Coffee Talk: Class Discussion as Formative Assessment

When we talk about formative assessment, what usually comes to mind is a quiz, a ticket out the door, or a temperature-taking tactic like "thumbs-up/thumbs down."  Sometimes when I am feeling a little extra, I break out a Kahoot.

However, my favorite kind of formative assessment is the kind where students don't even realize that it's happening. I love it when students let their guard down, and instead of trying to produce The Correct Answer, they show me what they know. This is why I am a fan of using class discussion as a form of formative assessment.

Whole-class discussion works well enough on the fly when I am tired of the sound of my own voice, but it's far from perfect. Foremost, there are always a few students who regularly chime in, but there are many more students who are all too happy to sit back silently and let others do all the chatting.  I also find that many students don't feel comfortable in this setting to ask for clarification of a point, and so, again, they may sit back silently, hoping that the clouds will part and a ray of sun will illuminate whatever is confounding them. Another issue I experience with whole-class discussion is that, because I am the one leading it, students are less likely to take risks with the ideas they share. Instead, they are inclined to say what they think I want to hear.

A strategy I find myself relying on more often than when I first started teaching college is small group discussion.  Think-pair-share is a great strategy because it takes very little preparation. Sometimes I'll step up my game and grab the Student Sorting Pencils from the CTLE. These allow me to keep the groups moving in unexpected ways by breaking them into groups by color, numeral, or symbol. This method takes a few minutes of prep time, but it feels more exciting for everyone than being asked to turn and talk to a neighbor.

In these small group discussions, I am able to hang back and listen to what students are saying. Students seem to feel more comfortable asking classmates for clarification on a finer point that they might not ask the whole class. They also feel more comfortable calling me over for 'official' clarification. In small group discussions, I can overhear not only whether or not they understand the material, but I can listen to their thought process as they arrive at an answer. Furthermore, if I am tired of the sound of my own voice, surely they are too. The small group discussions break up the class time and allow students to relax a little.

Even in these small groups, when I sidle up to them, sometimes the conversation will cool, like I've removed the lid from a boiling pot. I don't know if they are worried that I might overhear The Wrong Answer and frown disappointedly? Or maybe they think I am there because I want to chime in, so they are making space for my interjection? Either way, I regularly find myself assuring students that I am just listening in and to continue as though I am not there.

One discussion strategy that has been collecting dust for the last semesters is the Socratic Seminar. Although this strategy takes more than a few minutes of preparation--not only on my part, but on the part of the students as well--it solves a few issues that whole-class and small-group discussions present. In a Socratic Circle (where an inner circle of students discusses prepared questions, and an outer circle of students thoughtfully observe and jots notes), I am not the leader of the group. This clears the way for students to strengthen their connections to one another as they share ideas and moderate their own discussion. Furthermore, I don't have to meander around the room to eavesdrop--I can take a seat at the back of the room and listen. They all but forget I am there when the discussion gets rolling. This is a safer space for students to share their thought processes and to take risks than in an instructor-lead discussion. Finally, students seem to like it. Win-win.

With each of these small(er) group strategies, I am able to use the authentic information I gather from students to shape future lessons or to know when to slow down and revisit a concept that seems to be tripping them up.

The opportunity to compose this post has set the gears in my mind turning. Most instructors use Socratic Seminars to facilitate a discussion about something the class was assigned to read, but I don't see why this strategy wouldn't work in a writing lesson. Maybe students could examine a sample essay or could talk about small portions of student drafts in a modified peer review. I'll let you know what comes out of these lesson plan ponderings.

I'd love to hear your tips and tricks for using discussion as a formative assessment. Do you use Socratic Seminars in your courses? What is your favorite strategy for class discussion?

Moore's Diner: Where Inclusivity is Always on the Menu

I have this friend who, a few years ago, found herself in the hospital receiving treatment for a heart condition. Everyone who knew her was dumbfounded. She had lived her entire adult life as not only an avid runner but as a vegetarian. There was no one I would have been more surprised to learn had a blockage in her heart.

My friend is in great health today. Her treatment was successful, and the doctors said that her condition was genetic. In response to the incident, however, she graduated from a vegetarian diet to a vegan one.

Now when we get together for a bite, ordering at restaurants has become, shall we say, more complicated. Sometimes when the waiter comes to our table, she orders something from the menu apologetically asking for a few adjustments here and there. Sometimes the cooks will rummage around in the kitchen and pile something suitable on a plate. (Voila!) Sometimes she ends up with a disappointing bowl of lettuce and balsamic vinaigrette.

But sometimes? Sometimes we will open the menu and there will be vegan options hanging out right there amidst all the other entrees. On those occasions, we smile, feeling welcome, and turn our attention more pressing issues, like catching up on each other's lives.

If my classroom were a restaurant, I would want it to be the kind where every diner's needs have been considered before they walk through the door. I would want to be the kind of restaurant where no one has to ask the cooks to conjure up something on the fly. No one should feel like they are an inconvenience because they need something different than the "typical customer" in order to be successful.

I believe that inclusion means building an accessible classroom before a student who needs those accommodations ever enrolls in the course.

In recent semesters, improving the accessibility of my classroom has become one of my missions. Thanks to workshops in the CTLE, and talking with other instructors who are doing the same, I've learned how to make sure my syllabus and course documents are accessible to all students, including those using screen readers. I've learned how to edit the transcripts for the YouTube videos I post for my online classes, and I've begun to turn on Closed Captioning for all videos I show in my in-person classes, regardless of who is seated in the room. I've also begun to share a link to my Google Slides presentations with all students in the weekly overview in Canvas, not just with those who ask me for a copy of my notes. Building these habits into my teaching routines now means that I am ready for any student who joins my class. I won't have to scramble to build new habits in order to support their success in my class.

I know that building a culture of inclusion is an ongoing process--no one is ever really done with this task. However, I am proud to say that I am making progress every semester.

Cheers to that.

"Put Me In Coach"

When I was a kid, I had a knack for finding the spot in the outfield or on the basketball court least likely to see any action. I would stand, shielding my eyes from the relentless Arizona sun, contemplating which Catholic saint was the correct one to call upon to deliver me from gym class. Sometimes, despite my best effort, the ball would find me anyway, and I would feel the eyes of my classmates upon me as I failed to execute whatever maneuver was required of me. Each perceived failure just confirmed for me that I did not belong in the world of physical fitness.

Here is a short list of things at which I did excel in my youth:

• daydreaming
• listening to a cassette tape of The Cure's Disintegration
• napping
• finding the right word in my rhyming dictionary to complete that couplet
• snacking

Given the theme of this blog post, you might assume that I am here to tell you about how, one day, I found the inspiration that would guide me as an educator within the pages of some book as I sat reading, alone in my childhood bedroom, P.E. be damned. This is not the case. In fact, I draw a great deal of inspiration for my approach to teaching from the world of fitness--precisely because I've always felt like an outsider in that environment.

Somewhere along the road to adulthood, I begrudgingly decided that I needed to exercise. I tried a number of different approaches to physical fitness over the years. I tried working out to DVDs in my living room with an audience of Cheerio-eaters lounging behind me on the couch. I tried running bleachers at Phoenix College. (There were so many ways I could have killed myself doing this.) I tried working out with a friend at LA Fitness. No matter the setting, I always carried with me those feelings of anxiety and a mean little (adolescent) voice in my head telling me that I don't belong.

About a year ago, I decided to try yet another new approach to cardiovascular health: I began taking classes at an Orange Theory Fitness near my house. I showed up with my dossier failures in sports and exercise tucked under one arm, and all my pet anxieties trailing obediently behind me. My experience at OTF, however, proved to be different. The students in class each week represent a diverse range of ages, body types, and physical abilities. The coach welcomes each of us with a high-five and remembers our names. When the coach offers a correction to a student's form when performing an activity, it is done with kindness, and in a spirit of helpfulness. I keep coming back because the coaches make it clear that every student in class belongs there, and that we are all striving for progress, not perfection.

Sometimes while I am panting through a hill on the treadmill, I think about what great teachers the OTF coaches are. With a little kindness, some high-fives a few accommodations, they have helped me to get out of my own way so that I can focus on my health. 

Every semester, just for a kick, I ask my classes who among them wants to become an English teacher. I have never had a single hand rise into the air. The students in my classes are not interested in spending their lives unlocking the mysteries topic sentences or MLA citation style for others. In fact, many of the students who show up to class on the first day feeling like outsiders to the world of English. Many of them carry around memories of a class they took where their paper was returned to them, bleeding red ink. Or one where they felt out of place because English is not their first language. Or one where they stopped coming to class because they were simply too anxious to complete the semester.

These days, I channel my inner Orange Theory coach. What can I do or say in class to show my students that they do, in fact, belong here? How can I help them to set aside their anxieties, quiet those voices in their heads, and start forging a new relationship with the world of words?

I think of my coaches, and I work to build a welcoming community in my classroom through friendly smiles, genuine interest in the lives of my students, some goofy memes, and an abundance of high-fives.