Earl’s Library of Universal Knowledge. Thanks to roberthuffstutter on Flikr for making this image available.

OH. MY. GOSH. THIS. IS. GOOD! Read this: A Letter From a Hybrid Student

Then think about these two points that Teo makes:

1) “…it takes courage to assert that one’s life is a legitimate classroom.”

2) “Our lives are our source material; our histories, a text worthy of exploring in community.”

Then consider that Prior Learning Assessment allows this assertion to gain ground and to have higher educational value – that is, that students can articulate their life-as-classroom learning and earn college credit for it.

We could say: “Good for you, you know a lot! You are learned! You are intelligent! You are knowledgeable!” Which is all true.  But the message that often comes with that (mostly from employers) is also, “…but you don’t have a degree.”

PLA addresses this issue – it helps students claim and earn credit for their knowledge (some say it legitimizes knowledge that adult learners come to college with, but I don’t believe that this knowledge is illegitimate prior to a credit or two being associated with it).

Just watch these student videos – hear their perspectives, their voices. Did they get credit for their experience? NOPE – for their learning!

Life is a legitimate classroom.

Here is a recent article that speaks to PLA, and a quote from me about how it can have quality and integrity:

College Credit Without College

Sleazy prior learning practices still exist, says Melanie Booth, dean of learning and assessment at Marylhurst University.

“There are some PLA programs out there that look like credit laundering,” she says. For it to hold water, “you’ve got to translate your experience to academic knowledge.”

– WE BREAK HERE FOR A TEACHABLE MOMENT –

Hear that students of mine? Peer Review! Yep – just like we do in our class, this process asks us reviewers to use criteria (“standards”) to assess how well we think an institution is doing based on their self-assessment report (called a “self-study”), interviews with lots and lots of people (including students), and direct evidence (such as meeting minutes, syllabi, catalogs, etc.) And you all thought I came up with peer review as a way to lighten my paper-reading load. NOPE – it’s about learning with and from others.

BACK TO MY POINT …

First, let me share with you a few fun facts about serving on an accreditation team. For one thing, you get to travel to beautiful and exotic places. For my first visit, this was my office:

For the second, this:

(Ok, ok. I took those pictures while on accreditation visits, but I really didn’t get to hang out and work right there, in the midst of that beauty. Well, except for the top one. I really did write half the report looking at that view. But of course, that’s not always the case. To be fair, I’ve heard colleagues talk about writing accreditation reports from truck stops and Denny’s restaurants.)

Serving on a peer review team is a fabulous learning experience. I learned not only from the institutions I visited, but also from my teammates. I have new ideas and strategies to bring back to my institution, and a new set of colleagues in my network. When serving on a team, you get to know other folks from other institutions who are serving with you, and because you may be tackling tough problems together in a condensed period of time (often working together into the wee hours of the night), you tend to get to know each other pretty well. In both cases this spring, I developed neat collaborative relationships with the team members, and many of us still keep in touch.

The peer review part of accreditation can present learning opportunities for an institution’s students too. A student at one institution covered the accreditation visit by writing two stories for her campus newspaper to help her fellow students know what was happening. The first was a “hey, they’re coming” story, and the second was a “hey, I had lunch with them” story. Read them here:

University makes progress with accreditation renewal

Food for thought: Accreditation luncheon

Finally, if institutions are amenable to constructive feedback (as we all should be) and if they see the process as one of genuine self-reflection and assessment in order to keep doing what works and change what doesn’t, they learn and improve too. To be clear: the reports are not easy to write or put together; looking in the mirror and calling attention to your flaws isn’t exactly a party (though you also get to call attention to your beauty marks, and identifying those can be rewarding). My own institution is a great example of the learning and improvements that can come from the process.  We have made huge improvements in how we educate and serve students since our last accreditation visit as a result of our self-assessment and feedback from peers about our practices. And it’s all good because it’s all learning.

All in all, accreditation sometimes gets a bad rap because it’s tangled into real and legitimate issues of compliance, accountability, and in some cases fear. A recent column in The Chronicle of Higher Education makes a compelling point for why faculty should get involved accordingly:

But it’s time for college and university faculty to start paying attention to this seemingly dry issue. Further, it’s time they joined the effort by administrators and accreditors to resist the government’s increasing intrusion into accreditation. That intrusion endangers both academic freedom and the unique American system of separation of the academy from the state.

Ultimately, if we really want to improve higher education, and if we want opportunities for learning and developing networks with others, participating in a regional accreditation process can be a great way to do so. If anything, through our participation and engagement, we can help accreditation be focused on learning and improvement for everyone, including regional accrediting agencies themselves.

"This Is Art, Not Food!" Artist: Mac (4 years old)

The OIA Blog (a blog written by the Office of Institutional Assessment of SCAD) published a piece called Abstraction in Art and Assessment. These two key paragraphs struck a chord with me (I added the bold for emphasis):

It became clear to me that the more abstract an image is, the more I can focus on its essence.  I will not become distracted by the details of the content, but instead focus on the overall beauty of the  shapes and colors.  Taking the focus away from technical mastery, modern movements bring to focus the main reason why I choose to look at art in the first place -  the emotion attached to looking at something familiar in new light.  This same thought explains why I value program assessment.  Program assessment, when done right, should allow faculty to look at their student’s course work – the same course work they grade in class -  in a new light.

The relationship between modern art and more traditional forms of art is a great metaphor to explain the relationship between program assessment and course assessment.  Program assessment (or modern art) is a more abstract form of course assessment (or traditional art).  Program assessment should evoke the essential features of student work -  the technique, the process, and the level of creativity and maturity – in order to measure how well the program is meeting its standards.  On the other hand, course assessment details every element of an assignment (scale, color, spatial awareness, supporting documentation, installation, etc.) in order to provide student’s with specific feedback for improvement.  Neither type of assessment is better than the other, both are equally important 1) because they provide information for different audiences and 2) because they are dependent upon each other.    Just as Miro’s expression of form in The Dutch Interior is dependent on the content in Sohr’s The Lute Player, so are the overarching themes of program assessment inextricably linked to the multiple elements of a course assessment.

The idea of using program assessment to see student learning in a new light is intriguing, as are the analogies of modern art to program assessment and traditional art to course assessment. I especially appreciate the idea that assessment in the course is feedback intended to extend students’ learning and development.

My main take away from this post is really about the importance of aligning our intentions across the different levels of learning and assessment. Are our intentions for student learning in courses aligned to our intentions for student learning in our programs and then, across an institution? If the intentions — often stated as learning outcomes — are in alignment, then we can see the trees (assessment of student learning in courses), the forest (program assessment), and the entire ecosystem (institutional assessment). And as the OIA article points out, indeed, we may use different lights and different lenses to see and to appreciate learning at each level.

RECOMMENDED RESOURCE

The Levels of Assessment white paper from AAC&U is a helpful overview of alignment of learning and assessment at various levels, and is a resource I often use to think about the relationships between individual student learning, learning in courses, learning across programs, and what the institution as a whole intends for student learning.

O this learning, what a thing it is! ~Grumio in Taming of the Shrew, William Shakespeare

Twice this past month I’ve heard the word “fear” used by faculty when referring to their experience of assessing student learning in their courses. One person described it as fear of students disagreeing with their grade or feedback, or generally unhappy with the judgment the instructor made about their work and requesting explanation and justification (much of which could be alleviated, I thought, if the instructor made the criteria transparent to students, or even better, if the criteria were collectively developed with students, but I digress…).

Thanks to Jimee, Jackie, Tom & Asha on Flickr for making this photo available for use.

The other person described her fear that she lacks the ability to discern quality and to really be able to tell what a student has learned. She described her lack of confidence in using a writing rubric to “judge” what about a student’s writing, as exemplified in a single assignment, is exceptional and what is developing (and every shade of grey in between). I appreciated her honesty with this challenge; I’ve certainly faced it as well (though in my case, “fear” was not a word I used to describe what I experienced as a “bleepin’ assessment conundrum!”). Nonetheless, her description reminded me of something from Parker Palmer’s The Courage to Teach: “Teaching is a daily exercise in vulnerability.”

So, too, is learning.

I am pretty certain that learners fear assessment as well, which is truly unfortunate and totally not necessary, and in the end, adversely affects our ability to learn. When faculty work from a “gotcha” perspective, of course assessment is something to fear! I remember a Shakespeare course I took in college that made me have night terrors; I couldn’t sleep that term because that class and that prof were seriously scary. Our final grade consisted of our scores on 5 tests: a test after each unit (comedy, drama, history, and what was the other??? – poetry, I guess), and the big ugly final exam, 3 hours of closed book / closed notes mental torture. These tests were tricky because they were designed as “gotcha” tests (including the essay part of the tests, for which we could use only one side of a single piece of unlined white 8.5 x 11″ paper to address the topic, for no clear reason other than the prof didn’t want to read more than what could fit in this designated space). It was always obvious from the smirk on his face and comments under his moldy breath that the curmudgeonly old prof enjoyed this process. These tests didn’t in any way advance or enhance my learning (I memorized a lot of Shakespeare that term but I didn’t learn any of it except for a few random quotes I can pull out of my head for cocktail parties or blog posts); they didn’t help me appreciate Shakespeare in new ways, or connect important themes or ideas to topics I was interested in. They freaked me out! Why was that necessary?

And now there is something else to fear: David Brooks, writing this op-ed piece in The New York Times, has called for value-added assessments.

Colleges have to test more to find out how they’re doing . . . There has to be some way to reward schools that actually do provide learning and punish schools that don’t. . . This is the beginning of college reform.

To which I reply: ARE YOU SERIOUS? How will THIS advance learning on the part of students, and on the part of faculty and institutions? Punish schools that don’t. Really? Punishment creates fear; punishment creates distrust. And fear and distrust do not promote learning — for students or any of us! I don’t disagree that we need to know how we’re doing … we do! We really, really do! But I absolutely believe that this approach is completely antithetical to actually promoting learning (note that I didn’t say “producing” learning, the term Brooks used, as if learning were something that gets assembled on a conveyor belt). This approach will foster fear; fear inhibits learning. Period.

Colleges (and faculty) have to remove fear first — this should be the beginning of college reform. I think it was Shakespeare who once wrote:

Things done well and with a care, exempt themselves from fear.

Thanks to Claudia M&M on Flickr for making this image available for use.

Joshua Brown, the editor of Research & Practice in Assessment (published by the Virginia Assessment Group), wrote in his From The Editor column in the Winter 2011 issue this interesting idea about assessment paradigms:

Whereas Western art focuses upon the freedom to move images around on paper or canvas to create fixed patterns, origami ignores the separation between the image and the paper. The paper becomes part of the image, and is twisted and folded until it is the picture, not merely the surface on which it lies. -John D. Barrow, The Artful Universe

Just as the artist of origami has a different approach to perceiving the relationship between image and paper, the thematic focus of this issue invites inquiry as to whether assessment might adopt similar connecting paradigms. In establishing and executing assessment initiatives, there are places where our focus is predominantly one of separation – our rubrics have multiple levels of competencies, item correlation allows us to maximize the efficiency of our scales, and purpose statements or objectives are arranged in a structured hierarchy. We strive for increased validity and reliability, but even good research techniques possess implications regarding their social, psychological, and educational contexts. There is an ongoing tension between focusing on the trees while at the same time giving appropriate attention to the forest.

As such, it is worth considering, to what extent can assessment also function as a mechanism that connects broader realms rather than one which at times is noted for solely focusing on measurement or standardization? In addition to its dominant descriptive or defining properties, is it possible for assessment to also possess generative properties? [bold added here for emphasis] I am not positing these philosophical assessment questions to establish rigid dichotomies. In fact, it may be more beneficial for me to ask these of my own assessment practices. While aiming to achieve the utilitarian ideals of efficiency and effectiveness, is it also possible for me to construct my assessments in a manner that advances good human behavioral, educational, and social theory? Is it really possible for me to look at a Scantron sheet in a manner that resembles the philosophical paradigm of the origami artist?

The paradigm of the origami artist … assessment as generative, as learning … paper and image as one … learningteachingassessmentlearningteachingassessmentlearning.

This poses assessment as a part of learning; learning as a part of assessment; the two entwined in meaningful ways. Not assessment of learning, but for and as learning.

From here on out I will see myself as an origami artist, connecting paper and image to become one, to generate, to advance, to learn.  In fact, perhaps the best use of a Scantron sheet might be to fold it into a bird so that it might fly away … far, far away.

2nd (and 3rd, and 4th) chances are vital. From Indexed.

Venn diagrams such as this are a great way to show intersections. I’ve been playing around with a few of my own. Here’s my latest:

My experience with downhill skiing

It clearly shows the relationship between three things that should probably never be put together. Sometimes learning and progress are a result of keenly understanding your own limits.

Case in point:

Next week my parents (known for the last 4 years as GG & Bapa) are coming to hang out with Mac while I leave town to do an accreditation visit and then tack on an “only 2 of us” vacation with the spouse.  We’ve been billing this week as “Grandparent Camp” to Mac for a while now and he’s getting pretty excited, especially since he received GG’s syllabus in the mail and we’ve been talking about all the things they’ll do.

Take a look:

Obviously, this is the syllabus for an experiential learning camp.  It aligns nicely with this not-too-shabby wikipedia definition for such:

Experiential learning is the process of making meaning from direct experience.^[1] Simply put, Experiential Learning is learning from experience. The experience can be staged or left open. Aristotle once said, “For the things we have to learn before we can do them, we learn by doing them.”^[2] David A. Kolb helped to popularize the idea of experiential learning drawing heavily on the work of John Dewey, Kurt Lewin, and Jean Piaget. His work on experiential learning has contributed greatly to expanding the philosophy of experiential education. Staged experiential learning is often called a Dynamic Learning Experience (DLE) in certain high hazard industries.

It might actually become a Dynamic Learning Experience as sometimes dealing with my willful 4-year old can be like working in a high hazard industry, and because something tells me Mac will excel at “T”. GG may need a long sabbatical after this camp, and Bapa may need more practice in the “N” area to recover.

See? DNA. Now you know where I get it.

Intentionality is on my mind a lot because I think that assessment can be more interesting, engaging, and powerful (for learners and teachers) when it’s less about measurement and accountability and more about supporting authentic learning practices. In this vein, assessment can be an interesting catalyst for reminding us to be intentional in what we do and how we do it — and in knowing why we do what we do.  Being intentional means thinking about each and every aspect of a course we teach or program we facilitate to do our best to ensure it lines up to what we’re hoping people will learn from it. The short article How To Study Your Own Teaching (And Why You Might Want To), by Janine Utell, speaks to this very idea:

I’ve developed strategies to create good discussion, to facilitate broad and deep involvement, and to synthesize the contributions of the classroom community. I feel like my classes are going best when the room is a bit rowdy, when interactions lead to debates and eurekas. But due partly to assessment work on my campus and partly to collaboration with colleagues in a different discipline around designing a study of student writing, I decided to create a project of my own to investigate the effectiveness of my practice. I wanted a more robust picture of what’s going on in my classroom and whether it’s working.

Utell wants to see her practice differently because she wants to make sure what she does is working. (And like many of my best teachers and colleagues, reflecting on her teaching practice and pedagogical commitments is likely part of her DNA and happens with less intentionality as well).

Intentionality. With thought. Deliberate. Designed. Purposeful.

Intentionality certainly has its role in my yoga practice as well. In early January, my yoga teacher asked a group of us to define one thing we each wanted to focus on this coming year in our practice.  It was a sort of New Year’s Resolution moment. And I knew right away:  I need to focus on squaring my hips in poses such as Warrior 3 or Pyramid.

This is not me - my hips are not this square. Nor do I practice yoga in a place like this. I live in Portland - we practice rain yoga. So thanks to rfarmer on Flickr for making this image available for use!

My hips always want to go way off to the side, and I thus don’t get the benefit of the pose when that happens. By stating this intention, and with self-assessment and my teacher’s coaching and assessment in each session, I maintain that intentionality, and I am improving. I can feel it. It’s on my mind constantly in any pose that requires me to get squared. If yoga is about anything for me, it’s about intentionality. And it’s about seeing myself differently.

Intentionality. With thought. Deliberate. Designed. Purposeful.

Parenting my 4-year old is also a practice in intentionality — and learning and assessment — as well. Let me illustrate:

A few weeks ago Mac and I went to the zoo and found a friend in this fellow. Mac had been having a hard time with his own swimming attempts recently, freaking out at the thought of going under the water, so I seized the moment:

Me: Mac, why don’t you ask him why he likes to swim underwater so much.

Mac: Mr. Sea Lion, why do you like to swim underwater so much?

Mr. Sea Lion: blurb blurp bubble blurp

Mac: Mama, he says it’s fun to swim to the bottom and see all the kids down here.

Me: Wow, neat! I wonder what you can see when you swim to the bottom of the pool.

Mac: That’s silly mama. I can’t see anything. My eyes are closed!

WHAT? Mac always wore goggles in the pool – why did he close his eyes? What did he think the goggles were for? A fashion statement? To hold his hair back? I pointed out that with his goggles on he could open his eyes and see the bottom just like the sea lion, and – EPIPHANY!

Mac: Really? If I open my eyes in my goggles I can see down there?

Me: Yep – and you won’t get water in your eyes!

Mac: Cooooool! That will be really good, mama!

And the next time in the water, with his goggles on, he opened his eyes, swam to the bottom, and fetched a toy. Just like Mr. Sea Lion. Intentionality helped us out here, again. It reminded me that we often take things for granted and don’t question them for a long time until we have opportunity to see them differently.

Intentionality. With thought. Deliberate. Designed. Purposeful.

It’s good to see things differently – with our eyes open.  (If you’re in need, Mac has a pair of goggles he’ll let you borrow if you’d like – if you open your eyes under there, you might be amazed at what you’ll find.)

Learning, however, is not.  Ooops!

Thanks to colleagues on the POD list serve for pointing out this gem.

Entry #1: How do tower cranes get assembled?

Answer #1: Watch this video to see how a tower crane self-assembles.

Answer #2: Watch this video to see how it’s done in a crowded city with strong people assembling the crane. (Mac pointed out that some of the guys are not wearing helmets or harnesses, and thus this is probably not a very safe way to do this activity. See, I told you our nogs are prattling! This is also a great example of transferring learning: Mac doesn’t know much about construction, but anyone who rides a bike without a helmet gets his firm disapproval. He even thinks helmets are important enough to casually wear around the house, and frankly, he’s right!)