What I've Learned From the TELS 9x9x25 Challenge

It's the last week of the TELS 9x9x25 Challenge, and I'm feeling a little bit sad.

I'm also feeling more than a little bit glad.  I have another new class to prep for the spring semester, I have been neglecting my own personal mommy blog, and I threw out my plans to participate in this year's NaNoWriMo like so much dirty diapers.  While twenty- five sentences per week initially sounded like a fairly manageable requirement, it became considerably more difficult once I remembered I was writing for an audience of college instructors.  The bar was set high in week one, and the (self-imposed) pressure each week to choose a unique topic, showcase my best writing skills, and avoid making even the smallest of grammatical errors has been huge.  NOT having to write a reflection about teaching every week is going to add some badly needed breathing room back into my busy schedule.

I'm still a little bit sad, though.  It's strange, but this blogging challenge - in which we've all participated as individuals - has made me feel closer to my colleagues.  As an adjunct, I haven't ever been asked to do committee work.  I don't see my co-workers on a regular basis (Facebook doesn't count...), and it is many a week that I don't set foot on a Yavapai College campus.  The reality is, I tend to be relatively disconnected from other instructors and from the institution as a whole most of the time.  Reading the reflections of my colleagues has reminded me each week that we're all in this together; that creating a better world through educating the people in our community isn't just something I want to do, it's something that we're all actively engaged in as a team!

If the goal of this challenge was to encourage instructors to become reflective practitioners in the field of education, then I think it was met.  Handily so.  When it comes to what I do well, this challenge has given me the opportunity to articulate many things that felt intuitive (but inarticulable) before.  When it comes to areas for improvement, this challenge has given me the opportunity to take pages from my skillful colleagues' playbooks, which they've generously shared in this medium.  It has also encouraged me to think outside the box, to find out what my fellow instructors are doing, and to ask my students what they want and need.  That's a very good outcome, and I am a better educator for it.

Oddly enough, on a personal level, I feel like this challenge has also spurred me in the direction of trying new things.  I modeled (fully clothed) for the YC art students this semester.  I agreed to allow a friend working on his PhD in psychology to test my IQ.  I started running with one of my girlfriends two mornings a week.  I looked up new recipes.  I gave blood for the first time and got my first passport.  While I can't definitively connect my newfound interest in unfamiliar experiences to this blogging challenge, I really do feel like the two are somehow linked.  And if so, that's a very good outcome too, and I am a better person for it.

Would I do it again?  Absolutely, but (as with art modeling) not right away.  It's laborious and somewhat painful, and I think I need to recover a little bit first.

Would I change anything about the way in which the challenge is constructed?  I don't think so.  The free-form nature of this project was part of its beauty.  There were so many potential topics to choose from, and so many different possible takes on each one.  Had we been constrained by subject or form or style or length, I'm not sure those of us participating could have come up with so many amazing entries.

At some point during one of our many at-home conversations about the project, Jason expressed concern that for some writers, 9x9 might be less of a 'challenge' and more of an 'inconvenience.'  "What if we made it twenty-five sentences exactly?" he suggested.  "Now, THAT would be a challenge."

"It would definitely be harder," I agreed, "but I think it's more important to get instructors to write reflections that are meaningful to them than it would be to ask them to stay within some arbitrary number of sentences for the sake of style."

"Well, it's not arbitrary, not exactly, but rather would be based on the classic five-paragraph ess..."

(Life with an English professor... sometimes, it's just like you'd expect.)

Would I change anything about the prizes?  No.  The prizes meant little to me, with one notable exception: the five homemade cookies, which I consumed in a single sitting.  I gave Jason my ice cream.  I haven't even opened my thumb drive.  I'm enjoying my water bottle and YC T-shirt, but I didn't need those items as an incentive to participate.  
I participated in this challenge for me, for Todd, for TELS, for Jason, 
for Yavapai College, for education as a profession, and for adjunct instructors everywhere.

I hope I did it justice. 

Before concluding this post, I took five minutes to see what my fellow instructors had to say this week (those who have already written their final posts, at least), and it seems we are in agreement.  This was a valuable and enriching experience.  We learned a lot, and we are better teachers for it.  Thank you to TELS for all you do, and to Todd for putting this amazing challenge online.  Thank you to my colleagues (Chris, Sukey, Curtis, Mark, and anyone I may be forgetting) for reading and commenting on my blog posts with your support and some truly amazing ideas and alternatives.  Thank you to my husband, Jason, an amazing instructor with superb insights into all aspects of life, for previewing my posts when I needed it, and keeping me in the challenge when I accidentally deleted my second post after spending hours writing it.  And finally, thank you to Yavapai College for giving me this opportunity.  Peace out. 

What I've Learned From Being a Teacher

We're in the final stretch of the TELS 9x9x25 Challenge, and next week my colleagues and I have been asked to devote our "pieces of writing" to reflecting on the process of writing our reflections.  With that in mind, I'm going to go slightly less meta this week, and spend some time reflecting on the ways in which teaching as an adjunct for Yavapai College has changed me.

At the risk of sounding corny, I didn't look for this job... it found me.  During the spring semester of 2010, I received a call from Connie Gilmore, Dean of Liberal Arts and Social Sciences (now retired) for the Verde Campus, asking whether I might be interested in teaching a human services-related course that fall.  Connie knew me through my husband Jason, who was a new faculty member at Yavapai, and also knew (through conversations with him) that I had a broad background in social services.

In 2009, when we moved from Eugene, Oregon (go Ducks!) to the Verde Valley, I had made the decision to put my eight-year career in social services on hold with the intent of staying at home with our two sons, who were four and one at the time.  I had spent the previous three years working directly and indirectly with child victims of sexual abuse and other violent crimes, and I was tired, burned out, and as my friend and colleague Sal (who worked for many years as a therapist) says, "I just couldn't hear any more stories."  I'd eventually like to get some of those Child Fatality Review autopsy photos off the back of my eyelids, too, but that may not happen until all of my own children have reached adulthood... only 16 years to go...

In any case, the job offer came entirely out of the blue and seemed to provide an ideal balance: I could coordinate the online class around naptimes and preschool drop-offs, and it would allow me to spend part of my day engaged in something more stimulating than Candyland, laundry, and morning sickness (yes, an ultrasound would soon reveal baby #3 was another turtle, not a hamburger).

My qualifications were a little on the modest side, but they fit the bill for credentialing and I had a solid background in adult education.  I said yes.

I learned within weeks - long before the class was supposed to begin - that from a logistical point of view, being an adjunct is not all that different from being a crisis worker.  The rules, requirements, and circumstances are constantly changing, which means adaptation is necessary and expected.  I ended up teaching an entirely different class than the one originally proposed, and my work as an adjunct began that summer, rather than in the fall as anticipated.  When fall did roll around, I found myself teaching two different courses to three different classes.  Now when I total up the number of courses and credits I've taught for Yavapai, I'm up to five distinct course numbers and a total of 55 credits, which will increase to six and 59, respectively, in the spring of 2014.

And it has been wonderful.  I have learned a great deal through teaching, and it has changed me in some very real and significant ways.

One might think holding dual degrees in psychology and sociology would be enough to ensure a given individual knew a thing or two about the subjects, but learning enough to answer a few test questions simply can't compare to the level of knowledge that is developed through teaching.  Teaching is the single best way to learn everything about a subject.  Though there's little direct evidence for it, this is one of the major explanations proposed as to why oldest children do better in school and have higher IQs than their younger siblings.  But we oldest siblings already knew that...

Since I began teaching, every aspect of psychology and sociology holds more meaning for me than it ever did when I was a student.  It's not that I can answer just about any question posed by a teacher, I can answer just about any question posed by a student... which is a significantly more daunting challenge!  Jean Piaget and C. Wright Mills and William Masters and Virginia Johnson - these aren't people I read about in a textbook at some point, these are real people who made major contributions to the ways in which we understand and organize our bodies, our societies, our development, and all of the world around us.

I know it like the back of my hand now, and more importantly I care.  I'm passionate about it.  I can't even stop talking about it.  Go ahead, try me! 

I've learned how to deal with consumers and colleagues as peers.  In my years working with crime victims, I had relatively few interactions with people who were on equal footing.  There was a built-in power differential in virtually all of my relationships, which in most cases were extremely one-sided.  The people I served, call them clients, victims, or survivors, knew virtually nothing about me - I was reluctant to admit even minor details like my children's ages or where I went to college - and yet I was trusted with the intimate details of the most traumatic experiences of their lives.  In other cases, I was advocating for victims with people who had much greater levels of power than I did.  I recall once asking a prosecutor to move a Grand Jury involving a deeply religious teenager to a more child-friendly location, and later hearing he had made snarky comment about my request to another person in the office, suggesting I had overstepped my "inferior position" by making it in the first place.  ("What a jerk," my boss had said, shaking her head, when I brought it up to her later.)

As a college instructor, virtually everyone I'm dealing with is an adult, and the power differential between students and myself is really only as great as I want to make it.  I may ultimately enter the final grades in the roster, but I calculate those grades based on how many points each student earned.  I treat them like adults, and I expect adult behavior from them.  I am also surrounded by colleagues with whom I share experiences and who (I like to think) respect me as strongly as I respect them.

I've learned to handle disappointment.  To my knowledge, I'm the only adjunct instructor participating in this blogging challenge, and so I'll say this: although I love it, it's not always easy to be an adjunct.  It's certainly much easier for someone like me (who teaches as a side gig to supplement the family income) than it is for many others, who really desire and need full-time employment.  But even still, enormous paycheck uncertainty comes with the territory.  Such fluctuations in income can be difficult - one three-credit class is what it costs to cover out-of-pocket expenses for two trips to the Emergency Room, or take my family on a modest vacation, or pay for a year's worth of karate lessons for my kids.  We won't lose our home if I get only one or two credits in a semester, but not knowing can still be difficult.

Probably more difficult than the changing financial picture is not knowing whether (or what) I might be teaching the next semester.  All instructors understand that the amount of time and effort that goes into putting together a new class for the first time can be enormous - and we adjuncts often find ourselves teaching a new class (or two) almost every semester.  It can also be difficult to ask for classes, taking my hat in my hand to point out a gap in the schedule with the hope I'll be asked to fill it.  But learning to cope with and make the best of disappointing or uncertain situations is an important life lesson, too.

Photo Credit: Moorepixes Images by Sarah (Moore)

I've learned many other things from teaching, but my life has also influenced what and how I teach.  Among my most frequently taught courses is Human Growth and Development, and as a mother of three kids, I can safely say I've learned a lot related to the best ways to parent and care for my children.  At the same time, my role as a parent of three young children also influences how I teach the course.  In their final evaluations, students often remark on how much better prepared they feel to become parents, to parent the children they have, or to cope with the aging of their own parents.

While I certainly don't believe having children is necessary to teach a course on human development, I do think on an intuitive level, I probably weight certain aspects of the course differently than a non-parent would.  This is not to say my course is "better" or "worse" than another instructor's version, only that my own life experiences have deeply affected the way in which I teach it.

I'd like to remain an adjunct for Yavapai College for as long as they'll keep me.  Pending an unforeseen disaster, I'll be headed back to school next fall with the hopes of being able to continue to do just that, as new and improved credentialing requirements set in.  Because if I had to put a label on the most important thing I've learned about teaching - and learned from teaching - it's that I love it.  And I'm good at it.  And it's something I want to keep doing for as long as I can.

Can I Dump the Due Date Too? (Part Two)

During the third week of the TELS 9x9x25 Challenge, I composed my blog post around the notion of dumping the due date and allowing students the opportunity for excuse-free, guilt-free extensions on most assignments when they needed them.  By the time I had finished writing, I was completely sold on the idea.  It seemed so innovative and so student-friendly, I could hardly wait to get started...

...and then I asked some students for their thoughts. 

It began innocently enough.  On a whim, I sent an announcement out to the students in my online Human Sexuality class - we've developed a surprisingly strong rapport considering how few of us have met in person - asking for some feedback regarding a more relaxed deadline policy for future classes.  "Would you find it to be advantageous to your experience as a student?" I asked.  "Would you be motivated to stay on top of your schoolwork?  Would it create needless confusion?  How often do you think you might take advantage of a more liberal policy?"  A response to my query was totally optional and, I explained, would earn them only my sincere appreciation and the opportunity to voice their opinions.

Four days later, five of the 23 class members had already sent e-mails to express their thoughts, and all of them contained roughly the same message: don't bother.

"There's no reason other people can't turn their stuff in on time," one student grumbled.  Another agreed: "...[this] is hardly grueling work."  "I haven't had all that much trouble keeping up," the third e-mail stated.  "If a student can't make it through this class, they will never make it through an intensive writing course," opined a fourth.

By this point, I was becoming downright insecure.  Had I made the course too easy?  In addition to each week's discussion board and timed quizzes, there are weekly chapter readings, PowerPoint presentations, and video lectures, as well as broader grading measures such as mid-term essay exams and a final paper.  I have never been accused of being an "easy" instructor in any of the other four courses I've taught for Yavapai.

Upon consideration, though, I did recall that my own undergraduate Human Sexuality course, "dirty 330" (damn you, YC, for giving us the eminently boring course number of 277), was by far the easiest class I took at the University of Idaho.  In fairness, I suspect human sexuality is somewhat unique in this regard because most people can't get enough of the material (or, for that matter, its application).

Those who wrote to offer feedback had other points to make, too.  "I think that sometimes students can be insensitive to the fact that a professor has a life too that doesn't revolve around WORK," one wrote, and others offered a similar sentiment: why create more work for yourself?

When I wrote my original post, though, I had already tackled these considerations.  Nothing within the student feedback I received directly countered my current policy or my proposed policy.  Further, all of those who had taken the time to offer their thoughts fell solidly into the camp of overachievers, having never submitted any late work, while students who were sitting on late and missing work were not-so-mysteriously mum.

There was a missing piece, and when I went back to re-read those student e-mails, I realized what it was: until now, I had not asked students what they want and need.  When I set out to create a more student-friendly policy, I based it on what I thought students needed, not what they were telling me they needed.  Luckily, the students who had contacted me were not shy about describing what they personally would have found helpful or reasonable:

"There are times when I knew I had a very busy week coming," wrote one student.  "Maybe consider opening the following week's assignment that Saturday or Sunday.  That way a student with a ridiculous schedule like mine could get a jump on it.  This is a first world problem and not that serious."

And they also had suggestions about other ways to create a student-friendly late work policy:

"Another professor I had had what was called "late coupons", where you were allowed to have three late assignments in the semester by emailing the professor.  I thought this was very intelligent.  If a student gets lax and uses all of their "late" coupons right up front and then has an emergency, that is their problem for not doing what they should have when they had the opportunity, but gives those who are completing their assignments a safety net without the worry of getting too lax."

"I would say if you do offer an extension make sure you either limit how many times a student uses it or deduct 10% of the points.  That way no one is taking advantage."

"Perhaps it would be a good idea to say this is the due date for full credit and every day after that you lose x amount of points.  That way the people that really want the good grade will never take advantage unless it is an emergency and the people that are either really busy or lazy can decide on how important their grade is."

Isn't it crazy how when we take the time to ask people what they think, they'll tell us?

So it's back to the late policy drawing board for me.  Do I still think mine needs tweaked?  Definitely.  I discovered through the process of asking for feedback that, to at least one student, "the syllabus came across as though you were a little mean and intimidating and I was scared I wouldn't enjoy this class but over the weeks I personally dig you.  I think you are fair and I think that you are open and create a good atmosphere for everyone to learn."  Although I was obviously pleased by her eventual conclusion, I realized this is NOT the way I want to begin my relationship with students, especially since I have reconfigured my mental image of myself-the-teacher as a facilitator. 

Ultimately, it is clear to me that I need to put this incredibly helpful student feedback to use and make some changes.  And perhaps most importantly, the process has underscored for me the importance of just asking and listening.

An Ode to the Discussion Board

I initially encountered Yavapai College's course management system, Blackboard, about four weeks before I taught my first class for YC.  I was nervous, overwhelmed, pregnant, and had never even taken an online course, let alone taught one.  "Don't worry," Jason said.  "Blackboard is very intuitive.  It will be a piece of cake.  I'll help you."

"That's nice of you," I said.  "Okay, first question: what does this Discussion Board tab do?"
 
"It's intended to help simulate the feel of a classroom.  It's an online forum that allows your students to have... well... a discussion."

"Huh.  Do you use it in your classes?"

"Of course!  It's best practice."

"Can I NOT use it?"

He shrugged.  "It's best practice."  I used it.  

This was back in 2010, better known as the Stone Age, and Jason has long since moved on to using VoiceThread.  He actually wrote about it in his 9x9x25 post this week, a coincidence I did not discover until I sat down to write my own highly original post regarding the online discussion board.  But as for me, I've continued utilizing the same, lame, old Blackboard version.  And honestly, I still kind of love it.

The key with Blackboard's discussion board, at least in my own experience, is to make sure every single question or topic proposed by the instructor is sufficiently engaging, unique, and debatable to entice participation from most of the students in the class, but to accept that even with my best efforts, my worst nightmare will often come true.  Many students, with the goal of achieving no more than half credit, will log on three minutes before the due date/time to offer a few vaguely acceptable (though wholly unoriginal) sentiments, and follow that up by responding to a couple of classmates with the bare minimum: "Great post, I totally agree."  Obviously, even if a topic or question is appealing or interesting - even if it's bordering on offensive, which I may or may not have tried - there are students who will participate in this manner.  I've learned, though, to content myself with a reminder that many of these students participate only minimally in other grading assessments, too, and their final scores generally reflect this laissez faire attitude toward participation.  Were it an in-person class, they might also be the type to skip sessions, surreptitiously text their friends in class, or otherwise refuse to participate.  For my part, I find it freeing to consider these students as only hurting themselves.

On the flip side, posing a question that is too controversial is never a good idea.  Moderating comments more commonly (and more appropriately) reserved for the comment section below news stories involving the latest racist or misogynistic slur issued by some pill-popping talk radio troll is not an activity I want to spend my late-night hours engaged in.  I have enough trouble falling asleep.

The key is to find a middle ground: topics and questions that will engage students enough to participate, but will still allow for a range of acceptable feelings and opinions to be expressed.  It is also helpful if the topic requires the student to demonstrate a good deal of thought, rather than knowledge or ability.  Some of the best discussion board questions I've had have been centered around online exercises I've asked students to complete (or videos I've asked them to view) then return to the discussion board and share.

As a sociology (mostly) and psychology (sometimes) adjunct, here are a few of the online activities I've used that have resulted in excellent discussions on my online discussion boards:

Spent, where students complete the activity and share their experience.  This exercise challenges students to get through a month with $1000, and poses various dilemmas which involve making hard choices about how to spend it - do I take my child's birthday money?  do I have the dog put to sleep? - leaving enough to finish out the rest of the month.  There are always students who disclose this exercise resembles their real life, which tends to inspire empathy (and second thought) in others, who might be tempted to view the results as unrealistic.

The Race Card Project, developed by NPR host Michele Norris, where students are asked to come up with their own six words to describe race in America.  Some of the online examples on The Race Card website include black babies cost less to adopt and - at the height of public awareness over the death of Trayvon Martin - 57 years later, another Emmett Till.  This is a great exercise, because students who have a better grasp of issues related to race and inequality come up with amazing examples, while students who are newer to the subject can still come up with examples that represent their own feelings.

The Pew Forum's Religious Knowledge Quiz, an abbreviated version of the one administered to a random sample of over 3,000 Americans in 2010.  After completing the quiz, I ask students to discuss how they fared compared with how they thought they might (they do not have to reveal their results), how knowledgeable they think the average American is about religion, and whether it is important to be knowledgeable.  Because religion is an issue around which many people create their identity, students often enjoy the challenge.  A range of religions are included, and the discussion is generally positive. 

An edited clip about the life of David Reimer.  This is a new one I tested out in Human Sexuality this semester.  Because students universally regard David's story as extremely tragic, there is a great deal of room for agreement.  At the same time, David's story opens the door for a discussion around gender as fluid, fixed, or somewhere in between.  His story inspires compassion, and also encourages students to see the gray areas involved with gender and sexuality.  After viewing the video this past semester, I had one student come out openly on the discussion board as transgender, one as a drag entertainer and gay male, and a couple others as gay or lesbian.  And then something really amazing happened: those students took it upon themselves to offer to answer other students' questions... and their classmates started asking.

A Living Will Generator, which I ask students to complete (again, they do not have to share their results) and then come back and discuss the way they felt as they filled out the form.  I make sure to point out this living will is not legally binding, but rather is a good jumping off point for decision-making and discussion with their loved ones.  Students enjoy this exercise, even when they hate thinking about it.

Will I ever give up the discussion board?  Maybe I will, maybe someday, maybe once I figure out a better way to do it.  But not yet.  For the purposes of my online courses, it's too valuable.  Often, I wind up observing better discussions in my online courses than I do in their in-person counterparts.  And in the rare cases when anonymity can actually be a good thing, it's important to put it to use.

Cultivating the Instructor-Student Relationship

The instructor-student relationship has been a central theme of several 9x9x25 posts I've read over the past few weeks.  Whether it's a matter of controlling textbook costs, responding appropriately to e-mails, or implementing due date flexibility, it's clear Yavapai College instructors' concern for their students extends beyond assigning a grade for the work each one has completed throughout a given semester.

But what exactly is the nature of our relationship with students?  What should it look like?  What does it look like?

Despite the fact we often take a parental sort of interest in them, college instructors don't have a substitute-parent relationship with our students resembling the one K-12 teachers have with theirs.  We insist students are responsible for their own grades.  They get what they earn, not what we "give" them.  While we anticipate respectful behavior in our classrooms, we also recognize it's not our job to teach students social skills in a broader sense; nobody's going to get a check on the board next to his or her name for good behavior.  For some students, college may be preparation for the real world, but for others, it is the real world, especially when it's community college.  About half my students are older than I am - they have families, careers, and life experience - indeed, they often hold degrees in other fields!

At the same time, college instructors vehemently resist the idea we have a service industry-type relationship with students.  We've all encountered a student who has adopted the idea that by paying tuition, he or she was paying for a degree, diploma, or grade in a particular class.  Instructors are very sensitive to (and disturbed by) this belief system.  If a degree is paid for instead of earned, it lacks credibility.  After all, I wouldn't want a surgeon with a diploma mill degree digging into my skull (would you?).  To be clear, I am not diminishing the relationship between income and higher education.  After parents' level of education, income is the second-greatest indicator of whether a young adult will attend college.  Paying for a sheepskin and paying to earn one are two very different things.

Unfortunately, we've also seen how this "service industry" mentality has corrupted other institutions whose primary purpose is other than making consumers feel happy.  Employees at many hospitals, for instance, are instructed to treat patients as if they are staying at a 5-star resort.

On second thought, maybe that's not so outlandish.  When I took my two-year-old to the ER this spring for a scalp laceration, our out-of-pocket expense for the two-hour trip was roughly equivalent to a night's stay in a king room (Central Park view) at the New York City Ritz-Carlton... plus valet parking.

I digress.  As instructors, we occupy a strange sort of middle ground.  We call the shots, but only take responsibility for our portion of the relationship.  We create the courses, provide the materials, and grade the assessments, but ultimately it's the student who determines how well she or he is going to do in the class.  Our role is that of a facilitator, and our relationship with students is best considered a partnership - we are not their parents, we are not their bosses, and while we do provide a service, our job is not simply to serve them.

Using this lens can be incredibly helpful for an instructor when trying to cultivate relationships with students.

If, as a facilitator, my job is to assist students throughout the process of their own learning, then I have rights and responsibilities in that role.

I have the right to set boundaries about how I want to be treated by students and what I expect a student's contribution to look like if she or he wants me as a partner.  This includes communicating my expectations for e-mail etiquette, classroom behavior, and participation.  At the same time, I have the responsibility to treat students as adults, partners in learning, and above all, as people.  This often means giving them the benefit of the doubt, and parsing out behavior that is inappropriate and entitled from behavior that is merely panicked and overwhelmed.

Here's an example.  I once received an e-mail from a student complaining it was "unfair" I had "given her" a zero on an assignment she had not completed.  As a facilitator, I had done my job - I had provided the assignment and graded it as I would have for any other student.  In her role, she had two options: to complete the assignment, or not to complete the assignment.  Since she had chosen the latter, this e-mail represented a clear violation of boundaries for me.  Rather than taking responsibility for her role in the partnership, this student attempted to shift responsibility to me, which I was unwilling to assume on her behalf.

On the flip side, I frequently receive e-mails from students who acknowledge they have missed assignments but want the opportunity to complete them late.  This is not necessarily a violation of (my) boundaries.  So long at the student adopts responsibility for his or her own portion of our relationship, I am usually willing to provide accommodation at my own discretion.

Incidentally, "it's in the syllabus" is a fairly common refrain and like most other instructors, I'm too-often tempted to use it with students.  But when one stops to consider that the YC syllabus template alone - not including any course-specific information such as learning outcomes, grading criteria, or course content - is six pages long, I'm hardly surprised many students don't read five syllabi in their entirety every single semester.

Ultimately though, as an instructor, I really am a facilitator.  A helper.  An enabler (though not in the colloquial sense of the word).  A mentor, at times.  And in this role, it's important to remember that students aren't an obstacle - they are an objective.  We are in a partnership, which is a two-way street, and I think it's only fair that I make an effort to hold myself to no greater or lesser a standard than I hold my students.  I will keep up my end of the bargain as I expect them to keep up theirs.  I will treat them as I want and expect to be treated myself.

And the fact of the matter is, if we want to have jobs and create a better world, we need them as badly as they need us.

Creating a Blackboard Course Website that Works

I mentioned in last week's blog post that I feel really good about my Blackboard websites.  I may be a quivering jello mold of uncertainty when it comes to a few of my other teaching-related skills and abilities, but I pride myself on setting up online courses that are highly navigable, unambiguous, and visually appealing.  It pays off, too: almost every semester, I get a good deal of positive feedback from students to that effect.

Being a digital native probably hasn't hurt; having been born on the border between generations X and Y, I've spent more than half my life on the Internet.  I have clear ideas about what makes a website attractive and easy to navigate.  Still, I don't think any major degree of experience with technology is required if you want to develop a solid but simple website with Blackboard.  It all boils down to one simple concept - economy - and this will apply to virtually all aspects of your website.  If you've been looking to give yours a makeover, let me break down a few issues I've encountered navigating some Blackboard course websites, and offer a few things to consider if you're looking to improve yours.

TOO MANY BUTTONS

When I open a Blackboard course website and find more than ten buttons on the left side of the screen, I immediately feel overwhelmed... a feeling compounded by the fact some of the buttons usually have the same (or similar) names, and/or take you to the same location.  Why is this a problem?  Simply put, because a good website feels intuitive.  You and your students are accustomed to easily finding your way around a website.

Many times, I have logged into a new Blackboard course and found a list of links that largely resembles the one on the left.

What are your first impressions?  Does this list appear easy to navigate?  Would you be able to find what you're looking for if you had only, say, ten seconds to do so?  Is it visually appealing?

For me, the answer to all of these is "no."  This is a green screen of death.  There are two "Tools" buttons, two "Resources" buttons, and separate buttons for Course Information, Syllabus, and Calendar.  The buttons are in no particular order, and are not well differentiated from one another.

Fixing this involves two major considerations.  As always, the first is economy.  Think about how many buttons you absolutely need, and then find a way to eliminate one more!  Shoot for about eight total, combining items whenever possible.  I usually put quizzes, tests, and other assignments all under a single "Assignments" button and combine my syllabus and schedule into one button as well.

The other thing to consider is ordering.  For my part, I like to keep the buttons that are used every week ("Assignments", "Discussion Board", "PowerPoints") right next to one another.  The as-needed ones ("Grades", contact information, and "YC Support Resources") get grouped together too.  Alternately, you could alphabetize your buttons.

What you name and include under each of them isn't a major concern.  Prefer videos to PowerPoints?  Scrapped your discussion board in favor of VoiceThread?  Awesome.  Just use as few buttons as you can get away with, name them appropriately, and put them in an order that makes sense.

If you're afraid to actually delete buttons (it has backfired on me too), you can hide them by turning on edit mode, clicking the inverted chevron arrow next to the link and selecting "hide link".

TOO MANY (OUTDATED) ANNOUNCEMENTS

I know it seems like a lot of work to go through and redo all of your announcements each semester, but it is work that must be done.  Sometimes I'll run down a list of announcements on a course website and find links pertaining to events that took place four or five years ago, and rarely do the links still work.  Alluding to "upcoming" presidential elections and court cases that were long ago settled, leaving outdated announcements on your front page, and/or not removing broken links tells the student that some of these resources don't matter, which puts them - not you - in the position of judging what's important to read.  That's BAD, because you want them to read everything.

But what about all those cool things you run across throughout the semester that seem so relevant?!  For my Human Sexuality class, I recently happened across private parts dye and could hardly wait to share.

I settle this in one of two ways, depending on the class.  Here's the first: every Monday, I always post a weekly announcement and include those types of interesting links in it.  If I run across something later in the week, I'll either send an e-mail to everyone, or I'll post a second announcement with the following disclaimer:

At the end of the semester, I take all of those mid-week announcements and incorporate them into my weekly Monday announcement for the next semester.  That keeps it nice and clean, and also gives me the opportunity to double-check all of my links and update all of my announcements.

The other way I've handled this is to include an "Additional Resources," "Suggested Resources," or "Funny Links" button. 

OVERWHELMING THE WHITE SPACE

Incorporating images, videos, comics, and other non-text content on your website is not only good, it's pretty much essential.  With that in mind, consider trying to keep them together in one or two announcements (rather than posting dozens, each with one or two images/links), and if you use a banner, consider keeping it pretty small.  For my part, I like to be able to see the beginning of the course announcements immediately so that I can tell right away if there's something new.  My intro page for this semester's course looks something like this:

Think that image is a tad racy?  Check out chapter 11 of the book!  Whew!

TOO MANY THEMES OR COLORS

When it comes to your themes and colors, once again, think economy.  Sticking to a single palate or theme gives your website a more pulled-together look.  Using too many different colors or themes can make it appear mismatched.  I usually like to use shades of blue, blue-gray, or blue-green, since blue is easy for the human eye to process.  In fact, the color blue has been used in various settings throughout the world to prevent crime and suicide, and is also the most popular color around the world (42% of Americans and an estimated 35-40% of people worldwide describe blue as their favorite color).  With those stats on my side, I can safely assume it will appeal to many of my students.  If you're skeptical about the impact of color - pseudoscience, much? - check out this SciFri clip.  In any case, it doesn't much matter which color palate you use as long as you are consistent.

Not sure how to add a banner or change your buttons?  Go to your class website, scroll down to the Control Panel menu on the left, select "Customization" and then "Teaching Style."  There is literally a button library.  It's so much fun to play with too!

I know for many instructors, this is all basic Blackboard stuff.  But if you're stuck in a rut and looking for some tips to get out, think about ways you might be able to economize your website and make it more visually appealing through simple changes like adjusting your ordering and colors.

Happy creating!

Can I Dump the Due Date Too?

The great thing about participating in the TELS 9x9x25 Challenge is this: not only do I allow myself the time to reflect on and share aspects of my own teaching experiences, I've also been inspired to see what my colleagues are up to (and 9x9 gives me an easy way to do that).  Over the past week, I've spent a lot of time pondering YC Humanities Instructor Sukey Waldenberger's recent blog post regarding why she dumped the due date.

I had never even considered dumping the due date.  Not once.  When I put together my very first syllabus at YC in 2010, my policy took the form of a hard line: no late work.  No exceptions.  Period.  The rationale, in my mind, was that it would be better to take a firm stance on the front end and then grant exceptions as needed.  And so my syllabi for this semester's classes look largely the same as all of my syllabi have since with regard to the issue of deadlines.

"But," to quote Sukey's post directly, "that’s not REALLY the way it is, in most cases, is it?" 

No, it's definitely not.  Over the past 16 terms, I've granted more exceptions for visits to urgent care, out-of-state funerals, volleyball games, and court dates than I can count.  And a funny thing happened when I thought about what it meant to ask for and receive an extension: I started to remember what it was like to be an undergraduate student, holding my hat in my hand as I meekly asked for another week, hoping whatever my excuse was, it was good enough to make the cut.

Even still, my natural reaction was to reject the idea that due dates don't matter.  I mean, how much more work would it mean for me as the instructor if assignments started coming in willy-nilly?  What about the fact that without a due date, many students could fall so far behind it could be all but impossible to catch up?  Also, I paid my dues.  I had to do it when I was in college, after all... and it benefited me later during the eight years I worked as a victim advocate, where meeting inflexible due dates for grant proposals and updates was an essential component of the job. 

Upon more consideration, though, I realized that the majority of my initial objections relied on the type of paternalistic, intuitive (non-evidence based) argument for which I would gleefully nail one of my students to the wall.

I decided to toss this around with Jason, who is a professor in Sukey's department, and he pointed out that like so much in academia, most deadline policies are based heavily on very old traditions; if we were to sit down and reconstruct policies and procedures based on what we now know about teaching and learning, they'd likely look very different.  But, he cautioned, each instructor's due date policy fits into their broader approach to each class and subject, as well as their own individual style, and it might not be possible to implement a "no due date" policy without making other major structural changes to the course, which may or may not be a step that a given instructor is ready to take.

It was a decent point.  I like the way my classes are structured.  I pride myself on websites, syllabi, and assignments that are clear, unambiguous, and visually appealing (hey! perhaps that'll be my next blog post!).  I don't want to tear it all down and start over... yet.  So maybe I'm not ready to jump in head first.

Still, I'm tossing ideas around in my head.  For my part, I'm tired of judging excuses too, especially since they're all-too-often intensely personal and realistically, I'll grant an extension for almost any reason.  I also like the idea of treating students more as they'll really be treated in the workforce, where if a deadline involves true penalties it must be met, but if something comes up, a little common courtesy is usually enough to get an extension.  With all of that in mind, I'm considering a spring policy that looks a little more like this:

• Topic-specific grading measures (attendance, discussion board posts, peer reviews, etc.) must be submitted on time or will be subject to a 50% late submission penalty.

• All other grading measures will have a "suggested deadline" with a 24-hour grace period.  Any student who contacts me within 24 hours of the suggested deadline will be granted an extension with no penalty.  No excuse is required, just provide a reasonable date (not "sometime around July of 2017") by which the assignment will be submitted.

I feel like these measures also more closely approximate the standards to which I hold myself.  As an adjunct, I am not allowed miss a class without losing some pay - certain requirements are time sensitive and must be met.  But if I'm going to miss the 7 day grading turnaround I typically offer my students, which is a flexible deadline, I usually make (or post) an announcement to that effect, and include when I expect the grading to be completed.

Common courtesy.

Is this change going to mean a lot more work for me for me as an instructor?  My natural reaction is to say yes, but the truth is, I don't know... which is precisely why I'm going to try it!  

If it doesn't work, I'll have a tough semester and go back to my old hard line.  And if it does, maybe I'll say good-bye forever to hearing about students' explosive diarrhea or feeling guilty about the fact they're begging for extensions from their iPhones in the ER waiting room.

Because when it comes right down to it, students who lack discipline and motivation are not going to change along with my deadline policies.  They're already asking for extensions, and more often than not, I'm already granting them.  Students who care about their learning and want to succeed won't change either.  I rather expect they'll get their work in "on time" as they always have, only with the knowledge that this time around, the choice is in their own hands.