On calculators

20131025-172618.jpgA friend on Facebook just pointed me at this article from the Atlantic. Well, not me specifically, but… y’know. Entitled “The Great Forgetting,” the article discusses the ways in which computer automation of various tasks has affected the ability of us reg’lar folks to learn and remember how to do complicated tasks. The article begins by discussing a few recent plane crashes in which the autopilot failed and the pilot, panicking, did exactly the wrong thing and ended up crashing the plane.

What really caught my attention, though, was his comment that the article made an argument against use of calculators in math classes. I’m not convinced of that. I don’t doubt that the author’s basic premise is strong; automation has eroded our ability to do certain things. To pick a less important example, I used to have dozens of phone numbers memorized; nowadays I’m only able to recall my wife’s with difficulty, and I couldn’t tell you anyone else’s if my life depended on it. Now, of course, I’m certain I could recapture this ability; I simply haven’t bothered. The author also mentions things like mapreading; I’d be more inclined to buy that if I thought most people were ever able to read maps. Most people were never able to read maps.

(Similarly, spellcheck. No, spellcheck isn’t eroding our ability to write. Over all of human history, most people haven’t been able to spell or write worth shit. Spellcheck has manifestly not made this worse. What has happened is that the digital revolution has exposed us to much much much more of our fellow humans’ shitty attempts at writing. I can show you some documents in Biblical Hebrew with misspellings if you don’t believe me, and for those fuckers writing was their job.)

Another interesting example he brings up, albeit briefly, is surgeons using machines. I am not a doctor, obviously, and if I’m getting this wrong feel free to correct me, but I believe that most surgeries that are being done via computer nowadays are surgeries that are too goddamn complicated to be done by regular humans with our clumsy hands. My mother had surgery done on her lower spine a few years ago. The surgeon was startled at the extent of the damage, and likened fixing her back to peeling apart soaked sheets of wadded-up tissue paper. There is simply no fucking way that a doctor could have uncrushed her spinal nerves and delicately teased everything apart and put it back in the right place with our clumsy human monkey paws. The surgery didn’t replace human skill; the surgery enabled the human skill. Call me when we can’t set limbs because the computers do it better. (Which might actually be coming: I’ve seen a few articles on 3D-printed custom casts, which look like spiderwebs and are pretty freaking awesome.)

I would argue that, used properly, calculators are less like digital address books and more like surgical tools. I want my kids to be able to do math in their heads; you’re just going to have to take that on faith. I would much rather work with kids who don’t ever feel like they need calculators. But the simple fact is that (particularly in my special ed class, but not limited to them) I have a number of students– hell, probably most of them– who are uncomfortable, to put it mildly, with basic math facts. I have a few who do not appear to know they exist. In some cases, it’s probably because the kids are just lazy and/or disengaged from school. In several it’s because they have sub-60 IQ’s and are never going to be able to memorize basic math facts. It’s just not gonna happen.

Here’s when I allow calculator use in my class: whenever the calculation itself is not the point. If we are working on multiplying decimals, for example, I refuse them calculators. My more severe special ed kids will get cheat sheets for these, but no calculators. Any other time, though, when there’s process to be learned, I allow calculator use– because otherwise the calculation gets in the way and actually inhibits learning of the material I’m trying to teach.

A specific example, because we actually just finished this: the math my seventh graders were covering for the last few weeks involved similar triangles and metric and customary conversions of length, mass, and capacity. So, for example, I give you one triangle with legs that are 11 and 5 inches and a second where the long leg is 18 inches and I want to know the shorter leg, or I tell you that a given length is 12,203 feet and I want to know how many miles it is, rounded to, say, the nearest hundredth.

This is complicated math if you don’t know how to do it. It has the power to break their brains– even the smarter ones– early in the process before the methods involved really sink in, and if they are already struggling with basic facts it is manifestly impossible without a calculator. If you’re struggling with 5 x 7, you are never in a million years going to be able to divide 12,203 by 5,280. Even the kids who are good at math revolt at that kind of long division, with good reason: it’s a huge pain in the ass. It also introduces a whole bunch of new sources of error, all of which inhibit their ability to learn the actual material I want them to learn. I need them to learn how to set up equivalent fractions and figure out that 18 is (checks calculator) 11 x 1.63 repeating and that therefore you ought to multiply 5 by that same number to get the bottom leg, or that since you’re converting from a large unit to a small unit you need to divide and not multiply and then to (hopefully) remember or (acceptably) accurately look up that there are 5,280 feet in a mile and divide the two numbers in the right order– because that’s a mistake they make too, and if they divide 5,280 by 12,203 I need them to notice that the answer doesn’t look right and figure out why.

One check I’ve been using with similar triangles all week is to divide the long leg by the short leg of both triangles once they’ve got them figured out, and to make sure that they get the same number both times. The smarter kids took to this right away; the ones who are still struggling resist double-checking their work, but will when I remind them. This is already a fight, in other words– why would I make it twice as bad by insisting that they do both of those long division tasks manually? No way. They just won’t do it, and they’ll not be attending to their own precision with the rigor I need from them. Even with my brighter kids who might not need them, the sheer speed advantage calculators afford means that we can do more work with complicated mathematics than we might otherwise be able to if I had to wait for them to manually do every step of the problems.

In an ideal world, none of this is necessary, because my kids all love math and don’t have any preexisting disabilities (or just disinclinations) with math and I don’t ever have to worry about it. Or, in a slightly less ideal world, I have the time to work with these kids individually or in small groups and I can magically get them back on grade level by the end of the year. And I have some success stories in this regard– I can think of about half a dozen kids who were low but not necessarily special ed who were constantly insisting on calculators in sixth grade and now 25% of the way through seventh grade really don’t seem to need or want them anymore most of the time.

But for a lot– arguably too many– of my kids, and for millions of kids across the country, that’s not the case and it’s never going to be. I have to keep these kids on grade level as much as humanly possible. And regardless of whether I like it or not, that is just not possible without calculators.

In which whoopsie

Today was a teacher record day, which means no kids. I love teacher record days; I don’t have nearly enough time to just sit at my desk and get shit done without having to stay way after school and do it (I average one day a week that runs less than nine hours without getting any desk work done; ten-hour-days aren’t happening) and I managed to get quite a lot of work done today, even managing to come up with somewhat of a solution to Yesterday’s Unpleasantness that doesn’t violate everything I know about decentness and proper educational technique. It does look like most of the staff is refusing to put student names on these things; the legal issues involved are still in limbo and I’ll be addressing them with the union in the near future– just not tonight. I need to work on other stuff tonight.

So, yeah– the day ends, and I’ve finished most of the stuff I wanted to do, and I get in my car. Since it’s Friday, I head directly to OtherJob, pondering along the way if I’m hungry or have any shopping errands that need doing. The answer to both is negative; I’ve eaten two big meals today (I always grab breakfast on the way to work on teacher record days; it’s the only time lately that I allow myself to have McDonald’s, since I love their breakfast burritos) and, well, unless I go get stupid and buy a new computer I just don’t have any shopping to do right now.

(Wait, shit, should have bought a new pair of jeans. You remember why, I assume.)

About two minutes from OtherJob it hits me that, since I left work promptly at what would be the end of the school day and didn’t stop anywhere, I am about to arrive at my second job an hour and a half early.

Uh. I guess I’ll… blog, then? Sure. 🙂

In which see if you can make me

whuteverFirst things first, because this post is going to be a bit of a downer and you deserve something at least a little funny:  I somehow managed to make it through the entire day with a massive hole in the crotch of my pants that I didn’t notice until I went to the bathroom during my last-hour prep period.  I assume no one else noticed it; I can’t imagine a universe in which I don’t get the hell mocked out of me for it if they did.

I did something I’ve never done today:  got pissed off and stormed out of a faculty meeting.

(Second disclaimer, and lemme put this right up at the top of this post so I’m not misunderstood:  I am manifestly not blaming the people who brought me the information that caused me to storm out of the faculty meeting today; I am not shooting the messengers and they were just doing their jobs.  Nor am I pissed at my boss.  The fact that at least two of the people involved may well read this is in no way related to the early disclaimer.  🙂  )

I’ll try and nutshell the background for those of you who aren’t teachers:  Every three weeks our students get a math test and a language arts test.  The tests are the same across grade levels– in other words, every seventh grader takes the same math test– and are supposed to be the same across the corporation as a whole, although I’ll admit right here and now that the math team at my school has altered individual questions that we thought were unfair or poorly written in some way and we didn’t bother getting permission for it.  We’re required to display the results of these tests on what are called data walls, because us educators like having complicated names for things.  I generated an Excel document for everyone that takes the test results and spits them out into pie charts that are broken down for the test as a whole and each individual math objective (generally, three) that is being tested.  The data is genuinely useful; I can keep track of where my kids are at relative to each other, to the grade as a whole, and I can see where my instruction doesn’t seem to be working– if my kids bomb one objective that the other teachers did well on, that may be an indication that I’m doing something wrong.

The data, again, is displayed on a class level in the classroom.  No individual scores, no names.  Just how each whole class did.

Apparently some lord high muckety-muck downtown has decided that that’s not good enough.  We’re now required to do “student-centered” data walls; the charts aren’t enough.

A “student-centered” data wall is one where the kids are posting their results on the wall– supposedly thinly veiled by using student numbers instead of names or some such shit like that.  The idea is that the kids are “aware of” and “own” their results, which somehow isn’t the case when I give them their tests, discuss them, and then discuss the class results with them, which I do every time I give a test.  We’re supposed to create some sort of bulletin board somewhere in the room where we can have the kids put their little name-tag thing up in the band (red, yellow, green) where their score landed.  In case it’s not obvious, green kids did great, yellow kids passed, red kids… didn’t.

I’ve talked about him before but I can’t find the post: my freshman year Algebra teacher was the worst goddamn teacher I’ve ever had in my entire life, and a large part of what made me hate him as much as I did was his practice of rearranging the seats after each test– by test score.  The kids who did the worst would be in the front row, all the way back to the kids with the highest scores, who ended up in the back.  The very worst score in the room would end up right in front of his desk.  And you’d stay there until the next test, when, more than likely (because he was a shit teacher) you’d get planted back in the front row again.

I spent a lot of time in the front row my freshman year of high school, and over twenty years later I can still feel the humiliation.  Note that I teach freshman algebra now, so this clearly wasn’t a result of my poor math abilities.  I literally teach the same class I flunked when this asshole taught it.  And I do it better than he did.

Anyway.

Here’s what this means:  you fail a math test in my class, not only do you fail a math test in my class, but you are supposed to get up and move a doohickey (that is supposedly, but not really, safely anonymized) so that not only do you get to be reminded that you failed every fucking time you walk in the room but everybody else gets to know about it too.  If you’re the only kid in a class who failed?  You get to be down there in the red zone all by yourgoddamnself and if the class doesn’t already know who the one kid who failed was they’re sure as hell going to do their best to find the fuck out.

I’m not doing this.

No.

Fuck you.  And fuck that.

I put my hand up and said, out loud where everybody could hear me, that I don’t like this goddamn job enough that I’m going to humiliate kids in order to keep it.  And then I left the meeting.

I don’t know what happened after I left; I don’t know if there were further riots or not.  But I’m putting my foot down on this one:  I will not do this.  Not under any fucking circumstances, period.  And if they don’t like it they can fire my two-time Teacher of the Year ass and I’ll go to a district that isn’t fucked in the fucking head.  Or just get the hell out of this demeaning fucking career altogether and leave the public school system to fucking rot like the Indiana public clearly wants it to anyway.  Fuck it.  My job isn’t worth this.  No.

In case you can’t tell, it was a long fucking day.

A dilemma

bad-teacherOn account of the fact that it’s 8:30 already and I literally just got home for the evening, this is going to be an abbreviated post.  Nonetheless, I pose you this:  I am on a probation assistance team for my school district (this is a new thing; I just joined) and have been assigned to help a teacher at another school.  This team, composed of me and three other people, is literally going to decide whether this person is allowed to remain in our district or whether ou(*) is going to be terminated at the end of the school year.  We’ll be doing observations and having meetings and conferences and one of my responsibilities as one of the peer mentors is going to be to do whatever I can to help em(*) get better.

As it works out, I already know the person on probation.  I’ve known this person for as long as I’ve been working in this town, in fact– and I’ve thought this person was basically incompetent and useless for most of that time.  I was not surprised to find out that xe’s(*) up for probation.

Here’s the thing, though:  my job is going to be to help this person get better.  I considered suggesting that I be moved to a team with a person that I don’t know (and, note, this isn’t exactly a close relationship– I’m pretty sure this person does not know my name; only the aggravation factor has fixed hirs(*) in my head) and rejected the idea after discussing it with the rest of my team; the simple fact is that the corporation isn’t that damn big and that we can’t really keep the groups “teachers who have similar jobs and work with the same population of kids” and “teachers who know each other” apart if we want to have any sort of functioning peer-assistance training going on.

I am pretty certain that I’m capable of helping someone I don’t like very much be better at their job; if we’re willing to consider “student” a job that basically describes half of my first and second hour class, so this isn’t something I can’t do.  What I have to work on is the prejudging factor:  I’ve said the words “I can’t believe Alex is a teacher” on more than one occasion (Alex is not zir(*) name, obviously) and I need to walk into these observations believing zhim(*) to be redeemable.   

We’ll see how it goes.

(*) Did a quick Google search for gender-neutral pronouns and my brain broke.  Started choosing them at random when I needed them.

In which wrong entertains me

mavericks-multi-monitor_dtI did something incredibly dumb today, and luckily for me it seems to have worked out:  further cementing my status as an Apple fanboy, I upgraded the system software on every computing device I own (excepting only my aging, decrepit Windows laptop) in the same evening:  my phone, my iPad, and my desktop all got shiny new upgrades tonight– granted, the two mobile devices were already on iOS 7, and so their upgrades were incremental, but I just did a day-of-release upgrade to OS X 10.9 Mavericks, and it hasn’t made the computer blow up yet.  Hooray for progress!

I recently became aware of a website called I Write Like, which purports to analyze your writing and tell you which famous author you write like.  I have my own theories about this, of course, which I won’t actually share because they make me seem like a wanker no matter who the author is, but I was curious about it.  The verdict:  Give me a god damn break.

I started by feeding it the “10 SF/Fantasy Works that meant the Most to Me” essay from last week, which by the way is currently the most popular post I’ve written here.   I didn’t really know what to think of that one; I wasn’t really trying to channel anyone in particular (even though I got the idea from Scalzi) and it was basically just an essay.  Not much would have surprised me.

It gave me…

Nah, wait for it.

A little longer.

H. P. fucking Lovecraft.

Which right there just eliminates any chance of this being anything real.  I initially suspected it actually chose Lovecraft out of a hat; I just did it again on a different computer and it gave me the same result, so it’s doing something other than just picking, but I’ll be damned if I have any idea what.  Not that I mind being compared to Lovecraft, as I love his work, but… no.  Come the fuck on.

So then I decided to put in some fiction, and gave it the first few paragraphs of my novel Skylights.  Which is a science fiction novel, set on Mars.  And is therefore not very Lovecraftian.

It gave me Chuck Palahniuk, which… well, I don’t read Palahniuk, actually, but my based-on-nothing impression of his writing style does not cause me to immediately reject this suggestion.

Then I remembered a piece I did a couple of years ago where I was deliberately aping H.P. Lovecraft.  And, to my mind, at least, I did a pretty decent job of it.  So I fed that in.

Dan fucking Brown.

But!

The other piece I did a couple of years ago where I was trying to imitate someone’s style– this time Salman Rushdie– also gave me H.P. Lovecraft.

(This blog post?  Also Lovecraft.)

I think this thing only actually has four authors in it.


EDIT:  at MLW’s suggestion, I fed a bit of a Palahniuk short story and the first few paragraphs of Lovecraft’s At the Mountains of Madness into the thing.  It got them both right.

Make up your mind, boy

Managed to get, like, fifteen errands run on the way home from work today, which has me feeling Awesomely Productive and Ready to Face the World… just in time to get home and have little left to do other than take out the garbage and wait for the boy to go to bed so that MLW and I can watch Walking Dead tonight. Right now I’m sitting on the couch typing this on the iPad while cycling through Sesame Street YouTube videos for the boy.

Full episodes don’t really do it for him anymore; it’s easier to select one of the few dozen songs we have in our YouTube history and watch it a dozen times, then insist that it’s time for “different singers.” Now, “different singers” could mean anything, but the one thing that “different singers” does not mean is the video you think it does. And he doesn’t seem to know what “yeah” means, either.

“Do you want to watch Elmo’s song?”

“Yeah!”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah!”

“So I can play Elmo’s song. And you’re sure that’s the one you want to watch.”

“Yes.”

Daddy begins to play Elmo’s song. Screaming ensues. “DIFFERENT SINGERS!”

Ah, so… not that one, then. Rinse, wash, and repeat… forever. Even if he specifically requests something by name you can’t assume that he actually wants to watch that. It’s a ruse.

Speaking of ruses: He’s decided he likes Archer, of all the goddamn things in the world, which may make us the greatest parents in the known universe but probably actually makes us the worst parents in the world. Fun fact: the first season of Archer was on a loop while MLW was in labor. For many, many hours.

The nurses had absolutely no idea what to do with us.

I’m gonna relax if it kills me

For the record, Internet, the only things I plan to do between now and the boy going to sleep later are:  1) read; 2) play games on my iPad; 3) eat.  Anything else will qualify as unexpected, and you will note that “write clear and cogent blog post” ain’t on that list.  You got a freebie yesterday.  I’m relaxing today.

(Granted, I have work to do when the boy goes to sleep later tonight.  That’s five hours away.  Screw it.)

How to piss me off while doing me a favor

headdeskI’m at OtherJob, as I tend to be on Saturday nights, and I’m working on finishing the week’s grading, as I also tend to be on Saturday nights.  I have three assignments left: a workbook assignment for one of my seventh grade classes, a workbook assignment for my honors Algebra class, and a mid-chapter quiz for my Algebra class.  They’re stacked together, slightly overlapping, on the counter next to me.  Our counter is bar-style, sorta; there are two– the one that customers touch is higher, and the one by me with the register on it is about six inches lower, so it’s not like I’ve got my school work all spread out where customers will have to deal with it.

Anyway, a customer orders a couple of large drinks.  I prepare them and put them on the (higher) counter in front of him then go to the register to ring him up.  He slides the drinks down closer to the register and pays me, at which point I notice that there are also some people outside.  I go outside to deal with them.  It’s chilly but a decent night outside, for late October at least, and I chat with the outdoor couple (the girl is cute) for a couple of minutes, then stand out there for no good reason for a few minutes more and then head back inside.

To carnage.

The customer has either accidentally spilled (charitable) or deliberately poured (which is what it looks like, but seems unnecessary) at least one of his large drinks all over the counter and thus all over everything else I have left to grade.  A large drink here is 32 ounces, which means probably 20 ounces of liquid and another 12 ounces of ice which has had a fair amount of time to melt all over the rest of my grading for the evening.  The customer, who managed to do this without any sort of loud exclamation of surprise or anything like that (which may be a sign of deliberateness or may just mean that I have bad ears) has disappeared, not spending any of the tokens that he also bought when he got his drinks.  The lady he was with is also gone.  Nowhere is there any sign that he made any attempt to rescue any of my shit from the pool of spreading apocalypse and it’s managed to migrate its way under the register and is damn close to my computer by the time I get into the room.  Also all over the floor.

Ten minutes of swearing and cleaning later, I decide that rather than trying to sort any of this shit out I’m just going to give any kid who was in class the day the assignments got collected full credit; it probably makes more sense to simply throw them out altogether but screw it, it’s late in the quarter and there are already enough points in play that giving them full credit is only giving them a tiny grade boost.

The punchline:  this is the second time I’ve had to throw out the results of a mid-chapter quiz for my Algebra class, and I’ve only given two of them.  I’m not doing any more of them anymore; they’re bad luck.