Origami Connects More Than Pieces of Paper

The first homeschooler I ever met was an avid origami enthusiast. I've no idea how many kids learned the art of paper folding from Mileva, but I imagine there must have been hundreds. She taught her own kids who, when they were old enough, ventured into the public schools and shared their craft with others. My kids and I learned how to fold simple origami boxes under her tutelage, and we in turn taught our friends. Even though the results weren't always worth saving, we enjoyed losing ourselves in the meditative practice, focusing intently on sharp creases and perfectly aligned edges.

Mileva introduced us to Origami USA, a national society devoted to origami. Although I originally contacted them to get bulk rates on origami paper—necessary when your kids are going through stacks of the stuff—I also appreciated the informational resources and sense of community they fostered. Discovering fellow enthusiasts was part of the fun. While we were studying the diagrams and feeling mystified by the instructions (often written in Japanese), we thought about our relatives in Japan and the Japanese friends we had made through the Labo International Exchange Program.

I have fond memories of a wonderful, sunny afternoon spent in the company of an elderly woman at an event hosted by the Japanese American Citizens League (JACL). The unassuming woman sat at a table and quietly demonstrated fold-after-fold to a steady stream of visitors. Young and old learned how to create beautiful stellated octahedrons (12 pieces of paper; pictured right) and icosahedrons (30 pieces of paper). These projects, which seemed impossible to us at first, quickly grew into a habit-forming routine—all thanks to this lovely demonstrator. We filled our house with polyhedrons.

I'm sure Mileva, a brilliant woman with an aptitude for mathematics, used various origami lessons to teach her children about geometry. Rectangles, triangles, parallel lines, right angles—it was all there, somewhere, in the art of paper folding. While her explanations of math through origami might not have impressed someone like Robert Lang (TED Talk: "The Math and Magic of Origami;" website: Origami Mathematics), her creativity and enthusiasm inspired many fans. My kids and I were among them.

Unlike Mileva, I didn't use origami explicitly for math instruction. However, I suspect origami nurtured my kids' natural interest in patterns and connections: if they could take a two-dimensional sheet of paper and turn it into a three-dimensional object, what else might be possible? Origami fostered their ability to visualize a shift from 2D to 3D, which in turn seemed to ease their later studies of molecular structures, fractals, and chaotic systems. Skills such as tenacity and attention to detail—essential for success at origami—also happened to be quite useful for math—and life.

Origami is a good metaphor for the way we learn as homeschoolers. It's something we can do alone or with others. It appeals to us artistically, intellectually, and practically. We respond to the challenge with a desire for mastery and understanding, and we devote ourselves to the task. When our first attempt is unsuccessful, we try again or from a different angle. If we get stuck, we consult books or experts or online tutorials. And, sometimes, we just have to feel our way around and hope for the best as we nudge pieces gently into place.

There are many things worth doing, but we can't always see the value in advance. Sometimes, we have to trust what feels right, give in to our creative impulses, and avoid worrying excessively about outcomes or assessments.

Origami Resources
Interested in learning origami? Check out Origami Spirit (includes YouTube tutorials) by Leyla Torres. She recently posted "Twelve Lists of Top-Notch Origami Video Tutorials." Her videos range from simple to complex, and her enthusiasm for origami is contagious.

For anyone who would like to learn how to fold a simple, modular origami "ball," I found these helpful instructions by TheZocar on YouTube:

Can a Class Be Too Small?

In his book, David and Goliath: Underdogs, Misfits, and the Art of Battling Giants, Malcolm Gladwell opens a can of worms when he asks the question, "Can a class be too small?" When it comes to the number of students in a classroom, most of us assume smaller is better. I know I do. The low student-to-teacher ratio makes sense to me intuitively: the fewer students a teacher has in his or her class, the more individualized attention each student would receive.

And yet, Gladwell argues that "The small class is potentially as difficult for a teacher to manage as the very large class size." To test his theory, Gladwell polled a large number of teachers in the United States and Canada. In David and Goliath, he quotes some of those teachers as they offer plausible explanations for why small class sizes are problematic:

• Interactions are too intense. While there are, presumably, fewer interactions in a small class for a teacher to manage, the interactions that do occur are more difficult to handle. "There is simply no way for the cantankerous kids to get away from one another." There's no place for students to hide. According to one teacher, "the students start acting 'like siblings in the backseat of a car.'" 
• Insufficient "critical mass" for discussions and group activities. As a middle school teacher explains, "students are awkward and self-conscious and anxious about seeming too smart. Getting them to engage . . . can be 'like pulling teeth.'" Also, as one teacher states, "It's difficult to play games . . . the  momentum just isn't there." 
• Lack of peers at a similar academic level within a class.  In a really small class, it is harder to find others who are just like you. There are no subgroups. Complains one teacher, "The chances that children are surrounded by a critical mass of other people like them start to get really low." As one teacher explains: "What you need [as a student] is to have people around you asking the same questions, wrestling with the same issues, and worrying about the same things as you are, so that you feel a little less isolated and a little more normal." 
• Lack of diversity in discussions. Fewer students means fewer (if any!) participants in a discussion. If the group is too small, "it's like they have a muzzle on." 

The magic number for class size, according to the teachers Gladwell polled, seems to be between 18 and 30 students. Since I have trouble understanding why a teacher would actually prefer to work with so many students at one time, I would like to contrast my experiences as a homeschooler with the experiences of the teachers Gladwell interviewed. The main question I'm attempting to answer is this:

Exactly what is it about certain settings—in particular, the various discussion-based classes that are taught by homeschooling parents like myself—that makes small class sizes desirable?  

(Although my response is necessarily based on my experiences as a home educator, I imagine there are many other situations where small class sizes are preferable, too.)

Excuse My Absence: November Is National Novel Writing Month

For the past couple of years, I have set aside time during the month of November for National Novel Writing Month. Although I've yet to take my "novels" to the next stage to have them published, I have enjoyed the process immensely. One of the highlights of my years of home educating has been to participate in NaNoWriMo with my kids.

I have to thank my kids for this. They were the ones who discovered NaNoWriMo. When my oldest daughter was around 15 and an avid writer, she successfully completed the challenge: writing 50,000 words in 30 days. Her younger siblings, who were only nine and twelve at the time, entered the competition, too. Although they didn't reach the 50,000 word goal that first year, they got a taste for writing that stayed with them.

Teens Reflect on Pros and Cons of Social Media Use

Recently, I asked a group of homeschooled teens to complete a questionnaire about how much time they spend using social media (texting, instant messaging, emailing, posting on Facebook, talking on Skype, gaming, and watching videos). Unlike the stereotypical teens I hear so much about, this group of adolescents did not seem particularly attached to their devices—I rarely saw them with a phone in their hands, for example—so I suspected they were less apt to engage in technologically-mediated conversations than their schooled peers. However, what I learned about their use and perception of social media surprised me.

Thriving in a Hybrid Course

When I began this year with plans to teach a course on "Thriving in the Digital Age" (for details, see my earlier post), I wasn't sure how well it would work. Would I be able to create a hybrid course, a combination of digital and face-to-face learning?

(A little background: For the past five years, I've been co-teaching courses designed for a small group of homeschooled students. The actual composition of the group has changed slightly over the years as families have come and gone, but the format has stayed pretty much the same: with two parents as co-teachers, we've organized weekly discussions, student presentations, and team debates. In between classes, students have worked mostly on their own or in pairs. The only online portions were the websites, which I created for posting assignments and other course information. The students checked the websites perhaps once a week.)

The Testing Effect

Testing is a controversial subject. But, in spite of the controversy, kids who attend school are routinely tested and retested. They are quizzed, assessed, examined, graded and ranked in every grade and every subject. Given our cultural obsession with testing, it's almost inconceivable for teachers or administrators to think of education without also thinking of testing. It seems inescapable.

How did we ever become convinced that testing is the best way to ensure that learning takes place?

As a home educator, the idea of testing was foreign to me. I raised my kids from birth to age six without ever testing them, yet they learned to walk, talk, read, sing, dance, knit, bake, sew, write, and more. How is it possible that they could have mastered so many things without being tested on them? I don't know. They were curious; they learned. I tried not to interfere too much.

Building a Community

When I began homeschooling, back in 1997, I had no idea what it would be like. I knew only one other person whose children did not attend school, and she lived several towns away. During the week, my neighborhood seemed quiet and empty, as all my neighbors sent their kids to local public or private institutions. I tried to ignore the nervous feeling that threatened to erode my confidence. Was I going to go crazy at home? Would my children become isolated and strange?

How were we going to meet people and make friends if there was no one around?


If my kids had attended school, their community would have been defined primarily by where they lived. In contrast, as I commuted to distant towns to meet with homeschoolers for group activities and field trips, I observed that town boundaries mattered far less to us than shared interests.

It seems we were part of a trend. A 2006 report from the Pew Internet and American Life Project, "The Strength of Internet Ties," describes similar changes in the way Americans in general have begun to view their communities:

"Instead of disappearing, people’s communities are transforming: The traditional human orientation to neighborhood- and village-based groups is moving towards communities that are oriented around geographically dispersed social networks. People communicate and maneuver in these networks rather than being bound up in one solitary community."

As a home educator, I knew I was not without a community. There were thousands of homeschoolers in New Hampshire, and over a million in the United States (according to this data from the U.S. Dept. of Education). It was just that, instead of being confined to one town, my community was scattered across the state and around the world. So, how was I to get involved?

Lessons Learned from a Debate About the Reading List for an English Class

It all started when my son's English teacher—an extraordinary mentor and all-around wonderful guy named Curt—sent email asking parents and students for their feedback on a list of books he was considering for the upcoming year. Unlike a requisite high school English class, this group was composed of seven homeschooled teens ranging in age from 15 to 18 who had been studying together for the past two years. They were accustomed to working collaboratively with their teacher and each other. Without the carrot-and-stick incentive of grades to motivate them, they had reason to make sure the books would be ones they'd feel inspired to read. So, when Curt asked for feedback, it was a genuine request for responses. 

Here's the list he proposed:

• The Shipping News by E. Annie Proulx
• The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver
• Death Comes for the Archbishop by Willa Cather
• The House of the Spirits by Isabel Allende

Now, before you say what most people say ("Oh, those books are wonderful!"), let me stop you. I am aware that these are all distinguished works by well-respected authors. The Shipping News won a Pulitzer, and The Poisonwood Bible (a finalist for the Pulitzer) happens to be a personal favorite of mine. As models for writing fiction, they all have something to offer, from character portrayals to magical realism.


However, as I looked at the list, I could not imagine my son, a fairly typical teenage boy, enjoying a single one of the selections. His taste in literature runs more toward Terry Pratchett, Kurt Vonnegut, Neil Gaiman, and Catch-22 by Joseph Heller. So, although I should have known better, I decided to be his advocate. 

I wrote lengthy emails explaining why I thought he would dislike the books. Of course, I conceded, there's no harm in reading a few books you don't like, but was it reasonable to ask him to slog through over 400 pages of Allende's prose? I suggested other books he might like better. I asked whether it might be possible to read brief excerpts, a few chapters, to get a sense of the style. Curt waited patiently to see how others (particularly the students) would respond.

What Makes Attending a 4-Year Residential College Worth the Cost?

On a recent tour of Tufts University, I was impressed by the way our guide described his own experiences as a full-time, residential student. There was something about his passion that seemed genuine. He said he liked Tufts because it was a place where "smart is cool" and "everyone is a geek." He talked about meeting other students who were so passionate about their disciplines that "you should sit down before asking them about their research," because you would almost certainly be with them for a while. He described the frequent, positive interactions between faculty and students, interactions encouraged by the school's SPIRIT (Students and Professors Integrating Recreation, Intellect and Teaching) FUND, which pays for the (non-alcoholic) drinks when a faculty member invites a student to an on-campus cafe. He recounted serendipitous experiences, such as going to talk to a professor about a concept mentioned in class and getting so involved in the conversation that the meeting eventually led to a life-changing research internship.

I felt inspired, but also puzzled. I'm sure my son would love to attend a college where faculty are truly "caring and accessible," and students are "interested in serious intellectual discussions, but don't take themselves too seriously." Who wouldn't? What I had trouble understanding was why those qualities were considered noteworthy. Given the extraordinarily high cost of tuition, why aren't most college students highly motivated and engaged? Why is it an anomaly for a student to be interested in serious academic debate? Or for faculty and students to be interacting as equals?

Choices: Too Many, Not Enough, or Just Right?

What could possibly be wrong with having lots of choices? Choices acknowledge our individual differences: when we advocate for choice, we promote diversity, creativity, and critical thinking. As a parent and home educator, I favor creative alternatives to traditional forms of education—choices!—because I have met many students (my own children included) who do much better when they are not forced to conform to a single, prescriptive approach to learning. I have frequently argued that being able to choose for oneself is empowering, especially when it comes to education. Thanks to advances in technology, open educational resources, and online courses, hundreds of thousands of adults now feel empowered to pursue higher education on their own terms and schedules.

So, choice is good; but, what about too many choices? Recently, when I wanted to learn more about blogging, I used Google to search the Web, and I was presented with over 127 million results. Which ones were worth my attention? Later, when I needed to buy sunscreen, I made the mistake of going into a Walmart "superstore" and was stymied by the number of brands and varieties they sold. How is a person supposed to choose from so many seemingly identical choices?

It was after these two experiences that I came across Sheena Iyangar's TED Talks on "The Art of Choosing" (2010) and "How to Make Choosing Easier" (2011). She describes what happens when we are faced with "choice overload," and how some of our assumptions about having an abundance of choices can actually make us miserable. While we Americans like to believe that "the more choices you have, the more likely you are to make the best choice," in practice, people tend to second-guess their choices and thus suffer from guilt, frustration, and even depression as they dwell on the choices they didn't make.

 

Looking back on my experiences as a home educator, I can see how having an abundance of choices has hampered me at times. When I first began homeschooling, I had to decide what sort of method and materials I wanted to use. The New Hampshire Home Education law (RSA 193-A) allowed me to choose any approach or curriculum as long as it consisted of "instruction in science, mathematics, language, government, history, health, reading, writing, spelling, the history of the constitutions of New Hampshire and the United States, and an exposure to and appreciation of art and music." I could also choose which of those subjects to teach each year as long as the annual evaluations demonstrated that my children were "making educational progress at a level commensurate with their ages and abilities."This freedom was both liberating and daunting. How was I ever going to choose the best educational materials from the wide selection available? (Consider: a single homechool curriculum vendor, the Rainbow Resource Center, offers over 40,000 educational products, and there are many other curriculum vendors.) Once I had chosen, would I be plagued with doubt, wondering whether I should have chosen differently?

Are You Drinking Water From a Firehose, or Casting a Line Into a Stream?

As part of my research for a high school course on "Thriving in the Digital Age" (course website), I have been reading Net Smart: How to Thrive Online by Howard Rheingold. In Chapter 2, he writes, "The real-time Web is not a queue . . . but rather a stream. Don't even try to keep up. Learn to sample." He goes on to describe techniques for sampling, by "tuning your antennae for the right signals" and "bringing the right information to you."

I felt a sense of relief as I read this. For weeks, I had been struggling to assess the overwhelming variety of Web 2.0 social media tools. Naively, I was trying to review every tool and learn everything there was to know, and I felt like I was drowning in a sea of information. "So," I thought to myself, "this is why people frequently compare using social media to drinking water from a fire hose." I needed a new approach, and Rheingold's mention of a stream opened my eyes to a different (though still watery) metaphor.

 I began to picture a beautiful stream, beckoning to me, inviting me to cast a line into the water. I thought about my husband, an avid fly fisherman, and how relaxing it is to watch him practice his art. The graceful motions inspire feelings of patience, serenity, inner calm and, on a lucky day, the thrill of the catch. It's not at all like the image of a fire hose, which I associate with scary, high adrenaline experiences: buildings in flames, mobs out of control, intense pressure and violent release. I would prefer my experiences in the online world to be more like catching fish than catching hell. I'm looking for quality, not quantity.

Rheingold writes about the importance of mindfulness when we use technology. To avoid unnecessary distractions, it helps to decide in advance what we hope to achieve in a given day, or year, or lifetime. Sure, those pictures of kittens are really adorable, but how much time do we want to devote to them? When, where, and how do we want to focus our attention? Ideally, online tools should help us to filter, organize, and limit the content that fills up our screens and lives. Used wisely, they can be as useful to us as the right fishing lure is to a fisherman.

An article from Steffan Antonas, "Drinking from the Social Media Firehouse—Six Lessons Learned," offers sage advice on how to use social media in a sane and meaningful way. He reminds us that "Social media interactions are meaningful only if you’re sharing remarkable ideas, being memorable, helping people achieve their goals, connecting to people and (most importantly) converting those connections into real offline relationships."

Obviously, we have to be selective about what we consume and create. The question is: do we want to be the ones doing the selecting, casting our lines strategically, or are we content to wait and see what hits us in the face at random? When I take time to learn how to tailor an RSS feed, set up a dashboard, or use tags and keywords to filter news reports, I feel it's time well spent. Like an experienced fisherman selecting the right lure, I can increase my chances of hooking something of interest while allowing everything else to flow past. Of course, I won't catch everything, but that doesn't need to be the goal for the experience to be rewarding.

Pushing Beyond the Comfort Zone

The only thing I enjoy more than a great TED Talk is a compendium of great TED Talks, all thoughtfully woven together with clever commentary and interesting interviews. That's why TED Radio Hour, hosted by Guy Raz, is without a doubt my favorite NPR program.

The most recent TED Radio Hour, "To the Edge," focused on adventurers who push themselves to their limits at the edges of the world. The program featured a polar explorer, a spelunker, a woman who rowed across oceans, and a high-wire enthusiast. Of all the stories, Roz Savage's ocean-going adventures fascinated me the most. Here was a woman who had been working in an office for many years until, one day, she decided to cross the Atlantic Ocean—in a rowboat. I mean, really, who does that?

Coincidentally, at the moment I tuned into the show, I had just been thinking about ordinary acts of bravery. My homeschooled son was away from home, living and learning for five full weeks at the Advanced Studies Program at St. Paul's School. The program is known for being intense, challenging, and extremely well loved. Past attendees (my younger daughter included) rave about it with a devotion bordering on zealotry. 

Thriving in the Digital Age

I've fallen behind on my postings but have been working steadily on plans for the course I described in earlier posts. The website for the course, Thriving in the Digital Age, is now available for browsing! Although the course is still a work in progress, most of the overall framework is solid at this point.

I've made some changes to my original plans. In Building on TED Talks: A Course for High School Seniors (Part I), I identified four tentative themes for grouping the talks and readings:

1. How We Think About Ourselves
2. How We Think About and Use Technology
3. How We Relate to One Another
4. How We Offer to Help Those Who Need It

I've since changed the themes for the course slightly to suit the needs of the students who will be participating. After discovering that one of my students was planning to take a college course on Global Social Issues this fall, I decided that much of what I had in mind for the fourth theme ("How We Offer to Help Those Who Need It," which included TED talks and related books by Jacqueline Novogratz, Dan Pallotta, Paul Collier, and Melinda Gates) would be too redundant. In a way, this was a relief to me: I was already worried that the focus of the course was too broad, and I was searching for a way to narrow it. Also, two of the books I was considering—The Bottom Billion by Collier, Charity Case by Pallotta—seemed as though they might not be a good fit for a few of my other students. 

So, I set aside the fourth theme, did some reorganizing, and ended up with the following themes instead: 

1. Empowerment, Personal and Political. What makes us feel empowered (or disempowered)? What types of situations or social conditions encourage more people to participate (online, face-to-face, at work, in our communities, or in general)? How does the internet influence who participates—and how and why do people feel empowered to do so? Why are some people effective leaders, able to motivate people to get involved, while others are not? (This theme is essentially a combination of "How We Think About Ourselves" and "How We Relate to One Another" from my initial planning phase, described above.)
2. Harnessing the Power of Distributed Expertise—How can we optimize our use of massive amounts of aggregated data and collective human brainpower? Major topics include Wikis, gaming, crowd sourcing, hive mind, and "cognitive surplus" (a term coined by Clay Shirky). The emphasis here is on intellectual collaboration.
3. Using Technology Mindfully for Sharing and Collaboration—How is technology changing the way our society functions, or how we are meant to coexist within our society? How might it alter the way we acquire, use and dispose of our "stuff"? Major concepts to be discussed include collaborative consumption, sustainability, open source, and (time permitting) "Sensible Cities." The emphasis here is on economic collaboration.

To explore these themes, I've found wonderful TED Talks and RSA Animates (posted on the Videos page), books (listed in the Syllabus), and websites. I'm excited about the idea of using student and class blogs to encourage discussions outside our weekly class meetings, so I've also added a page on Blogging. And, inspired by Howard Rheingold's admonishments to use technology mindfully, I've recently added a light-hearted page on Procrastination (with links to TED Talks by Vik Nithy, who offers advice on how to stay on task, and Dave Windass, who extols the merits of procrastinating). 

Currently, I'm working on developing ideas for class discussions and projects. I'll post more on those later.

Are Video Games Helping or Hurting Our Kids?

For as long as we've had computers in our house, my husband and I have struggled with decisions about how often (and for what purposes) our kids should be allowed to use them. Like most parents, we tried to shield our kids from inappropriate online content and potentially harmful contacts, and we regularly encouraged them to go outside and "play in the real world." 

At some point, though, it became obvious that the benefits of allowing kids to use computers outweighed any disadvantages. As someone who has used computers productively for many years, I couldn't see the point in telling my kids they couldn't use computers at all. So, my questions about computer usage soon changed from "whether" to "what" and "how much." While my kids were still young, I supervised their usage and tried to steer them to safe websites or games that seemed educational (such as Reader Rabbit, Treasure Mathstorm!, and The Oregon Trail). However, as they got older, and the video games got less "educational," I started to worry about how much time they were spending in front of a screen. Had I made a big mistake in allowing those games into our home?

I admit there were days when I was tempted to pull the plug and ban video games entirely, but then I was reminded (probably by my kids) of my interest-led approach to homeschooling. Did I really believe what I had been saying about allowing children to follow their passions? If my son was fascinated by video games, shouldn't I try to learn something about them? Did I really know enough to pronounce them "a waste of time"?

My reason for writing this blog post is to share what I learned about gaming. First, I recommend the following two articles, which debunk the most common myths about video games:

• "Reality Bytes: Eight Myths About Video Games Debunked" by Henry Jenkins. An essay on the impact of gaming. Accessed from the PBS companion site for The Video Game Revolution, KCTS Television, 2004.
• "Video Games Don't Cause Children to be Violent" by Michael D. Gallagher, U.S. News and World Report, May 10, 2010. 

Starting with Why

"All leaders must have two things: they must have a vision of the world that does not exist and they must have the ability to communicate it." —S. Sinek

I've recently finished reading Start With Why: How Great Leaders Inspire Everyone to Take Action by Simon Sinek. His TED Talk ("How Great Leaders Inspire Action") interested me for several reasons.

1. As a home educator, I have worked to inspire not only my own children but also others who have questions about home education, such as: What do I need to know to teach my own children? Where do I find curriculum? How can I start my own support group? 
2. As someone who would like to see better alternatives to traditional education, I am curious about why some teachers in schools are able to inspire students while others are not. By studying what makes teachers effective leaders, perhaps I can become a more inspiring teacher myself.
3. As a mentor, I wanted to explore Sinek's ideas about leadership so that I could share those ideas with young adult students who are interested in becoming leaders themselves.

Leadership isn't just for CEOs and Presidents. As Sinek describes it:

"Just about every person or organization needs to motivate others to act for some reason or another. Some want to motivate a purchase decision. Others are looking for support or a vote. Still others are keen to motivate the people around them to work harder or smarter or just follow the rules." 

When Your Students Know More Than You Do

As a home educator, I quickly discovered that one of the problems with using a pre-packaged or "canned" curriculum is that they are usually sold by grade level. For each grade, standardization prescribes a specific set of topics within arbitrary categories (such as "math," "science," and "social studies"). There are various pros and cons to this approach, but one of my main concerns is that there's little consideration for what a child may already know. If the curriculum is designed for a preschooler who has had little exposure to the world, lack of novelty may not be a major concern: most of the material in a packaged curriculum will likely still seem new (although not necessarily interesting); however, for a high school student who has grown up with access to the internet, there's a very good chance that large portions of the curriculum will cover familiar subjects. Not surprisingly, students who aren't learning anything new are likely to become bored and may even resent being "taught" something they could just as well teach themselves.

I've always enjoyed pulling together a custom curriculum. I'm thankful to writers like Rebecca Rupp (author of Home Learning Year By Year: How to Design a Homeschool Curriculum From Preschool Through High School) and others who have helped me with the do-it-yourself approach. I've seen how home educators who are willing to create their own curriculum can build on what their children already know. They save time by avoiding unnecessary repetition and seize opportunities to connect one learning experience to another. Almost unconsciously, we draw on our families' existing knowledge and shared memories to enhance our understanding of new problems and concepts.

Similarly, when I have offered brief workshops or year-long classes for homeschoolers, I've generally either known all of the kids well (as friends of the family) or have had an opportunity to get to know them as I continue to offer classes, year after year. This makes it easier for me to choose topics, readings, and activities that are most likely to interest them. There is, however, a difference between assuming I know what these kids will want or need to learn and asking them to tell me. Even if the kids are my own, or are kids I have known for many years, I usually ask them outright what they want to know or do. Recently, I made the mistake of not asking, assumed too much, and felt embarrassed by my ignorance.

I was busily planning a course on Digital Literacy (Building On Ted Talks) when I learned that several students who (I hope!) will be in my class next year were actively collaborating on a blog ("King Lear"). How exciting and humbling it was for me to discover that they were already sophisticated bloggers, skilled at writing interesting posts, incorporating eye-catching images and relevant links. Suddenly, my plan to ask them to read Tris Hussey's Create Your Own Blog: 6 Easy Projects to Start Blogging Like a Pro seemed lame. Sure, some of the other kids in the group—the ones who hadn't spent much time online or weren't yet experimenting with blogging—might need help, but they wouldn't need nearly as much tutoring or encouragement as I had imagined. They could just as easily learn from their peers as from me.

Now that I realize my mistake, I wonder what other assumptions I've been making. In what other ways are these teens "thriving online" (to use Howard Rheingold's phrase)? What do they know how to do, and what would they still like to learn? What experience or wisdom might I still be able to share?

I've started to re-examine my plans for next year. I intend to meet with the kids a few times over the summer to ask for their input, discuss what we will study, and decide how we will structure the class. Although I have some definite goals in mind, I'm trying to stay open and flexible.

In the future, I hope I will remember how essential it is to truly know students before imagining I have something to teach them. What interests them? What skills and subjects have they already mastered? What might they be able to teach me or their fellow students?

Reflections on the Learning Creative Learning Online Course

The final session of the Learning Creative Learning (LCL) online course, hosted by MIT Media Lab, was presented on Monday, May 13. I'm grateful I had the opportunity to participate in the course. It helped me to reflect on my beliefs about education: the power of interest-based learning, the "guide alongside" model for teachers and mentors, the advantages of open educational resources, and the importance of tinkering and self-discovery. 

I was glad to be reminded that learning is a two-way conversation, not only between teachers and students, but also as a process of peer-to-peer (student-to-student and teacher-to-teacher) collaboration. It's not enough to take in or "consume" information by reading, watching, and experimenting; we also have a responsibility to reflect on the process and share what we learn with others as we go along. Although many of us have a tendency to keep to ourselves (myself included), I know the LCL course would not have been nearly as good if everyone had chosen to "lurk" instead of posting their questions, reflections,  and experiences. I learned as much from the participants as I did from the course itself. For example, from one of my classmates (Shane Freeman), I learned about Problem-Based Learning at Sammamish High School: 



Shane also freely shared his creative presentation on "The Authentic Classroom." 

Like me, some people ended the course by writing their own blog posts on what worked well, what didn't, and what they learned (for example, see these excellent posts by Suzi Wells and Peter Taylor). Others added brief comments to the LCL Google+ Community, which in response to popular request will continue to be available for past and future participants.

Other classmates offered pointers to helpful resources, such as: the Rise Out blog ("High School Without High School," for Boston-area teens); the School of Open (free online courses); and Code.org (for learning how to program). TED Talks were popular for sharing, too: for example, Nima Zahedi directed us to the TED Talk, "Teachers Need Real Feedback," by Bill Gates:



This talk, along with the SurveyMonkey questionnaire I was asked to complete at the end of the LCL course, encouraged me to create a survey for my own course (The Real Wealth of Nations). By asking my students to give me meaningful feedback now, I am learning how to improve the way I design and teach future courses.

Although the LCL course has ended, I feel my studies are far from over. I plan to continue reading and writing about creative, innovative ways to teach and learn.

Building on TED Talks, Part II

In my previous post, Building on TED Talks: A Course for High School Seniors, I presented tentative ideas for designing a high school course that would be based on TED Talks. Since then, I have received some feedback, talked to parents and students, skimmed a collection of books, and considered various options. Based on my research, I've decided to revise my original plan.

Course Objective
My initial course objective was too vague: "Explore new ways of thinking by studying, discussing and reflecting upon a set of powerful ideas. . . ." What "powerful ideas"? Clearly, I had to be more specific. Otherwise, how could I create a cohesive TED Talk Playlist for the course? With over 1500 TED Talks in the full catalog, it would take me hundreds of hours to preview all of them. Even though I managed to haphazardly select some excellent speakers from nearly every one of the main TED categories (business, design, entertainment, global issues, science and technology), I could see how jumping from Susan Cain to Clay Shirky to Jacqueline Novogratz might be confusing to students if I couldn't make strong connections between these extraordinary speakers.

To improve the course focus, I asked myself two obvious questions:

• Exactly what "powerful ideas" do I want to share with the group?
• What do I hope everyone will learn by the end of the year? 

After considering these questions, I began revising my earlier plan to focus on three concepts: 

1. Democracy in the Digital Age—How does the internet influence who participates (and how and why do people feel empowered to do so)?
2. Collaborative Consumption—How does the internet alter the way we acquire and dispose of our stuff? 
3. Cognitive Surplus—In what way can we harness the power of aggregated data and manpower?

In addition to exploring these ideas, I would like to help students with blogging projects tailored to their own interests and aptitudes. My goal is to help them become more skilled at working with online content so they can (in Howard Rheingold's words) "thrive online." We can use the blogs to promote discussions within our class group; we can also consider how and why we might choose to use blogs to reach a larger audience. Hopefully, the blogging projects will provide "hands-on" experiences that will help to reinforce the major course concepts (digital democracy, collaborative consumption, cognitive surplus). 

Course Content

In a future post, I will provide a complete list of TED Talks and recommended reading for the course. Currently, I'm thinking of working with the following two books:

Net Smart: How to Thrive Online by Howard Rheingold (MIT Press, 2012) 

CreateYour Own Blog: 6 Easy Projects to Start Blogging Like a Pro by Tris Hussey (Sams Publishing, 2010)

Have you used either of these texts? Were they helpful to you? I welcome suggestions for alternative texts—ideally, inexpensive and straightforward—that explain how to use free online tools to create effective multimedia content for a range of purposes.

Building on TED Talks: A Course for High School Seniors

I have been co-teaching a class for homeschooled high school students for the past five years. The  course content has varied from one year to the next, but always our focus has been on learning about human society in different times and places, or what we broadly define as "social studies." So far, we have studied world history, world conflicts and international relations, political philosophy, U.S. history, and Early Modern European history.

Next year will be the last year for our group because most of the students (including my son) will be graduating and going on to college. For this reason, I would like to design for them an especially meaningful course, one that asks them to think seriously about their own place in the world, where they are now and where they are headed.

The rest of this post will provide a rough outline of what I have in mind (so far). I am interested in your feedback and suggestions on how I might make the course more interesting or worthwhile! In particular, what type of hands-on explorations, real-world experiences or "tinkering" might I be able to incorporate?

Homeschooling, Big Picture Learning, and the MET

Scholastic recently posted an interview with Daniel Pink (Motivation 3.0 by Dana Truby). In the interview, Pink mentions "The Big Picture Learning high school in Providence, Rhode Island" where "kids' interests dictate the curriculum." Kids who are dictating their own curriculum? Sounds like interest-based learning to me. My curiosity piqued, I used Google to learn more. 

I discovered that Pink wasn't talking about a single high school; he was referring to a whole network of schools that started with six small high schools in a state-funded public school district in Rhode Island. Additional funding for the schools came from a variety of sources, including a non-profit company called Big Picture Learning. The schools are referred to collectively as "The MET," and they serve as a model for 80 other schools across the United States (see The MET: Our History for details). 





Once I made the connection between Daniel Pink, Big Picture Learning, and The MET, I realized these schools were being talked about everywhere: The MET has been reported in the news repeatedly and was even praised by President Obama ("President Obama Praises the Met and  BPL"). 

Although I'm a home educator, I'm very interested in projects like The MET for two reasons: 

When Should You Pay for Learning?

"When should you pay for learning?" is a question most of us ask at some point in our lives. Home educators, who generally strive to keep expenses low, constantly perform a cost-benefit analysis to determine whether a particular resource or class will be worth the money. Parents, whether they homeschool or not, wonder if their kids would benefit from a private school or extra tutoring. High school seniors, planning for the future, wisely ask whether it is worth the high cost of tuition to attend college full time. Similarly, older adults weigh the expense of extra courses or special training against the opportunities for pursuing a new career or enhancing their weekly paychecks. 

Lately, the proliferation of free, online courses has encouraged people to think harder about what they are paying for when they pay for learning. Personally, my own experiences with online courses (both free and fee-per-credit ones) have been mixed. When I evaluate online courses, there are five factors I consider:

1. Content: How informative and engaging is the actual course material? Does it include only text and images (similar to a textbook) or are there also embedded videos and interactive experiences?
2. Expertise: Will I have access to a subject matter expert?
3. Social learning: Are there opportunities to learn with others who share my interest in a subject? What type of forums are in place for online discussions?
4. Motivation: Do I have enough self-discipline and interest to work on my own, or do I need a coach to push me?
5. Credentials: Am I studying this subject to improve my understanding or to improve my chances of being accepted into a program (or job) that requires a specific set of credentials? 

Course providers still seem to be in the learning phase, trying to design courses to meet a variety of needs. I believe online courses will continue to improve over time, and many are already quite good. Still, few succeed in doing everything well. That's why it's important to consider exactly what a course offers before spending any money.

www.AcademicEarth.org

Academic Earth, MIT OpenCourseWare, the Open Learning Initiative (from Carnegie Mellon University), iTunes University (with courses from  Stanford, Berkeley, and many other colleges and universities)—all these provide access to content in the same way that libraries give us access to books, but without the due dates or patron ID requirements. I can "take what I like and leave the rest," picking and choosing the lectures or subtopics I need from as many courses as I want. I can then remix the content to suit my own learning goals. If my main interest is in educational content, these free repositories serve my needs well. 

Free courses offered by providers like Coursera and EdX are similarly open to all, but they follow a predetermined schedule so the pacing is less flexible. While it is possible for students to participate as much (or as little) as they want to get what they need from the courses, the experience is less like accessing a library and more like attending a class—which can be a good thing, depending on what you want.

Fee-based online college courses (such as those offered by the Community College System of New Hampshire) package content in an inflexible way that limits access: I have to pay for an entire course, even if I'm interested in only a few topics within that course. "By the module" or "by the hour" options are not available, at least not yet. That's why, when I consider whether it is worth paying for a course, I consider how much of the course content will be of use to me (or my teenage son, who has also taken online courses). I'm also aware that my grade—and any credit I may be hoping to earn—depends upon how well I complete all of the assignments, even the ones that may not be of use to me (for example, if they cover material I have already mastered or have no interest in learning). 

When it comes to accessing expertise and social learning, neither MOOCs (Massively Open Online Courses) nor formal college courses have a monopoly. Quality in either case varies from course to course, just as it does on any college campus. As a consumer, I'm going to seek out the best experiences I can find, wherever they might be. The professors and students who participate in an online program at an accredited college might be uniquely engaged and knowledgeable, and thus worth the expense. However, since I have had some positive experiences with free online courses, I would also consider them as reasonable options for learning. I wouldn't assume a free online course is inferior just because it isn't expensive or accredited.  

If I'm looking primarily for extra motivation, I'm going to need an instructor or peer group that keeps me engaged. For example, when I wanted to be sure I would set aside time every day to write, I enrolled in a formal writing program. Likewise, my son enrolled in a formal Latin course with teacher support when he was required to study a second language because he knew he'd never do it on his own. The course helped him to stay on track. In contrast, when he was looking for a course in programming, a subject he was highly motivated to learn on his own, he chose to enroll in a free online course (MIT 6.00x: Introduction to Computer Science and Programming). The free course lacked formal teacher support but offered forums for asking questions and participating in peer-to-peer interactions. 

Depending on your goals, perhaps credentials are the most important consideration. We've all suffered through at least one boring, ineffective course just to get the grade or degree we wanted. Still, I doubt I'm the only one who believes it would be best if students could choose from the most engaging, educational courses available—regardless of where the courses were offered or how little they cost. But in practice students are inclined, or perhaps required, to choose the expensive course for credit over the free one for no credit. (Not long ago, I saw this truth in action when I audited an undergraduate course at a small liberal arts college in my area. There was no fee for auditing: I simply asked the professor if I could, and he said yes. The subject was interesting, the teacher was good, and overall it was a great learning experience. "So, why don't more people audit classes?" I wondered. I still don't know the answer, but the reaction to my decision to audit a class was revealing as astonished students asked me, "Why are you taking this class if you aren't going to get credit for it?")

So, why do we pay for learning? There was a time when we paid for access to high-quality content and expert instruction. Now, with vast repositories of online information available to us 24/7, we question whether it's worth paying $100 for a single textbook. While we're still willing to pay for expert assistance, we'd like to receive it on our own terms, as occasional tutoring or the educational equivalent of a technical support hotline (especially if those options cost less than hiring a full-time professor for a semester). We'll also pay for coaching to help us stay motivated. And, until other options for demonstrating mastery become more widely acceptable, we're still willing to pay to get official credit for taking classes, even if we wouldn't be willing to take those classes (for free!) without the credit. 

Not Close Enough: Using Google Hangouts for Group Discussions

As I type this, my son and his friends are using Skype to rehearse lines for their production of Shakespeare's "King Lear." This afternoon's practice was cancelled due to icy roads, and given how difficult it usually is to reschedule, an alternative was sought. While the kids can't do anything about the vagaries of New Hampshire weather, new technologies provide a reasonable alternative to meeting in person.

For those who are new to Skype and similar video-chat tools: video chat is faster than email, more personal than instant messaging, and cheaper than long-distance phone calls. Note: "video chat" refers to a one-on-one conversation; video conferencing is conducted with a group.

Google Hangouts uses a multi-user video chat room viewed through a browser. A few weeks ago, I made my first attempt at using Google Hangouts. According to the website, you can "video chat with up to nine friends." Perhaps I was naive, but I thought I would be able to see video images of all the people with whom I would be chatting (as this Google+ video implies). As it turns it, "your 'mileage' may vary."

Getting Started with Google Hangouts, April 2013

My goal was to hold a dynamic class discussion, where everyone would have a chance to talk and contribute, as they do during our usual face-to-face meetings. Of the seven people who participated in our Google Hangout, two were in the same building and five joined from remote locations. We quickly discovered that having two computers in close proximity distorted the audio significantly. To stop the annoying feedback and reverberations, we turned off the audio on one of the computers. That seemed to solve the problem.

Finding Creative Learning Spaces

Homeschoolers have the whole world to use for their "classroom," but most of the time we aren't looking for formal classes. Over the years, I have visited many different parks, museums, and public spaces with my children, and I have been surprised to discover how many places follow the traditional school format: an adult instructor stands in the front and tells a group of same-age children what to do. Few places permit children to enjoy open-ended, hands-on design experiences, and fewer still are appropriate for a wide range of ages. (Homeschooling parents with large families are especially cognizant of how near to impossible it is to segregate children by age for every workshop and outing.) Perhaps that's why my children have generally preferred to set up their own group learning experiences—such as the Backyard Ballistics project in the adjacent photo.

In her essay on "A Dangerous but Powerful Idea" (2007), Geetha Narayanan describes an after school learning center at the MIT Media Lab called the "Computer Clubhouse." She notes that the clubhouse has four core principles: 

1. Supporting learning through design experiences.
2. Helping youth build on their own interests.
3. Creating an emergent learning community.
4. Working always in a climate of trust and respect.

Are there any places in my own community that satisfy these criteria, I wondered? It wasn't easy to think of any at first, but I pushed myself to consider the options. 

FIRST (For Inspiration and Recognition of Science and Technology) seems like an obvious place to consider. Unfortunately, while it's true that FIRST "celebrates science and technology," it doesn't offer any open workshop hours. Kids must enroll in one of the competitive robotics programs to have access to the LEGO and robot components, and fees for participating are steep (although scholarships are available for some).

Social Learning: Deciding to Host a Study Group

We all have a basic human need to connect with others. Spending too much time alone is detrimental to our emotional, spiritual and psychological well-being. We're all aware of this, and so we make an effort to get out and meet people. As parents, we arrange "play dates" for our children and take them to social gatherings. As homeschoolers, we actively pursue opportunities for meeting and keeping in touch with other homeschooling families. Usually, friendship and a sense of community are the main goals, but there's an added benefit: "social learning," or learning through collaboration and discussion within a group. Studies have shown that learning with others is good for our intellectual development. As John Seely Brown and Richard Adler write in their article, "Minds on Fire" (Educause, 2008):

". . . our understanding of content is socially constructed through conversations about that content and through grounded interactions, especially with others, around problems or actions. The focus is not so much on what we are learning but on how we are learning."

What does this mean to us, as educators? It means we need to remember that studying and socializing are not necessarily separate things to be done at separate times. Like chocolate and peanut butter, they go better together. It isn't enough for kids to get together to play after all their studies are done. They also need opportunities to learn with, and from, each other.

Social Learning: From Play Dates to Study Groups

"What about socialization?" is a question every homeschooler is asked, usually more than once. The question is so ubiquitous, books about homeschooling typically include a section devoted to the topic (as one example, see Addressing Homeschool Socialization in Homeschooling for Dummies). Homeschoolers soon learn to ask for clarification: Is the questioner asking whether their homeschooled children have any friends? Or are they worried that their children will become social misfits? By now, enough research has been done to put both of these questions to rest (see Socialization: A Great Reason Not to Go to School by Karl M. Bunday), and my own experience during the past two decades supports the prevailing research: homeschooled kids enjoy a reasonable social life and possess decent social skills.

By the time they are three or four years old, kids show an interest in making friends. So, when my kids reached that age, I found or formed playgroups and arranged "play dates" for them. As they got older, I drove them to social activities: dance, music and art classes; book groups; scout meetings; science workshops; homeschool group "field trips" and science fairs; special days at nature centers, science museums, and historical landmarks. There was rarely a shortage of things to do or people to meet, and socialization wasn't a big concern.

I noticed a change, though, at around the age of 10 or 12. There were three new developments:

1. My kids began to crave meaningful, lasting relationships with a group of their peers. It wasn't enough for them to participate in large group activities with kids of all ages. Although those activities were fun, opportunities to make friends and "really talk," one-on-one, tended to be limited. 
2. They became more selective about their friendships. Unlike younger children, who seem willing to play with almost anyone they meet, my preteens wanted to spend time with people who were special to them in one way or another. They needed to find their "tribe." As they connected with a handful of friends who shared similar interests and a passion for life and learning, they favored time with those friends over other opportunities for "socializing." 
3. They wanted company during the long hours their more in-depth studies now required. They wanted to engage in serious conversations about what they were studying, and it was more interesting to learn with friends.

It was at this point that a handful of parents and preteens got together to brainstorm ways to combine academics with socializing. Without ever having heard of "social learning," we helped our kids form various study groups (book clubs and poetry workshops; cooking, sewing, science, and history classes). Most groups met once a week. The format usually included an adult mentor (one of the parents or an outside tutor) and four to eight kids whose ages were within a few years of each other. When it came to participating, maturity level mattered more than chronological age. From one year to the next, the group would change slightly as a few kids moved, went back to school, or graduated, and new members joined.

The Benefits of Open Learning

This past week, MIT Media Lab's course in Learning Creative Learning focused on "Open Learning," a term that means different things to different people. Webopedia defines open learning as "an approach to learning that gives students flexibility and choice over what, when, at what pace, where, and how they learn." Described in this way, open learning sounds like it could be another name for interest-based learning. 

However, "Open Learning" refers to more than an educational paradigm; the concept extends to all the freely available materials and resources that support an interest-based (or open) approach to learning. You probably use some of these resources already—Wikipedia, YouTube, Google Earth, Khan Academy—but there are more being added every day. 

As John Seely Brown and Richard Adler state in their article Minds on Fire (Educause Review, 2008), "vast [Internet] resources include the rapidly growing amount of open courseware, access to powerful instruments and simulation models, and scholarly websites, which already number in the hundreds, as well as thousands of niche communities based around specific areas of interest in virtually every field of endeavor" (p. 32). These "open educational resources," or OERs, have expanded learning opportunities for anyone with an internet connection. People from all over the world—and that includes homeschoolers—can easily access, use, adapt, and share high-quality learning materials.