The affective issues cliff

Some issues that exist in students’ lives affect their academic performance in ways that are unfair and impossible to ignore – kids and jobs are two massive time-sucks that interfere with schoolwork, but everything from mental illness to changing bus routes in the city mediate how well students do academically. Particularly at community colleges, which exist specifically to serve non-traditional students, teachers have a duty to incorporate some treatment of what we call “affective issues” such as anxiety, work or family obligations, or negative self-image into our courses. The duties can be written into law, as with mandated reporting of suspected abuse (a legal obligation) or simply commonly accepted but not required “best practices” such as accepting late work or generally making yourself available to meet with students outside of class. Then there are the students who don’t have anything that has been recognized as an “affective issue” but are clearly affected away from classwork and towards League of Legends, and not much in our training says we owe these students’ issues any particular redress at all.

In American healthcare, there exists a phenomenon known as the “Medicaid cliff”, which is an income threshold below which you are provided with cheap and reliable healthcare, and above which you are required to buy expensive, complicated private insurance. A lot of people decry the existence of this drop-off in public coverage even if they support Medicaid in principle (that principle being that people who cannot afford health insurance still deserve to live). The cliff comes about because our definition of “poverty” has to end somewhere, and once you’re out of poverty, the government no longer takes an active interest in how you afford to stay alive. Thus, you could have an income of 130% of the federal poverty line and qualify for single-payer health care in the form of Medicaid, or get a raise to 140% of the federal poverty line and suddenly have to buy a private health insurance plan with a $7500 deductible. Pass the magic line and you transform magically from a victim of forces beyond your control to an upstanding and responsible citizen.

Read on if my point isn’t obvious enough yet.

beach blue sky cliff clouds
Photo by Danne on Pexels.com

Read More »

The shortest physically productive pre-activity

It’s common knowledge among ESL teachers that any activity should be prefaced with a pre-activity. Not only textbooks, but handouts, powerpoint presentations, and even off-the-cuff improvisations by the teacher are prefaced by some schemata-activating questions, discussion points or pictures, the theory being that students are better able to engage with the main activity after their brains have all the context-appropriate neurons firing.

I have never seen any evidence that the principle of preparing students for any activity should only apply to main activities, however, so it stands to reason if we are right about the importance of schema activation that these pre-activities could use pre-activities of their own. If you follow my logic, responsible pedagogy should involve a pren+1-activity before any pren-activity.

This presents a philosophical and practical pedagogical problem, as responsible language teaching now seems to entail an infinite series of increasingly small pren-activities, which in an echo of Zeno’s arrow, mean that we can never actually physically reach the start of our main activity.

With an eye toward helping my fellow language teachers out of this conundrum, I would like to propose a pragmatic (no pun intended) solution to the pren-activity dilemma, which is this:

Teachers should not have pre-activities whose length would be shorter than the time it takes for light to travel from the teacher to the nearest student. The last pre-activity whose length is longer than this time will be called the shortest physically productive pre-activity.

I will illustrate this principle by assuming a few values:

  • The speed of light is 3.08 * 108 m/s
  • Our main activity is planned for 20 minutes (1200 seconds).
  • Our pre1-activity is 5 minutes, or 1/4 the main activity, and schemata-activating pre-activities for other pre-activities will also last 1/4 as long as the activity that they prepare for.
  • For the sake of simplicity, the nearest student is seated 3.08 m from the teacher.

 

Given our values for the distance between the teacher and the nearest student, it takes 1/108 seconds for light to travel from the teacher to the nearest student. Any pren-activity that takes less time than that will be over before the last one can be physically sensed by the students.

It’s worth pointing out that light is the fastest known physical phenomenon in the universe; no cognitive activity (or any activity with a physical substrate) can outpace it, no matter how “quick” the student. The speed of light is, therefore, a crucial property to consider when planning pren-activities whose length is measured in millionths of seconds.

The question then is what value of n in a pren-activity yields an activity whose length is less than 1/108 seconds. I solved for n by plugging in the values above:

1200/4n = 1/108

1200=4n/108

120000000000=4n

1200000000001/n=4

Doing these calculations the old-fashioned way, I come up with a value of 18 for n as the last pren-activity whose length is longer than the time it takes for light to travel from the teacher to the student. Therefore, with the assumptions above, a main activity should be preceded by exactly 18 pre-activities, the 18th pre-activity being the shortest physically productive pre-activity.

It is to be hoped that teachers integrate this knowledge into their lesson planning thoughtfully and responsibly.

Correlations with final grades, spring 2018 edition

Every semester I throw a bunch of survey data, biographical data, and assignment scores from my classes into an Excel sheet and see what pops up.  This semester, like the last one, yielded some interesting information.

The tl;dr version is:

  1. Work is a huge predictor of low grades
  2. I should continue to push the importance of drafts in writing
  3. I need to be careful not to evaluate students too much on their familiarity with my style of class
  4. Perhaps I need to design better questionnaires

Read on for the details.

Read More »

Job hurdles in ESL and EFL #3 – Foreign degrees

Here’s something I bet you hadn’t thought of: a foreign degree, even from a country whose degrees the US recognizes, may disadvantage you in the hiring process simply because of the extra step it takes for employers to process your application. You will probably not know this is happening, because it results, like every other failed application, in simply not hearing back from the hiring board.

(A bit of background: I got my MA while living and working in Japan from the University of Leicester, and now live and work in California. Most of my colleagues have MAs from public universities in California, something I didn’t realize the significance of until after the episode described here.)

Read More »

Success under/over coopted ELT

Geoff’s recent post got me thinking about my time in Japan trying to teach against or around a system that saw English as one of many quantified and commodified skills to sell.  Like a lot of discussions involving Japan, it triggered some vestigial indignation somewhere in my gut which had to be purged.

The process of quantification of the skill we call “English” for the purpose of rational allocation of workers to jobs has proceeded to an extreme level in Korea and Japan, who may represent the high-water mark among numerous other societies where English skill as represented by a single number or a blank space on a resumé is a matter of life and death for millions of test takers and job seekers.

As you might expect given the overwhelming importance of that blank space, the skill that it is supposed to represent often gets relegated to the background in favor of easily understood and common-currency heuristics like a TOEIC score or a university degree.  Tricks for gaming that number or raising it through brute force proliferate. “English teaching” at least in Japan and Korea is widely understood to be synonymous with standardized test preparation, and “washback” with connotations of dutiful responsibility rather than regrettable side effect.  Because the blank space for “English skill” is of extreme importance while there are no corresponding spaces for “average hours of sleep” or “happy childhood”, young people spend much of their adolescence in classrooms preparing to give the market what it wants.  This video brought back a lot of memories for me, including the sight of bicycles outside cram schools that I passed on my way home from work at 10:30 pm.

Geoff winds up concluding that because English teachers will find themselves serving this inhumane system, they should not go to work in Korea.  I disagreed with this point at first, mostly because it’s exactly the countries with these hegemonic, neo-liberal (two words I never thought I’d use after finishing my BA) English testing regimes that seem to have jobs for English teachers without MAs; that is, a lot of good teachers’ careers wouldn’t exist if they hadn’t gone to work in one of these countries in their 20s.  Therefore, I thought, these systems actually end up contributing a lot indirectly to global ELT.  Also, I believed that good teachers doing honest work within those systems could still have positive effects on students’ lives beyond tests.  My conspiratorial brain and my fondly-remembering brain disagree on this point.

A decent metaphor for the role of an anti-establishment English teacher in such a system is Daniel Kaluuya’s character from the 2nd episode of Black Mirror.  This character similarly feels righteously indignant and rebellious in an inhuman system, but sees that rebellious energy coopted and ultimately used as a piece of the same system.  If you haven’t seen it or don’t remember, Kaluuya’s character Bing has a musically gifted coworker at their grind of a job (hilariously, pedalling stationary bikes) in a vaguely dystopia future society where intrusive attention merchant-style media is omnipresent.  This coworker takes a chance at using her genuine, pristine vocal talent to audition for a TV talent show.  At her audition, instead of being made a popstar, she is coercively recruited to act in adult films instead, in a grotesque example of matching talent to market.  Bing, distraught, returns to the talent show later under the pretense of auditioning, and in the midst of a seeming dance routine he suddenly holds a shard of glass to his own throat and uses the captive TV cameras to deliver a searing, authentically emotional speech into the TV cameras.  The judges, suitably moved, declare his performance extraordinary and proceed to give him his own show where he delivers regular similar speeches, always with his signature shard of glass, for a devoted fanbase (still pedalling their bikes).  The episode ends with Bing living the high life thanks to having found a market for his talent due to his successful “audition”.

To give my Black Mirror-like take first, even with the most stridently anti-test, integrative, teaching-the-whole-person way it can possibly be practiced, ELT in Japan or Korea ends up feeding the system of commodification, just stuffing it with ever-more-valuable commodities.  Any attempts to break out of that single space just end up putting something all the more precious in it, as truly sincere and irreplaceable things are, like Bing’s speech, ultimately just rarer and accordingly more valuable products.  Those “genuine articles” in our case can include communicative competence, international perspective, study abroad experience, and above all, a real feel for English not only as an academic subject but as a living tool of communication.  All of these signify a truly high-quality English education, and to an HR office, a superior version of an in-demand skill.  A sincere and genuine English education also raises the mean on everyone else, making still more inhuman grinding necessary from those not lucky enough to have a truly outstanding, break-the-mold teacher or opportunities for international education.  A worldly, proactive, SKY’s-the-limit English learner represents inflation from the perspective of hiring or college admission boards.  As Bing’s judges declare, That is, without a doubt, the most heartfelt thing I’ve seen on a resumé since ELT began.

That is what I fear my legacy of 12 years of English school ownership will be: a few  former students with outstanding enough scores in a saleable skill to get salaries and bonuses 3% higher alongside hundreds more with only a vague memory that they once went to eikaiwa. Premonitions of this fate were common throughout the life of our school, as some of our star students reliably quit every year to devote more time to Center Test studies (our Suneung), made clear their intentions to drop English after getting into college almost as a rite of passage, or visibly stopped caring about any classroom pursuit that didn’t have a clear test payoff.  Mind you, it wasn’t every student who gave us this feeling, and we always had enough students to live, but once 2 or 3 of the students that you’d really been seeing bright things in the future for tell you that they’re quitting because their juku (cram school) teacher told them eikaiwa is a waste of time, a bit of the shine starts to come off of every student.  Parents even in some of the best cases tended to cement the impression that everything led back to tests – the most heartfelt thanks we usually got from parents was that they really appreciated how our passion and genuine connection to their kids had helped them increase their test scores.  The students themselves sometimes echoed these sentiments, which didn’t please us as much as they seemed to think it would.  Trying to beat the test or go above and beyond it only made us more successful at teaching the test.

That’s the dark take, and when I need some reason to feel better about my move to the US, it gives me some comfort, grass-isn’t-greener style.  On the other hand, if I need to remove the shadow that that view casts over my time in Japan and the genuinely warm memories I have of my students, I need to accept that not everything that is part of a “system” is inhuman or corrupt.  My former students making 3% more money doesn’t stop them from being complete individuals or having the same warm memories that I have.  In many other circumstances, I would view the reduction of a complicated construct to a single value to be very useful, given of course that no such value will ever be free from questions of validity.  A society-wide preference for quantifiable skills to an extent reflects a need to fairly and quickly evaluate millions of people a year, which isn’t a sin in itself.  Maybe what is needed is not an end to commodification but more commodification – a line on college applications for “average time spent on non-school pursuits” to be weighed alongside TOEIC scores.

My black robes, pt. 2

Whatever a teacher’s job is now, it’s not knowing a bunch of things.  Everyone carries a device that immediately connects them to almost all human knowledge in his or her pocket.  Given that everyone also knows that this is true, why do people still show up in classes?  It may be that hearing a teacher talk vs. reading a Wikipedia page or watching an instructional video may be analogous to seeing a concert vs. watching on on YouTube.  I think it is also because listening to a teacher motivates you to do things that you wouldn’t do otherwise, even if they were still available.

In the last post under this title I posited that a major role of language teachers may be facilitating learning by simply stepping into the teacher role and using its authority to make students seek and attend to language input that is already all around them.  In this sense it was similar to the ability of judges to coerce (convince? cause? I’m not sure how relevant volition is to this effect) their charges to follow treatment programs, take medications, or enact behaviors that are available without the judge’s involvement but are more likely to be used with it.  In this post I mean to look into what exactly might be comprised in a teacher’s black robes, accepting for the sake of argument that we do indeed wear them.  What gives us our unique ability to influence students’ actions?

Insider status.  A teacher is more intimately acquainted with the culture that speaks the target language, with the school system, and with the educational culture than the students are.  If not, he/she knows how to fake it.  Seen through a Communities of Practice lens, a teacher is a knowledgeable insider that it behooves outsiders to listen to and adopt the practices of.  This overlaps somewhat with a judge’s insider status in the criminal justice system, although it should be said that a teacher’s black robes could depend more on students wanting to join a group that the teacher represents than drug users want to join a clique of criminal justice elites alongside their judge.

Positioning.  A judge sits apart and higher from everyone else.  A teacher is not usually different in this respect – even if the teacher isn’t always physically in his/her seat, that seat is usually at the front of the room, ready to be occupied.  The teacher also has the only desk with a computer provided by the school (sometimes) and the projector controls at his/her fingertips.  All of this says to students “we have to listen to this person”.  Something about the teacher facing the opposite way as everyone else cements this impression.

 

Timing.  The teacher is often the first and last person that students see on their way in and out of the classroom.  More than anyone else, a teacher seems to be a permanent fixture in the classroom.  I’m sure many of my students think I pull a futon out of the supply cabinet after they leave.  This may enhance the teacher’s ability to represent the institution whose classroom it is and may dovetail with the teacher’s status as a target culture insider.

Age.  Some of us are lucky enough to “look the part” naturally.  While this certainly isn’t fair and to an extent is a phenomenon that we should actively try to fight, looking like stereotypical conceptions of a “teacher” or just an “authority figure” can help make students listen to you.  Much like black robes incline people to listen to a judge, a paternal or matronly appearance might help give a teacher’s words some extra weight.  Extra weight itself might also help in this regard.

In the same vein…

Clothes.  Teachers may facilitate students’ dedication to studying simply by dressing like someone who is in charge.  Like the black robes that a judge’s authority metaphorically and perhaps literally derives from, a teacher’s clothes might give his/her words greater power.  Unfortunately, this is not simply a matter of moving a slider of formality more towards the funerary end, but means wearing a costume which may only be available in a Men’s L or XL.  Consider how much easier it must have been for Donald Trump to choose clothes that looked authoritative than it was for Hillary Clinton (and how her team but not his might have dwelled on whether “authoritative” was even a good look for her).

I have made recent modifications in my wardrobe partly for pedagogical reasons.  Because I used to work in a context where a paramount concern was getting students to relax enough to speak, I deliberately chose shirts and ties that defused any spark of threatening masculinity. Towards the end of my time in Japan you might have termed my style of dress “technicolor dandy” or “waiter at an upscale clown-themed restaurant”.  I have muted the colors because, as it turns out, students here could sometimes stand to be a little more respectful of the teacher’s authority.

Being male.  Here’s where it gets officially unfair.  In ESL or EFL, part of the rich melange of cultures present in the classroom may be some unreformed chauvinism.  Students are, broadly speaking, doing a very brave thing by living in a new country with a foreign culture and language, and even those who sometimes express opinions you would politely call “parochial” are clearly open to some new experiences and ideas – they’re here, after all.  Still, some resist suggestions, commands, and even assignments from teachers that they somehow don’t feel look the part, and a sizable chunk of looking the part is looking more like their dad than their mom.  There are disadvantages to being stereotyped “a male teacher”, sure, but getting students to give weight to your words is not usually one of them.

(Side note: There is an argument sometimes made against the effects of systemic oppression and in favor of individualism that really strong people can always succeed and do as well as anyone else.  It goes like this: Sure, life is hard and unfair, but that’s why you gotta tough it out, and if you don’t make it, it’s your own fault.  It’s usually true that especially strong people can find success when average people don’t, but the point is that non-oppressed people don’t have to pass that inner strength test or even think about it.  As it turns out, having to spend time and energy thinking about whether everyone thinks you’re legitimate creates significant drag.  Not having to even entertain the thought that anyone might consider you illegitimate in your position is a privilege.)

Being NS.  The conventional argument against native-speakerist hiring practices is that asking NSs to teach their language is like asking a fish to teach you how to swim.  That argument is persuasive to many people (mostly other English teachers), but neglects a major reason that students become interested to learn languages in the first place – they have some idea of what the target language community looks like, and they want to be part of it.  Failing to match the NS stereotype, even if the stereotype is incorrect or unjust, may make getting them to listen to you harder.  Yes, students can be brought around to accepting a NNS teacher, and some of them know the advantages and actively seek them out.  The point is, more of them will listen to a NS teacher and not need any convincing to do so.


At least the above is probably true in many contexts.  I found that in Japan my authority on what people actually said in English was usually considered more valid than any NNS, no matter how qualified (another example of NS privilege – our mistakes are considered features, examples of real-world usage), although students would be more likely to accept directions to study outside from my NNS peers (of course, both the students and NNS teachers were Japanese, which undoubtedly played a part).  I also heard from female teachers that students would accept their directives if they came as “support” rather than instructions.  I’ve seen many more female teachers openly disrespected by students than male, and in one case seen one openly accused of incompetence by a male student, who later seemed unable to understand why other people held her in higher authority than him.  Most teachers in the US seem not to dress up much, and this doesn’t seem to hurt their authority, while teachers in Japan generally wore formal officewear as part of looking the part (in both university and eikaiwa, although I suspect it served different semiotic functions).  I think in my case my demeanor might require some compensatory formality.  It is probably safe to say that what makes students take the teacher’s enjoinders to attend to ambient input and take their medicine varies from teacher to teacher and context to context, but the effect is one that it would behoove most teachers to recognize and use.

Grammar Mining (and the collected Mark SLA Lexicon)

Many of us agree that teaching “at the point of need” (as I believe Meddings and Thornbury put it) is an ideal context for formal grammar teaching.  Students’ trying to communicate something provides clear evidence that they need the grammar that would facilitate communicating it, and depending on how close they come to natural expression, evidence that their internal representation of English is capable of taking on this additional piece of information.

In interlanguage punting, I conjectured that taking a guess at grammar students may need in the future and organizing a lesson around a particular grammar point was justifiable if the lessons you used to introduce that grammar would be memorable long enough for a “point of need” to be found before the lesson was forgotten.  At the time, I was teaching weekly 1-hour grammar workshops with rotating groups students at different levels, and as I could not teach reactively I had to justify my grammar-first (formS-focused) approach.

Read on for the last post before the new semester starts.

Read More »

The things that nobody teaches teachers (my turn)

Inspired by Sandy Millin’s blog post of almost the same name:

Technical problems

The copier in one building requires a login to operate and breaks often.  The one in the next building doesn’t.  This turns out to be the most consequential piece of information in the entire community college system.

SLOs, whatever they are, are crucial.  One of those words (like コマ koma in Japanese university) that everyone knows and treats as incredibly important but never appears anywhere in any training literature.  From what I gathered at staff meetings for the first few months I was working here, SLOs are things that the state regards as even more important than grades and you have to give a special test for, but are often curiously at odds with what everyone you know actually thinks you should be doing.  If you’re wondering what SLO stands for, that’s another of the things that nobody explains.

Students may be using computers for the first time. This being 2018, most of them know how to use a smartphone, but when it comes to using a computer, your students may sometimes make you feel like a desktop publishing teacher from 1993.  Each convenience afforded by LMS like Canvas comes with even more class time devoted to how to use it and an even yawning-er generation gap separating the college-age students from the parents and grandparents.  Here are a few of the misunderstandings I’ve run across:

  • Double spacing does not mean hitting enter twice every line (a classic)
  • A 2 page essay does not need to be 2 separate MS Word files
  • “Here” on the Internet means “click here and then follow more instructions”, not “post your homework as a comment on the announcement”
  • Contrary to the rules of good design in most other media, an essay should have a ton of text on the page, no curly borders and no colorful sidebars
  • Emailing an essay as the text of that email makes it very hard to tell if you followed MLA format (this was more common in Japan)
  • Turnitin.com’s similarity scores are more convincing than your assurance that you totally didn’t copy (and on a related note, and this is an area of genuine interest for me, the phrase “in contrast with” is not plagiarism even if copied from the Internet, while non-idiomatic non-chunk 3-word phrases definitely are.  It’s probably not obvious to students why this should be true).

The air conditioner is the seat of power.  Aside from the copier, no device has held the power to completely ruin the atmosphere (literally and figuratively (is “atmosphere” meaning “ambience” not literal?)) of a class like the air conditioner.  I’m a believer in Dogme and conversation classes; a broken projector is like a golden opportunity.  The AC on the other hand has both physical and psychological power over the students.  The physical power is obvious, although you might not expect the difference between 73 and 76 degrees to produce such epic ranges of comfort in your students.  The psychological power is what really threatens to tear your class apart, though, as students challenge each other for the right to sit near the AC controls and take up the responsibility or opportunity to choose who is comfortable and who is not.  This was a problem for me last semester, and I eventually had to make a rule that only I can touch the AC controls, and later that I would only listen to AC-related requests once per hour.

Classroom facilities may be new-ish or may need exorcism.  Back in Japan my university had one wi-fi router per floor (of 10 or so classrooms that fit 50 or so people each), projectors that rejected all input like a stubborn grammar-translator, and chalk boards.  Here in California some of my classrooms have remote desktop workstations which seem like a good idea in theory, some have decades of accumulated teacher skin cells on the teachers’ keyboards and mice (mouses?), and some have large, space-taking file cabinets on which sticky notes declare the entire contents to be the property of another adjunct.  Many of the classrooms and facilities are also modern and easy-to-use, but almost all of them have no white board markers within a 5-km radius.  Part of the job is being prepared for whatever type of classroom, with its random array of functioning and non-functioning equipment, you will be working in.

The classroom phones might not be able to dial outside lines.  The aforementioned generation gap sometimes plays out in older students not doing coursework that is presented online, not being able to login, and sometimes not being able to reach you or be reached through electronic means.  You may need to call these students to ask why they haven’t shown up in a week, but you probably don’t want to use your personal number for this, leading you to pick up the classroom phone.  But surprise, these only call on-campus extensions.  There is a rumor that a phone in one of the break rooms can call outside, but nobody knows which one.

Students can’t access the LMS from China.  In ESL, students sometimes have emergencies (or just plan their vacations rather poorly) and have to fly off in the middle of the semester for a week.  This wouldn’t be as much of a problem if one country in particular didn’t block access to most of the Internet by default.  Your students in China will be even more out of touch than you might expect while they’re gone.

Finals week doesn’t stop the parking lot from having a lot of cars in it.  The rest of the world doesn’t care that you have a test.  People will have tailgate parties in the parking lot while students 20 feet away in the classroom are struggling to distinguish between “felt” and “failed” on a listening test.

Teaching in society

The meaning of your job depends on the society you live in.  JALT, the main language teachers’ professional organization in Japan, is full of worldly types who are accustomed to being automatic social deviants due to simple demographics.  They take a job that is stereotyped as unskilled yet impossible for Japanese people to do (native-speakerism in a nutshell) and try to find some professional pride in it by taking it ostentatiously seriously.  To most people in Japan, a university English teacher (at least a “native speaker” teacher) is half exotic transplant and half effete intellectual, and JALT members seem to take both of these identities on board – even the Japanese ones.  In California, ESL teaching at community college or university, which nominally requires the same qualifications as teaching university in Japan, seems to carry none of the same connotations.  Here, the job seems to be defined half by peace love and understanding and half by grammar pedantry.  I know a few teachers here who enjoy getting into the relationship between explicit and implicit knowledge, but the public face most ESL teachers put forward seems to be “I’m here to heal the world through adjective clauses”.

(Remember in Homeland when Carrie briefly quits the CIA and becomes an ESL teacher as part of her emotional healing?  It seems a lot more plausible now.)

Adjuncts need to balance attention with time.  Back when I was the owner of my school, I started each workday 10 feet from where I was going to be teaching all of my classes, with all my materials, board games, books, and office supplies close by.  It was easy to imagine making custom materials for each of my classes, if not each student, and spend some time reading stuff that was turned in afterward, as there were few official hoops I had to spend time pushing them through.  Now, if I need to use any office supplies or the copier I need to leave 90 minutes before my first class rather than 60, and the class after that might be in another city.  The time spent creating custom materials needs to be weighed against the time you’ll definitely need to take later checking them (especially if you made them open-ended, as I really, really love to do) and the possibility you’ll have to re-write them in coming semesters if they are too topical, not to mention the time they’ll take away from grading essays and answering add/drop request emails.  The point is, being a good teacher used to seem like simply a matter of having the best practices and applying them individually with each student and each situation.  Now, it seems like a matter of having the best practices that you can apply in 20 minutes maximum.

The 405 is the very worst of LA and Orange Counties.  The 405 and the 5 both go through Orange County, where I work, as do a few others.  Although I’ve been spending hours a week on both of them, I haven’t seen a major accident on the 5, while the 405 has accidents (including a crashed plane once) nearly every time I’m on it.  The 405 seems to have a perfect equilibrium of BMW-driving golems of entitlement, raised pickup trucks with custom rims that are more mobile advertisements for Limp Bizkit than modes of transportation, and Teslas which, like BMWs, seem to require the deposit of your frontal lobe to lease.  All of those exist on the 405 along with streams of normal people who are by some odious force only active on that freeway made to want to fill any space in front of the cars on either side of you at every opportunity.

It’s also name-dropped in my favorite SNL sketch ever.

Teaching in the classroom

Students come to play a role.  One of the first realizations you come to teaching English in Japan is that people who are regarded as “good learners” come to class looking to engage with the content silently in their own heads, not to interact with you in real time.  Back in the US, students from different backgrounds all have their own versions of what a “good student” and a “responsible teacher” look like.  ESL classrooms often feel like everyone’s been handed a different script that happens to have the same setting and characters.

Students react differently to your attempts to address affective issues.  A corollary of the above is that your attempts to “fix” students’ apparent reticence, overparticipation, or misunderstanding itself may have meaning to them that further affects how they see you and the class.  A stereotypical example from Japan is “NEST grows exasperated at quiet students -> NEST gives exasperated entreaty to PLEASE TALK -> Students now regard NEST (Native English Speaker Teacher) an overemoting foreigner”.  A slightly more advanced version is “Students don’t cooperate in NEST’s class -> NEST copies Japanese discipline styles -> Students are discouraged because NEST is no longer authentically a NEST to them”.  The general outline of addressing affective issues in the US is to give students more individual attention, more focus on them as unique people with unique stories, and overall more interaction, which may all be felt as bizarrely chummy and unprofessional.  Some students react how you might imagine to the teacher basically trying to fix what’s broken by breaking it even more – addressing mismatched expectations by going even further from the expected teacherly behavior – by withdrawing even more from the class.

You need to share.  When I was a school owner, I mostly just shared my students with public school teachers who had radically different objectives and methods than I did.  Here, I have a group of students for about 4 months, before and after which they’ve studied or will study with another teacher.  Their other teachers may be very Focused on FormS, very project-oriented, or take a much more holistic view of education than even I do, and I can’t very well spend time bashing other methods to create buy-in for the ones we’ll be using in my class.  This sounds obvious, but in eikaiwa, naming your house method, putting it in all of your fliers and on your website (a whole discussion in itself), and doing your best to set yourself apart from other forms of English education is simply a matter of survival.  Self-promotion (including things like blogging) has very little role to play in the community college system unless you’re trying to get classes at a new school or trying to move into a full-time job.  Likewise, your materials and methods are no longer what separate your school from your competitors, but ways for you to ensure students taking the same class from other teachers aren’t having too radically different an experience.  For the same reason, you need to steal from your colleagues as much as possible, and the students will be better for it.

5 correlations with final grades and what they tell me about my syllabi

The following numbers all come from one ESL class in California of fewer than 30 students.  The students range in age from teens to 50s.  Some are full-time students, some are part-time and some work.

0.63 – Correlation between homework scores and final grades

Homework is a tiny percentage of the final grade, but predicts it to a fair degree.  I usually gave homework a simple at-a-glance score between 1 and 5 points per assignment.  The highest score for homework for this semester was 108, and the lowest score was 12.  Homework is also correlated with attendance at 0.87.  Attendance, on the other hand, is correlated with final grades at 0.72.  This tells me I can cut the amount of homework (saving myself some grading time in the process), take attendance rigorously, and expect roughly the same distribution of grades.  Next semester’s students will be happy to hear being physically present is such a strong predictor of English skill.

0.82  – Take-home essays/final grades

Take-home essays are also, surprisingly, a tiny part of the final grade.  That is what makes this correlation so surprising.  Take-home essays predict final grades even more than they do in-class essays (0.76), although of course take-home essays are themselves not a part of in-class essay grades, while they are of final grades.  Blame my mild innumeracy for not knowing how much that should affect these numbers.  In any case, it seems prudent to replace some of the other homework (see above) with essay-related work like planning, more rough drafts, and reflections.

-0.03 and -0.85 – Numbers of tardies and absences/final grades

This particular class met in the early morning, which accounts for the high number of tardies (8.0 on average for the class out of about 30 class meetings, with a standard deviation of 5.8), but they didn’t seem to do much.  Students walking in late didn’t hurt their grades so much as annoy me personally.  This probably has something to do with my practice of starting each class with some kind of task rather than a quiz, which is arguably a bit of a conceit of mine.  Absences, on the other hand, were even more predictive of final grades than essays, and much more predictive than homework scores.  Again, being a warm body in the classroom seems to be a reasonable heuristic for a lot of heady work.

-0.55 – Years in the US/final grades

This number comes from a survey we did at the beginning of our classes.  I suppose this will surprise a lot of people who work in EFL – I certainly expected a more or less linear relationship between years in the country and degree of acculturation (similar to integrativeness, the motherlode of language learning motivation) before I got here (although I had reason to know better).  In fact, particularly with people who were partly educated here, the sense that one doesn’t belong in ESL is a significant barrier to buy-in for class activities and willingness to communicative with classmates.  ESL teachers often have a mix of eager international students with standard-issue grammar, communication and acculturation problems and jaded veterans of US society who have established an identity around their patterns of language use and definitely don’t see themselves as ESL students.  My main takeaway from this is to acknowledge the different needs and motivations of my main two student constituencies near the start of the semester to defuse any feeling among the veterans that they don’t belong there or don’t need to work hard.

0.45 – Hours of sleep before test 1/final grade

I usually put one “gag” item at the top of my tests – “Name: _____ Student ID: _____ Breakfast this morning: _____ ” to give another example.  Sometimes, these yield insights into my students’ lives (a lot have nothing but coffee for breakfast), and occasionally lead to educationally useful data.  The only time I had a quantifiable “gag” item this year was on the first in-class writing test, on which students were asked to write how many hours they slept the night before the test.  This number turned out not only to predict the scores on that test (albeit weakly, with 0.22) but their grades for the semester.  Now, this isn’t a slam dunk, but it is more predictive than most individual homework assignments (whose correlations with the final grades ranged from -0.14 for the first homework of the semester to around 0.60 for essay-related stuff).  Apparently the recipe for a high-scoring student is 8 hours of sleep a night before coming to class, not necessarily on time and not necessarily with any homework.  As I said, at least this simplifies my grading.

End-of-semester Quantitative Feedback

(Written to give my mind a rest from grading)

Introduction and Pedantry

At the end of the semester I like to use a survey to gauge what students found valuable in my class.  The survey is just a list of class activities from the semester and then two columns with spaces for scores – an “I like it” column and an “It helps me learn” column.  There is a Likert-style scale of 1-5 to be used with both columns across the top of the sheet.  So for example, a student who really enjoyed our reading textbook but doesn’t feel like it was useful for learning would give it scores of 5 (in answer to “I like it”) and 2 or 1 (in answer to “It helps me learn”).

Screen Shot 2017-12-15 at 12.32.42.png
More or less like this.  Screenshot of MS Word with fun, colorful red and blue underlines kept intact.  In the future I will probably make this more intuitive-looking – some students opted to fill in the blanks with full written critiques.

I plan on standardizing this survey across my classes in the future, but this semester everyone had a different list of activities.  I know from their survey, for example, that my intermediate integrated skills class enjoyed their grammar book more than their reading book, but because I referred to these by name in the survey, I can’t really compare their answers to those for the reading and grammar books in my academic writing classes (naturally, the books themselves are different in structure and approach as well, which limits how comparable they are).  All of my classes did have a few items which were worded the same and were similar enough in practice to warrant comparison.

Those items were reading circles, Kahoot!, at-home writing, language logs, and teacher-fronted grammar lessons.  Before we get to the meat of this post, let me just make sure everyone knows what those are and explain how I do them.

Reading circles, in a nutshell, consist of reading reflection groups where each member of the group has a different “job”.  A group of 5 people in most of my classes might have had a Summarizer, a Vocabulary Enricher, a Grammarian, a Connector (who had to, for example, find articles on similar topics to the reading on the Internet), and an Artist.  On a reading circles day, everyone would have read a section of a book or an article over the weekend, and completed half of the sheet at home.  They would then gather in “expert groups”, consisting of people with the same job, and compare answers.  Some versions of my reading circles worksheets had a part of the worksheet that had to be completed during this time.  After a decent amount of time, they would meet with their reading circles group members, all of whom had different “jobs”.  All of my reading circles sheets had short sections that had to be completed during this time by listening to the other group members.  Much of this is standard for this kind of activity.  In practice, not everyone would do their homework, and 3 or 4 people out of a class of 25 would be hurriedly filling in the parts that they were supposed to have done over the weekend in their “expert groups”.  I noted who didn’t do the assignment for grades but let them do this so that they would have at least something to show their reading circles afterward.  Students always seemed much more engaged during reading circles than any teacher-fronted activities, but as we shall see, that isn’t necessarily reflected in the answers they gave to the survey.

Kahoot! is an online game-show-like platform that seems pretty well-known, although I’d never heard of it before my first CATESOL meeting last December.  I mostly used it to review readings (the same ones as the reading circles), about 3 times a semester, with Jolly Ranchers candy as prizes for the winning teams.

At-home writing comprises paragraphs and essays, any of which had at least 3 drafts.  Students turned these in on paper, Canvas, Turnitin.com or all of these at once.  As I found out a bit late, the steps for submitting work electronically or viewing feedback are not obvious for many students, and as in my time in Japan, there is a strong pro-handwriting bias among ESL students – some students view typing it out as the very last step in completing a paper.  Anyway, this was one of the few times in the semester that students would get individual feedback on their writing from me.

Language logs are simple scaffolds for out-of-class input.  They look more or less like schedules organized by weeks with spaces for students to write what they read and what they noticed (for writing classes – “noticed” here could mean content or form) or what they read, what they watched, and who they talked to (for integrated skills classes).  The spaces are intentionally kept small to keep the focus on input rather than rigorous and thorough reporting.  For me, these have a lot of room for improvement – I personally kept forgetting that students had them (I had planned to check them every 2 weeks, but it ended up being more like every 4 weeks), and the students reciprocated.  I also had to remind students quite a few times that the purpose of the logs was to record their extra input, not to record the homework that I had assigned them, and that conversations with their spouses in their first language didn’t count as language log material.  Also, the “I noticed…” sections were often filled with verbatim quotes rather than reflections.  Still, a number of students rose to the occasion and read, watched or talked voluminously.  I remember seeing written on language logs entries like “I talked to a woman at the supermarket about expensive eggplants” “CNN – California wildfire – scary!!” “Breitbart – Anti-Trump conspiracy” and plenty of other windows into my students’ intellectual lives.  Yes, I’m proud of the student who reads Breitbart – I suppose in terms of acculturation it’s somewhat analogous to Americans in Japan who become ardent supporters of the Imperial system and all of its apologia.  A sure sign of language learning progress, albeit also a phase I hope they grow out of.

A confounding factor for measuring how much students liked/valued the logs themselves is that I also had them share them with classmates before turning them in.  The discussions that arose from this were almost always lively and engaging, and it is certainly possible that some students answered positively for Language Logs while mostly thinking of the enjoyable conversations around them rather than the input that is their main purpose (at least from my perspective).

Teacher-fronted grammar lessons are probably familiar to most readers of this blog.  Mine are not particularly unusual, I think, except that I tend to give absurd examples and lots of analogies to food (an independent clause is a burger, a dependent clause is fries, and adverbials are drinks and toppings).

Numbers and stuff

On to the data.

Screen Shot 2017-12-13 at 9.10.38.png

For all 3 classes, the most popular class activity was Kahoot! followed closely by grammar lessons.  The one most viewed as helpful was at-home writing, followed again by grammar lessons.  That’s a bit interesting.  The other values on the table are a bit more interesting.

The second column, consisting of t-values, shows basically how meaningful the differences between the “I like it” and “It helps me learn” are.  t-values, if I recall correctly from the last time I googled them, are roughly the odds that a difference between 2 populations (or a change in 1 population) could have been coincidence even if the populations themselves are actually not different with regards to the value you are testing.  Generally, the null hypothesis (that there is no significant difference between the populations tested) is rejected if t is below 0.05 or 0.01.  The computed value of t depends on the differences between the populations’ answers and on the size of the population.  I only computed t for “I like it” and “It helps me learn” scores for the same activity, and the numbers in the center column are those t-values.  As you can see, the only one that would pass a conventional test for significance is at-home writing, although grammar on the whiteboard is close.  This tells us that the different values for “I like it” and “It helps me learn” for at-home writing are probably large enough for us to assume that a difference would be found even if I taught thousands of students instead of about a hundred.  I find this interesting mostly because it shows how large the gap is between enjoyment and valuation of paragraphs and essays – a gap which might generally be found among students who feel that some things that aren’t enjoyable are nonetheless good for your brain, which might call the eating your vegetables effect.  (I would be tempted to conclude that the relative lack of enjoyment causes the feeling that it must be useful except that Language Logs have an even lower enjoyment score and a correspondingly low usefulness score.)

The last column is standard deviation, or how widely answers are dispersed.  As you can see, “at-home writing helps me learn”‘s answers are the least dispersed of any item, meaning that there was higher consensus around the usefulness of at-home writing than, say, Kahoot!.  This means that not only was the mean higher, showing that on average more people found it useful, but people agreed more on how useful it was.  Language logs, on the other hand, had wide disagreement on their usefulness (and enjoyability).  It seems that students are much more unanimous on some questions than others.

Last, I have the correlations.  Not too much to say about this, except that liking/valuing Kahoot! is negatively correlated with almost everything else.  The positive correlations between reading circles and Language Logs could be explained by the social nature of both (see the confounding factor of the Language Logs above).  I have no idea what could be behind valuing reading circles and valuing grammar on the whiteboard/projector.

Screen Shot 2017-12-13 at 9.05.52.png

Discussion and hedging

One must keep in mind that students are likely judging the usefulness of activities based on changes in their abilities that they can detect; a very long-term effect or a subconscious one will be mostly invisible and may feel useless, while one that gives the rush of endorphine that comes from solving a puzzle may not be as effective in long-term acquisition but will seem to have led to some understanding.  This is a circuitous way of saying that we can’t trust students at the end of a 4-month course to know what actually helped them learn.  I tend to regard the Language Logs as the most beneficial, because they 1) facilitate large amounts of input, 2) are student-directed and therefore more likely to keep their interest, and 3) are the most likely to be continued outside of class.  Of course, stuff that seems pedagogically useless to students is not likely to lead to re-registration in the spring, and if students don’t sign up for classes, it’s hard to say I served them well by insisting on nutritious but unrewarding educational broccoli.  Activities like Kahoot! may be worth the time and effort if only to provide the hit of pure enjoyment that keeps people looking forward to the next serving of ice cream when they’ve finished their vegetables.