Higher Education Observer

 In a beginning-of-the-year faculty development session, the speaker introduced us to Adverse Childhood Experiences. We did a strange and possibly intrusive but actually helpful exercise. The ACEs were listed on a sheet of paper, and we were to check off the ones we had. Then we crumpled the paper, threw it a box, and they were redistributed. We were then supposed to stand up for the number of ACEs the person whose crumpled paper we received.  I did a similar experience in my class, trying to say, "There are other people here who have had similar experiences" as you. There were other questions about their struggles in the semester, again, trying to let them see, anonymously, that other students have similar experiences and they are not alone. OR UNIQUE, which many of them think they are.  It was an attempt at solidarity and connection. Did it work? I don't know, because I didn't want to ask. I don't want to be intrusive. Thoughts on this?

I am a participant in a research program for a dissertation on OER and OEP. I have to respond in writing to three sets of questions and will be interviewed next Friday by the researcher. I am going to share some of my reflections in answer to the questions here.  The question had to do with  I wanted to get a little more insight in OEP; I had a sense of its meaning but resorted to Wikipedia, and the article cites Catherine Cronin, Iain McClaren, and others from the scholarly literature:   “OEP is a broad concept which can be characterised by a range of collaborative pedagogical practices that include the use, reuse, and creation of OER and that often employ social and participatory technologies for interaction, peer-learning, knowledge creation and sharing, empowerment of learners, and open sharing of teaching practices.” That’s what I thought, but it did give me a basis. So to answer the question, in this particular class, I would say I am empowering learners by creating and using

 My w hole life needs a constant reframing toward positivity.  I am reminded of Martin Luther's first of 95 theses:  When our Lord and Master Jesus Christ said, “Repent” [Matthew 4:17], he willed the entire life of believers to be one of repentance. I do not take this to mean, as perhaps Luther did, that we are constantly sinning and need to repent in sorrow every minute for our errors and disobedience. I take it to mean we must constantly "recalibrate": reflect and get back on track.  We are like a car with really bad alignment, and if we don't consciously hold the steering wheel and make choices in the minute, we are going to go off the road. Course correction is needed, and sometimes that includes confession and forgiveness; Luther is probably correct that we need it more than we think we do and more than we practice it.  As for me, my "car" goes off the road to negativity. Daily practicing positivity is getting my tires aligned, not just fighting the bad

 I think a lot about the process of reflection. It's kind of my thing. I really don't think we professors do enough of it. Because even done right, it's painful (don't worry, I know I am using fragments. I can smell one a mile away, which annoys my students.) By "done right," I mean balanced. One conclusion from my dissertation research was that there is too much "rush to judgment" and "negativity" in reflection. "What did I do wrong and what can I do to fix it?" This violates good manners to oneself and the reflective thinking process we were all taught back in the 1970s (and still works, thank you very much). Why don't we start with reviewing the good? Actually, reflection should start with a deep dive of the whole experience. If I come out of a class that was a disaster (my immediate feeling), my first response is "oh, heavens, what am I going to do?" when it should be, "How did I prepare, how did the student

This is a post from a MOOC I am taking.  The prompt was "How can the concepts of identity, privilege, power and positionality manifest differently in the face-to-face versus online learning setting"? Well, to be incredibly basic, in f2f we can see everyone, so we and the students can’t hide in F2f. I am reminded of the old New Yorker cartoon of two dogs on computers. One says, "On the Internet, no one knows you're a dog." Honestly, in online, a student can make up a whole persona if they like, as long as they do the work. That's somewhat harder f2f. And that lets our latent prejudices come out.  And we can have latent prejudices about any number of things, many of which we are not fully conscious. That is somewhat slower to happen in online, but it still can. If you use video, if a person has an ethnic name, if they tell their story (I had an online student in jail last semester), if, if, if . . . prejudices and biases come out, and there’s

 Once a professor gets on the online teaching train, there is no getting off... For me it has become an obsession. I feel this massive obligation to my online students to be checking in with them several times a day, at any hour I am awake. I do it not long before I go to bed (which doesn't always mean sleep, but at least winding down) and within a half hour after rising.   Why? Well, I am over conscientious anyway, foolishly so. But there are other reasons: Online teaching gives one a lot of flexibility. I don't have to be in a room with them 3 hours a week. If I want to take the afternoon off and make up for it after dinner, I can (and often do).  The students expect it, and since they are usually working jobs, they need the professor at odd times, with legitimate questions (like last night, a glitch in the test, my fault).  Creating a robust online course means things go wrong (again, human error) and have to be addressed.  And then there are the almighty course evaluations,