Live, from Wildacres, it's 2010's CWPA!

Yes, it's that time of year again, folks. I find myself up in the woods-covered mountains of Western North Carolina, spittin' distance from the Blue Ridge Parkway, hanging out with a gaggle of composition theorists and rhetoricians with only nominal control of their drinking impulses.

Seriously, these are wonderful people, and as was the case with the previous two years of this shindig (my first time was in 2008), by the dawn of the first full day (now) I've already had a dozen wonderful and insightful conversations. I've gotten a few pointers for my book from the point of view of my friends in writing centers and first-year composition programs, having asked several of them pointedly "so...what would you want to get out of such a book?" I've gotten a few nibbles of interest for the poetry conference, including a few from the writers' workshop that's going on across from us in the other lodge. Mostly, though, I've been talking assessment. (w00t.)

Assessment is the theme of this year's get-together, and we started things off last night with a keynote presentation from none other than Chris Anson, writing assessor extraordinaire. Of course, ever in teaching mode, all through the conversation he instigated I thought not only of the programmatic assessment we're undertaking with the Writing Intensive program but also my own assessment of my students' performance. Am I assessing what I claim to value as learning outcomes for my courses? Am I applying suitable methods in order to help my students achieve those outcomes, both at the micro (assignment) and macro (course) levels? And are my outcomes measurable, reasonable, and meaningful ones in the first place?

I think that the answer to all three of those questions, fortunately, is "yes." I feel confident that I'm doing the right thing, more or less, by this point in my career.

But I could be doing better, and after last night's conversations I am more firmly convinced than ever before that portfolios are the right way to go.

I was complaining to my colleagues Cammie and Nico (both of whom teach rhetoric at Western Carolina University) about how in mathematics assessment of student mastery is all too-often tied to completion of a particular course with a suitably high grade, with little behind that grade other than similarly high performance on exams and quizzes which essentially test rote memorization and unthinking application of various formulas and algorithms. For context: this followed a rather lengthy conversation stemming from Chris's presentation that began with his assertion that it was difficult to assess a student's knowledge of the works of Shakespeare by asking whether the student got a B or better in a course on Shakespeare's writing. Nora (from UNC-Charlotte) countered that such a measure could be an effective one, depending on what exactly you were measuring: it all depends on how it is that B was arrived at.

It was interesting to note that during that earlier conversation Cammie and Nico were musing about how nice it must be in mathematics, where quantifiable outcomes lie so thick you can't but trip over them.

No, portfolios are the way to go. I'm already so repulsed by assigning numerical values to single iterations of students' work that I don't know how much longer I can continue to do it. It almost made me physically ill yesterday to put numbers on the "final" drafts of my Linear students' papers on the geometry of linear systems.

What needs to be done next, if I plan on taking big steps in that direction? I need to convince my students that it's worthwhile and doable (I don't think this will be too hard a sell). I need to firm up each course's learning outcomes (which I already have for most of them) so that they're clear enough to explain to students and solid enough to be measurable. I need to make sure every assignment or activity I craft is explicit in its intentions (I'm already doing this). I need to more cleanly codify the way in which the students' portfolios would be put together, added to, and ultimately assessed.

As I mentioned in the previous paragraph, much of this I've already done. I just have to be more purposeful about it, take a deep breath, and jump.

Okay, the first bell rang about ten minutes ago...I should get ready for breakfast.

More to come!

What a difference a day makes

A good night's sleep and a tall stack of calculus papers later, and I'm feeling a bit better.

This morning's chore was to respond to the 40 calculus papers which I'd merely glanced at last night. (Then I'd done a spot-check to see which ones would need the most ameliorative attention.)

They were, by and large, wonderful. Some of the students had a hard time explaining the importance of finding a horizontal tangent (there was occasional "cart-before-horsing," when students said something along the lines of "we need to find the point where the function is minimized because that's where the tangent is horizontal"), and there were some minor slips in notation (like when students reused the name of the function itself, C(x), for the slope of the tangent line), but all in all the papers were solid. I'm requesting that four of the students send me their papers electronically, so that I can post them on the website as models.

I'm happy.

What of the other 12? I've decided I'm simply not assigning a grade to them. I've written something along the lines of "please come and see me so I can help you hammer this out." Most of them will, I hope, and once they've worked up a more complete solution, I'll respond to it.

It's one step closer to portfolios. I'll get there soon.

Sampler

During the past week I've attended, presented at, participated in, or facilitated two conferences and three faculty development workshops, on topics ranging from pure mathematics (group theory and graph theory) to the pedagogy of writing and advising first-year students who are brand new to a liberal arts university. I've written dozens of pages of notes, collected several handouts, worksheets, resource lists, and sets of slides. I've talked with, listened to, or sent e-mails to dozens of colleagues. In between doing all of the above I've been spending most of my time reading up on the history and philosophy of science and its teaching and on the role played by gender in mathematics achievement.

Below I've collected a number of quotes, factoids, observations, and questions dealing with all that I've been doing for the past week or so. Every one of these items deserves further follow-up; maybe I'll get around to addressing some of them over the summer, maybe not. I just want to get them out there for now.

1. Contextualization (and resocialization) of science. First, more from Thomas S. Kuhn's The structure of scientific revolutions (pp. 136-137), on the apparent linearity and cumulative nature of science and the related transmission of scientific knowledge:

Textbooks thus begin by truncating the scientist's sense of his [sic, here and following] discipline's history and then proceed to supply a substitute for what they have eliminated. Characteristically, textbooks of science contain just a bit of history, either in an introductory chapter or, more often, in scattered references to the great heroes of an earlier age. From such references both students and professionals come to feel like participants in a long-standing historical tradition. Yet the textbook-derived tradition in which scientists come to sense their participation is on that, in fact, never existed. For reasons that are both obvious and highly functional, science textbooks (and too many of the older histories of science) refer only to that part of the work of past scientists that can easily be viewed as contributions to the statement solution of the texts' paradigm problems. Partly by selection and partly by distortion, the scientists of earlier ages are implicitly represented as having worked upon the same set of fixed problems and in accordance with the same set of fixed canons that the most recent revolution in scientific theory and method has made seem scientific. No wonder that textbooks and the historical tradition they imply have to be rewritten after each scientific revolution. And no wonder that, as they are rewritten, science once again comes to seem largely cumulative.

My question: does it have to be this way?

My answer: no. But an elaboration of that answer will have to wait for now. I have a good deal more to say in reflecting on the social constructivist point of view of science, first (or at least first explicitly) elaborated in Kuhn's work, as in the following passage (p. 42):

Though there are obviously rules to which all practitioners of a scientific specialty adhere at a given time, those rules may not by themselves specify all that the practice of those specialists has in common. Normal science is a highly determined activity, but it need not be entirely determined by rules. That is why, at the start of this essay, I introduced shared paradigms rather than shared rules, assumptions, and points of view as the source of coherence for normal research traditions.

The nature of the rules to which specialists adhere is fluid and dynamic, susceptible to the exigencies of the day-to-day applications of those rules. Rules, as applied, evolve, and they evolve in accordance with their usefulness as judged by practitioners of the specialized discipline concerned with those rules. More than anything else reading Kuhn makes me aware of the need to be more intentional about including opportunities for my students to explore, discover, interpret, investigate, and describe the concepts we consider in any given class; they must be made, to the greatest extent possible, to feel like they as much authors of scientific discovery as I am. (Particular attention to the role of youth and neophycy in scientific "advancement" is critical as well.)

2. Invention versus discovery. I've often asked my Calc I students to think about the difference (if there is one) between invention and discovery when they take part in the Newton v. Leibniz project. Kuhn will serve as an excellent source for those students interested in learning more about the distinction between the two notions: pp. 51-53 contain a discussion of this distinction, highlighting invention as the adjustment that goes on in a paradigm's conception of science in the wake of a discovery: one may be the first to objectively observe a physical phenomenon, say, but until the significance of that phenomenon is understood and elaborated, and the discovery's relevance is described, one cannot be said to have invented a thing. In a sense invention is the recognition of the importance and relevance of a discovery via its incorporation into the normal scientific tradition that operates within a given scientific paradigm.

What might students have to say about this?

3. Revision (in writing) as revolution. The parallels between Kuhn's portrayal of scientific revolution (especially as it compares to political revolution) and revision of one's writing as a process are too great to be ignored: revision occurs concomitantly with the recognition of the inadequacy of what one's written to account fully for one's perception of the subject of the writing. That is, revision is undertaken in response to a perceived discrepancy between the author's intent and the author's ideas as communicated expressly on the page. Compare (p. 91): "In much the same way, scientific revolutions are inaugurated by a growing sense, again often restricted to a narrow subdivision of the scientific community, that an existing paradigm has ceased to function adequately in the exploration of an aspect of nature to which that paradigm itself had previously led the way."

To continue the parallel between these "revolutions" would force us ultimately to recognize what students of writing are often loath to admit (and what teachers of writing already know very well): writing is a social process, as much, if not more so, than is scientific discovery.

I should note that in the following pages in Kuhn's text (pp. 92 ff.) he most clearly articulates the role of social forces in shaping scientific revolutions. When competing paradigms come up against one another, adherents to one or the other must be prepared to argue in favor of their particular paradigm.

4. Portfolios (again). Enough about Kuhn (for now, at least). Let's get to some observations on the International Writing Across the Curriculum Conference, the first two days of which I was able to attend at the end of last week.

In talking with my colleague Nero (currently at the University of Hawai'i, Hilo) I found myself suddenly able to articulate, far more clearly than I've ever been able to before, what exactly a portfolio means of assessment might look like in a mathematics course. One or two communication outcomes would join one or two affective or metacognitive outcomes, and these would join two or three content-centered outcomes as a basis for the course's assessment. (I already generate such outcomes for all of my courses.)

Throughout the semester the students would be given a variety of assignments, successful completion of each of which would demonstrate achievement at one or more of the outcomes on the list described above. These assignments could include more traditional problem sets (though likely not sets of problems pulled from a textbook), written components of projects I already assign (like Newton v. Leibniz, Confectionary Conundrum, etc.), reflection or response papers in which students explore their personal and emotional engagement with mathematics, and so forth.

Students will have a chance to perform unlimited revision on many of these assignments, so that if a student isn't happy with a given iteration of a given assignment, she can revise her work to improve upon it. (As regular readers know, I'm still working on adjusting my revision policies.)

In the last week or so of the semester the students will be asked to select four or five assignments from among those completed during the semester to represent their mastery of as many of the course learning outcomes as possible. They will then write a brief (no more than five or six pages) paper in which they articulate explicitly the role served by each of the assignments they have chosen to include in the portfolio: why include this piece? Mastery of which outcome does it purport to demonstrate?

I'd like to recruit one or more of my colleagues to help me assess completed portfolios the first time around; there ought to be some sort of validation process.

Thoughts?

5. Intentionalize, intentionalize, intentionalize! This coming summer's REU students will receive yet more intentional instruction in writing than any previous year has received. At least two of my College of Charleston colleagues will be coming up to help impart their wisdom on rhetoric and composition. I'll be giving the students more models of professional writing than they've been exposed to in the past. And, most notably, I will obey the exhortation of the four presenters from Virginia Commonwealth University and place more emphasis on the "middle" stage of student research writing.

What do I mean by this? Much like the faculty at VCU (as described by the four presenters mentioned above), I find I've been very intentional about helping my REU students find sources at the outset of their research program, and I've been very intentional about helping them through draft after draft of their week-to-week research reports once those reports have assumed a certain level of coherence. But, like the aforementioned faculty, I've been somewhat remiss in offering the students explicit instruction in the middle stages of the process: how does one evaluate sources? How does one compare them? How does one decide on the relevance of a particular source to one's own researches?

I've decided that I'm going to require the REU students to follow their initial literature searches (which most of them do) with the construction of an annotated bibliography in which they highlight the important contributions of each source, summarize the relevance of each source to their own work, and prioritize the source, ranking it alongside the other sources they've found in terms of its strength of contribution, its clarity, and its relevance to their particular research project.

Will this make more work for the students? You bet it will. But since I'm only going to be asking the students to produce a draft of their report every other (rather than every) week, I feel it's a fair amount of work to ask of them.

It occurred to me this morning, in sitting in on a faculty development workshop focused on our LSIC courses, that the same sort of exercise should be required of students in our MATH 480 course in order that that course warrant its Information Literacy Intensive designation. Just two years ago I suggested that the department begin requiring students in MATH 480 to produce an expository paper; this suggestion met with almost no resistance. I hope this new suggestion will go over equally well.

6. Other thoughts for the REU. What else will I be asking this year's students to do? Nothing excessive, I believe. It seems to me that I should require the following of the program's participants:

History and context. Every draft (not just the last) of every student paper this summer will be required to have a section describing the history and context of the topic the student is investigating. This section, like the rest of the paper, may be rather sparse and tentative at first, but like the rest of the paper it will become more full and flourishing as the summer goes on. I believe it's important, though, that from the very onset of the program the students become accustomed to contextualizing their work and establishing its place in the field.

Visuals. One of the VCU folks mentioned above presented a metaphorical means of constructing an annotated bibliography and literature review, comparing the process of finding, evaluating, prioritizing, and applying sources to planning a conference, at which participants must be placed at various tables, grouped in various sessions, and so forth, according to interests, purposes, and points of view. The most striking aspect of this presentation to me was the insistence on a visual representation: the presenter required her students to come up with a visual means of portraying their evidence. I am going to start requiring each REU student to include at least one visual representation of her or his work in the bi-weekly presentations they'll be delivering. That visual may be the same from week to week, but if the visual remains unchanged I will ask the student to justify her or his reason for retaining the same visual. This, I hope, will encourage students to reflect upon the way in which they are representing their work through nonverbal means; this reflection could lead to further discovery and, of course, refinement of the visual rhetoric the students use in describing their work.

Elevator talks. Even the strongest undergraduate research students have trouble articulating their work clearly and concisely. I'm going to begin asking every student to open her or his presentation with a no-more-than-one-minute "elevator" version of the presentation. What is the main focus or question of your research? What method or methods are you using to try to study that focus or answer that question? How does your work fit in with others' work on the same topic? I hope this additional intentionality will help students develop the ability to communicate their work in the hurly-burly world of conferences and cocktail parties.

7. QEP. As many of my colleagues in the Southeast part of the country know, QEP stands for "Quality Enhancement Plan," and is the means by which the Southern Association of Colleges and Schools (SACS, the accreditation agency for an enormous number of institutions of higher learning in the Southeast) asks the colleges and universities it oversees to plan and implement institution-wide changes to enhance student learning.

I'll have a lot more to say about this in the coming weeks, months, and, if all goes well, years, but I'll simply say now that I am more committed than ever before to making writing the focus of UNC Asheville's QEP. I will do all that I can to lobby for this position.

8. Inkshedding. Perhaps the most delightful thing I took away from this past Wednesday's workshop on writing instruction of ESL students (ably facilitated by my colleagues Hannah and Tabitha of UNC-Chapel Hill and NC State University, respectively...thank you both so much for coming out!) is a new form of low-stakes writing to which I'd not before been exposed. "Inkshedding" is much like a collaborative form of freewriting. As they would be in a freewrite, participants (in groups of three or four) are asked to write on a given topic for a set amount of time (three minutes, say) or until they have written all they would like to on the topic at hand. When finished, each participant places his writing in the center of the circle and waits for someone else to do the same. The papers are then exchanged, and each person reads what the other has written and then responds in writing on the first writer's paper. Once done responding, the second person places the paper in the center again and takes another. And so on. In theory, the process could continue endlessly, readers writing in response to others' responses to their own responses, and so forth.

Beyond its obvious pedagogical usefulness, I think this would be a fantastic way to construct collaborative poems, or at least generate ideas and images for rich poems or other pieces of fiction. I'm eager to find a few folks who are willing to try this out. If you're game, let me know!

9. Gender matters. I'm currently reading a book that I picked up (in the simply marvelous bookstore Caveat Emptor) in Bloomington, the site of the IWAC conference last week, Mathematics and gender, edited by Elizabeth Fennema and Gilah C. Leder (1990, New York: Teachers College Press). This collection purports to analyze the different ways in which gender influences math performance, success in math coursework, and affective responses to mathematics and its study. Unsurprisingly, men and women differ with regard to their experience with math, and factors such as confidence, perception of utility, sex-role congruency (the "math is for men" stereotype), fear of success, and attribution of performance to one or another cause (effort, ability, or outside forces such as sheer luck) all strongly, and differently by gender, affect an individual's mathematical understanding and performance.

I've yet to read much in this book that's given me reason to adjust the way in which I teach math, aside, perhaps, from Lindsay A. Tartre's study (Chapter 3, "Spatial skills, gender, and mathematics") suggesting that in women there is a far stronger correlation between spatial skills and mathematical performance. Might I do well to place particular emphasis on visual representations of problems when working one-on-one with a female student? I already attempt to adapt my explanations to whatever mode it is in which I know a given student most clearly understands mathematical ideas.

It's something to think about. I may have more to say about this book as I get into the later chapters, which deal with the role of the teacher and the classroom dynamic in assisting or impeding students' mathematical understanding.

That's enough for now. I realize that this is one of the longest posts I've written in a long time. Believe me, I've tried to keep it short! I hope to be able to elaborate on one or more of the above issues in later posts, especially as I begin to implement some of the proposed changes to my REU and to my regular courses.

To be, as ever, continued!

Collaboration II: Electric Boogaloo

Today's collaborative extra credit session for Calc I is slightly better attended than Monday's was, with 26 people plugging away at problems while they partake of tooth-rotting holiday-themed treats, 7 more than the 19 who showed on Monday.

I'm not sure if this should be surprising: final exams end this evening, so in a way it's shocking to see so many people still engaged enough to make it to this session; on the other hand, perhaps enough people are desperate enough to do anything to add a few points to their grades that attendance is thereby boosted.

I don't sense desperation on most people's parts, though. Of course, everyone wants to get a good grade, but as a whole the students in these two sections of Calc I have done a good job in focusing their efforts on understanding and not on realizing largely artifical benchmarks of excellence. "I think our class already de-emphasizes grades," one of my students told me just a couple of hours ago as we were talking about my plans to further de-emphasize them next semester in Calc II. "I've felt all along that as long as I'm working on the homework and keeping up then I'm going to get a B."

"For the most part, that's true," I told her. "If you're doing what you need to to stay involved and engaged in class, and you're finishing the homework and doing decently on the exams, you'll get a C or a B, and most people in my classes get Cs and Bs. If you go above and beyond the basic expectations, you'll get an A, but you have to work pretty hard to get a D or an F."

I talked with her a bit about what a portfolio-based course would look like, and I admitted that I still haven't worked out all of the details for myself. "You have to turn in a grade at the end of the semester anyway, right?" she asked. "How would you do that?"

"It would be determined by looking at the products of the work you'd done throughout the semester and making sure that it demonstrates your achievement of various learning goals that we'd agreed upon in advance. Maybe we'd have said 'You need to be able to compute integrals of these types,' or maybe 'You need to show that you know some basic problem-solving techniques,' and I'd look to see that your portfolio contains assignments that show you can compute those integrals, and assignments that show you can solve some complicated problems."

I think we both ended the conversation with a better understanding of what our class would look like if I switched to portfolio-based grading, but I indicated that I'm still not sure that I'll implement that system in Calc II next semester. "I may try it out in my upper-division class," I told her, "and if it works out well there I'll contemplate using it the next time I teach a calc class of some kind."

But is this fair? I think now: one of the aspects of my own teaching I'm most critical of is the relative eagerness with which I apply techniques like inquiry-based learning and discovery learning and whatnot in my upper-level courses and eschew those same techniques in lower-level courses. To some extent this is understandable, since my lower-level courses are generally considerably larger than my upper-level ones, and such student-centered methods are much more easily implemented in smaller classes. Would portfolios present the same difficulties?

I don't think so. So why not go for it? Maybe I'm just clutching uncharacteristically conservatively at tradition, afraid to take that long, long leap all at once, preferring a few baby steps in its place.

I'll sort it out.

For now I'm going to sit back, close my eyes, and enjoy the pleasant hum of my students' voices as they puzzle through their extra credit problems.

Survey says...

I've heard back from about ten students so far concerning the "survey" I sent out asking for feedback on my plans for designing next semester's courses. About half are students in Calc II next term, and about half will be in Topology.

Not too shockingly, the students from whom I've heard are among the respective courses' strongest and most dedicated, so some of their views should be considered accordingly.

Nonetheless, there are patterns emerging:

1. Like it or not, even the best students are highly motivated by getting good grades. While most of the students admitted they knew they shouldn't be compelled by the desire to get high marks, most of them owned that getting high marks eggs them on and gives them what they feel is an accurate measure of their progress. It's hard to say whether these students, among my strongest, are more or less likely to be motivated by grades than their peers who have to work a bit harder to keep up.

2. Nevertheless, I'm heartened that the students who have responded are all up for something new. Though the idea of their work being assessed in some sort of "portfolio" system is an unfamiliar one to them, they seem open to the possibility.

3. Most of them are very happy with the way their current (or past) courses with me have been run, and are up for more of the same. This is also heartening to me, as ultimately I think I do a good job in most of what I do for my classes, and much of what I do now will remain in next semester's courses, largely unchanged.

More to come, as more responses come in. For now, I'm off to bed.

Desperados

Yesterday was a long day, and after working pretty much nonstop (class prep to research meeting to class to research to grading to another class to more class prep to another meeting to home to grade and grade and grade) from about 6:30 a.m. until 8:30 or so p.m., nothing could have made it seem longer than discovering at that latter hour that a couple of students had cheated on yesterday's Calc I exam.

Ugh.

Given that I've not much time to write right now (class beckons with a gently arching arm), I'll merely reference an older post which, written in a time of much more leisure, says all I feel like saying right now.

On the positive side, I've found from informal conversations that a number of my Calc I students continuing on to Calc II with me in Spring 2010 are open to the idea of portfolios and other outcome-based assessment methods.

This and that

This week's gotten off to a good start, though Tuesday already feels like Thursday, and Friday will feel long overdue once it's come.

Today I played host to one of my colleagues from Samford University. Having driven seven hours from Birmingham, Alabama, Colin spent last night and today with me and my colleagues here, giving a great talk, chatting with me about REUs and the Sectional MAA, and meeting with various faculty and students from the department.

His talk was fantastic, offering the audience a unique blend of real analysis, linear algebra, and introductory proof techniques. There were about a dozen students present, and many of them are currently enrolled in...well...Real Analysis, Linear Algebra, and Foundations. For the analysts there were metrics, and orthogonal families of functions, and convergence; for the linear algebraists there were opportunities to apply eigenvalues to compute the closed forms for the terms of the Fibonacci sequence. For my MATH 280 students there were both implicit and explicit references to a number of the core concepts from the course: bijections, the pigeonhole principle, induction, proofs by contradiction, and equivalence classes and partitions. The talk was challenging but, I hope, accessible, and there were knowing smiles on a number of the students' faces as Colin reached his deftly delivered denouement.

In the afternoon, after his talk, Colin spent a few hours with me in my office talking about the design and execution of REUs, as he's hoping to submit a proposal to start one up at his own institution. I think I was able to give him some pointers and step through the process I followed as I put my own program together, but I couldn't answer every question. I honestly don't know what in particular about our program, aside from hard work and dedication on the part of the participating faculty and students, has made it so successful.

Colin will be heading home tomorrow; I've already been invited to join him at Samford in April, where he'll return the favor of hospitality he granted him during his stay here.

What else is new?

I realized yesterday that I was so busy bitching about grading over the weekend that I neglected to mention even once that on this past Thursday Algebra al Fresco sponsored the building of our second full Level-2 Menger sponge. (Pictures soon, I promise!) This one came together on the quad, on the steps leading up to the library. Working from 10:45 in the morning until nearly 7:00 that night, last Thursday several different students joined me in making the monster which now rests on a card table in my office, right where this past summer's sponge sat for a few weeks before moving on to the Engineering Department to get shellacked for display (so I'm told...it's yet to reappear).

A single student, Nighthawk, was singlehandedly responsible for about half of the cube's construction. The guy's a born folder. By 5:00, when I had to head home, Nighthawk and my current Calc I student Lambert, having overseen the splicing of 16 of the 20 Level-1s needed to complete the Level-2, decided they'd not rest that night unless they'd finished the sponge, and so they worked away in the Math Lab for a few more hours, wrapping up over eight hours after construction had begun.

Nighthawk swears that he'll be able to set the unofficial world record for solo construction of a Level-2 sponge (current record: 15 hours). I believe he'll be able to do so, maybe after a few practice runs. Speedy construction poses an interesting operations research problem, actually: imagine a team of four builders working together to complete a Level-2 sponge. How best to use their time? All four should start out building Level-0s, and at a certain point one or two should switch to sewing together the Level-1s, and at a later point still one of these should switch over to the making of the Level-2, all while their two friends keep plugging away at the basic building blocks.

But when should the switches occur in order to minimize construction time?

And is there a more efficient means of splicing the lower-level cubes to form the higher levels? (There surely is...the question is more "what is the most efficient method?")

As I said above, I'll soon post some pictures of the construction. Most of it took place on an unseasonably warm and sunny day on the library steps. It was a pleasant Thursday.

What else is new?

Perhaps an update on the Fall 2009 Calc I Homework Debacle is in order.

After a good deal of thought, I decided to make all homework for my Calc I students optional for the remainder of the semester. It's simply not worth my time to grade half-hearted attempts at homework completed (or, more to the point, incompleted) by undermotivated students who are more often than not cribbing their answers from the solutions manual. To those (who I suspect will make up the majority of the class) who still wish to complete the homework, I promised to continue providing the same robust feedback and the same careful attention I've always given. (Not once have I begrudged granting such feedback and attention to deserving students; I'm frustrated only when a dozen hours of my time spent grading sloppy work remains unreciprocated and undervalued.) To these students I also promised to "lock in" their current homework grades, ensuring them that their grades will not fall but can only see improvement between now and the semester's end.

I can't stay mad at these students: for the most part they're hard-working, well-intentioned, bright, and fun to work with. As I said to them in class, I'm not frustrated with them so much as I am frustrated with the process. And as I said to one or two of them in the cozy confines of my office, I'm not disappointed that they come to me seeking ways to maximize their grades, I'm just disappointed that they and I have been caged in a system in which they feel it's necessary that they maximize their grades in the first place.

The students' relatively strong performance on the applications handouts from two weeks back has convinced me that such assignments may be able to form the backbone of a yet more student-centered Calc II course. Next semester's homework schedule might look something like this (assuming a four-day class meeting on MTWF):

Week 1, Tuesday: suggested textbook problems from Section x

Week 1, Wednesday: suggested textbook problems from Section x+1

Week 1, Friday: suggested textbook problems from Section x+2; due for feedback only: textbook problems from previous week; due for a grade, or for inclusion in a student's portfolio: applications handout regarding Sections x-3 through x-1

Week 2, Monday: applications handout regarding Sections x through x+2

And so on.

There's that "p" word again: "portfolio." I've thought a bit more about portfolios, and about what might go in them. Whereas, as I've said before recently, students might be able to demonstrate their achievement of very skills-oriented learning goals (like mastery of derivatives or integrals, for example) through including in their portfolios more traditional exams or quizzes, suitably suggestive applications handouts could provide students with relatively uncomplicated low-stakes writing assignments through which they might demonstrate achievement of some of the harder-to-get-at goals, such as maintenance of skepticism and application of problem-solving methodologies.

Speaking of skepticism, it delighted me to no end to hear Uriah, one of my Foundations students, talk about the ways in which our class has begun to change his perspective on mathematics. "You just can't take anything for granted," he said as we sat at the dinner table with our guest speaker. "I want to question everything, and prove everything to make sure it's true."

His comments reminded me of the Calc I learning goal I recently discussed on this blog: "Demonstrate (through informed question-asking) a healthy skepticism regarding mathematical and scientific arguments." His comments assured me that he, like a number of his peers, is getting a lot from our class.

And speaking of getting a lot from our class, I'm getting more and more excited about the textbook as it begins to come together, and as several of the students are expressing increasing interest in ensuring that it's executed as cleanly, completely, and correctly as possible. "I intend to share it with future 'generations' of students who come through this course, so please keep in mind as you write it that you ought to be writing to help them." It's got tremendous potential, and I hope to share it was as wide an audience as I can. You can bet I'll bragging on it at the Southeast Sectional Meeting of the MAA in March.

Okay, I'm clocking out for the night. I'll leave with a notice of publication: I found out a week or two ago that my article on using poetry in the mathematics classroom, complete with poems by several wonderful students whose work first appeared here and here, has now appeared in The WAC Journal. Let the celebration commence.

Self-questioning

"Why do homework?" I ask myself, after a long and frustrating day (yesterday) spent plowing through somewhat lackluster and clearly lackadaisically-done homework sets completed by my Calc I students.

Why, indeed?

For the opportunity for practice it offers in applying important concepts.

For the chance to experiment with relatively unfamiliar computations.

For the offer of exploration it gives.

Not for a grade.

So why grade it?

Because, like it or not, students are motivated extrinsically by receiving highly idiosyncratic, often arbitrary, and sometimes meaningless numerical scores on their papers...the bigger the numbers, the closer to the onset of the alphabet the letter they can receive for those numbers at the semester's end.

About those letters, at the risk of sounding crude, who really gives a flying fuck?

I don't.

Nor should the students.

I wrote "like it or not" above almost cavalierly, as though I myself am a victim of circumstance, that I play no role in establishing the primacy of those numbers, the hegemony of grades.

Of course, that's nonsense: it's clear from the comments I receive on student evaluations and the feedback I get from them after class that I play a major role in their academic developments. I'm proud of that.

But I can't be proud of building up and bolstering the hegemony of grades.

This shit has got to change.

Those grades have got to go.

Not the homework: the homework should stay. As should the feedback provided on it. But the homework itself should be the end, and not the number scrawled at its top.

The same goes for quizzes, exams, team projects: they all should stay, sans numerical rankings.

That much is clear.

But it's just as clear that making the transition from a graded to a gradeless introductory mathematics course is going to be a tough task, and I'm not sure it's one I'll be able to tackle between now and January's start of a new semester (and a new Calc II course).

I am, however, willing to try. I've just got to wrap my head around this portfolio idea.

Anyone else up for it?

Back to the basics

I'm feeling a bit less stressed-out than I was this afternoon when I put together that last post. A good run always helps me out.

While handing back exams in both my morning and afternoon Calc I sections today I brought up the idea of using portfolios as a means of assessing student learning in mathematics courses. This idea was couched cozily inside of a conversation about the shock of receiving a "bad" grade on an exam (as some of the students no doubt experienced today). "I hate having to grade y'all," I told them. "I'm more and more opposed to grading in general, and to the simplistic distillation that goes into assigning a single letter grade to such a Gestalt as the sum-total of a student's learning activities throughout an entire semester."

There were many nods of agreement when I described how I'd like to be able to supply them with all of the same feedback I give them already...without the numerical rankings, the stigma-making marks that say "she's more highly-ranked than he is."

"I'm not going to do it this semester, since it wouldn't be fair to any of us, you all or me, to change the system midway through. But I'm seriously thinking about it for future semesters."

More nods of agreement. I'm convinced that students are not against this.

But if I were to move to portfolios, the first question would be, What goes into those portfolios? Clearly students would be asked to submit materials of various sorts that purport to demonstrate mastery of course learning goals. Ultimately, then, the question becomes twofold: What are the learning goals of the course? and What course activities (projects, exams, written assignments, homework assignments, etc.) would be sufficiently rich to demonstrate clear mastery of the learning goals selected?

As I reminded my 280 students today (quite forcefully, I hope), when you've got no idea what to do, you go back to the basics. In 280 in particular and in mathematics in general that usually means you'll want to take a long, hard look at the definitions. In course design, it means you'll want to take a long, hard look at the reason you want the students taking your class in the first place.

My current learning goals for Calc I (as stated in this semester's syllabus) are as follows:

1. Be able to explain to a peer the concepts of limit, continuity, and derivative.

2. Demonstrate how basic problems in physics, engineering, chemistry, and other fields can be couched in math terms using mathematical models.

3. Be able to follow confidently the course of a simple proof.

4. Be able to perform and properly interpret derivatives.

5. Demonstrate (through informed question-asking) a healthy skepticism regarding mathematical and scientific arguments.

6. Demonstrate how to approach a (not necessarily mathematical) problem effectively by breaking it down into smaller problems, arguing by analogy, and applying other basic problem-solving techniques.

I think it's clear that mastery of some of these would be very difficult to assess using "traditional" assessment instruments. While (1) and (4) could be got at with a well-designed traditional test, assessing (2), (3) and (6) would require a more robust (and likely highly nonstandard) project of some sort, and (5) would require something extremely atypical...maybe a dialogue of some sort, or some other "creative analytic practice" (to use Laurel Richardson's term).

Of course, the above learning goals are merely my own...I'd love to see what students could come up with for learning goals of their own. Maybe I should ask them? Yes, I think I shall.

Clearly there's a lot of thinking left to do, on many persons' parts.

For now, I'm off to eat dinner. I hope that if you read this, you'll reflect on it for a moment or more and offer me a few thoughts of your own in the comments section.

Another thought while reading Kohn

What might a portfolio-based Calc I class look like?