a rather unexciting obervation on: cold calling - a "muddiest part of the lecture" procedure designed to generate student participation.
all you need, kids, is a group of students, some 3x5 index cards, and a writing implement. before class, write each student's name on a card, and shuffle the deck. during your lesson, pick cards randomly/semi-randomly, and require that the child indicated by your selection participate at that given point in the lesson (e.g. answer a question, go up to the board, etc.)
while i never had the opportunity to actually use this method (nor any of the others), i (a) had intended to, and (b) observed joel use it. while this may not be sufficient for a blog-experience-reflection cluster, it's all i've got.
the method seemed rather effective - sleepers were less alseep than usual (in fear of being caught "cold," perhaps), and talkers were prevented from dominating class discussion. my only real concern is that i'd rather this be an procedure that students were more prepared for, and thus had developed expectations concerning the spontaneous environment "cold calling" would generate. for, i think the best feature of this method is its mechanical, impersonal face - and, this would be detracted from in a situation where "cold calling" were introduced in response to an unbalanced system of student response in the classroom. while its success at a superficial level is apparant, the possibilities of its effect on a more deep educational/cultural level seem promising - perhaps resulting in a developed student response to a more active, object-indifferent response environment. granted, this can only be devloped/observed in a classroom setting with a different sense of time/permanence than our summer school class; i intend on integrating cold-calling, and related spontaneous modifiers/generators into my class in the fall, in the attempts of hardwiring the social environment of my classroom against certain typical patterns of static social/behavioral modes.
6.28.2005
reluctant disciplinarian: required mcpost #2
as for my previous concern as to whether the author of Reluctant Disciplinarian, Gary Rubenstein, ever "redeems himself from a stance of oblique, humor-begging iconoclasm": he does not, or only barely does.
while this is a book of overly-honest (soul bearing on the verge of histrionics) reflection, and while it is a book ostensibly of step, misstep, and re-step - three necessary experiences of the young teacher-who-may-yet-survive (another unwelcome stuffing of the phrase "lifelong learner," i fear) - reluctant disciplinarian, in the end, fails to provide any real substance through the vehicle of its zany, fresh approach. however, it does produce - from time to time - the exact opposite of substance: an uncomfortable vacuum of reduction and near-fatalism. that is, its street-smart, inside-scoop, tell-it-like-it-is journalistic posing hides some rather disturbing monsters. i'll run through a few favorites (and - these are not the views and/or actions that the author had advocated during his failed first year; these are his "how things work" positons):
"still, i kind of liked the novelty of being poor. clipping coupons and eating pasta most nights was fun, like a game." (117)
a game? are you kidding?
"I knew that 'cool' didn't work for me. Nor could I be my nerdy self for fear that these high school students would make fun of me, just as high school students had when I was a student. I was concerned because I didn't know what identity to assume." (103)
so... he's got "identity" issues. he just needs to find his "real" self...
"I nerdier I became, the more my students responded. I would even go home and practice intellectual feat to enhance my image. While teaching ninth grade class about circles, I mentioned pi. 'Most people think that pi is equal to 3.14,' I said, 'but really it goes on. It starts out 3.141592653589793238462,' I continued on for the first 100 digits." (104)
... and his real self is a bag of faux-esoteric math parlor tricks meant to impress high school students. something doesn't add up here (excuse the pun): he compensates for his lack of personal confidence by wowing kids with the detritus from his glory days as a math competition champ in junior high (102). i'm not clear how (a) this has anything to do with the author "being real," or (b) how this assists his children in learning - if in no other way than putting/persisting a thin veil of impenetrability/unapproachability over math concepts. his concepts of "teacher personas," and the "real teacher" follow a similar line: thin masquerades worried more about believability than function (he does, however, equate believability with fuction (81); agreeably, illusion is a huge part of the equation, but rubenstein seems to give it undue sole primacy - especially where he advises that a teacher to deferr to the student's expectations when presenting material; in this case, i could essentially lie to a student, or even perpetuate his/her own previous lies, but still suceed in producing a belief in the student that he/she has learned. note to prof parker: it seems i've abandoned my championing of arbitrariness here; this sort of lie seems somehow worth a fuss; a part of me wants to champion the space between real/un-real, but a part of me sees an undue cognitive disservice; perhaps, it's the aim of the lie - or if the lie has an aim; prof, i'm puzzled: where is teaching not lying? because i think some of it isn't, or at least intends to not be. however, some of it is, and has to be. it is, of course, structured like a language).
perhaps my failure to connect with this book is because he's trying to demystify illusions that i don't particularly feel like i harbor, (of course, a been-there-done-that mentality in the book that seems to bet on me crawling back to this book in the fall, begging for mercy, ready with an "i told you so") nor that i value. rubinstein seems to go from overconfident and clueless, to overconfident and somewhat experienced. to his credit, he admit his mistakes, but he seems to do this only after rushing jovially into a thicket.
while this is a book of overly-honest (soul bearing on the verge of histrionics) reflection, and while it is a book ostensibly of step, misstep, and re-step - three necessary experiences of the young teacher-who-may-yet-survive (another unwelcome stuffing of the phrase "lifelong learner," i fear) - reluctant disciplinarian, in the end, fails to provide any real substance through the vehicle of its zany, fresh approach. however, it does produce - from time to time - the exact opposite of substance: an uncomfortable vacuum of reduction and near-fatalism. that is, its street-smart, inside-scoop, tell-it-like-it-is journalistic posing hides some rather disturbing monsters. i'll run through a few favorites (and - these are not the views and/or actions that the author had advocated during his failed first year; these are his "how things work" positons):
"still, i kind of liked the novelty of being poor. clipping coupons and eating pasta most nights was fun, like a game." (117)
a game? are you kidding?
"I knew that 'cool' didn't work for me. Nor could I be my nerdy self for fear that these high school students would make fun of me, just as high school students had when I was a student. I was concerned because I didn't know what identity to assume." (103)
so... he's got "identity" issues. he just needs to find his "real" self...
"I nerdier I became, the more my students responded. I would even go home and practice intellectual feat to enhance my image. While teaching ninth grade class about circles, I mentioned pi. 'Most people think that pi is equal to 3.14,' I said, 'but really it goes on. It starts out 3.141592653589793238462,' I continued on for the first 100 digits." (104)
... and his real self is a bag of faux-esoteric math parlor tricks meant to impress high school students. something doesn't add up here (excuse the pun): he compensates for his lack of personal confidence by wowing kids with the detritus from his glory days as a math competition champ in junior high (102). i'm not clear how (a) this has anything to do with the author "being real," or (b) how this assists his children in learning - if in no other way than putting/persisting a thin veil of impenetrability/unapproachability over math concepts. his concepts of "teacher personas," and the "real teacher" follow a similar line: thin masquerades worried more about believability than function (he does, however, equate believability with fuction (81); agreeably, illusion is a huge part of the equation, but rubenstein seems to give it undue sole primacy - especially where he advises that a teacher to deferr to the student's expectations when presenting material; in this case, i could essentially lie to a student, or even perpetuate his/her own previous lies, but still suceed in producing a belief in the student that he/she has learned. note to prof parker: it seems i've abandoned my championing of arbitrariness here; this sort of lie seems somehow worth a fuss; a part of me wants to champion the space between real/un-real, but a part of me sees an undue cognitive disservice; perhaps, it's the aim of the lie - or if the lie has an aim; prof, i'm puzzled: where is teaching not lying? because i think some of it isn't, or at least intends to not be. however, some of it is, and has to be. it is, of course, structured like a language).
perhaps my failure to connect with this book is because he's trying to demystify illusions that i don't particularly feel like i harbor, (of course, a been-there-done-that mentality in the book that seems to bet on me crawling back to this book in the fall, begging for mercy, ready with an "i told you so") nor that i value. rubinstein seems to go from overconfident and clueless, to overconfident and somewhat experienced. to his credit, he admit his mistakes, but he seems to do this only after rushing jovially into a thicket.
6.23.2005
required mcpost #1: formal evaluation
3. Watch your video-taped lesson plan. Comment on your strenghts and your areas for improvement.
le comment:
even after four years of college radio, i've never gotten used to the sound of my recored voice - it's always too nasal and mumbly. in the classroom, i complement this with a wide range of dramatic arm movements and bouncing eyebrows (in the video, i whip out my teacher look only once, when sylvia accidentally drops a textbook; after the loud bang, my eybrow shoots up, and my eye strongly fixes on the problem, ready to fire).
yet - darting between groups as my kids fill out a worksheet - i look like a teacher: often, i just perch above a shoulder, checking the progress; i positively reinforce productive responses with a constant barrage of "good," "yes," "exactly," and the occasional "brilliant." i use the first-person plural ("so, now we're looking up at the board..."; "later we'll be reading a short story...") to get things moving; instead of responding to the same query 20 times, i abstract common problems and teach/reteach.
of course, there's plenty of things that i'll need to work on: my transitions are sloppy (likewise my intro and closure); my directions aren't explicit enough (leading to too much time wasted on clarifying procedures); and my teaching objectives don't hit home from as many angles (and in as many explicitly noted places) that i'd like.
also, from dr. sullivan's notes,
1. i mention that d.c. and new york city is on the east coast (we're filling out a map), but so is georgia (also a location we're dealing with). in my defense, we were talking about atlanta, ga - which is definitely not on the east coast. yet, it's true that i'm running into a cultural conflict where i have a non-geographically pure distinction between east and south (i.e. by east, i mean dc and up on the atlantic.)
2. i'm a "little too animated" - to which i dramatically shrug my shoulders.
le comment:
even after four years of college radio, i've never gotten used to the sound of my recored voice - it's always too nasal and mumbly. in the classroom, i complement this with a wide range of dramatic arm movements and bouncing eyebrows (in the video, i whip out my teacher look only once, when sylvia accidentally drops a textbook; after the loud bang, my eybrow shoots up, and my eye strongly fixes on the problem, ready to fire).
yet - darting between groups as my kids fill out a worksheet - i look like a teacher: often, i just perch above a shoulder, checking the progress; i positively reinforce productive responses with a constant barrage of "good," "yes," "exactly," and the occasional "brilliant." i use the first-person plural ("so, now we're looking up at the board..."; "later we'll be reading a short story...") to get things moving; instead of responding to the same query 20 times, i abstract common problems and teach/reteach.
of course, there's plenty of things that i'll need to work on: my transitions are sloppy (likewise my intro and closure); my directions aren't explicit enough (leading to too much time wasted on clarifying procedures); and my teaching objectives don't hit home from as many angles (and in as many explicitly noted places) that i'd like.
also, from dr. sullivan's notes,
1. i mention that d.c. and new york city is on the east coast (we're filling out a map), but so is georgia (also a location we're dealing with). in my defense, we were talking about atlanta, ga - which is definitely not on the east coast. yet, it's true that i'm running into a cultural conflict where i have a non-geographically pure distinction between east and south (i.e. by east, i mean dc and up on the atlantic.)
2. i'm a "little too animated" - to which i dramatically shrug my shoulders.
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