The Mentor Is In

  • 16 Aug 2010 /  advice, teaching tips

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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  • 24 May 2010 /  advice, organization, teaching tips

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    A dusty shelf

    A needy student

    A school library

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

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

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

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

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

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  • 19 Apr 2010 /  advice, teaching tips

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

    Quizzes every class?

    10 answer multiple choice questions?

    Ambiguous wording about ‘rewarding students who improve’?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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  • 02 Apr 2010 /  advice, teaching tips

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

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

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

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

    Instructions for Patterns of Subsistence/Survival Exercise

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

    Rules

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

    Reward

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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  • 23 Feb 2010 /  advice, grading, teaching tips

    “C is for competent; it’s good enough for me.” I sometimes sing this little parody of Sesame Street in my head. What this means to me is that, getting through the day without screwing anything up is, in my book, a level of success that should be celebrated more often than is acknowledged.  It is a rare day when I could honestly say that I was outstanding in everything I attempted, from driving, to teaching, to parenting.  It would be a similar outlier to suggest that I fail at everything I put my hand to – even on the worst days, something has to have gone right, or I wouldn’t still be here.

    The same is true for academics.  Much has been debated about the ‘scourge’ of grade inflation (http://www.thecrimson.com/article/2001/11/28/a-proposal-to-end-inflation-last/) and the role of adjuncts as epidemiological vectors (http://www.glendale.edu/chaparral/june04/gradeinflation.htm) but I think we need to situate a large part of the problem within the minds of our students – who have been led to believe nothing but an A will suffice, yet have been given no clear guidelines as to what an A might represent.  Working our way downwards, an A is supposed to represent “excellence,” while a B represents “above-average,” so there is nothing standing in our way of explaining that a C denotes competency over the material.

    I like to go over the concept of the bell curve in my class, and show how most of us will fall in the middle (or the average) no matter what we do, because that is how the norm is defined for most of us.  Taking the time to differentiate between the mean (arithmetic average), the median (middle value), and the mode (most likely outcome), I point out that getting a C (usually represented as somewhere around 75 percent) means they have “beaten” half of the class.  This is important information for two distinct populations of students: the too-worried, and the not-worried-enough.  The too-worrieds have no internalized benchmark for success; they tend to dramatically over-estimate the performance of their peers, and suffer disproportionate anxiety as a result of what they see as poor performance.  Explaining to them that their performance was “average” may not be the cherry on the sundae of their day, but it can go a long way toward relieving acute stress.

    The not-worried-enough, on the other hand, have the opposite problem.  They think that their work is just fine because they don’t see the wide distribution of performance that we do from our Olympian perch.  The bell-curve model is not as helpful for them, because it seems somehow “rigged.”  Keeping in mind these are often the weakest and least motivated students in the first place, coming from a system that keeps the product moving along regardless of merit, they lack many foundational understandings we may hope to take for granted in our students.  For this population, concrete evidence is best.  Group work, paper exchanges, detailed outlines of expectations for assignments, post-exam analyses and explanations, can all contribute to their comprehension of what competency, and beyond that, mastery, entails.  Still, for the least motivated, attaining a C may be all that they seek, and as educators, though we may not like or understand this stance, we have to respect it as a legitimate strategy.

    Can a student achieve an undergraduate degree with a C average? Absolutely.  Do employers check grade point averages? No. It’s a useless bit of information.  The only time a GPA comes into play after college is when seeking post-graduate education.  It is good to make sure that students understand the ways in which mediocre grades can hamper future plans, but beyond that, students have to make their own choices. Since we have a grading system that sets C in the middle, as the median, then we need to start treating C as the norm it truly is.

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  • 16 Feb 2010 /  advice, teaching tips

    If you have been teaching for at least a semester, you may have noticed that students don’t do the reading we assign them, shocker, I know.  So what can we do about this? Should we throw up our hands, deciding that students are in charge of their own destinies? Do we turn punitive and bitter, writing exams that we know that they will not be able to pass? Or are there actually effective ways to get students to step up the amount of time and effort they put into reading?

    I believe that we can make a difference in how much a student commits to our course, regardless of subject, and that the way to do so begins with the first day of class.  I have noticed that it appears many professors still treat the first day of the semester as some sort of  ‘free pass.’  Now, keep in mind I am speaking from my own perspective and experience, and I would love to hear what you might have to share in the comments, but this strikes me as a criminal waste. 

    We are setting the tone for the rest of the semester, and the tone I prefer to set is one where the class will be jam-packed with useful information and interesting activities, there will be no slack-time, and we are neither starting late nor ending early, ever.  As a part of expectation setting, I spend a fair amount of time discussing reading, and the rubric established within California higher education.   Here in the Golden State, the expectation across the board (community colleges, CSUs, and UCs) is that students will complete three hours of reading for every hour spent in class. Surprisingly, the vast majority of students claim to have never heard this information before.  It’s an eye-opener for them to realize that when we call 12 units ‘full-time’ we aren’t kidding around – twelve hours spent in class, times three, is thirty-six hours of reading (plus the original twelve) for a total of a forty-eight hour week. Suddenly, they are into overtime!  Many students approach going to college as if the 12 original hours were all that they were expected to do.  They see this as a continuation of high school, where for many of them, just showing up was enough to get them through. By the way, this attitude is also to be found across ALL levels of the California higher education system.  Maybe you live in a happier state where this is not the case, if so, mazel tov.

    Another area of confusion is exacerbated by textbook publishers, who will make things jazzy with color blocks of tan, pale green, and lilac.  Students believe that these color-coded sections, rather than being called out for extra attention, means that they will not figure on exams and that they can be skipped. I like to point out to them that they need to read everything and use all parts of the text; including captions, footnotes, bibliographic references, ad nauseum.  To make the bitter pill go down easier, I remind them that, at the prices they are paying, it behooves them to squeeze all of the value out of those books like they were making juice.  Or they may as well have set a hundred dollar bill on fire for all the good it does them.

    In addition to not knowing the expectations, many students do not have a sense for where they fall in terms of effort and skill. If they see a friend whipping through a textbook and getting A’s, then the message they internalize is, “a chapter should take a half hour to read” and not, “my friend may have better reading comprehension skills than I do.”  I ask students to self-identify as pro or anti reading – you know, the folks who, given their druthers, wouldn’t read the back of a cereal box.  I have the happy readers talk a little about how much they read as a leisure activity, before pointing out to the unhappy readers that, we aren’t here to change their attitude, but that comparisons may not get them far. They will need to learn what their own reading comfort levels are. To facilitate this, I have students complete a study skills quiz (like this one http://www.morris.umn.edu/services/dsoaac/aac/StudySkills.html) and collectively discuss solutions to the problems they may be having. 

    In a future post, I will write about how I follow-up on these suggestions with strategies designed to keep them reading.  As always, I would love to hear your thoughts in the comments section.

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  • For an adjunct, one of the biggest hassles can be managing diverse avenues of communication at multiple schools. At the beginning of every academic year I consider myself lucky if IT doesn’t accidentally bump me off the email list and I still have a phone number that corresponds to whatever is in the printed edition, or online. At last count, the five ways that students primarily reach out to us include email, online course management systems, voicemail, and our mailboxes, and office staff. Missing a message from a student can have upsetting consequences for both parties, so this post discusses some ways that I have sought to channel communications effectively – I’m going to tackle these from least to greatest in terms of student usage.

    In my syllabus, I begin the art of training my students to minimize out-of-classroom communication.  For one thing, many questions they ask in the hallway, on email, or in voicemails raise issues the entire class needs to be informed about.  I also stress that I do not need to hear about every missed class, that they are adults who make their own decisions about education and attendance; but that of course they should contact me if they will be missing several classes due to unavoidable circumstances.  I aim to direct their communications with me into the proper forum, keeping generic questions for class time, and managing personal and private issues after class, during office hours, or through these media under discussion.

    In the effort to handle student inquiries, office staff can be your greatest ally, or your direst enemy. To make them effective members of your team they need three things on a regular basis: information, praise, and rewards.  Be proactive in making sure they have your up-to-date information, diligently fill out those memos that circulate with annoying regularity, and if your school has such a thing, keep your webpage up to date.  If you would like them to cheerfully man your bulwark against students, good manners (please and thank you on every email, regular thanks for their efforts) go a long way towards enlisting their cooperation, and mentioned in a previous post, I was not joking about those Christmas presents. I have also taken lemon bars to administration, sent premium chocolates to copy editors, and contributed to every holiday potluck I can get my mitts into – pure D bribery and it works.

    To my mind, mailboxes can be the most frustrating aspect of campus communications. Depending upon the culture at your school, you may be either under-informed (adjuncts aren’t copied on any memos) or overwhelmed. If you are teaching online and never come to campus, you can be sure that is where important or even confidential financial information will languish. Unrequested books will pile up, raining down upon you when you already have your arms full. Plus, no matter how diligently you check your box (which moves every semester) you will find some ancient and yellowing phone message from a student with three exclamation points!!!  To be honest, I pretty much ignore my mailbox at this point. Almost anything worth knowing about comes through email anyway, so I think of it more as a lost and found, a place of last resort.

    Your campus may have a neatly integrated voicemail and email system, where they come to the same server.  If not, then I recommend establishing a routine for checking voicemails, and I also recommend it not be daily because one of the keys to effective work/life balance lies in batching your tasks (http://www.lifehack.org/articles/lifestyle/10-keys-to-worklife-balance.html).  Weekly or bi-weekly has been often enough in my experience.  Make this policy part of your syllabus; it will help channel student inquiries to where you really want them, which is email.

    The reason email is the best of all possible worlds is that with a little finesse, you can get all of your disparate accounts to load into Microsoft Outlook on your desktop at home, rendering the chaos of multiple passwords and logins moot. The basic instructions can be found here http://www.bellaonline.com/articles/art18419.asp; and there is a clear video tutorial here http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vFWp-3YIBOc.  As for online course email messaging, in some versions it appears that you can also forward the internal emails to another account, but here you pass beyond the doors of my knowledge and as far as I know fall off the side of the earth. Here be dragons http://discussions.blackboard.com/forums/

    Let us know your best ideas for keeping the lines of communication open and your sanity intact in the comments!

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  • My friends often comment upon my penchant for organization, but I tell them, the reason I am organized is because I am extremely lazy.  Investing the time up front frees me up both in terms of being able to schedule personal time, and also allows me to smoothly hurdle those small emergencies than can derail a class session. I am speaking, of course, of backup plans.

    As professors, we may have been enculturated to one form of course presentation, the lecture, and we may structure our classes around speaking for an hour or two at a time uninterrupted.  This is the most straightforward method, and also does not require much in the way of coordination of resources for effective delivery, except in the area of visual media: I have had overhead projectors disappear despite thick chains locking them down; I have arrived in the evening to discover the projector bulb burnt out and A/V nowhere to be found. I have had other faculty members jack up the connection to the internet (even had it sliced by a backhoe recently!) 

    So what is the intrepid lecturer to do?

    I have created multiple sets of the visual material, produced in a variety of media, and I also have them stored in a bunch of secure places.  No matter what they (the dark forces that conspire against us) throw at me, I will be ready, huzzah! Imagine me at this point triumphantly lifting my spear into the air.

    I have transparencies for the odd overhead projector, and their cousins, the paper copies for document cameras, all in one binder per course. Many of these come from the publisher, as do some Power Points, which I sprinkle judiciously throughout the semester, but I have also developed my own overheads, which are saved on flash drives (top ten are reviewed here http://usb-flash-drive-review.toptenreviews.com/). Since I am your typical absent-minded professor, and scatter flash drives like hair pins, I have lots of them, and keep one on my keychain, another in my wallet, and still others in my briefcase. I also have backed up my most essential documents on my Skydrive (http://windowslive.com/online/skydrive). Some I make public for students and other interested individuals, others I keep close to my chest. There are other services, and here is a review (http://online-storage-service-review.toptenreviews.com/) but for simplicity’s sake, I believe in keeping on the good side of my feudal lord, Microsoft. 

    Of course, the best backup location is in your head, and I am prepared to do any and all lectures on the whiteboard (I detest chalkboards and their squeaking and their dust, my hackles are rising just thinking about them). So I carry a ton of whiteboard pens in a spectrum of colors, as well as my own eraser and cleaner spray. I could use the grody eraser with no oomph left in it, and cross my fingers and hope the janitorial staff will clean the board sometime before academic year-end (and then they have to use the right stuff, ever notice how sometimes they are greasy, or streaky, or gummy?) or I can just do it already and give myself a pleasant slate to write upon.  By the way, I have also brought WD-40 to unstick windows, and cleaning wipes for desks during the flu season. Yes, I have an enormous tote bag.

    All of this is another reason to branch off from the lecture circuit and develop some in-class exercises that can be thrown into the mix at a moment’s notice.  I have had to conduct classes while IT guys dangled precariously from the ceiling, tippy toes on my desk, to replace the aforementioned overhead projector light bulb (costing about $300 each so they aren’t kidding about turning those things off http://lamps.projectorsuperstore.com/product_details.cfm).

    At that point you are kind of left with a “pay no attention to that man behind the curtain” sort of atmosphere and it helps to have alternatives. It can also help student attention spans to throw a little physicality into the mix, always keeping disabled students’ access and participation in mind.  In my Introduction to Physical Anthropology class, I have my students sort themselves by gender and height to demonstrate individual variation and sexual dimorphism. It gives them a chance to stretch, chat, and mingle briefly before refocusing.  In Cultural Anthropology, after one quiz, I usually schedule a Survival Exercise, where students head outdoors for fifteen minutes in ‘bands’ looking for edible plants to identify on campus.

    In any given session, I aim to change up the activity about once every 45 minutes, leaving about five minutes for transition time. Depending on class length, I may have room for three different segments. Being able to mix it up, responding to the mood of the class, keeps things fresh and is best done with an arsenal of backup plans.

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