Good "Goodbyes"

We have a rule in my family: we don't leave angry, and we don't leave without saying goodbye. Life is too short and too full of surprises, and one way to show each other we care is to commit to "good goodbyes."

I'm blessed to work in a place where people are also quite deliberate about showing each other they care and keeping relationships in good stead. It's not so explicit as at my house, but on our campus (at least in the two office areas I've worked in) we do seem to abide by an unwritten rule that if you leave before others, you say goodbye to your neighbors and those you pass on the way out. If you are the second-to-last person out the door, you detour down the hall to wish the remaining colleague a good evening and remind them not to stay too late.

For the most part, I've taken this for granted. But yesterday was different: as sometimes happens, I got so caught up in what I was doing that I lost track of time, and the next time I looked up, it was dark--not only outdoors, but also in the halls outside my door. I wondered if I was alone. Sure enough: a quick tour confirmed that everyone else had left.

I didn't go home moping, but it did get me thinking, and it's still on my mind a day later. This is the only time in 9 years at my college that I recall leaving for the day (or being left as the last one for the day) without saying goodbye to anyone before I went. The experience twinged me with an unsettled feeling. What would it be like to experience work each day without others going out of their way to say hellos and goodbyes? Would I feel disconnected? Would I believe anyone cared? That what I did mattered? That I mattered? And what if those possibilities weren't fictional imaginings, but were the realities of people around me? What if there are people on my campus--whether faculty, staff, or students--who experience this kind of disconnectedness on a regular basis?

It's easy to get overwhelmed imagining all the lonely people. But then I think of my high school band teacher, who stood at his classroom door every morning to greet each student by name as they arrived from the buses, and did the same each afternoon to send us on our way. Those hellos and goodbyes made a difference.

My prayer this week is that we'll have the eyes to see and the hearts to notice those around us who are feeling disconnected--and that we'll take the time to reach out to them, even in ways that may seem small.

Have You Eaten?

"Mom, did you eat lunch today?" We were on the way to my daughters' piano lessons, and I was approaching the "hangry" zone--that ugly place where hunger can quickly surface as an angry or short-tempered response to something that really isn't much of a problem.

This frank, insightful question from my eldest made me laugh and reset my attitude. It also reminded me that I had a stash of dried mangoes along, so we passed those around, and between between the attitude check and the snacks, I soon found it much easier to keep my sense of humor. Good thing--because when we arrived at the piano teacher's home after 20 minutes on the road, one of the girls realized she'd forgotten her piano books, and we had to invent a different kind of piano lesson.

Staying fed has been on my mind this week.

Several of our Dordt College students, faculty, and staff returned earlier this week from AMOR trips to developing nations like Haiti and Ethiopia--places where food isn't taken for granted. Their testimonies were reminders about how much we have to be thankful for, and a reminder to keep in perspective the challenges that are sure to arise in a day's work. It can be easy to feel frustrated when things don't go as smoothly as we had hoped. But as one professor pointed out, it's a privilege when the problems we face are the glitches that arise when we do something like starting another first week of school.

Don't get me wrong: I'm not dismissing the difficulties of starting a new semester. The first weeks take a lot of energy. As we start new classes, we're working with new people on ideas that are new to some (or all) of us, trying to figure out how to find joy in doing that. We're consciously trying to get to a place where some of those interactions are easier, maybe even second nature, so that we have energy to focus on the ideas, practices, and habits of mind that we are trying to explore together. And that's just what happens inside the classroom. Behind the scenes, we also need to ensure that everything is ready, and that's complicated, too: we have many people, processes, systems, and technologies to deal with as we ensure that the books are available, the projection is working, the classroom has enough chairs, the students can log in, and so on.

But that's the point: we know that the first week (actually every week) of the semester will bring challenges both inside and outside the classroom. As Marilyn Lampert has explained, dilemmas aren't what cause problems for teachers: they're a dimension of the very fabric of teaching. Surprises and challenges are to be expected and welcomed because it means our work isn't routine and that we have daily opportunities to be creative, to solve problems, to make connections--and to do these things with grace. Think of it this way: our work as educators gives us the satisfaction of "the creative challenge and stimulation of the work itself, and the change to keep learning"--the very things that lead to a sense of reward and flow in our work (Goleman, Working with Emotional Intelligence, p. 106-107).

Getting  ready for each day and week of learning/teaching is like getting ready for a backcountry hiking adventure. I know that my hike up the mountain will take plenty of energy, will probably bring a few surprises, may require some creative problem solving. There may be times where I need some mental discipline to remind myself that this, and not a boring treadmill, is the kind of adventure I'm seeking.

I would never go hiking, let alone lead others up a trail, without ensuring that I had plenty of energy-rich food in my backpack. I want to make sure that I don't get exhausted--or even move into the hangry zone (which eats the joy out of the situation for me and everyone in my path!). Staying fueled, and planning and providing for how to so, are all part of the work, part of my responsibility....in hiking and in learning/teaching.

And that's why staying fed--physically, emotionally, spiritually--is on my mind.

Teaching Jam Sessions

"When you produce something with another person that is truly creative, it's one of the most powerful forms of bonding there is." - Stephen Covey, foreword to Crucial Conversations 

One of the most rewarding dimensions of my professional life is collaboration. I've collaborated frequently as an author (including a co-edited column on professional writing with Jonathan Bush that included a piece about teaching collaborative writing). I've also enjoyed scholarly collaborations with others beyond my campus--including a long-term teacher-research and writing partnership with Jim Fredricksen. (We share some of our thoughts on academic partnerships in Collaboration: Talk. Trust. Write, which we co-authored with several others who have their own collaborative partnerships.)

While collaboration with friends and colleagues beyond my campus has been integral to my professional life, I have rarely had the opportunity to collaborate in teaching with faculty here at Dordt College. Until this year.

Every week this summer, I had the joy of co-planning a faculty workshop with colleagues. Those of you who have led faculty workshops may be shaking your head in disbelief (joy and workshop planning in the same sentence?!), but hear me out. What contributes to the joy in these collaborations?

Productive Pressure Points

(1) Attendance at these faculty workshops is voluntary, and I've found that the voluntary attendance policy makes it relatively easy for me to convince others to collaborate with me in planning and leading the workshops--and helps us to plan better together. My colleagues accept my invitation knowing that if we plan a good session, faculty will be interested and appreciative. But we don't want to don't want to disappoint those who show up, so there's still pressure....but it's positive peer pressure. That knowledge helps us to keep focused on designing workshop sessions that are useful, smart, and engaging. The situation calls for us to bring our best game to our co-planning while also thinking deliberately about how to help others enjoy the session we are planning. Something about that goal brings out the fun in the collaborative process--and I suspect it's because we're involved together in what Donald Murray famously described as the "hard fun" of writing. We are challenged, we're "in the zone" with our thinking, and we have confidence that together we can figure out an effective and enjoyable plan of action.

(2) Each week, I invite as co-leaders a different group of 2-3 faculty who I know to have some expertise and experience in the topic for the upcoming workshop. The faculty I co-lead with are doing this on a voluntary basis as well, and because we are in this together, we become peer mentors to each other as we plan and teach together. I know that I learn from them, and I've found each of these colleagues also to be receptive to what I bring. Most of us haven't worked together before, and yet there is always synergy when people are sharing strong ideas, asking questions, and working together to design a workshop that will put us all in the spotlight. Working with teacher leaders and learning how they think is like having backstage passes to do a jam session with rockstar professors. Author Peter Bregman said it well: "Solving problems with other people is more fun than solving them alone." As he explains in his chapter "The Nintendo Wii Solution" building the fun of collaboration into our work makes us more productive and effective, because we're more likely to do the work--and do it well--when it's fun.

What About You?

Happily for me, my teaching collaborations will continue into this academic year as we keep the momentum moving forward with the Pedagogy Perspectives workshops. How about you? How often do you get to talk with peers about their best teaching ideas, where they came from, how they use them, and how they've adapted them over time? How often do you get to do this through the process of creating something together? Treat yourself:  you can create opportunities to co-teach with others--even if you only get to work together for a class period or two. Your thinking and teaching will be richer for it, and I'm betting you'll start to think creatively about other ways to collaborate, too.

Teaching with all your Heart, Soul, Mind, and Strength (In memory of Dr. Bill Vande Kopple)

I don't want to write this blog. Somehow, writing makes it undeniably real: Dr. Bill Vande Kopple passed away yesterday. He was my teacher for only one short semester, but that figure doesn't do justice to the impact he had on me. He was my methods professor and the supervisor for my student teaching, but he continued to teach me long after he turned in his grades at the end of the term.

The lesson that affected me most deeply was one that he taught simply by being himself. During my years as a beginning high school teacher, Prof. Vande Kopple would occasionally drop by to see what was happening in my classroom. He didn't make appointments. Instead, when he was "in the neighborhood" and had a few extra minutes (at least that was what he claimed!), he would stop in unannounced.

This generosity with his time was an incredible gift to me, and it's one that I've thought of often since I've moved away. He was a mentor: genuinely interested in what was happening between me and my students, and after he'd watched a bit and paused to ask how things were going, he freely shared stories from his own teaching. He had a way of asking the one question that would help me see a problem for myself ("What makes that angle of analyzing the poem worth 20 minutes?"). And like a gem hunter, he saw what was worth keeping and helped me to grab and polish it. ("You see how well they work in groups? That's something! What if you turned more of the work over to them?")

I am sure that Prof. Vande Kopple made these same kinds of stops, told the same kinds of stories, and gave the same types of encouragement in classrooms of beginning teachers all around West Michigan. He loved working with new teachers. His drop-in visits were something to look forward to: they were his way of saying that he cared, that he had confidence that he'd see something worth watching, that he believed I had what it took to keep learning and keep teaching. Those visits helped to build my skills and confidence as a beginning English teacher in more ways than I can count.

Fast forward. I followed in Dr. Vande Kopple's footsteps, and for about a decade, I've had the privilege of serving as an English teacher educator. Yesterday, I met with a recent grad from our program at Dordt College. She shows a great deal of promise, and that time with her was a joy. I saw the spark catch in her eyes when I asked a question, saw the satisfaction in her smile when I named back to her a great idea shining out from her notes, heard the excitement in her voice as she thought aloud about how she might polish that idea and make it sparkle. It was a visit modeled after the conversations that Prof. Vande Kopple had with me.

Thank you, Professor Vande Kopple, for teaching with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength. I'm thankful for the time you gave, for the lessons you taught, for the legacy you've left that reaches miles and generations beyond your classroom. You will be missed.

The "It" Factor

Community building has been on my mind this week. As one of the few outside guests in another institution's  online seminar for faculty learning to teach online, I've been grateful to be included. During this week's module, we've been discussing what the "it" is that can draw a group of strangers together into true community.

Is there something essential about face-to-face connections for building a community of learners? My experiences with another online group focused on learning teaching confirm for me that face-to-face meetings aren't essential to building community. (However, I learned in that group and again in this summer's seminar that building community in an online-only environment can bring extra challenges.)

If being face to face isn't "it," what is? Is it time? Can a community be built in 6 short weeks? Well, yes--or at least the start of a community. As I can testify from experience, the National Writing Project's Summer Institutes have an amazing track record for developing communities of writing teachers. Long after their initial summer experiences together, these teachers continue to support one another and work collaboratively in their growth as writers and writing teachers.

If location and duration aren't the key, it must be something else. I keep coming back to shared commitments, practices, and language. And I can't stop thinking about Wenger's work on communities of practice--communities that emerge through mutual engagement, joint enterprise, and shared repertoire. I suspect that a thoughtful review of Wenger could help me a great deal as I think about designing significant learning experiences that inspire learners to commit whole-heartedly to building something meaningful together.....whether those experiences happen online or elsewhere. I hope to re-read soon!

I've relied on a quick nod to Wenger to help me define community. I appreciate the way that his ideas and language resonate with scholarship in my field as well as with my work in the context of a faith-based college where we are intentional about helping students to live and learn together in Christian community.

But I'm always interested to hear other perspectives. Who/what do you read, watch, or listen to when you want help thinking more deeply about community?

BYOD....T? (Bring Your Own Device Technician?)

My adventures in online learning continue. This week, I've been asked to revisit some programs that I've used previously (VoiceThread, Jing) and to check out a few others that I've heard of before (Audacity--which I haven't used because I have a digital recorder) as well as to try one that's new to me (Voki, an avatar creator).

I'm auditing my course as a guest from another institution, and the hardware that I'm using differs from that used by most students in the course. The technical questions I have aren't the kind I'd want to ask my instructor, as they are questions specific to my device. What to do?

When I asked a colleague of mine about this, he shared that in his online teaching, he rolls out the welcome mat for technical questions--but he also advises students to find someone local who can look over their shoulders at their devices when they run stuck. In so many words, he suggests that when they bring their own device, they also ensure that they also "bring" their own technician.

My colleague doesn't require students to make these kinds of arrangements for local technical support, and I can assure you that he isn't trying to push them away. (He really does love to help others solve technical mysteries, and he's a great teacher!)

Rather, he knows that for most of us, it's really challenging to learn a new technology and new content at the same time. Learning a new digital technology means learning a new language--a new set of codes, symbols, and actions--and doing that while learning the practices of a discipline (diction, theories, practices, resources) takes a lot of "extraneous cognitive load" (Clark, Nguyen, & Sweller, 2006). He also knows that many students may be shy about asking an instructor for help--regardless of how much they need it.

I like my colleague's advice to his students: it makes sense when I think about it through the lens of my experience. We have excellent technical support on our campus, and I've been able to take advantage of that in-person help to improve my online learning experience. For me, it's been great to know that I can work through learning the big ideas of the online class -- with the assurance that help is just a drop-in visit away when my computer and I need some help getting along.

But what about students who aren't well connected with someone whom they can easily (and comfortably) access for in-person help? No instructor can expect to offer remote technical support for every technical problem that a diverse array of students (with their diverse array of devices!) will bring to a given course. Given that reality, it strikes me that an institution offering an online course

1. Is responsible to notify students in advance about the technologies that they'll need to use, and at what level of proficiency. 
2. Would be wise to provide students with advance online access to tutorials for the technologies that they'll need to use. 

This two-pronged approach allows students to make informed choices about their readiness for a course--and if they determine they aren't yet ready, it may also allow them to get ready (time and other resources permitting).

Kudos to the instructor for my seminar, who shared this kind of information in advance through the syllabus and also advised us to download programs and apps in advance. The goal, I think, is to help our students prepare in advance for installation and configuration--so that when they come to class, they can focus on application.

Truancy and Dropping Out

For the first time in my life, I can identify a bit with students who skip out--and perhaps even with those who eventually drop out. Two modules of my online seminar flew by without me in the past two weeks, and now I'm behind. Catching up is going to be tough, and a little part of me wonders if I'll be able to do it. I briefly wondered whether I should even try.....but here I am.

My truancy wasn't anything out of the ordinary: a vacation that I'd scheduled long ago (looooong before I had the opportunity to enroll in the seminar) made it tough to do my homework. Access to the right technologies was one problem--the little tablet I had along made the type of homework I had to do an inconvenience. But there was also another important issue: priorities. Doing homework on vacation would have felt more like work than vacation, and it would have taken me away from the time with family that all of us needed after an unusually hectic year.

It seems that I'm not alone. Stanford-Bowers' study on persistence in online education concludes that for students, convenience and flexibility are major factors in their decision to enroll in online courses--and that "when course requirements and activities tend to conflict with convenience and flexibility, students tend to neglect or leave the courses" (2008, p. 48).

What can we do about it? I'm not sure. But I can tell you a little about why I'm back and chipping away at my catch-up work.

1. Community. I have a few classmates who I know well and helped to persuade to take this seminar, and I want to jump back into working on this together with them and make sure that I make good on my commitments. 
2. Personal goals: I want to know more about how to teach online, and I believe that finishing the required experiences in the seminar will be valuable to that end. 

Perhaps those motivators can be instructive to us as we design and teach online courses.

• Community. If my students disappear for a time, I may need to reach out to them personally to help them reconnect with our community--and while an email might do the trick, picking up the phone might feel more real and therefore more motivating. Perhaps classmates who know the student well can also reach out. 
• Personal goals. Helping my students to identify how the course helps them meet personal goals--and giving them opportunities to revoice this along the way--may help to reinforce the value of the experience.
• Valuable experiences. The value I see in the seminar I'm taking goes far beyond a certificate or grade at the end of the road. (In fact, I'm not sure that we get either one in the end!) I've already seen that this course is designed as a series of significant learning experiences, and I want the benefit of those experiences. 
• Flexibility. My instructor let me know that I'd be able to rejoin and pick up where I left off when I returned. This small move was significant in it's own way. 

Here I am....back "on course" and ready to keep learning.