Frans de Potter, Geschiedenis van de Gemeenten der Provincie Oost-Vlaanderen, 1864

Universal design offers a way out of the normal vs. needy framework.

Universal design doesn’t wait for documentation of a disability before taking action, just as no curb cut requires a wheelchair user—or pedestrian carrying a heavy load, or parent pushing a stroller, or musician wheeling a double bass—to present a license before entering the sidewalk. Like the philosophy behind the curb cut, universal design presumes a range of users, and—this is important—it presumes competence on the part of all students, no matter their learning style.

curbcutBuilding Pedagogical Curb Cuts details practical accessibility innovations that teachers can incorporate in a range of disciplines. I contributed a short essay for this book when it was published in 2005. I share it now as a springboard for conversation even as I see how much has changed in the intervening decade.

Today’s classrooms already incorporate an array of universally designed features. This is as much a response to the changing demographics of our student body as it is a response to the shifts in critical inquiry that scholars are making in every field of study. These trends are merging, and well they should. We as teachers no longer restrict ourselves to formal lectures and traditional seminar papers any more than we as scholars rely solely on the monograph or conference paper to share our research. In addition to those still-valuable practices, we also use a variety of media; we engage more senses in class; we teach and test in a range of formats and settings; we use rubrics to evaluate student learning; we encourage collaboration; and we promote community-based learning. Whether we name them as such or not, universal design principles underpin the efforts we make to create multifaceted courses. We help our students engage with material when we open up new vantage points.

I have found that engaging my students in the process of enhancing access is the most instructive of all—both for students and for me. Here are just two examples of projects that you might consider and improve upon.

music-and-disabilityMy First Year Seminar students created Disability-Awareness-Month displays in each of our campus’s four libraries. Their task included thinking about how to make the displays accessible to a range of library patrons, including those who might have low vision. The students working in the Conservatory library included QR codes in their display to access apps with narration and musical selections. You can see it here and visit in person through the month of October. [Note: A fuller description of this project is included at the end of the post.]

Another class last spring studied works exhibited in the Allen Memorial Art Museum’s Ripon Gallery. This lovely second-floor space is unfortunately not accessible if a person cannot use stairs. My students each selected an artwork to describe in detail for someone who cannot see it, no matter whether the barrier results from limited vision or lack of an elevator or any other reason. They drew upon visual description guidelines in Art Beyond Sight to prepare for this project. Here is Anna Rose Greenberg’s vivid description of “Les Hydropathes, Troisieme Traitement” by Charles-Émile Jacque:

Charles-Émile Jacque, "Les Hydropathes, Troisieme Traitement," Lithograph (19th century). Allen Memorial Art Museum, Oberlin College

Charles-Émile Jacque, “Les Hydropathes, Troisieme Traitement,” Lithograph (19th century). Allen Memorial Art Museum, Oberlin College

What is “universally designed” in these activities? There are multiple entry points into the activities themselves and they function in tandem with other activities to form the whole of a universally-designed course.

  • They engage a variety of senses.
  • They draw attention to the medium in which knowledge is contained, and ask students to examine that very frame.
  • They constitute a portion of the students’ overall grades, valuing the learning acquired in means other than timed tests or traditional essays.
  • Timed tests and traditional essays accompany these activities because those practices have value, too.

As a teacher, my role is to explain the value and purpose of the activities I require, provide accommodations where necessary, and say clearly what I want students to get out of a given task. Universally-designed options become moments for metacognitive awareness. The tone of my courses changes significantly and for the better when I emphasize the purposes behind the assignments, the time limits, due dates, and participation requirements. The structures of my course then take on intrinsic meaning and don’t appear to students as arbitrary or exclusionary gates.

I close with a video of Thomas Quasthoff, bass-baritone, as he sings “Auf dem Flusse” from Schubert’s Winterreise. Mr. Quasthoff has performed around the world, including with the Cleveland Orchestra and in master classes at Oberlin’s Conservatory of Music. As a so-called “child of Thalidomide,” Mr. Quasthoff’s physical growth was impeded, leaving his arms too short to reach piano keys. Nonetheless, he was required to play the piano in order to pass an entrance exam for the Hannover Konservatorium. The test would not be waived and no alternative method was offered for him to demonstrate his musical skills and knowledge. Denied admission, he turned to private study with Sebastian Peschko and is now recognized as one of the great interpreters of the Lied. How glad I am that his teacher was willing to think in alternatives.

Thomas Quasthoff. Photo by timelock.in (Flickr cc): Unpublished backstageshot from Thomas Quasthoff's rehearsal with Daniel Barenboim (June 28, 2006)

Thomas Quasthoff. Photo by timelock.in (Flickr cc): Unpublished backstageshot from Thomas Quasthoff’s rehearsal with Daniel Barenboim (June 28, 2006)


Assignment from Elizabeth Hamilton’s First Year Seminar Program 093: Disability (Fall 2016):

3. Library Display Assignment (10%): This assignment introduces you to Oberlin’s
campus libraries. You will gain an overview of research materials and the steps you need
to take to gain access to them. You will explore the range of published scholarship on
disability. You will meet our professional library staff members and develop good
research and communication skills. You will collaborate with your classmates on
designing four library displays for October’s Disability Awareness month. You will also
gain research skills for pursuing your individual projects, due at the end of the semester.
First meeting: full class on Monday, September 19th from 2:30-3:20 in Mudd Library’s
main-floor classroom.
Second meeting: small groups on Monday, September 26th from 2:30-3:20 in Mudd
library, the Conservatory library, the Science library, or the Art library.

1. Decide how many works to display.
2. Decide which kind(s) of works to display: are you choosing works in which
disability is regarded as a problem to be solved, a perspective from which a
person experiences life, the product of created (and potentially removable)
barriers, or a little bit of all of these?
3. Decide which works to display: works could be by creative authors, natural or
social scientists, composers, or performers with disabilities, or works could be
ones in which disability is a major theme, artistic device, or perspective of a
significant character.
4. Choose a visual style for the display. Select, as appropriate, illustrations, props,
colors or borders.
5. Choose a way to alert viewers to the displays in other libraries.

After the displays are created, each student is required to fill out a self-evaluation rubric
on one’s own participation in the group project AND submit a one-page (250-300 word)
personal reflection essay on the process of creating the display. What did you contribute?
What did you learn?

Self-evaluation rubrics (found at the end of this syllabus) and personal reflection essays
are due on Monday, October 3rd.

Revealing the Secret Handshakes: The Rules of Clear Assignment Design

Steven Volk, September 27, 2015

I’ve often thought that the more we can reveal to our students about why we design our classes as we do, or the more we can suggest the principles that underpin our assignments,  the more they would learn and the better they would do. I probably started thinking this way as a simple reaction against the “You need to do it this way because that’s what I’m asking for” approach, the teacher’s equivalent of the parental “Because!” response to a child’s “Why do I have to?” question. I continue to disclose the architecture of my course design because it offers an opportunity to discuss the way I apply learning theory to instructional design, bringing students in as collaborators in the complex process of teaching and learning. At the start of the semester, I’ll spend some time talking about constructivist theories of learning to explain why I rely more on discussion than lecture. I’m not always sure they fully understand what I’m talking about, and that is somewhat beside the point anyway since I don’t teach learning theory even though it informs my teaching (and my students’ learning). But clarifying the architecture that supports my course design is one way I have of inviting students into the club, as it were. By showing them academia’s “secret handshakes,” I felt I could make them feel both more in control of their learning and somewhat more self-confident about what they could achieve in my class.

Secret HandshakesNow I’ve discovered that there is some strong research to support my assumptions. The Chronicle of Higher Education recently ran an article about the work of Mary-Ann Winkelmes and her “Transparency Project.” Winkelmes, who trained as an art historian specializing in Renaissance art and architecture, served as the associate director of Harvard’s superb Derek Bok Center for Teaching and Learning. She moved on to the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, where she organized the Illinois Initiative on Transparency in Learning and Teaching, an assessment project involving 25,000 students at 27 institutions in seven countries. The project aimed at disclosing more precisely what instructors could do to improve student learning.

Winkelmes’ results confirm what many of us have been doing for some time. If we make the process of teaching and learning explicit to students — especially those who don’t know what to expect from their college experience — we can have a significant impact on their learning. By the relatively simple act of letting students in on what Winkelmes calls “the secret, unwritten rules of how to succeed in college” (which are, essentially, my “secret handshakes”), we can actually impact their learning positively.

The Illinois project has two main goals: to promote students’ conscious understanding of how they learn, and to enable faculty to benefit from data about students’ learning by coordinating efforts across disciplines, institutions, and countries. The Transparency Initiative asks students about their perceptions of the current and future learning benefits they are gaining, complementing existing assessments of content mastery and teaching performance. It was designed to determine whether the information that many of us reported anecdotally – that students did better when they understood how and why instructors had structured their learning experiences in particular ways – would stand up in a rigorous research study.

Psychology Today_3 types of handshakes

We already know a fair amount about the impact of putting students more in control of their own learning. Metacognition research has demonstrated fairly consistently that students learn more and retain more of what they have learned when they have some control over how they are learning and are aware of the learning process itself. Further, we know that training students to understand how to take control over their learning will increase their academic success. (For those who want to pursue this further, you’ll find a short bibliography at the end of the article.) I should note that the surveys developed by Winkelmes avoided the typical limitations of student self-reports of learning (students tend to self-report greater mastery than actual performance reveals) by focusing on students’ reports of how much, or if, their learning experience affected their mastery of content and critical thinking skills. (Full details on the assessment study are here. Demographically, the responses to the survey closely matched the overall undergraduate population in the United States.)

Making the Unwritten Rules Visible in Assignment Design

Winkelmes is currently at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas, where she is the principal investigator of the project Transparency in Teaching and Learning in Higher Education. There, she is trying to fit the findings of her Illinois Transparency Project into a simple protocol for assignment design that instructors can easily implement. Professors who have signed on to the project (click here if you want to join) are asked to take three questions on board when creating assignments. For me, they offer an useful way of thinking about how to design assignments whether or not you are a formal part of the Transparency Project, and two of the questions are valid for any classroom activity, graded or non-graded:

  1. The Task: What are you asking your students to do?
  2. The Purpose: Why do they have to do it?
  3. The Criteria: How will their work be evaluated?

Task

Maybe it’s just me, but I’m continually amazed that after some 30+ years in teaching I still write assignments that, when prompted by student comments, I find to be relatively unclear and poorly written. It’s not surprising that the students don’t always know what I am asking of them, i.e., the task.  (In fact, after reading Winkelmes’ articles, I rushed to rewrite the first assignment for one of my current classes.) And perhaps that’s the problem: the longer we’re in this business, the more we operate with certain “unwritten rules” in mind, expecting that students will know exactly what we’re thinking about – even though we haven’t told them. Quite often, the only parts of the assignment that we are explicit about are the purely technical ones (12 point type, double spaced, no more than 5 pages, etc.). So, what is it we’re asking the students to do in the assignment?

Purpose

Here I’m better, but it took some years of wandering before I got there. Do we make the purpose of the assignment explicit, or do we expect the students will some intuit it? Is an assignment fundamentally about testing recall of factual information? Using that information in the context of an argument? Using evidence to argue a position? Being able to see multiple sides of an argument or carrying out a certain task? Furthermore, is the information we provide students about the purpose of the paper explicit, or written in our insiders shorthand?  Do we think that we’re giving something away by disclosing this, and that they should figure it out by themselves? The research Winkelmes has gathered is fairly convincing that the clearer we are in addressing the purpose of the assignment, the better our students will do.

Criteria for Assessment

Many faculty provide students with grading rubrics as a way of making their assessment criteria perfectly clear. Others include these details within the body of the assignment. However one does it, informing students as to how they will be graded will help them approach the assignment with greater clarity, increase their sense of control, and add to their self-confidence. If performance criteria aren’t specified, it can increase student anxiety besides leading students to focus their work on aspects of the assignment that aren’t what we intended. Again, we often assume that students know what we are asking for without our having to say it. Quite often, they don’t.

Don’t they get it anyway?

But what if they do? Many of our students seem to do perfectly well without these particular prompts. Is it that they are just smarter (and deserve a better grade) or are better able to read our minds and figure out what we’re asking for? Well, they’re not any smarter, but they might be able to read our minds better because they have a greater grasp of these “unwritten rules” of higher education. What they have, according to Tara J. Yosso, a professor of educational studies at the University of Michigan at Ann Arbor, is “navigational capital”; they understanding the rules of the game. Students who have had strong preparation through high school, who have taken a boatload of AP or IB courses, attended college courses while in high school, or whose parents are college teachers (which is often the case at Oberlin) know how to read a syllabus, how to locate the unwritten assumptions of an assignment, or – most importantly – have the confidence to ask the professor for guidance if the assignment isn’t clear to them. First-generation students, low-income, or historically underrepresented students, on the other hand, have come to college with all the “smarts” needed to do well in their classes, but they may lack the “navigational capital,” not to mention the self-confidence, to succeed.

So, should we be writing out the unwritten rules for them alone? The answer to that falls squarely within the realm of universal design. The basic principle of universal design is the importance of constructing a curriculum, a class, or an entire education that give all individuals equal opportunities to learn. By constructing assignments that specifically write out the unwritten rules (task, purpose, criteria), we not only are helping those who might not know the rules, but literally everyone in the class. But there’s more: Writing these three simple points into the assignment helps us focus and be explicit in terms of what we are asking students to do, why we are asking the to do this, and how we will grade them. Everyone’s a winner.

illuminati-masonic-grips

Benefits of transparent teaching and learning methods

Beyond these three points of assignment design, Winkelmes’ survey results suggest a few fairly easy but important practices that can improve both current and future learning in different disciplines and for different class sizes. The information below comes from her article published in Liberal Education (Spring 2013, Vol. 99:2), “Transparency in Teaching: Faculty Share Data and Improve Students’ Learning.”

In humanities courses at the introductory undergraduate level, two practices seem to benefit students’ current course learning experiences depending on the size of the class:

  • Discuss assignments’ learning goals and design rationale before students begin each assignment (in classes ranging in size from thirty-one to sixty-five students).
  • Debrief graded tests and assignments in class (in classes ranging in size from sixty-six to three hundred students).

In social science courses at the introductory undergraduate level, particularly in mid-sized level classes (31-65 students) several transparent methods have statistically significant benefits for students’ current course learning experiences:

  • Discuss assignments’ learning goals and design rationale before students begin each assignment.
  • Gauge students’ understanding during class via peer work on questions that require students to apply concepts you’ve taught.
  • Debrief graded tests and assignments in class.

In larger introductory courses in the STEM fields (science, technology, engineering, and mathematics), the following transparent methods have statistically significant benefits for students’ current course learning experiences and for their future learning:

  • Explicitly connect “how people learn” data with course activities when students struggle at difficult transition points.
  • Gauge students’ understanding during class via peer work on questions that require students to apply concepts you’ve taught.
  • Discuss assignments’ learning goals before students begin each assignment.

Students at the intermediate and advanced levels in STEM courses (again, larger classes) indicated that the following methods are helpful to their current and future learning:

  • Gauge students’ understanding during class via peer work on questions that require students to apply concepts you’ve taught.
  • Debrief graded tests and assignments in class.

As with the material on writing assignments, Winkelmes reports that many of these practices are especially beneficial for underrepresented students, for those who can’t read the unwritten rules of the game as easily as students who are more familiar with college settings. Not only do these practices improve their academic self-confidence, but it gives them a greater sense of control over their learning. What’s not to like?

French-Spanish-Handshake-10167250


A Bit of Bibliography

Cohen, P. A. 1980. “Effectiveness of Student-Rating Feedback for Improving College Instruction: A Meta-Analysis of Findings.” Research in Higher Education 13 (4): 321–41.

Dunlosky, J., and J. Metcalfe. 2009. Metacognition. Thousand Oaks, CA: SAGE Publications.

Francis, G. E., J. P. Adams, and E. J. Noonan. 1998. “Do They Stay Fixed?” The Physics Teacher 36 (8): 488–90.

Gynnald, V., A. Holstad, and D. Myrhaug. 2008. “Identifying and Promoting Self-Regulated Learning in Higher Education: Roles and Responsibilities of Student Tutors.” Mentoring & Tutoring 16 (2): 147–61.

Light, R. J. 1990. The Harvard Assessment Seminars: Explorations with Students and Faculty about Teaching, Learning, and Student Life. First Report. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University.

Nelson, T. O., and J. Dunlosky. 1991. “When People’s Judgments of Learning Are Extremely Accurate at Predicting Subsequent Recall: The Delayed JOL Effect.” Psychological Science 2 (4): 267–70.

Perry, R., N. C. Hall, and J. C. Ruthig. 2007. “Perceived (Academic) Control and Scholastic Attainment in Higher Education.” In The Scholarship of Teaching and Learning in Higher Education: An Evidence-Based Perspective, edited by R. P. Perry and J. C. Smart, 477–552. Dordrecht, The Netherlands: Springer.

Thinking and Doing: Going with the Flow

Steven Volk, November 23, 2014

“Sometimes you just want them to do what you ask them to do and not question it.”

This was one of many comments that emerged from a conversation when nearly 30 coaches and faculty sat down last Friday to break bread (actually, pita) and talk about how we think about student learning on our different ends of the campus. I had never been in this kind of a discussion in nearly 30 years at Oberlin. And I don’t think that anyone else who was there had, either. The hour-long conversation was not only truly pleasurable; it opened a window on the benefits of bringing all parts of our residential, liberal arts campus together in dialogue while also helping me think differently about what we do as teachers.

Peasants breaking bread. ''Livre du roi Modus et de la reine Ratio'', 14th century. Paris, Biblioteque nationale, Département des manuscrits, Français 22545 fol. 72.

Peasants breaking bread. ”Livre du roi Modus et de la reine Ratio”, 14th century. Paris, Biblioteque nationale, Département des manuscrits, Français 22545 fol. 72.

The coach’s comment, which initially sounded so jarring to me, sunk in quickly among faculty who teach in performance areas of the curriculum: music and dance, as well as among the coaches. It soon opened two different conversational paths. One related to a challenge we face as instructors in liberal arts settings. Our bread and butter is helping our students question perceived wisdom, to “display an ability to see through or undermine statements made by (or beliefs held by) others,” as Michael Roth, the president of Wesleyan University recently put it. “For many students today,” he continued, “being smart means being critical,” always asking questions. But there are limitation to that, not just (as Roth pointed out) that our students in being too “critical” can become unwilling to engage with material they might otherwise ignore or find problematic.

To reference a seemingly mundane point, I have also found that moments arise when I just want students “to do and not question” further. I can, and do, tell my students how historians cite sources, why it’s different from the way that biologists cite their evidence and what the intellectual rationale is that helps explain our particular format. (For those interested, Anthony Grafton has written a marvelous book on the “curious history” of the footnote.) But, at a certain point, they need to stop questioning and just use the proper style. But I’ll leave that particular path for another posting.

Flow

I’d rather focus on a second aspect of the coach’s statement, the notion that when athletes are “doing” they will only succeed when they stop “asking questions,” stop second-guessing themselves. This moment of engagement is what is meant by being “in the zone,” it happens when you are fully present in the moment, when the little voices in your head stop telling you that you need to pick up the broccoli for dinner or that your book review is now six-weeks late.

Creative Commons public domain

Creative Commons public domain

Psychologist Mihály Csíkszentmihályi (pronounced me-HIGH chick-sent-me-HIGH-ee, for those, like myself, who have stumbled over it for years), calls it “flow.” He describes “flow” as “being completely involved in an activity for its own sake. The ego falls away. Time flies. Every action, movement, and thought follows inevitably from the previous one, like playing jazz. Your whole being is involved, and you’re using your skills to the utmost.” Csíkszentmihályi explored this concept in his 1990 book, Flow: The Psychology of Optimal Experience (reissued in 2008 by Harper Perennial Modern Classics).

He became interested in the topic when he read of artists who would get lost in their work, so absorbed were they that they didn’t eat and barely slept. There is good evidence that Michelangelo, when working in the Sistine Chapel, would paint for days on end without stopping.

Csíkszentmihályi and his colleague, Jeanne Nakamura, identified six factors characteristic of flow:

  1. intense concentration on the moment
  2. merging of action and awareness
  3. loss of reflective self-consciousness
  4. feeling that one has control over the situation or activity
  5. temporal distortion, an alteration of one’s experience of time
  6. feeling that the experience is intrinsically rewarding.

[Jeanne Nakamura and Mihály Csikszentmihalyi, “Flow Theory and Research,” in C. R. Snyder, Erik Wright, and Shane J. Lopez, eds., Handbook of Positive Psychology (New York: Oxford University Press, 2001), 195–206.]

My knees no longer allow me to run, but I still vividly remember those outings when I was in “flow.” I ran miles past my previous barrier and came back exhilarated, almost as if I had been…OK, we’re not going to go there.

So, when the coach said that he just wanted his players to “do” and not question, it made sense. Athletes and other performers are operating at a point when skills and training have become so engrained, and the challenge or opportunity so immediate, that they don’t think of how they will bring the ball down from chest to foot and then drive it into the net. They just do. When you listen to John Coltrane or McCoy Tyner so deeply absorbed in “A Love Supreme”, you will know what “flow” is.

Neff Connor, "Sunday Spins" - https://www.flickr.com/photos/nffcnnr/14163381924/

Neff Connor, “Sunday Spins” – https://www.flickr.com/photos/nffcnnr/14163381924/

Flow and Intellectual Work

Does flow only gush forth from the North or South ends of campus, only among our student athletes, conservatory, dance or theater performers? Even more, does flow mean that the brain is turned off while when one is removed from the question-asking mode? Scroll up to  the six indicators of flow. They point, above all, to moments of intense concentration, a merging of “action and awareness,” not to mindlessness but to mindfulness. You probably recognize similar feelings of flow when you are deeply engaged in your work, writing an article or working through a problem. It’s not the deadline that drives you, it’s the intrinsic engagement. (OK, so it’s also the deadline!) I tend to think that the absent-minded professor shtick originates with this perception of teachers who are so fully absorbed in their thinking that they walk right by you with nary a sign of recognition. Or we might just have a abundance of rude instructors.

In any case, the question is how can we bring our all our students, and not just those who perform before audiences, into “flow”? People who design video games, and certainly the best among them, know all about this. See here and here, for example. Game designers, if they’re on their game, are always trying to design flow into their products by avoiding boredom (too easy) and frustration (too hard). They, like many of us, are looking for Vygotsky’s “zone of proximal development,” where engagement occurs, and engagement is a path into learning.

John Ingham serves the ball vs. Wittenberg University. Photo: Oberlin Review.

How do we move students into a “flow” state? We probably try to do the same things that our coaching/performance colleagues have been doing, whether in tennis or piano. Students have to have a high level of both knowledge and skills before they can reach flow. What that means concretely will be different in physics and history, but we are all working to structure our classes, homework, and assignments to provide students with the skill sets they need to succeed: knowledge, procedure and inquiry. Once there, what can we do to get them into flow, to move motivations from extrinsic (it’s all about the grade) to intrinsic (it’s all about the learning)?

Csíkszentmihályi argues that three conditions have to be met to achieve a flow state:

  1. The activity you design must have clear goals and allow students to see their own progress. The task must have direction and structure.
  2. There must be an opportunity for clear and immediate feedback, so students can negotiate changing demands and adjust their performance.
  3. And there must be a balance between what students see as the challenges of the task and how they understand their own skills. In other words, they need to be confident that they can complete the task. (This brings us back to “mindsets” and “mindfulness.”)

(Mihály Csikszentmihalyi, Sami Abuhamdeh, and Jeanne Nakamura, (2005), “Flow,” in A. Elliot, ed., Handbook of Competence and Motivation (New York: The Guilford Press, 2005), 598–698.)

Challenge vs. skills. Public domain.

Challenge vs. skills. Public domain.

As the graphic (left) suggests, flow can happen where skill levels and challenges are both high, which is why performance, with its test of acting before a “real” audience, can most often lead to flow. But some of our colleagues have also designed assignments that can bring students into “flow” types of engagement. Taylor Allen (Biology) and Liliana Milkova (academic curator at the Allen Memorial Art Museum), describe a set of activities in Allen’s first-year seminar (The Body in Health and Disease) and upper-level physiology class (Animal Physiology) which focus on understanding the biology of love. A central part of learning in the class involved bringing students to the AMAM where they explored a set of prints and paintings (and created their own mini-exhibitions) in order to decide 1) whether portrayals of love in art align with the growing understanding of the biology of love and 2) whether the bodily experience of love was universal or culturally influenced.

(Liliana Milkova, Colette Crossman, Stephanie Wiles, and Taylor Allen. “Engagement and Skill Development in Biology Students through Analysis of Art.” CBE-Life Sciences Education 12 (2013): 687-700.)

When students evaluated the assignment in a well-designed end-of-semester survey, the words they used to describe their experiences (engaging, stimulating, original, welcome, refreshing, fun, enjoyable, longing for more) were “reminiscent of those associated with the experience of flow in a creative endeavor” (p. 697). Flow in the art museum and biology.

Do you think about how to calibrate skills and challenges to bring students into “flow-like” contexts? Are there other ways that we can consider how to adapt approaches to learning in one part of campus to strengthen student learning in other parts?

Commenting on Assignments – by Voice!

Providing timely, directed, and cogent feedback to student assignments is a difficult and time consuming task. Previous CTIE “Article of the Week” posts have addressed some of the issues involved in giving feedback on writing assignments (e.g., “Responding to Student Writing,” April 11, 2011; “Providing Effective Feedback on Tests and Assignments,” February 28, 2011; “Grading,” Nov. 29, 2010; “Designing and Grading Exams,” May 3, 2010, etc.). As I’m working my way through a pile of papers, I often think: the best thing would be if I had the student here, I could tell her quite concisely what I thought the strengths and the weaknesses of her paper were. Well, there are now ways that you can do something similar, using programs that incorporate your oral comments to a student’s paper or assignment.

OK, first things first: this is probably not for the technologically faint of heart. But neither is it so complex that only our colleagues in OCTET would understand it. Finally, for students, the only real skills involved are being able to open and click on a link.

There are different ways to do this, but the main recommendations come from a recent article by ProfHacker, a regular feature in the Chronicle of Higher Education. If you don’t have a subscription to the CHE, you can access it via the library’s website, making sure to sign in if you are off campus (if you are on campus and access it through the library’s web site, there should be no problem).

The article in question is by Heather M. Whitney, “Grading Computer Programming with Voice,” CHE (October 30, 2012). She uses three accounts (JotForm, Jing, and screencast.com) to allow her to pull up an assignment uploaded by students  (in her case, some programming problem), use screencapture technology and a microphone to point out those places on the assignment which need improvement or were excellent, give students verbal feedback on what was and wasn’t working (up to 5 minutes of comments on Jing), and then return the assignments to an individual folder which only the individual student can see.

Whitney’s article links to others, including how to “Grade with Voice on an iPad,” (CHE, June 19, 2012), how to use iAnnotate on the iPad to comment on PDF’s, and an interesting article by Billie Hara on “Responding to Student Writing (audio style),” CHE, Oct. 16, 2009.

I have not used any of these techniques in my own classes, but they sound so attractive that I will probably start next semester, if not this since I often feel that I could convey my suggestions with greater precision if I were talking to a student,  particularly if I’m working my way through a large stack of papers and I get tired writing. My sense is that there is a modest learning curve involved in using this technology, but that, once accomplished, the commenting would move smoothly.

I’d be very interested to know if others are using this technique, and, if so, what software you use, how long it took you to learn it, and, most importantly, what you found the results to be for your students in terms of feedback you have received and any evidence of increases in their learning.

Once again, if you need to connect to the Chronicle of Higher Education through the library, use the following link: http://tinyurl.com/CTIE-CHE .

Steve Volk, Nov. 5, 2012