Whole Brain Teaching

I was recently presented with the idea of Whole Brain Teaching. The technique claims to activate parts of the brain that are central to learning. In the example video, the teacher brings order to a classroom through a series of short, interactive exercises aimed to capture the classroom’s attention (collectively). According to the website, WBT is purportedly useful in a variety of different education levels (K-12, though college students could benefit from WBT), and schools that use these techniques saw a quantifiable improvement in standardized test scores. These results obviously beg the question over whether or not this is a cause and effect relationship.

This technique reminded me of when I was a young man, inspired by the undying efforts of Fox Mulder’s pursuit of the truth, and yearning become a fellow g-man. To satisfy my curiosity about the Academy, I enrolled in a weeklong “summer camp” designed to expose students to the realities of becoming a law enforcement officer. Orientation was nice and organized, but as soon as the parents left, our instructors snapped into ex-Marine mode, and suddenly we were (mostly) aligned on the pavement standing at the position of attention. In one, hot, very long, and rather painful hour, trainees (as we were called) were taught to stand at attention, speak only when spoken to, and that the lunchroom was, in fact, called the “chow hall.”

Why is all of this relevant? Among other reasons, these rules/policies help to bring order out of chaos. It’s easy to instruct or maneuver 300 trainees when they’re all doing the same thing, speaking the same language, and following the same orders. WBT seems to focus on the same key principles:

• Get everyone on the same page
• Get everyone using the same language
• Get everyone focused on the same procedure

My sharpest criticism of this technique is that it appears to make the learning process very machine-like. The same might be said about No Child Left Behind, which, according to critics, assumes that all students learn at the same rate. However, judging from the results of my last exam, some students might be, in fact, left behind. As a former professor of mine used to say, “It’s not if you know it, it’s when you know it.”

On the flip side, I do appreciate WBT’s method of capturing attention throughout the classroom. Personally, though, I’ve had good results controlling a chatty rooms by springing pop-quizzes.

Quality...Not Quantity

The Boston Globe is reporting that Massachusetts is awarding money to public institutions based on academic performance rather than performance. At its simplest level, the goal is to encourage state colleges and universities to focus on building fundamental skills at the undergraduate level (or so the article would have you believe). The amount of grant money to be awarded is a fairly modest $2.5 million, roughly 1% of UMASS Amherst’s 2011 state financial package. Although it seems like this financial contribution is a drop in the bucket, so to speak, money is money.

It’s not entirely clear how “academic performance” would be measured. Some readers have suggested that improvement in graduation rates might serve as a necessary measurement. Others speculate that measurement may need to monitoring/reporting composite GPA’s. However, skeptics see this form of measurement as an opportunity for untenured faculty to engage in academic payola—I give you good grades, you give me good evaluations, while the institution gets more “academic performance” money. Of course, this particular scenario assumes that untenured faculty members have no morals whatsoever. I’m getting sidetracked.

I’m a strong proponent of classroom/departmental/institutional assessment, whether or not it’s rewarded. In my experience, assessment gives professors/administrators a target, whether it’s an institution-wide essay, a standardized exam, or some other tool that indicates evidence (not proof) of learning outcomes. In my mind, assessment is self-policing and, in most cases, aims to improve the institution as a whole.

I’m curious to see how this pans out in the Bay State.

Running a Tight Ship (during lecture)...

A friend of mine called the other day to pick my brain about fostering classroom decorum. I was sad to hear that his students were attempting to derail lecture time by challenging authority in class. Comments like, “I pay a lot of money to go here,” and, “This class is too hard,” were beginning to rear their ugly heads rather early in the semester. Some of us, particularly those who teach science classes, have been in these situations before. They’re often one of the hardest parts of the job and are especially dangerous as they can promote a course-wide mutiny.

Of course, in a lecture, the best defense from an uncivil classroom is a strong offense. What does this mean? Prepare, practice, plan, prevent:

• Prepare captivating lectures that keep students from wandering or becoming destructive.
• Practice the lecture several times. Actually listen to what you’re saying and see if it is clear, concise, and to the point (I’m told this may come with time).
• Plan for any pitfalls in your lectures. Keep your students busy, and you’ll curb unnecessary chatter. On the other hand, dead, unproductive lecture time can annihilate any chance of class-wide order.
• Prevent problems by dealing with complaints immediately and swiftly. Letting them fester only compounds the problem. A quick resolution sends a clear message--you're there to teach not host a round of Deal or No Deal.

I was faced with a similar situation a few months back, and after an extensive Google search, I stumbled across Ed Friedlander’s webpage about classroom conduct. Although originating from experiences as a professor in medical school, Dr. Friedlander’s advice ranges from classroom decorum, to designing captivating lectures, and even includes dealing with the occasional heckler. I found that his advice is generally applicable to most lectures.

Personally, my approach was formed from advice solicited from an experienced colleague. One particular semester, I had a rather large percentage of students whining about the amount of material I was presenting. My colleague prescribed immediate action with a dash of humor. The next time a student complained about the difficulty of the course, I took action. “This is so hard. Can we move the exam to later next week,” the student asked. I laid my chalk down, faced the student while giving my undivided attention, and said, “Miss Smith, thank you for sharing your suggestion with the class. I really appreciate working in an environment that values classroom interaction. As for your suggestion, my answer is ‘No.’” I smiled then immediately returned to my lecture as if the incident never occurred.

About two weeks later, in the middle of lecture, a different student motioned to move the due date of a homework assignment. Once again, I laid my chalk down, faced the student while giving my undivided attention, and said, “Miss Cope, thank you for sharing your suggestion…” The class immediate began laughing at my response, and I quickly returned to lecture.

Keeping Your Students On Track During a Semester Voyage

Imagine you’re driving from the Santa Monica Pier to Epcot Center with someone who’s made this trip several times. To aid you in your venture, a voyage you’ll likely make in the future, the driver advises you to buy a map and to take notes along the way. You head out on the road, and soon enough, the driver gets cocky and starts taking side roads, stops at random tourist attractions along the way, and at one point gets lost in Oklahoma only to find out that you spend the last 10 hours headed in the wrong direction.

The whole time, you’re feverishly taking notes in an attempt to make sense of the map in light of seemingly aimless trip, but soon find that there’s too much information to gather. Eventually you arrive in Florida (in one piece), thinking that Amarillo skies hover over Arizona and Mississippi is the Show Me State. But, all in all, you’re pretty glad that the hellish trip is over. In retrospect, you recognize that the trip could have been better organized through the use of a rigid game plan. Instead of spending too much energy focusing on irrelevant information, perhaps, with better organization, more attention could be applied to the trip as whole.

Has the analogy emerged? It seems that this is how some students feel after a semester’s worth of science courses: lost.

A colleague from the University of California system (let’s call him “John”) floated this idea to me one afternoon during a chemistry workshop. We had been discussing methods for improving classroom structure, and he mentioned that it’s often the obvious things that we (as faculty members) overlook while attempting to navigate students through a maze of material. In any case, John claimed that by providing a “game plan” or, more specifically, a course outline for his students, the majority were able to remain “on track” for most of the (all too valuable) lecture time. John claimed that this addition to his self-admitted “superb teaching style” translated to better knowledge retention in students and higher evaluation scores.

Interesting suggestion. Having observed only a few colleagues teach, I don’t recall ever seeing extensive use of course outlines. However, studies suggest that providing students with a partial set of notes (e.g., an outline) generally leads to higher learning outcomes. Why? Because partial notes or outlines, when done correctly, provide students with a specific direction, taking the guesswork out of the lecture so the students to devote more time to learning and less time dealing with intellectual vertigo.

I had the opportunity to explore the use course outlines, or what I refer to as “study guides,” this summer in one of my chemistry classes. The goal was to prepare a single, concrete document for every chapter that incorporated homework assignments, lecture formats, and “Reality Check Questions” (an obvious nod to Bill O’Reilly). This latter aspect was included to ask students (in plain English) if they knew how to apply specific knowledge/information towards problem solving they would likely see on an exam. By no means have I perfected this process, but, judging by the feedback from my summer courses, I think they may have found them largely beneficial.

I'm curious to know if anyone else has had experience with course outlines. What worked well? What could be improved? Are they bad idea all the way around?

A Useful Professor-ing Resource

After returning from a conference a few months ago, my department head handed me a thick, lime green book, and said, “I thought this might be useful.”

“Tools for Teaching by Barbara Gross Davis. Great,” I thought, “another 500-someodd pages to read,” remembering that I was about halfway done with another teaching resource guide.

There are so many questions about college-level teaching, and I’m lucky if I’ve found 10% of my answers. Fortunately, for me, I have an excellent department head that is receptive to my concerns and questions. But she’s human and has a life of her own. I imagine this book was a way for her to buy free time from my incessant grilling sessions. I’m not complaining; I’m empathetic.

So I brought Davis home and set it on my nightstand. That evening, I had finished grading, had lectures planned for the next few days, and nothing good was on television, so I figured I’d flip through the book and hoped that it’d be a method for treating insomnia. Within 20 minutes, I had read through 45 pages, which is an amazing feat for a synthetic organic chemist. In fact, my achievement prompted me to open my computer and schedule time throughout the week to read. I actually started finding time to take lunch breaks!

Davis is a truly fascinating read, and I imagine that many fledgling professors would feel the same way, though might even be useful for more experienced profs. Here’s the gist of the book. Tools for Teaching (second edition) is a 550-page bible that covers notions ranging from course design to running undergraduate research projects to interacting with large enrollment classrooms. Her ideas are short, to the point, and well referenced (if you want to read further on a particular issue). The other strength is that the major themes Davis presents are independent of each other, meaning you can jump around from chapter to chapter. I’m now in the throws of redesigning my syllabus, learning how to better advise students, and how to grade with more precision and efficiently (a task we all need to master). It’s gotten to the point that I’ve been carrying this book with me everywhere.

Pertaining to The Lab Bench, as scientists, we’re naturally wrapped up in our fields, so much so that we forget about other equally important attributes: eating; sleeping; etc. Particularly at teaching-focused colleges, it’s necessary to hone our “professing” skills (to a razors edge) to best serve the students—our clients/customers.

Teaching the Soft Stuff

The topic of skill sets came up in the midst of the conversation with colleagues the other day. Specifically, the topic at hand was whether or not soft skills have a place in the science-based undergraduate curriculum independent of the institution type (i.e., big university to community college).

There are countless reasons to support the idea of teaching soft skills in technical-based programs. And although I imagine that teaching soft skills is generally a good idea (there’s certainly is resources available to support this notion) there are also reasons on the other side of the argument. Here were some points that were made on behalf of the more “hard skill-ers.”:

• Why teach a science major discipline-specific writing when they’re destined for a professionally “hands-on” career (i.e., medicine, pharmacy, etc.)?
• Many undergraduates majoring in technical degrees cannot perform basic calculations or negotiate pertinent, yet fundamental, information. Teaching soft skills would likely cut into opportunities to develop these skills.
• Many physics, chemistry, and engineering students do not know how to properly use technology such as calculators, career-specific software, or routine “workhorse” instruments. Teaching soft skills lessens the chances that students will gain the exposure required for career preparation.
• Many companies offer pre-professional development programs that train employees on important managerial skills (i.e., document drafting, one-on-one communication, how to hold a meeting, etc.). Since these opportunities are offered further down the career path, it doesn’t seem important to develop these skills within the technical major.
• Many programs require a fixed amount of credit hours specifically in writing-based courses. Offering more, especially to students with an already good writing skill set, might be perceived as beating (the proverbial) dead horse.

Critically interesting ideas to consider.

Correlating Grades with Student Evaluations

It’s course evaluation time, and like many professors, I’m curious to see how my students perceived their learning experience over the past few months. Ironically, this time of the semester also coincides with the initial stages of grade calculation (a task that probably causes more irreparable harm to the professors than their students). So, after students work their way through two pages of bubble sheets, my office is then inundated with people who want to see their current course standing.

The intersection of grades and course evaluations is nothing new. However, it is the focus of a recently published study by David A. Love and Matthew J. Kotchen (Eastern Economic Journal 2010, 36, 151-163), two professors who developed an economic model that links grade inflation and student behavioral responses (i.e., course evaluations). The culmination of the study appeared quite quid pro quo. Assuming that strong student evaluations increase the likelihood of achieving tenure, many professors appear to (subconsciously) “buy” good student evaluations in exchange for inflated grades.

Here’s one recommendation that stood out among the rest:

“We find that grade targets can be an effective policy not only because they limit grade inflation, but also because institutions can set expectations to improve teaching and research productivity without affecting student effort."

Interesting idea. I guess, in theory, it could work. One summer, I TA’d for a professor who encouraged difficult grading (to keep the averages low) then let us assign our own grades, except that no more than 20% of the class could get A’s. This policy helped distribute grades a bit better, but several tears were shed over the diminishing chances of entering medical school. Interestingly, he was one of the most respected, most liked, and highest rated professors in the department. Another professor, for whom I TA’d, worked hard to keep the grades low then ranked the students. Ultimately, their place in line (so to speak) corresponded to the grade they received; talk about being stressed out. On the other end of the spectrum, I’m familiar with one chemistry department that, in the 1990’s, mandated that 40% of the general chemistry students would fail outright. I imagine that the evaluations were horrid.

In my experience, so long as you’re fair and honest with the grading, students will generally remember this characteristic as they work through their evaluations. Of course, achieving objectives in the syllabus doesn't hurt either.

Teaching Failure

I want my students to succeed. I want to see myself succeed, especially as a tenure-track faculty member. But when undergrads can’t get microtomes to cut, or reactions to work, or pendulums to swing, it can be a pain. I recall these experiences were quite embarrassing as a GTA, but, with time, I’ve learned to shake off experimental failure, personally realizing that it’s all part of the scientific process. These days, the consequences of a bad experiment leave me deciding how best to proceed with the pedagogical outcome (admittedly, this could be a whole other blog post). However, after reading Teaching Failure in the Laboratory (by Glagovich and Swierczynski), I may alter my outlook a bit.

The authors discuss the importance of failure in teaching laboratories. I know this is a prudent lesson to consider, but I hadn’t truthfully evaluated the concept of dealing with failure until I was in graduate school. In fact, my PI had a saying about laboratory life (granted he was primarily talking about synthetic organic chemistry): “You have to be prepared to fail 95% of the time,” which broadly translate to, “despite your best efforts, sometimes experiments fail.” I kept his advice in mind throughout my training, chalking up failure to stats while capitalizing on my successes. In retrospect, I wonder how learning this lesson as an undergrad would’ve affected my outcome as a scientist.

Although the crux of the Glagovich article lies with organic chemistry, I wonder if these lessons are common to other scientific disciplines. Certainly, my analytical students had their expectations blown to pieces when we attempted to isolate iron(II) from egg yolk. Ginormous fail. Although some students considered the outcome (or lack thereof) “typical” relative to their high school courses, others echoed the same experience that Glagovich and Swierczynski reported in their article—they couldn’t believe a published experiment wouldn’t work right. Still, others couldn’t care less one way or another, and felt Mexican food was more interesting (lab gets out at 10 pm).

In light of the Glagovich article, I’m wrestling with the concept of teaching experimental failure. Why does every undergraduate experiment have to be perfect? Should students learn about failure? Should we protect students from the ugly truth? Why can’t we teach failure?

On Providing Equations

A fundamental issue in science pedagogy is over whether or not students should be given equations on exams. Every exam, my professors gave me every equation I’d ever need. They emphasized the importance understanding the material rather than memorizing equations anyone can look up in a book. This is a reason why I chose the path of chemistry over biology; memorization seems pointless.

In grad school, I TA’d for several undergraduate-level professors, many of whom didn’t provide equations on exams. I struggled to respect these instructors, in part, because I found their teaching methods to be quite “passive” (I can’t think of a more polite-sounding term). Not providing equations seemed to be a bit more icing on the lackadaisical cake.

Although I haven’t seen much scholarly analysis on this topic, in the conversations that I’ve had with other faculty members, there’s a fairly even split on the issue. Demonstrating application of course content seems much more prudent than being able to regurgitate esoteric facts. On the other hand, many undergraduate science majors will inevitably take exams for admission into graduate/professional school. Many of these exams do not allow calculators let alone provide routine equations. Knowing your equations could be the difference between admission into and rejection from grad school, med school, pharmacy school, etc. In other words, undergraduate exams are (in a sense) practice for the real deal.

As a professor, I’m torn on the issue.

Interactive

Having now been charged with the holy task of lecturing, I have begun to realize that assembling content is quite time-consuming. It leaves little creative time to develop my presentation of the material, knowing that my “progress” as a professor is gauged on my teaching skills (not on my ability to recall the pKa of water…15.7). My formal training in teaching (as is the case for most science Ph.D.’s) is effectively nil, and, in all sincerity, I’m not complaining. I believe my peers recognize my struggles as a fledgling prof, which prompts many of them to invite me to watch them teach.

Recently, I had the opportunity to observe a history lecture, which is no doubt a far cry from the molecular orbital theory. But I rationalized that good teaching has intrinsic qualities that work in any class (regardless of the subject).

After taking some time to digest my observations, my wife was curious to know what I learned.

I thought for a moment. “Mexico’s Independence Day is September 16, not May 5.”

She giggled. “No, I meant about the teaching style.”

The professor had gone in many different directions, and I tried to narrow down what I liked the most. “I think enjoyed how the professor encouraged student interaction. I wish I could apply more of that in my classes.”

Chemistry isn’t exactly an interactive or (even) team sport. But why not try something different? An increasing number of disciplines are pushing detailed content back on the students while using lecture time to reinforce concepts, provide a birds-eye-view of course content, and engage the class through interactive exercises. Notice how I didn’t say “flip through slides” or “derive equations.”

What can be done about creating more interactive science lectures? Here’s an excellent article about delivering effective medical school lectures (published by the US Agency for International Development, c. 1996). The authors suggest beginning lectures with an open-ended question (to be answered at some point in the lecture), a video clip, or an exercise in “think-pair-share.”

Personally, I plan on visiting more classrooms and looking for new ideas that I can incorporate into my lectures.