Lectures, lessons, and student-centered learning

            I think, in hindsight, I performed a
little educational research last week in my classroom. Nothing groundbreaking,
by any means. Nothing new … not even to me. I heard about all of this last year
in my Ed Psych class and throughout my teacher credentialing program. (You
remember constructivism? Piaget, Vygotsky, and friends?) And I know the concept
is all around us as we design the new STEAM center and the future of
Carondelet.
            But for me, last week was valuable
because I experienced a tangible reminder that what they say is true:
student-centered learning is more effective than teacher-centered. I believed
it in theory; I even believed it in isolated experiences. In fact, every time I
plan my lesson to be student-centered, I see the rewards. Here are some
isolated examples:
            For our freshmen, Kate Cutright and
I planned a round-robin sort of discussion for student groups to rotate to
different tables in order to discuss seven different prompts. Within the
groups, there were four rotating roles to be sure that every student would
participate. Another student-led project I conducted this year was a
problem-solving exercise in teams, where students had to choose from a
selection of picture books to find examples of literary devices. Each book
could only be used once, and not every book contained an example of every
device. In both of these examples, the bulk of my teaching was in the preparation;
on lesson day, students guided themselves through their own learning, and they
were actively engaged.

            However, the reality is that I’m not
always prepared. There are times when I choose to grade papers, or catch up on
the reading assignment, or enter grades, or email parents, or maybe spend time
with my family, so I don’t front-load the lesson. I find myself wanting to convey
some important ideas, I have 45 minutes or less to do so, and I slip into a
teacher-centered model.
            Last Monday was one of those days.
Over the weekend, I had read the two chapters of Jane Eyre assigned to my sophomores. Gosh, I love this book. It’s
an important book. I dutifully annotated those two chapters and figured that I
should prepare some notes so that we could have a class discussion on the reading,
in case anyone came with questions. I noticed some key passages I wanted to be
sure to point out. Monday morning, no one had any questions. Come to think of
it, they were fairly expression-less. I slipped into what’s familiar from my
college English major days: I asked students to take notes, and I pointed out
all of those key passages. I asked some questions. The usual star students
raised their hands. By the end, not everyone had been involved. I wasn’t
exactly sure how many students took notes or tuned me out. That was first
period. During fourth period, I tried something slightly different. I shared
some personal stories about my experience in college lecture halls. I told my
students about how I saved all of my notes from college and now use those notes
to help me be a better teacher (ha!). And then I proceeded with the lecture.
            I am being hard on myself; I tend to
self-evaluate and see the worst. Let’s look at the positives of Monday’s lesson.
Okay … I felt a connection with my students, and I could see some genuine
interest out there in the hazy lecture hall of Room 27. I think I saw some
students realize how important it is for Jane and Mr. Rochester to establish
mutual respect despite their class differences. Monday’s lesson hopefully
conveyed my enthusiasm for the material; and I think it’s important for
students to witness that fire in the teacher if they are going to buy in. And hopefully,
I shed light on a difficult text for some of the struggling students. Hopefully,
I modeled close reading for a deeper understanding. But most of this was about
me.
            I went to lunch feeling disappointed
in myself. All right. I know I can do better, and it just so happened that I
had already planned for a student-centered discussion on block day, thanks to
Lisa Xavier, who had shared with me about hers the last week. I chose three
relevant topics and divided the class into three groups. Each student needed to
find a quote from Jane Eyre based on
her topic, and she needed to write some analysis on that and come ready for the
discussion.
            Block day gave my students a chance
to shine. As each group discussed their topic in fishbowl style, I stayed
quiet, took notes, and marveled at their insights and enthusiasm. I could feel
the energy in the room. Each student participated multiple times. During the
debrief session, the “audience” on the outside provided constructive,
thoughtful, feedback to the group in the fishbowl. I told them I was so, so proud;
and I could see they were proud of themselves. One of my students who sometimes
falls asleep in class was a rock star self-appointed facilitator and received a
lot of positive reinforcement from the class. Another struggler told me it was
fun and she wants to do it again. For homework, every student is writing a
self-reflection about her contribution to the discussion. Jane Eyre is a challenging text, and it was gratifying to listen to
my students analyze it, to share their opinions, and to make connections and
predictions.
            This is not rocket science. I’ve
conducted fishbowls and Socratic seminars in the past, also with positive
feedback from students. Like I said, I have experience with student-centered
learning, and I was convinced about it intellectually a long time ago. It’s
just that this week, I saw the contrast between
Monday and block day. Same novel, completely different energy in the classroom.
So, that’s my little retrospective experiment. Not even intended; it just
happened and I noticed the difference. It won’t be published in the latest journal.
But here’s the value: I wasn’t told about it; I learned by experience–and
isn’t that better than learning from a textbook or lecture?  

            

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