A question has been floating around in my head since I started teaching college students: are we supposed to act like swimming instructors or Olympic coaches? The analogy is not as odd as it might seem at first. Don’t we talk about whether students “sink
In more than a decade of teaching Romeo and Juliet at my small liberal arts college, I’d never had a student walk through class wearing only a towel. Then again, I’d never taught Shakespeare during a pandemic before.
As fall 2020 draws to a close, the reactions to remote learning are reverberating loudly. They include not only outrage and despondency but also gratefulness and appreciation. Student surveys taking the pulse of learning experiences look very much like the evaluations of teaching we in
“Learning Outcomes for Instructors, Not Just Students.” That was the title—and message—of an earlier article I wrote for The Teaching Professor. Writing it set me on an important path (or perhaps reminded me of the path I was already on): I am a learner alongside
On a rainy April afternoon, students in the back row of my class whispered to each other as I, increasingly irritated with their disengagement, stood at the chalkboard lecturing on Death of a Salesman. I am usually one to let such distractions go, but I
I am not the same teacher I was six weeks ago.
Oh, I still care very much about my students. It is still very important to me that they are learning, that I help bring the content to life and make the material engaging and
Asperger’s syndrome is a high-functioning autism spectrum condition in which individuals tend to lack empathy with others, appear unengaged in discussions, speak in a monotone, limit eye contact, fail to connect names with faces, display some clumsiness, and maintain an excessive focus on favorite topics.
While domestic pigeons prove neighborhood nuisances in major cities, it’s the common house sparrow who rattles rural areas. Look above the entrances to any apartment complex or office building in the Midwest, and you’ll likely find reflective repellent to keep these birds from settling in
It may happen only once in a 50-minute class. It may not take place at all. It may be days before it happens again. Then, suddenly there it is—a learning moment—that one instant in a classroom when teacher and student(s) merge. Until recently, I would
I think I killed my yeast.
It has been years, nay, decades, since I last baked bread without using a bread machine. It has even been years since I used a bread machine. I once regularly made a delicious honey graham bread. It always turned
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