Almost exactly fifty-two years ago, on September 19, 1961, Barney and Betty Hill were driving to Portsmouth from Niagara Falls late in the night. Upon seeing a floating orb that seemed to change direction in the sky, they began to use small back roads in an attempt to follow it. Though neither of the Hills could readily remember what happened next, after undergoing hypnosis treatment, they became some of the first people to recount an abduction scenario by what UFO theorists now contend are "The Grays." All of the familiar "tell tale" details are there for the first time: telepathy, "wrap-around" eyes, small nose, examining table, and memory loss. What made the Hills seek out the hypnosis sessions -that many psychiatrists have stated planted these false memories in the first place- was the fact that the 4 hour trip seemed to take over 7 hours to complete. The Hills could not remember where those 3 hours went; this discrepancy received a moniker- "missing time." From 1965 onward, the phenomena of "missing time" has become a staple and ubiquitous feature of all UFO abduction stories.
Now, I am not in any way implying that we are all abducted on a regular basis, but I do tell this story to illustrate the "missing time" in all of our lives; and, as an educator, I am particularly concerned about the time missing in the lives of my students. Let me illustrate further. My first experience with this phenomena occurred in the summer of 2002 when a friend from high school returned from college with an X-Box and the first release of HALO. Sitting in his parents' home movie theater, eating cherries from a local Korean market, and becoming lost in this hypothetical world of Alien Destruction (perhaps getting a little revenge for Betty and Barney Hill!), I was blown away by the graphics, the game-play, the attention to detail, and the overall experience. However, somehow during that night, aliens stole six hours of my life from me, time I will never get back.
It seems that ever since that day, technology has gotten better and better at producing periods of "missing time" in my life. Smartphones, tablets, powerful laptops, YouTube, Hulu, Instagram, Facebook, texting, email, web posts, blogging, etc.- all lead to that now familiar experience and intense incredulity when looking at the clock you notice that have just lost hours of your life, and really, you have no idea what you did during the "missing time." Perhaps hypnosis would reveal what cat meme was so funny that it needed to be re-posted and liked and commented upon, what decision Ron Wash made that really deserved 58 texts to unravel, what number of videos out of an incredibly long video string of guys making different versions of hiking stoves out of empty cans really needed to be viewed, how many pics of people, pets, or babies do you need to view from friends whose last names you barely recall? Would hypnosis help? It's probably not a terrible idea! If someone actually recorded us when we delve into the digital world or provided us with a way of reliving it, maybe we might be less likely to re enter the trap so innocently or so often after having to watch our technologically abducted selves go through the now familiar and catatonic motions of thumb scrolling and bleary-eyed reading.
Now, this of course begs the question: why has an educator who is fully committed to expanding his capabilities and enhancing the learning in his classroom using any and all available technology decided to blog about the pitfalls of the very tool that necessarily must be implemented in the 21st century classroom? Let me answer this with another anecdote, if you will bear with me. Hearing that a student was struggling with homework for several hours, my teaching team immediately asked them to come in for a meeting. Though there were other contributing factors, what also emerged was a clear-cut case of technological abduction and the subsequent missing time. A Spelling activity assigned by a colleague and designed and tested to require a maximum of 5 minutes (the alphabetizing of a list of a dozen words) ended up requiring over half an hour of bleary-eyed manipulation and stress inducing frustration. The victim: a conscientious fifth grade student. The abductor: an iPad and Notability. Typing in the words, attempting to move and manipulate them using an app designed for note-taking, becoming concerned with overall appearance, font, rows and columns vs. list, etc., then being unable to simply erase and repair a mistake due to the app's shortcomings- resulted in the student spending an inordinate amount of time on this assignment.
In class, I have seen similar issues: manipulation of home-screens, changing of wall-paper, reading the 85 texts and watching videos sent by friends overnight, simply surfing through downloaded apps, facetiming, etc. Students are losing time in small packets throughout their open work time. But, this is not unexpected. The novelty will wear off. Grades will begin to reflect student choice. Homework loads will become greater when in-class work time is not utilized. Developmentally, this is not new to a fifth grade teacher. Students usually spend the first trimester of Middle School testing boundaries, pushing limits, searching for shortcuts, and discovering successful study strategies when their other attempts fail. However, so much more is now in the hands of the student. He is given a choice: Do I take ownership of my learning, stay on task, complete my work, or do I stray, self-distract, play instead? In past years, a teacher could just remove anything distracting from the student- provide him a calm place to do his work with only the tools required. Now, the student's videos, books, texts, pictures, etc. are all accessible from the device he uses every class. Though the teacher can roam, watch, even check history, it is -more than ever- up to the student to self-regulate his behavior, to refrain from distraction, to show strong integrity. There is an opportunity here to really inculcate work ethic and self-discipline in a way that has never been done before. To really be successful, students must learn self-direction and self-regulation in a degree not really observed at this level before, in this type of learning environment. And it is up to us as the adults to model and instill these necessary virtues.
And, we are not without our own vices. The ease of connecting all of my devices provides multiple platforms for communication, design, grading, etc. However, it too can become an obstacle for use of time. Emails about homework, class, extra credit, grades, Renweb, sports, etc. come in nightly, hour after hour from the time I leave work at 5:45pm to when I finally turn out the light. They usually resume the next morning at around 7:00am as students remember "one last thing." On many nights I field no fewer than twenty emails from parents and students regarding some aspect of my professional life. Though I feel no downward pressure from administration to answer these until the next school day, if I were to wait, my planning periods and lunches would be nothing but email correspondence. I might miss those emails asking to speak with a child first thing in the morning or requesting immediate assistance on a project/homework. I feel pressure from myself to respond, to resolve issues, help out a struggling student, it's what our instincts as educators drive us to do every class, every day. Now, tack on the pics my family wants me to post of our new son, the emails from my oldest friends about their lives across the globe, the texts from friends and family in Dallas asking about the next game, vacation, get together, etc., my own time wasting hobbies like Fantasy Football or searching the REI closeout specials...result: more "missing time."
Connectivity is miraculous, wonderful, a breakthrough, a game changer, a world leveler. It has changed our approach to education, creation, logistics, design, art, music, everything! But, we have to be cognizant of the time wasting, the abduction of large chunks of our day. A student should be working at home in a way that fosters his learning, enhances his knowledge and mastery of a concept, focuses his understanding. He should not be spending thirty minutes writing down twelve words, an hour sending and reading texts and emails with his friends, or 45 minutes editing a two minute video. A teacher should be planning his year, creating new projects, learning new methods, expanding his professional ability, determining specific strategies for individual students; yet, he too can be victimized, his time abducted, his focus lost.
And so I am considering something: a break. We could all use a re-boot. Perhaps a period of time with nothing electronic- a tech holiday! At a recent tech conference in Austin there was a tent without fancy advertising, crazy lights, the latest gizmos, etc. In fact, there were only three sorts of things in the tent: tables, chairs, and a locking cabinet. Instead of trying out the latest gaming PC or scrolling through prototype phones, or learning the capabilities of a hypothetical quantum c.p.u., the people who walked into this bare and unassuming tent were asked to surrender their electronic devices (which were promptly labeled and placed in the locking cabinet) then sit at one of the tables and have a conversation with a stranger. According to one of the tent's designers, at least one person had a kind of breakdown and tried to break into the cabinet, many others found the eye contact and personal interactions intimidating at best. However, after a few hours, it was the most popular tent at the tech fair. The line stretched far, and soon there was only standing room available in the "tech free zone." I wonder if that tent became so popular because it was a speck of the real in the midst of the virtual where people could experience something worthwhile in a sea of devices poised (and seemingly designed) for time theft. I think it speaks of humanity, our innate natures, our need for connectivity in a way dancing electrons and ones and zeros cannot replicate.
In a few weeks, our grade heads to Camp Classen in OK for a couple of days. Rule 1: No electronic devices. And, with the Rangers out and my Fantasy Football Team in shambles, I really won't need to be on one constantly either. Two days in the "tech free zone!" What a gift for our grade; what a gift for all of us; the gift of not missing out; the gift of time.
Friday, October 4, 2013
Friday, February 22, 2013
The Texas Manual Labor
I'm not sure when it began or why. I can't really trace it to any one place, neighborhood, class, or time. But one thing is sure, the Texas man is changing. There was a time when ranchers -jackpumps gently rocking black gold from the earth, bank accounts swelling to inordinate levels- were still seen mending broken wire, cutting and hauling brush, or digging out a tank in the hard Texas clay for their new bulls. I remember watching multi-millionaires mowing their lawns on the west side of White Rock or giving their windows a once-over from a high powered hose. Michener wrote of the newly rich Texan wearing the same sweat-stained hat and puttering around in the same battered Ford pickup, daily adding new salty lines to his Stetson or new dents to his rusting quarter panels. By the time a boy was twelve, no matter his station, regardless of his family's wealth, he could shoot a .22 rifle, accurately hand saw a 2X4 without breaking a sweat, dig out a prickly pear, change a flat tire, neatly mow a lawn, drive a 3" framing nail with very few hammer swings, safely (under supervision) use a drill, a circular saw, an acetylene torch, a hedge trimmer, or an an axe, and perform many other tasks using simple levers, hand tools, and patient strength. Then, something changed. People began to eschew manual labor, to reject it as a type of work beneath them, reserved only for the underclass, the servants, the hired help. Across the state, lawn crews popped up, taking over first the jobs previously reserved for the more entrepreneurial of those aforementioned 12 year-olds tending lawns for the elderly or infirm, then expanding to replace the Sunday chores of entire neighborhoods. People didn't -and the following generation couldn't- maintain their own property any more.
Something is lost when you hire out every bit of your labor. There is a connection that Texans historically have with the land, a connection strengthened with each swing of the chopping axe, each pull of the starter cord, every pry at a stubborn rock. It has helped to shape the character of a state where virtually every acre is privately owned, mineral rights are handed down like heirlooms, and towns spread out with endless subdivisions checkerboarded by small plots of Texan pride. There is something that is lost when a father no longer teaches his son how to find and repair a leaking pipe, rip out a troublesome stump, or replace the window pane broken by an errant toss. We are all lessened by it somehow. Land ownership loses something when others maintain the lawn, haul out the leaves, cut up the storm-downed limb, re-plumb the new sink, or hang a new backdoor. We lose a connection to the first ones to tramp across the prairie, secure a small wooden structure against attack by angry Indians or angrier winds, feel the first bite of steel into sod, drink from a hand dug well, or reap the new crop and send the first herd in to market. I remember the way America mocked President Bush the younger when cameras followed him as he cleared the brush on his Texas ranch. Regardless of how one views his politics, those mocking sneers and jabs insinuated that this ex oil man was trying to "endear himself with the little man." However, they were interpreted by the true Texan as naivete: the result of too much big city apartment living, the opinions of people who don't know what it means to be a man in Texas, even a rich one.
But, perhaps I heard even a few Texans among those cynical and naive voices. Surely the change had started well before the beginning of this new millennium. But I missed it. I really didn't notice it...until I began to coach and teach. I noticed how so few boys in Dallas knew how to perform those tasks mentioned above; how few could begin to saw a simple board or drive even a penny nail. When my wife and I moved into our first house, it astonished us how few of our neighbors mowed their own lawns. When working with teenage boys in club volleyball, I was shocked how they struggled to master even the simple engineering involved in raising the nets. I wondered how many of these young men had no connection with their land, with the grime and mud and chalk and black prairie sod that is Texas itself. I wondered how they would handle being uprooted and plunged into Italy, Kaufman, Sweetwater or some other small Texas town where boys still learned the history of the Republic by sinking their hands into it.
There is a joy of ownership, a practice of delayed gratification, and an intense connection formed when one works his own land. There is something truly Texan about that. It is one of the reasons why Texas is the backdrop for so many John Ford Westerns, why the state is more recognized in foreign countries than any other, why Dallas (the old one) is the most popular American show in Lebanon and Syria. It's not the hats or boots. It's not the pick-ups or six-guns. It's not even the oil or longhorns. It's something else. Something in our character that marks us and individualizes us. Texas men are connected to their state through their property, their labors, their failures and successes. Sweat and blood links them forever to their land, and thus, their state. I hope that the current trend I've seen is fleeting. I hope that this desire we seem to have to rise above the "blue collar" class is impermanent. I hope that we leave our children with more than a list of lawn specialists, contractors, plumbers, and "handymen." When we take away the physical connection of the individual to his land, we lose something essential about being a Texas man.
Something is lost when you hire out every bit of your labor. There is a connection that Texans historically have with the land, a connection strengthened with each swing of the chopping axe, each pull of the starter cord, every pry at a stubborn rock. It has helped to shape the character of a state where virtually every acre is privately owned, mineral rights are handed down like heirlooms, and towns spread out with endless subdivisions checkerboarded by small plots of Texan pride. There is something that is lost when a father no longer teaches his son how to find and repair a leaking pipe, rip out a troublesome stump, or replace the window pane broken by an errant toss. We are all lessened by it somehow. Land ownership loses something when others maintain the lawn, haul out the leaves, cut up the storm-downed limb, re-plumb the new sink, or hang a new backdoor. We lose a connection to the first ones to tramp across the prairie, secure a small wooden structure against attack by angry Indians or angrier winds, feel the first bite of steel into sod, drink from a hand dug well, or reap the new crop and send the first herd in to market. I remember the way America mocked President Bush the younger when cameras followed him as he cleared the brush on his Texas ranch. Regardless of how one views his politics, those mocking sneers and jabs insinuated that this ex oil man was trying to "endear himself with the little man." However, they were interpreted by the true Texan as naivete: the result of too much big city apartment living, the opinions of people who don't know what it means to be a man in Texas, even a rich one.
But, perhaps I heard even a few Texans among those cynical and naive voices. Surely the change had started well before the beginning of this new millennium. But I missed it. I really didn't notice it...until I began to coach and teach. I noticed how so few boys in Dallas knew how to perform those tasks mentioned above; how few could begin to saw a simple board or drive even a penny nail. When my wife and I moved into our first house, it astonished us how few of our neighbors mowed their own lawns. When working with teenage boys in club volleyball, I was shocked how they struggled to master even the simple engineering involved in raising the nets. I wondered how many of these young men had no connection with their land, with the grime and mud and chalk and black prairie sod that is Texas itself. I wondered how they would handle being uprooted and plunged into Italy, Kaufman, Sweetwater or some other small Texas town where boys still learned the history of the Republic by sinking their hands into it.
There is a joy of ownership, a practice of delayed gratification, and an intense connection formed when one works his own land. There is something truly Texan about that. It is one of the reasons why Texas is the backdrop for so many John Ford Westerns, why the state is more recognized in foreign countries than any other, why Dallas (the old one) is the most popular American show in Lebanon and Syria. It's not the hats or boots. It's not the pick-ups or six-guns. It's not even the oil or longhorns. It's something else. Something in our character that marks us and individualizes us. Texas men are connected to their state through their property, their labors, their failures and successes. Sweat and blood links them forever to their land, and thus, their state. I hope that the current trend I've seen is fleeting. I hope that this desire we seem to have to rise above the "blue collar" class is impermanent. I hope that we leave our children with more than a list of lawn specialists, contractors, plumbers, and "handymen." When we take away the physical connection of the individual to his land, we lose something essential about being a Texas man.
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
Cloaked Technology
If there is one distinct interest of my adolescent self that dooms me to eternal nerdom, it would be my love affair with Gene Roddenberry and Star Trek. Not only was I enamoured by the intricate and very philosophical plot lines, the explosive special effects, and the development of deep and approachable characters, like many, the technological possibilities and promises spurred my imagination. Imagine, a replicator that can solve all food shortage issues, an ability to transport oneself instantly from one place to another, faster than light travel, eyes for the blind, android lifeforms, computers capable of interaction by voice command, a tablet that can instantly access the wealth of human knowledge...and there we pause. The last two are no longer science fiction; (and some quantum theorists/experimental physicists claim to be on the verge of transporting matter as well) these are now reality. In the palm of my hand is an interactive computer that can (even by voice command) access the entire digitized human experience. The immense change that this kind of connectivity will create in the world cannot be underestimated. We can call it flattening the world or leveling the playing field, but what it means is an interconnectivity only seen before on science fiction screens. And let's be honest, it scares us. When doctors can operate miles from a patient, when music and writing can be shared and not bought, when creativity is dependent only on the power of the mind and not the locale of the thinker- what does that mean? Where does that leave us?
As an educator, this is a particularly poignant concern and sometimes a paralyzing fear. How should this change the way we prepare the future of the country? What skills will students of the next century need to master to compete in a "flat" worldscape?
Many have attempted to answer this question. There are lists of 21st century skills that seem to dwarf the old industrial age skills. There are calls to focus more on Math and Science, use technology in bold and flamboyant ways, teach creativity in content vacuums, praise originality while condemning emulation, provide intense diversification and choice, and facilitate student investigation in place of being a source of information. Recycled strategies such as the flipped classroom and reciprocal teaching are being dusted off and packaged as new and revolutionary ideas, while teachers with years of experience are often ridiculed and labeled dinosaurs by the younger, more hip crowd.
WAIT!! STOP!!
Let's slow down a minute. Let's think about all of this. What is the iPad, the Smartphone, what are the new Google Glasses (due out in a few years)? They are tools. Dictionary.com is a dictionary. Wikipedia is an encyclopedia. Email, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Texting, IMing, Blogging are just digital forms of letter writing/journaling. Connectivity is just faster. This is not new. The train moved people at the blazing speed of 35 mph- some scientists questioned whether the human body could absorb such punishment. The telegraph flashed messages at the speed of electricity- many predicted the end to all need for travel. The first early computers were believed to foretell the end of the secretary (as were the first Blackberries). The guided missile was supposed to eliminate dogfighting, the nuclear weapon was supposed to end all war, the automobile was to replace the need for all rail, etc.,etc.,etc. Throughout history, as technology has changed, the world is supposed to magically transform; all things that were, no longer are; and, we either envision ourselves asking the replicator for Earl Grey Tea to appear from apparent nothingness, or we are fighting the machines that have taken over mankind. But this is not the way it happens.
What should and will technology look like in the classroom? I look back to Roddenberry's vision for inspiration. Despite all the blinking displays, the dilithium crystals, the transporters- there was humanity, moral dilemmas, conflict of ego, problems to be assessed and solved, every episode was underpinned by the classic issues of society and the problems inherent in being human. The tools change, but the mission of the educator remains eerily consistent from the Greek schools of Plato and Aristotle, to the paying field of Eton, to the modern classrooms of today: teach the children to think. Technology is just a mechanical pencil or an electric light. It is a tool. A wonderful tool, no doubt, but it does not change who we are. When Moby Dick is read on an eBook with an instant ability to look at maps of the route, see whale oil lamps, or read first hand accounts of 19th century whalers, does this change Ahab from a man hell-bent on revenge willing to destroy everything for the sake of his vanity, self-pity, and ego? Is the lesson muted or the message scrambled?
Technology should and will become seamless. Instant information will become as natural as instant light, as seamlessly integrated as the wall socket and switch. The fears that plague the technological immigrant are the same fears that gripped the first to watch the Iron Horse or the cowboy hearing an engine growl and tires turn. Yes there will be change, but that is all it will be.
This is not to say that educators should not use technology or should hoist it like a display during a single PBL or public project. It is more that the portable connectivity and integration that these new devices promise should be so integrated into the classroom that they are nothing more than a binder, a notebook, or a text. Technology should not be on display, students and their creations instead (as always) should be highlighted. And teachers should remember that what once worked still can. These devices are just tools to make it faster, better, stronger. But do we still need Math? Do we still need History? Do we still need Literature and Grammar? After all, we can just Google any content we want, right?
I am reminded of a video I watched recently from TED. Bill Richardson was opening his discussion on "bold ideas" to promote us thinking about education. He uses an example of his daughter teaching herself how to "play piano" by watching a YouTube video and learning a song by Journey. And to him this represents the new learning, and the piano teacher who said: "no she isn't ready for that" represents the old way of doing things. The implication being that the old piano teacher has it wrong, and her way doesn't work anymore...because of technology. I cringed. Any artist, any musician, any writer, any creative person worth his salt knows the truism that "one must learn the rules in order to break them." This means something more than simply understanding the basics. To really change, create, invent, etc. a person needs to know the content, understand the connections, filter out the non-essential, pick a problem, and then solve it in a novel way. Technology can aid in that process, but it cannot take the place of the first of its steps. Students must know how and why. They cannot leave content behind. You cannot learn to write without understanding what a noun and verb are and how they work together to form the basic structure of language, even if you can Google Grammar. You cannot learn how to design new programs and algorithms to solve complex problems without knowing how numbers work together and constants and variables play in mathematical formulas, even though you can Google math. You cannot make vast judgements about how best to deal with national economic and political issues without understanding the basic system of government we live under and why we live under it, even though you can Goggle U.S. government.
Content, Knowledge, Morality, and Wisdom are intrinsically related. We are the sum of our experience. We are the progeny of excellent and dynamic personal influences. Great teachers, you are the molders of minds. You are not facilitators. You are not human robots. You are the reason the kids are excited to learn about Math. You are the reason they smile in the halls. You are more important than the tool, whatever it may be. We should not ridicule the old as we embrace the new. We should not dump content for pure process. We should not try to teach creativity in a vacuum. You cannot teach a person to be Mozart or Picasso. You provide the knowledge and the tools; you provide the practice and instruct the skills; and yes, it's okay that the piano teacher said "no, not yet." You can't really learn to play the piano by watching YouTube and emulating some one's hand positions in order to play Journey. It takes years of dedicated rote and deliberate instruction. It is the monster of instruments. It is 88 unforgiving and heartless keys mocking your every attempt to tame them. It is the perfect paradigm of life and education.
Twenty years from now, students will still need to read, to write, to discern, to problem solve, to add and multiply, to present, and most importantly to think. Tablets, devices, interactive eye wear, whatever the tech may be, it will still be a tool. It should be invisible in the classroom. That should be our focus. We so integrate these devices that nobody ever really notices them at all. We simply provide the task, the project, etc. and the focus is not on the tech, but back where it belongs.
As an educator, this is a particularly poignant concern and sometimes a paralyzing fear. How should this change the way we prepare the future of the country? What skills will students of the next century need to master to compete in a "flat" worldscape?
Many have attempted to answer this question. There are lists of 21st century skills that seem to dwarf the old industrial age skills. There are calls to focus more on Math and Science, use technology in bold and flamboyant ways, teach creativity in content vacuums, praise originality while condemning emulation, provide intense diversification and choice, and facilitate student investigation in place of being a source of information. Recycled strategies such as the flipped classroom and reciprocal teaching are being dusted off and packaged as new and revolutionary ideas, while teachers with years of experience are often ridiculed and labeled dinosaurs by the younger, more hip crowd.
WAIT!! STOP!!
Let's slow down a minute. Let's think about all of this. What is the iPad, the Smartphone, what are the new Google Glasses (due out in a few years)? They are tools. Dictionary.com is a dictionary. Wikipedia is an encyclopedia. Email, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Texting, IMing, Blogging are just digital forms of letter writing/journaling. Connectivity is just faster. This is not new. The train moved people at the blazing speed of 35 mph- some scientists questioned whether the human body could absorb such punishment. The telegraph flashed messages at the speed of electricity- many predicted the end to all need for travel. The first early computers were believed to foretell the end of the secretary (as were the first Blackberries). The guided missile was supposed to eliminate dogfighting, the nuclear weapon was supposed to end all war, the automobile was to replace the need for all rail, etc.,etc.,etc. Throughout history, as technology has changed, the world is supposed to magically transform; all things that were, no longer are; and, we either envision ourselves asking the replicator for Earl Grey Tea to appear from apparent nothingness, or we are fighting the machines that have taken over mankind. But this is not the way it happens.
What should and will technology look like in the classroom? I look back to Roddenberry's vision for inspiration. Despite all the blinking displays, the dilithium crystals, the transporters- there was humanity, moral dilemmas, conflict of ego, problems to be assessed and solved, every episode was underpinned by the classic issues of society and the problems inherent in being human. The tools change, but the mission of the educator remains eerily consistent from the Greek schools of Plato and Aristotle, to the paying field of Eton, to the modern classrooms of today: teach the children to think. Technology is just a mechanical pencil or an electric light. It is a tool. A wonderful tool, no doubt, but it does not change who we are. When Moby Dick is read on an eBook with an instant ability to look at maps of the route, see whale oil lamps, or read first hand accounts of 19th century whalers, does this change Ahab from a man hell-bent on revenge willing to destroy everything for the sake of his vanity, self-pity, and ego? Is the lesson muted or the message scrambled?
Technology should and will become seamless. Instant information will become as natural as instant light, as seamlessly integrated as the wall socket and switch. The fears that plague the technological immigrant are the same fears that gripped the first to watch the Iron Horse or the cowboy hearing an engine growl and tires turn. Yes there will be change, but that is all it will be.
This is not to say that educators should not use technology or should hoist it like a display during a single PBL or public project. It is more that the portable connectivity and integration that these new devices promise should be so integrated into the classroom that they are nothing more than a binder, a notebook, or a text. Technology should not be on display, students and their creations instead (as always) should be highlighted. And teachers should remember that what once worked still can. These devices are just tools to make it faster, better, stronger. But do we still need Math? Do we still need History? Do we still need Literature and Grammar? After all, we can just Google any content we want, right?
I am reminded of a video I watched recently from TED. Bill Richardson was opening his discussion on "bold ideas" to promote us thinking about education. He uses an example of his daughter teaching herself how to "play piano" by watching a YouTube video and learning a song by Journey. And to him this represents the new learning, and the piano teacher who said: "no she isn't ready for that" represents the old way of doing things. The implication being that the old piano teacher has it wrong, and her way doesn't work anymore...because of technology. I cringed. Any artist, any musician, any writer, any creative person worth his salt knows the truism that "one must learn the rules in order to break them." This means something more than simply understanding the basics. To really change, create, invent, etc. a person needs to know the content, understand the connections, filter out the non-essential, pick a problem, and then solve it in a novel way. Technology can aid in that process, but it cannot take the place of the first of its steps. Students must know how and why. They cannot leave content behind. You cannot learn to write without understanding what a noun and verb are and how they work together to form the basic structure of language, even if you can Google Grammar. You cannot learn how to design new programs and algorithms to solve complex problems without knowing how numbers work together and constants and variables play in mathematical formulas, even though you can Google math. You cannot make vast judgements about how best to deal with national economic and political issues without understanding the basic system of government we live under and why we live under it, even though you can Goggle U.S. government.
Content, Knowledge, Morality, and Wisdom are intrinsically related. We are the sum of our experience. We are the progeny of excellent and dynamic personal influences. Great teachers, you are the molders of minds. You are not facilitators. You are not human robots. You are the reason the kids are excited to learn about Math. You are the reason they smile in the halls. You are more important than the tool, whatever it may be. We should not ridicule the old as we embrace the new. We should not dump content for pure process. We should not try to teach creativity in a vacuum. You cannot teach a person to be Mozart or Picasso. You provide the knowledge and the tools; you provide the practice and instruct the skills; and yes, it's okay that the piano teacher said "no, not yet." You can't really learn to play the piano by watching YouTube and emulating some one's hand positions in order to play Journey. It takes years of dedicated rote and deliberate instruction. It is the monster of instruments. It is 88 unforgiving and heartless keys mocking your every attempt to tame them. It is the perfect paradigm of life and education.
Twenty years from now, students will still need to read, to write, to discern, to problem solve, to add and multiply, to present, and most importantly to think. Tablets, devices, interactive eye wear, whatever the tech may be, it will still be a tool. It should be invisible in the classroom. That should be our focus. We so integrate these devices that nobody ever really notices them at all. We simply provide the task, the project, etc. and the focus is not on the tech, but back where it belongs.
Monday, January 14, 2013
The Blessings of Free Time
"Get out of the house, and stay out until dinner!"
She never really yelled that at my brother and me, but she had to be louder than Mario or Peewee or whoever else was competing for our attention. This was before late-night high school papers and study fests that would dominate later early evenings had taken control, this was elementary school, this was different. We did have organized activities. We both played sports (but only one a season), we took piano and swim lessons, we were in Cub Scouts and Boy Scouts, and there were birthdays and parties...but there were many afternoons when school was over and nothing was scheduled, nothing was pulling that grey station wagon to another soccer field, or hard-court, or pool. We were told to drop the controller, switch off the TV (wow, they used to actually have switches back then didn't they!), even dog-ear the page and put the book down- it's time to go outside.
We had three places we would usually hang out. Our first choice would be around the house. There were myriad bushes on our property and those of our neighbor that were trimmed and spaced in such a way that they made channels and trenches in which to hide, crawl, or set up ambush. We would often be found dressed in camo and pretending to fight some alien insurgency or a Russian sneak attack. Water guns (including the new and ultra-devastating Super Soaker) were our weapons of choice, followed closely by plastic analogs of favorite rifles and pistols with the orange plastic cap carefully removed or obscured.
When a more removed location was desired, we were off to the "Hidden Hideout:" a small bunch of trees and bushes located in the park by our house inside of which some resident chose to illegally dump his leaves each year. The result was that the inside was vast, hollow, and weedless, carpeted by a soft composting of oak and pecan leaves while the outside gave no indication of the perfect hideout within. We had nailed scrap boards onto the trunk of a hack berry tree and built a rude platform in the crook of a limb from where we could view the lake, the highway, and the approach through the park. On dry days in the fall when the leaves were recently deposited, we could easily tunnel through them making mounds with our backs as we moved, much like when Bugs Bunny would try to find his way to Albuquerque on Saturday mornings.
But by far our favorite hangout was deemed "The Troll Cave." A creek had been diverted by the city for some reason, and a neatly cut channel wound its way through the park yet remained largely dry through much of the year (even during light rain storms). When it cut between a grove of Pecan trees, there was a slight lifting of the terrain, and the creek had cut a few feet deeper into the earth. This was all the start we needed. We dug the bottom out deeper with smuggled garden spades and metal pipe, expanded the back and sides, and then we began the roof. Saving and scouring, we hoarded 2X4s and plywood until we spanned the expanse with a sturdy wooden roof, covered it with the earth we continuously dug from the bottom of the trench, and then topped the structure off with living green turf. We built a small trapdoor on one side that we camouflaged with twigs and dead grass, we cut shelves in the earthen walls to hold our childhood treasures, and we had a weapon or two stockpiled for the treacherous alien or straggling Russian.
Our voyages that combined imagination with reality, that stoked our creativity, that provided novel problems to solve requiring ingenuity and skill- these voyages occurred almost daily. We were observed from a distance, allowed to believe that there was total solitude, and encouraged -no, ordered- to leave the electronics, the novels, the sketch pads, and all the trappings of the typical, late 20th century child behind. Our minds invented new worlds and our hands built them. I've talked with her about those times she'd tell us to get out. About why she did it. About how (in this world) I could possibly do it with my own children. I can't think of anything in my childhood more invaluable than those times. I think about the 21st Century skill students need most when competing across an ever flatter and equal playing field. I wonder if creativity is really engendered during the club soccer game, the ballet practice, or the twenty minutes of car ride in between. I wonder how two hours of homework for a sixth grader could possibly do more for that person's critical thinking development than a couple of hours trying to construct a tree house or an underground fort. Do we want our child to be really good at taking tests and playing an organized sport, or do we want him to be able to invent his own sport or to be able to challenge himself? Surely, like everything, it is a combination of all...but there is one thing for sure. I'll be telling him to get out of the house at times, at least until dinner is ready.
She never really yelled that at my brother and me, but she had to be louder than Mario or Peewee or whoever else was competing for our attention. This was before late-night high school papers and study fests that would dominate later early evenings had taken control, this was elementary school, this was different. We did have organized activities. We both played sports (but only one a season), we took piano and swim lessons, we were in Cub Scouts and Boy Scouts, and there were birthdays and parties...but there were many afternoons when school was over and nothing was scheduled, nothing was pulling that grey station wagon to another soccer field, or hard-court, or pool. We were told to drop the controller, switch off the TV (wow, they used to actually have switches back then didn't they!), even dog-ear the page and put the book down- it's time to go outside.
We had three places we would usually hang out. Our first choice would be around the house. There were myriad bushes on our property and those of our neighbor that were trimmed and spaced in such a way that they made channels and trenches in which to hide, crawl, or set up ambush. We would often be found dressed in camo and pretending to fight some alien insurgency or a Russian sneak attack. Water guns (including the new and ultra-devastating Super Soaker) were our weapons of choice, followed closely by plastic analogs of favorite rifles and pistols with the orange plastic cap carefully removed or obscured.
When a more removed location was desired, we were off to the "Hidden Hideout:" a small bunch of trees and bushes located in the park by our house inside of which some resident chose to illegally dump his leaves each year. The result was that the inside was vast, hollow, and weedless, carpeted by a soft composting of oak and pecan leaves while the outside gave no indication of the perfect hideout within. We had nailed scrap boards onto the trunk of a hack berry tree and built a rude platform in the crook of a limb from where we could view the lake, the highway, and the approach through the park. On dry days in the fall when the leaves were recently deposited, we could easily tunnel through them making mounds with our backs as we moved, much like when Bugs Bunny would try to find his way to Albuquerque on Saturday mornings.
But by far our favorite hangout was deemed "The Troll Cave." A creek had been diverted by the city for some reason, and a neatly cut channel wound its way through the park yet remained largely dry through much of the year (even during light rain storms). When it cut between a grove of Pecan trees, there was a slight lifting of the terrain, and the creek had cut a few feet deeper into the earth. This was all the start we needed. We dug the bottom out deeper with smuggled garden spades and metal pipe, expanded the back and sides, and then we began the roof. Saving and scouring, we hoarded 2X4s and plywood until we spanned the expanse with a sturdy wooden roof, covered it with the earth we continuously dug from the bottom of the trench, and then topped the structure off with living green turf. We built a small trapdoor on one side that we camouflaged with twigs and dead grass, we cut shelves in the earthen walls to hold our childhood treasures, and we had a weapon or two stockpiled for the treacherous alien or straggling Russian.
Our voyages that combined imagination with reality, that stoked our creativity, that provided novel problems to solve requiring ingenuity and skill- these voyages occurred almost daily. We were observed from a distance, allowed to believe that there was total solitude, and encouraged -no, ordered- to leave the electronics, the novels, the sketch pads, and all the trappings of the typical, late 20th century child behind. Our minds invented new worlds and our hands built them. I've talked with her about those times she'd tell us to get out. About why she did it. About how (in this world) I could possibly do it with my own children. I can't think of anything in my childhood more invaluable than those times. I think about the 21st Century skill students need most when competing across an ever flatter and equal playing field. I wonder if creativity is really engendered during the club soccer game, the ballet practice, or the twenty minutes of car ride in between. I wonder how two hours of homework for a sixth grader could possibly do more for that person's critical thinking development than a couple of hours trying to construct a tree house or an underground fort. Do we want our child to be really good at taking tests and playing an organized sport, or do we want him to be able to invent his own sport or to be able to challenge himself? Surely, like everything, it is a combination of all...but there is one thing for sure. I'll be telling him to get out of the house at times, at least until dinner is ready.
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