By JAMES K. FITZPATRICK
During the years I taught high school, I never quite got over feeling some guilt when I showed a film in the classroom, even when I was convinced that the film provided dimensions to the topic I could not replicate with one of my lectures or question-and-answer sessions. How could I provide with my words a more valuable experience than, for example, films depicting the construction of Europe’s great cathedrals or Winston Churchill walking the streets of London during the Blitz?
My feelings of guilt were rooted in how much easier it was for me to simply turn on the projector and watch the film with the class, than to get up in front of the room and struggle to hold the attention of a group of teenagers who wished they were somewhere else. I felt as if I was slacking off.
These thoughts came to mind when I read an article in February issue of The Atlantic by Paul Barnwell in which he describes how computers may be on the verge of changing classroom teaching. I am not sure yet whether I consider the change a good or a bad thing. See what you think.
Barnwell writes, “Leaving my school building the other day, I had an unexpected realization: Perhaps a computer was a more effective teacher than I currently was. The thought unnerved me, and still does as I’m writing this. I’m a nearly 13-year veteran educator dedicated to reflecting upon and refining my teaching craft. But I’m now considering the real possibility that, for at least part of a class period or school day, a computer could — and maybe should — replace me.”
Barnwell describes what he means: “For the past several weeks, I’ve begun class with a simple routine: Students enter the room, log on to the ‘Reading Plus’ program, and spend roughly 20 minutes working at their own pace. I stroll around the room and help with technology troubleshooting or conference with students, quietly chatting about academic progress or missing work. I’ve also found myself pausing, marveling at what this program promises to accomplish: meeting students where they are academically and, at least in theory, helping a wildly diverse group of students improve their literacy skills.”
Note what Barnwell is doing, and not doing. He is not going to the back of the class and drinking coffee while the students sit and interact with a computer program. He is not goofing off. He is circulating around the room, talking to students individually, helping them with specific issues that they have with the topic on their computer screens. It is similar to what teachers in the past would do when they handed out mimeographed worksheets.
But he is not standing in front of the room with a piece of chalk in his hand speaking to his class as a group. He is not doing the things for which teachers in the past were evaluated for their effectiveness.
Barnwell understands the implications: “Developments in education technology promise to assist teachers and school systems in supporting struggling students by providing individualized instruction. But at what cost? As a teacher, it’s difficult to adapt to and embrace a machine that — at least for part of the time — takes over for me.”
But he now thinks that is a good thing. He gives an example: “My third-period sophomore English class at Fern Creek High School in Louisville, Ky., contains a wonderful mix of students hailing from the neighborhood and around the globe — my students represent Jordan, Afghanistan, Democratic Republic of Congo, Tanzania, Russia, and Mexico.” It is not an uncommon situation for modern classroom teachers.
“With this diversity also comes a huge range of student ability. Computerized reading assessments and other benchmarked tests reveal that roughly 90 percent of my class is behind grade level in reading. How could I possibly create 27 customized lessons for them?”
He believes that his computer program may be able to do precisely that: “During the independent, silent work periods at the start of my class, the program adapts to students’ reading speed and comprehension ability, creating a customized scrolling illumination — imagine a rectangular flashlight beam only highlighting the text your eyes scan. Many students seem to embrace this moving target; at the least, they are more physically engaged with reading than ever before, and the program seems to be motivating a clear majority of students.”
Barnwell sees the potential downside. He understands that relying upon the computer for “personalized learning” can become “inherently impersonal.” He agrees with those critics who maintain that relying upon computer programs for instruction can lead to “less human interaction in favor of customized screen time,” and that students who rely on “screen time” for their educational experience may lose the ability to “communicate verbally.”
He wonders if students in the future will have the “the shared experience and discussions after reading the same text,” such as when his classes “analyze Kurt Vonnegut’s short story Harrison Bergeron or The Color Purple together. Whether struggling students are better off graduating from high school having been remediated by personalized-learning software versus more dynamic learning experiences, even if their reading skills marginally improve, remains an open question.”
His conclusion: He hopes for a “blended approach to teaching and learning — the combination of using technology-assisted activity and more traditional face-to-face methods.” He does not want classroom teachers to become “facilitators” whose job is nothing more than to assist their students in interacting with the computer. Yet he is convinced that teachers in the future will play a role far different from that of the movie character “Mr. Chips.”
But then it has been many, many years since high school teachers have had classroom experiences resembling those of Mr. Chips. I can remember colleagues of mine joking that they wished their classes were like those on the television show Welcome Back, Kotter. Some readers will recall that this show was supposed to represent a group of inner-city students with disciplinary and learning problems. My colleagues would joke that at least the students on the television show would wisecrack about the topic being discussed in class — and wait their turn to do so, a far cry from the worst classes in a modern high school.
Barnwell closes with the following: “As I write my lesson plans for next week, I chunk out the daily time needed for students to engage with their personalized learning. I tell myself I’m still needed for the 45 minutes they aren’t tracking the illuminated scrolling target. I can still do my best to impart a love of writing, attempt to spark passions, encourage curiosity, foster discussions, smile, laugh, and interact with the students in ways a screen can’t, even if Reading Plus ‘knows’ more technical information about their reading levels than I ever could.”
I would add that Barnwell’s description of computer-assisted instruction could provide food-for-thought for software producers and those who direct religious instruction and CCD programs in parishes around the United States.
The parents and other volunteers who teach many of these courses are well-meaning and dedicated individuals, but not always well-versed in Scripture studies and Church doctrine. Nor are they usually trained teachers. They may welcome becoming what Barnwell called “facilitators.” Computer programs have the potential to provide great help to them and to the parishes they serve.
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Readers are invited to submit comments and questions about this and other educational issues. The e-mail address for First Teachers is fitzpatrijames@sbcglobal.net, and the mailing address is P.O. Box 15, Wallingford, CT 06492.
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