Computational Thinking and Solving Problems

In my last post I shared how I am taking a programming class. We're a couple weeks in now, and it's all going well enough. (So far, so good!) 

Yesterday I wrote a fun little program to help with planning a hot dog roast. (Why do hot dogs come in packages of 10, and buns in packages of 8???) It's not the most elegant code ever, I'm sure, but I tested it with a dozen or so inputs, and the math checks out. It's a functional program. I'm feeling proud of myself, even though it's a relatively small thing.

Here's the output for the program I wrote. Fun, right?

I'm learning the syntax of Python, the "grammar" of the language. And I'm learning strategies to build code that is readable by both the computer (obviously) but also humans who might need to understand the code as well. And I'm learning about software development environments, and just how many places Python is used today. (It's a lot--a really useful language!)

But as interesting as it is for me to think through what I'm learning...it's even more interesting to me to reflect on how I'm learning.

I've taken programming before, and I'm finding myself calling back to the last time I took a course that involved hacking code, over 25 years ago now. The language is obviously different. But I'm thinking about the habits of mind I'm re-encountering as I'm taking this course. There is quite a bit of discourse in STEM education today about teaching what is called "computational thinking." This is the idea that we can break down problems into "computable" steps--algorithms, heuristics, and patterns that can help us solve the problem. 

I'm finding that more than learning coding in a particular language, I'm (re)learning some computational thinking strategies by taking this course. 

We're at a point in the semester where we are learning techniques for branching and iteration--"if-else" statements, and "while" loops--and the logic of understanding how the computer will process our code. This has me thinking about how I break the problem down, and how I attack the specific aspects of the problem to find a workable result.

My professor is fantastic at helping us think through "pseudocode" in class, where we take a problem, and collectively analyze the steps we might need to take to solve the problem, and sort of code it out as a series of algorithms, without actually writing all of the code in Python. Then we can work through the specifics of turning that pseudocode into the actual grammar of the language. It's a really effective teaching technique! And then, the practice: we use an online platform to practice writing small snippets of code and get immediate feedback. Because I get immediate feedback on whether my code "worked" or not, I can either move on to another exercise, or rework it, or if I really get stuck, it even offers some hints to get me thinking in a different direction. It's a pretty smart approach. This is really helping me to sharpen up my skills at attacking smaller scale problems that I can then bring to bear on the bigger coding problems that we do, like the hot dog cookout program I shared above.

When it comes to the exercises for homework, it's amazing to me how often find this pseudocode approach working--and it's also amazing to me how frustrated I get when I don't slow down and think computationally. There have been a few times where I read the problem in our online coding platform, immediately make an intuitive leap to how I think the code should function, hack out a solution to the exercise, and hit submit. And sometimes this works great! But other times...well, let's just say I hit "submit" 23 times for one exercise the other night, tweaking the code just a bit each time before hitting the button again. Ooof. I was getting a little frustrated, but when I finally got the right answer, I laughed...because I realized that I had been banging my head against the wall because I had missed a step in the initial framing of the problem, and in my rush to start hacking code, I didn't slow down to think through the steps.

And that, to me, is the most important thing I'm learning: I am often quick to make snap judgments, and I think this course has already been opening my eyes to the importance of slowing down and understanding the real situation of the problem before I just barrel on to a solution.

It's a lesson that I am going to need to keep relearning, I think. 

But I'll celebrate the small steps that I'm taking in this (re)learning process. And if you are planning a hot dog roast, I have a piece of code that might help you in the planning process.

My Latest Adventure in Learning

 I am a learner at heart. 

Having taken the StrengthsFinder assessment a couple of times now, it's been confirmed for me: "learner" is one of my top five strengths. I didn't really need the assessment to tell me this. I love to learn new things, and even re-learn things I've learned before.

Perhaps that's part of the appeal of academia for me: there is always something more for me to learn. And sometimes, it's the teaching that actually leads to more learning.

That's the case for me this semester. I'm teaching a new course--new to me, but also brand new to our institution: Robotics for K-12 Education. I'm right on the edge of my comfort zone for teaching this one. Honestly, I'm just a little anxious about it. I love robotics as a way of bringing the STEM disciplines (science, technology, engineering, and mathematics) together. But I also recognize that I have some learning to do.

I've taught math. I've taught science. I've taught technology applications. I've read books on design thinking, and problem-based learning, and I love projects as a way of building understanding. But I recognize the limitations of my current experience with actually building and programming robots.

It's not that I have no training or experience with building and programming robots. I've taught science and engineering principles at the middle school level with Lego robotics kits. I've used block-based coding tools to build Android apps. I've played around with Arduino micro-controllers. At a conference a couple years ago, I participated in a substantial workshop related to teaching computational thinking that involved programming simple robots. All of this helps.

But I realized the other day that it is 27 years ago since I took a true programming class, way back when I was a computer science major in my first year of college. Ooof.

And so...with the recognition that my students taking this Educational Robotics course have had programming MUCH more recently than I have (and it's actually a pre-requisite for this course!)...I've decided that I should retake Programming I, just to brush up on my own skills.

So here's to learning a new language (Python), and revisiting computer science principles I've likely forgotten in the intervening decades, and updating my skillset to be better equipped to serve my students! I'm hoping to document my ongoing learning here as part of my reflective practice--both in taking the programming course, as well as in the first go at teaching the robotics course.

Hooray for adventures in learning!

I'm ready for it...bring on the Python!

Rhythms, and Resting, and Taking Breaks

I'm back in the office. It was a lovely Christmas Break for me. And...it was a true break for me. From December 23 through January 3, I did not come to campus at all. I didn't even check my email.

Wow, I needed that.

Don't hear me wrong, it's not as though I was trying to avoid work because I dread it, or dislike it, or anything like that. (I suspect if you've read this blog for any length of time, you know just how much I LOVE what I get to do as a professor!) I've written before here on the blog about how I don't like the term "work-life balance" and prefer to talk about "work-life rhythm" instead. Maybe that's just semantics, but I think it is true, because my work is an incredibly important part of my life, and not something I feel like I need to "balance" with other things. But as soon as I say that...I know I really did need the break, perhaps more than usual. I needed to rest.

Teaching is always hard work, but the past two years have been doubly so. And, challenging as teaching in higher education has been for me, I know it's been even more demanding for my colleagues in PreK-12. I've written before about the emotional labor of teaching, and I think 2020 and 2021 only exacerbated the already challenging work in this regard. I know I've felt it too, and though I find deep joy in my work--and take tremendous pleasure in it--it's been, well, a LOT.

And so, a true break. Truly resting from being "productive." No real "work." Not even checking the email.

It wasn't easy for me at first. I actually had to remove my email app from my phone, because I realize that there is a weird magnetism that just draws my thumb to that app icon. In the first few days, I noticed just how often I pick up my phone and check my email, because with that app icon's absence, I found myself accidentally opening other apps where I just naturally tap. Odd how easily I was conditioned to do this. (And now that I've disrupted that habit? I'm wondering if I should even put the app back in place once the new term begins.) Is it silly for me to go on and on about how big a deal this was for me? Maybe. But I think it's part of a mindshift for me from that "always on" part of working to a real break.

So, instead of working all the time...I was deliberately non-productive. I played games with family and friends. I read a novel. I did jigsaw puzzles. I ate a lot of Christmassy treats. (Ooof...and I got on the treadmill...) I took my kids out for breakfast, just the three of us. I got coffee with friends a couple of times, just to talk and connect. I finally started watching Ted Lasso, which so many people had recommended. (And I'm definitely enjoying it!) So much good stuff, and it was lovely to make space to do this instead of working.

And now I'm reflecting a bit: why is it that I need to give myself permission to do this kind of break-taking?

I heard a great sermon this past Sunday, a message about ensuring we have margin in our lives for the things that we really care about and that really matter to us. I needed to hear this. One phrase that has kept ringing in my head since hearing it Sunday morning was a call out of the "Cult of Productivity" that is so, so prevalent in our culture. And...ooof...that's me, a priest in the Cult of Productivity. How much do I prioritize being productive? What would it look like for me to cultivate being present first and foremost? What would I have to say "no" to--limiting my productivity--in order to have more of this kind of margin in my life?

I don't really have any New Year's Resolutions this year, not formally anyway. But I'm already thinking about things I can, and should, say "no" to, not bowing to the cult of productivity. I've already said one "no" to a great opportunity, and it's only January 4. What else will I say "no" to this year? And how will that help me continue to find better rhythms?

We'll see where I'm at come Summer Break!

Image by Ralf Designs via Pixabay

Thoughts on Publishing and on Being an Academic

It's the end of the year, and I'm growing reflective. I'm thinking back over the past year, the things I've done, and the things I've left undone. I deliberately didn't set a lot of goals for this year (in my first post of this year I talked some about that), but informally, I figured I would do some writing, and try to publish a few things. I've become an academic...and that's a big part of what academics do, after all.

One of my proudest accomplishments--academically speaking--of the past academic year was getting an article I co-wrote with two of my professional colleagues and friends published in a highly regarded EdTech journal. Our piece is entitled "Assessing Digital Nativeness in Pre-Service Teachers: Analysis of the Digital Natives Assessment Scale and Implications for Practice," and we got it published in the Journal of Research on Technology in Education, which is a top-10 journal in the EdTech field (depending on the way the question is asked, anyway. I'm basing it on the research included in the chapter "Where Should Educational Technologists Publish Their Research?") Matt and Jake and I have been researching different aspects of the so-called "digital natives" and "digital immigrants" for several years, and have presented some of our research together at conferences, and now have published this piece. It was a lot of work, but gratifying to see our research in print. 

But I recently read this piece from John Hwang entitled "Christian Scholars have a Distribution Problem," and boy did this resonate with me. Hwang's basic argument is that academics are doing great work...but very few people wind up reading/viewing the work because it's often (primarily) done for others within our specific guilds. And this connected with me...because who is really going to read the article Matt and Jake and I published? Honest answer: probably only a handful of other EdTech researchers who are also interested in the digital natives/digital immigrants "construct," and the problems associated with the abject lack of empirical evidence for it.

In fact, I can check how many people have cited our work on Google Scholar...and after a year out in the world, it has been cited by...wait for it...ONE person so far. I hope that a few others have actually read the piece, but I don't really know if they have. And if they have read it, have they found it beneficial in any substantive way?

On the other hand, I write things here on the blog--infrequently as they come--and I regularly have 100+ people read the posts I'm putting out in this format. My most read posts have had 10,000+ reads, though there are precious few in that category; only 3 or 4 over the decade I've been writing on here. But I've had 440,000 views of things I've written on this little ol' blog in that decade, and that feels like something substantial. In contrast, I've had a total of 38 citations of things I've published formally as journal articles, book reviews, and chapters in edited books in that same 10 year period. While I'm quite sure I've had more than 38 people read those pieces that have gone through peer review...it's still a striking difference.

The numbers don't tell the whole story, of course. Certainly there is a difference in these two forms of writing, and the informality of publishing my thoughts-in-process on the blog is WILDLY DIFFERENT than the rigorously peer-reviewed approach to getting an article published in JRTE. Not to mention that I don't typically use my thickest educationese and academic writing style here--it's much more informal writing, and much more of "here's what I'm thinking about in the 30 minutes I had to write this thing" rather than the careful, painstaking, thoroughly-sourced writing in a journal.

But I do wonder about whether the things I write here on the blog have more practical value for the readers than the more academic writing I also do. Is this going to be more likely to spur a conversation between practicing educators than a journal article? I wonder about this, and it makes me think I should keep writing things and pushing my first-draft thinking here.

Or take podcasting as another experiment in informal publishing. Along with my Education department buddies, Abby and Matt, we started recording Hallway Conversations about a year ago. In that time, we have had just about 11,000 downloads over 44 episodes. This means we are averaging about 250 listens to each episode--which is a modest audience by some measures, but I'm incredibly grateful for the dedicated community of regular listeners we've developed over time. We get feedback, questions, and affirmations regularly from our listeners, and this gives us a fair confidence that what we are putting out into the world each week is fostering valuable reflection and discussion, at least for a small number of educators. 

Is there value in traditional, peer-reviewed academic publishing? Certainly. And I'm grateful that I get to do this, and that people have read and cited my work--this is affirmation that it is valued, at least by people in my weird little guild of EdTech researchers.

But is there also value in non-traditional, more informal publishing venues? I think so. And, when push comes to shove...are these going to be more impactful for practice for educators than peer-reviewed articles that are likely to end up behind a paywall or in an academic library on a university campus? I'm thinking that this is likely the case.

The real problem for me is time. I have lots of ideas of things I'd like to research and write about. I'm most limited by the amount of time I have to dedicate to this work that I find so enjoyable! So this prompts the question for me: where should I devote my limited time? Peer-reviewed writing for my guild that is more reputable and reliable, but less likely to be accessed? Or informally-published work that has less prestige, but might have more widespread impact? 

Regardless of the answer to this question, I hope I'll keep doing both for the foreseeable future. And I know I've got a couple of books in me too...it's just a matter of finding the time to start writing them!

Image by Mohammed Hassan via Pixabay

Giving Up on a Book

I have a stubborn streak. The folks who know me quite well will not be surprised at all to hear this. It plays out in lots of different ways in my professional and personal life. 

It even comes out in my reading habits. I am unlikely to give up on a book, partly out of sheer stubbornness. Even if it's a slow-mover, or not capturing my imagination, or just really, really dense...I'm usually tenacious enough to stick with it.

Stubborn, see?

But there have been a few notable exceptions.

In high school, I was assigned to read Moby Dick. I tried. I really, really tried. It's the only book I was assigned in high school that I did not finish reading. (Sorry, Mr. Sjoerdsma...I tried...) There was, of course, no googling in the days of yore of the early 1990s. I didn't even have the Cliffs Notes; I just muddled my way through, and tried to not get called on in discussions of the readings.

As a former science teacher, I tried reading Darwin's On the Origin of the Species. I made it through about 20 pages before the tyranny of the urgent crowded out the reading. So I'd like to say that it wasn't lack of interest, but rather the density of the text and the language that made it a challenge to devote the time. I really should come back and try this one again, but it hasn't been compelling enough for me to bring it to the top of the reading list for me again. (Yet?)

And then there is Ready Player One. I have this one on my bedside table right now. I checked it out from the library weeks ago. I have heard such great things about this book; it seems like everyone I've talked to who has read it loved it, and they just rave about it. It took me a week to even crack it open, and then I read a few chapters. I just didn't get into it. I've tried getting started with it again several times...and I'm just not into it. I even renewed the book from the library to give me a little more time, but I think it's going to go back to the library unread.

Why do I feel guilty about giving up on a book? I do feel guilty, somehow. I know that all of the reading specialists out there say that if kids aren't into a book, we should normalize letting them drop the book and find something else to read. But I am having a hard time with this, even after all these years.

Is it just stubbornness? That's probably 90% of it. But I think 10% of it is is that I wonder if "the part where it gets good" is just around the bend?

How about you? Do you give up on a book if you aren't feeling into it? Or do you keep slogging?

Photo by Karolina Grabowska via Pexels

On the Death of My Clicker: A Reflection on Technology and Pedagogy

At the risk of sounding ridiculous...I am grieving a small loss in my life. My faithful clicker that I believe I purchased during my last year teaching middle school science (in 2009) has died. It's a small grief, but I truly am sad about this.

Alas, dear Keyspan...we salute you.

Why grieve this ancient piece of technology? All right, grief might be too strong a word for it. But I did love this tool, and I used it well for a long, long time. The laser pointer still works, but everything else, from the forward and back buttons, to the volume controls, to the mouse buttons...all dead. I changed the batteries, just to be sure. No joy.

The clicker is kaput. A faithful tool that served me well for 13+ years...no more.

Why lament it's passing? Maybe it's just because it's so comfortable to use? Maybe it's just because it's so familiar to use? 

It's funny, the relationship we have with our tools. A quote often attributed to media theorist Marshall McLuhan (but I can't find a source for it?) gets at this: "We shape our tools, and thereafter our tools shape us." I find this to be true in so many ways. The old saying is that if the only tool you have is a hammer, every problem begins to look like a nail, and I think this is often the case with educational technologies as well--the tools we have at our disposal so often shape our thinking about what is pedagogically possible. 

With the death of my clicker, I have found myself much more closely tied to the podiums of the classrooms in which I teach. I don't like this much. I prefer to move around the room, getting a little closer to my students, teaching from the back of the classroom, or the side, or roaming around. The clicker represents some pedagogical freedom for me, I think. It shapes my behavior in the classroom, because it makes different things possible for my use of a slide deck. And without it, I feel more tethered--constrained, even. But notice that I didn't give up my slide decks, just because the tool that gives me more freedom in the classroom geography is finished. The technological ecosystem is disrupted, but not demolished by the removal of one tool from my toolbox. I think this is something worth thinking about.

Every tool has affordances (things it makes possible) and constraints (things it makes difficult.) Perhaps this is why I'm grieving the loss of the clicker a bit...it allowed me to expand the use of other technologies that I like to use when I'm teaching. The clicker's affordances expanded a few things for me, and made me, I hope, a bit more effective in my lecturing.

So, here's to the Keyspan, which served me well for so long! Rest in peace (or is that "rest in pieces?")

Ah, and...of course...I ordered a new clicker as a replacement. And this one has rechargeable batteries, and a green laser instead!

First Day Jitters and Joy

It's day one, again. 

It's my 10th first day teaching at Dordt.

It's my 24th first day of teaching, overall.

It's my 40th first day of school in my life(??!!)

I still get the first day jitters. The anxious excitement of meeting up with students is still real. It's still palpable. The anticipation of what is to come, the joy of meeting up with new students, and the fear of the yet-unknown things I will encounter all come together. I want it to be a great experience for my students. I want it to be a great experience for me too.

There are some things that have become "normal" for me as an instructor. I have some go-to moves that I use on the first day, and a lesson plan for the first class meeting in Intro to Education (always my first course of the semester!) that is dialed in, tightly planned, and gets students both actively involved and gives them a feel for who I am as their teacher and how the course "works." 

And yet...

...I feel the jitters.

Teaching is work full of anticipation and excitement and all the "maybes" that haven't yet found fulfillment, at least not for this time through the syllabus. It's meaningful work. It's joyful work.

Obligatory first day of school photo, yeah?

Class went great today, by the way. The first moments flew by, and I got the jitters out.

Students were responsive, and interactive, and seemed excited to be there too.

All good things...and their jitters seemed to be relieved as well.

Day 2 tomorrow...fewer jitters, probably. Just as much joy, almost certainly!