I ran into just such an article recently. It’s old, published in 1986, but it was the first article I remember reading where the content of the discipline (in this case sociology) was used to explain certain instructional dynamics. Actually, there’s a whole genre of pedagogical scholarship that does this, not just in sociology but also in many disciplines.

In this article, Billson compares the classroom to a small group. She applies the principles of small group dynamics as they are studied and understood in sociology to what happens in the classroom. And she does so for this reason: “Deeper awareness of small group processes can enhance the teaching effectiveness of college faculty through improving their ability to raise student participation levels, increase individual and group motivation, stimulate enthusiasm, and facilitate communication in the classroom.” (p. 143) I’d say those outcomes are still of interest to most of us.

So what principles of small group dynamics might help us better understand what’s happening in our classrooms? Billson identifies and discusses 15—four are highlighted here.

Principle 1: Every participant in a group is responsible for the outcome of the group interaction. Billson acknowledges that the major responsibility does belong to the professor, but she maintains that students share a “significant responsibility” as well. (p. 144) She recommends discussing that responsibility with students and explores the possibility of letting students plan certain segments of the course or maybe offer input as to the weight of the course’s various assignments.

Principle 4: When people feel psychologically safe in a group, their participation levels will increase. This isn’t a particularly new or novel idea, but it’s something professors often take for granted. Most of us do feel safe in the classroom. We’ve been going to college classes for years. For students, classrooms don’t feel as comfortable. They can be made to feel safer when students are known by names, when their first attempts to contribute garner positive feedback, and when the professor avoids sarcasm and ridicule.

Principle 8: The leader of any group serves as a model for that group. “The way in which professors play their role, including how they present expectations of students, carry out responsibilities, and handle privileges implicit in the professorial role, has a profound effect on how students enact their role.” (p. 147)

Principle 13: A group will set its own norms of behavior and will expect conformity to them. These norms may extend to the professor. The same policies and procedures can be used and yet classes respond to them differently. In some classes, students argue at length about exam answers. In other classes, they want assignment deadlines extended. In many classes, a designated few become the only students who participate. Professors need to be aware of these norms and if they work against course goals, they should be discussed openly with students.

Although “small group” isn’t a label that feels like it fits classes with more than 100 students, even large classes exhibit many features typical of groups. Applying these principles can result in classroom climates where learning is a more likely outcome. I’d say Billson was way ahead of her time in identifying what helps to make classrooms learner-centered.

Reference: Billson, J. (1986). The college classroom as a small group: Some implications for teaching and learning. Teaching Sociology, 14 (July), 143-151.

Reprinted from What Classes and Small Groups Have in Common The Teaching Professor, 26.3(2012): 6.

When the workshop was finished, I turned to a fellow English professor and said, “So that’s how it’s supposed to be done!”

Here’s what I learned:

Attitude matters. At the beginning of the workshop, the facilitator took the time to remind us that writing critique demands a safe environment: no one can be fearful that his ideas or her manner of expression will be put down or devalued. “Our job is to help one another say what we have to say as effectively as possible,” said our leader, looking us all in the eyes. Implicit was the message that everyone was already a writer, and a good one. The purpose of the workshop was to help everyone become the best writer possible. Despite all this, and despite my professional credentials as a writer, I still was nervous. Imagine how students in my classes must feel!

The setup is crucial. “In this workshop,” our facilitator said, “we will make ‘I’ statements only, no judgmental pronouncements. Say, ‘I was confused by the wording in paragraph two,’ not ‘paragraph two is confusing.’” The difference is one of tone: the first statement places the fault with the reader, not the writer. Further, before we writers read our pieces aloud, we were asked to describe the audience for whom we were writing, and to state any particular concerns we had about our essays. Then, the listeners were to try to be that audience, as well as to be themselves. When the reading was finished, the listeners were to converse about the paper while the writer, silent, took copious notes on everything that was said. No rebuttals, clarifications, explanations, or apologies on the part of the writer were allowed. She could, at the very end, ask the reviewers to clarify any comment that had confused or puzzled her. Most important, at the end of the workshop, when all papers had been discussed, we were to thank one another “for the incredibly hard work” we had done for each other. The facilitator’s careful directions articulated her expectations, and that shaped our behavior.

Acting is important. I knew the woman who facilitated this workshop. And I knew that for her, like for me, the process was old hat. Nonetheless, I watched her perform the setup and debriefing of this activity as though she had never done anything like it ever before in her professional career. She had us convinced that the work we were about to do was fresh, new, absolutely cutting-edge. She was so completely in the moment and so committed to this work herself that the rest of us could not help but be so as well.

Finally, I learned this: placing myself (and my little essay) in the hands of a master teacher reminded me that one of the difference between a ho-hum classroom performance and a really effective one is the degree to which we throw ourselves into the role.

Excerpted from Role Reversal: Learning from a Master Teacher, The Teaching Professor, 25.4 (2011): 3.

Every good teacher knows that learning doesn’t happen in isolation. Creating a learning community gives students a sense of security, study pals, and somebody to double-check with about assignments. While once upon a time classrooms were largely homogenous, filled with young white males who shared many of the same real-life experiences, these days most classrooms can, at first glance, seem to be a wild cacophony of humanity, tender and tough, curious and hostile, open-minded and most definitely, absolutely closed.

Here’s the question: How do you get them to connect? How do you get them to feel safe enough to express ideas in front of such a varied group, listen to one another’s ideas, engage in authentic dialogue, and push their own academic, social, and personal limits in order to grow?

From the moment the class passed the threshold, I feared this was one pot of stew that was never going to mingle flavors. It wasn’t just that there were a number of different “types,” it was that already, 43 seconds into class, an invisible but palpable distrust was rumbling just below the pitch of human hearing. However, it was not below the pitch of teacher hearing, and it filled me with fear. I had Goths and girlie-girls, straight-shooters and loose cannons, bookworms, and back-row mutterers. I had a guy proudly sporting a spaghetti stained chef’s hat, and another proudly displaying a bald and vibrantly tattooed skull, and they were glaring at each other.

I opened my mouth to say, “Class dismissed.” Fortunately, my inner administrator reminded me that if I dismissed them before the first class had even started, I would lose my job. My mouth has a mind of its own (often not a good thing) and instead, I said, “Let’s dump the desks.”

“Huh?” the class sang in unison. A good sign. Unison.

“Shove them out of the way and make two circles facing each other.”

“Huh?” they sang again.

“You with the gorgeously tattooed skull, you’re in charge. Make them do it!”

He glared. They scrambled. It was done.

The circles formed, the inner circle facing the outer one. They looked almost ready for some spontaneous folk-dancing.

“Inner circle: You’ve got one minute to pry out as much interesting information from the person you are facing as you possibly can. Skip the boring stuff parents ask their kids’ dates. Ask what they’re afraid of, if they’ve ever been lost, or what makes them laugh hysterically.”

“Ummm,” a girlie-girl trilled, “Like, what are we supposed to be doing?”

“You are speed dating,” I said. She perked up immediately, as did several of the older returning students who probably hadn’t dated in a while. “When I flick the lights, everyone absolutely stop talking—even if you’re in the middle of a word. When I flick them again, outer circle has one minute to ask questions. After your two minutes are up, inner circle steps to the left, outer circle stays put, and do it again. Go!”

“Are you crazy?” my inner administrator said. I didn’t bother to answer. The room became a concert hall filled with glorious word-music—murmurs and mutters, giggles and snorts, the rapid gallop of syllables leaping atop one another, all rising to a beautiful crescendo…

I flicked the lights.

Silence.

I flicked again.

Words. Conversations. Eye contact. Here and there, a hand reached out to touch a shoulder, mouths slipped from crescent-moon grins to open laughter.

And thus it went. Round and round the room they probed and questioned and probably overstepped bounds, but nobody complained so I let them be. When everybody had finally met everyone else and it was time to sit down, I saw several students grab their bags and books and slip next to someone from a completely different group. We reviewed policies and talked about my grading system, and they actually listened. But that wasn’t the best part. The best part was when the chef-hat guy and the tattooed skull guy left class together, their charmingly ridiculous heads tipped, chuckling over who-knows-what.

Dr. Cynde Gregory teaches composition and literature at Gwinnett Technical College in Georgia in addition to tutoring second language learners of all ages.

Best and Worst Classes – I love this quick and easy activity. On one section of the blackboard I write: “The best class I’ve ever had” and underneath it “What the teacher did” and below that “What the students did.” On another section I write “The worst class I’ve ever had” (well, actually I write, “The class from hell”) and then the same two items beneath. I ask students to share their experiences, without naming the course, department or teacher, and I begin filling in the grid based on what they call out. If there’s a lull or not many comments about what the students did in these classes, I add some descriptors based on my experience with some of my best and worst classes. In 10 minutes or less, two very different class portraits emerge. I move to the best class section of the board and tell students that this is the class I want to teach, but I can’t do it alone. Together we have the power to make this one of those “best class” experiences.

First Day Graffiti – This is an adaptation of an activity proposed by Barbara Goza in the Journal of Management Education in 1993. Flip charts with markers beneath are placed around the classroom. Each chart has a different sentence stem. Here are a few examples:

“I learn best in classes where the teacher ___”
“Students in courses help me learn when they ___”
“I am most likely to participate in classes when ___”
“Here’s something that makes it hard to learn in a course: ___”
“Here’s something that makes it easy to learn in a course: ___”

Students are invited to walk around the room and write responses, chatting with each other and the teacher as they do. After there are comments on every flip chart, the teacher walks to each one and talks a bit about one or two of the responses. If you run out of time, you can conduct the debriefing during the next session.

Syllabus Speed Dating – Karen Eifler, an education professor at the University of Portland, designed this activity. Two rows of chairs face each other (multiple rows of two can be used in larger classes). Students sit across from each other, each with a copy of the syllabus that they’ve briefly reviewed. Eifler asks two questions: one about something in the syllabus and one of a more personal nature. The pair has a short period of time to answer both questions. Eifler checks to make sure the syllabus question has been answered correctly. Then students in one of the rows move down one seat and Eifler asks the new pair two different questions. Not only does this activity get students acquainted with each other, it’s a great way to get them reading the syllabus and finding out for themselves what they need to know about the course.

Irritating Behaviors: Theirs and Ours – This activity grows out of research done by D. Appleton in 1990 (The Journal of Staff, Program and Organizational Development). His findings are a bit dated now, but the idea is not. Appleton asked students to list faculty behaviors that most irritate them. He had faculty do the same for student behaviors. I’d put students in groups and have them respond to a slightly different question: “What are the five things faculty do that make learning hard?” Or, asked positively, “What are the five things faculty do that make it easy to learn?” Collect the lists and make a master list to share in class or online. Below the five things faculty do, you can also list the five things students do that make it hard or easy to teach. The follow-up conversation is about how the teacher and students can each commit to not doing what appears on their respective “hard” list and have a better class experience as a result.

Do you have a favorite activity that you like to use on the first day of class? Please share in the comment box.

First off, this is one of those articles I’d recommend for your instructional resource library. If you’re a regular reader, you know I don’t make that recommendation unless an article is truly exceptional and this one is. The author team looked at 40 years of research on humor—the bibliography has more than 100 sources. The review is usefully formatted—it looks at definitions, functions and theories of humor. Research has identified and explored 22 different kinds of humor used in educational settings—truly something for everyone, even those not inclined to humor. These are neatly summed on a table in the article. Some humor like that related to course contents is almost always appropriate, other kinds like jokes, riddles or puns are appropriate depending on the context and a few kinds of humor such as that based on race or sex, or humor that denigrates others is never appropriate.

The article reviews research findings in an interesting and accessible format. It cites five studies documenting that the presence of humor has a positive affect on student ratings. Eleven studies verify that it enhances an instructor’s credibility. In both cases too much humor or offensive humor has the opposite effect on ratings and credibility. Other research documents that the presence of humor creates a more relaxed classroom environment. It helps relieve tension and stress, and makes students less anxious about making mistakes. More studies than you might expect looked at the impact of incorporating humor on exams—most found it had no impact on scores.

Of course, the most interesting question is whether humor promotes learning and here the findings are mixed. There are methodological problems with some of the studies and great diversity in how researchers have explored the learning-humor relationship. But there is a “substantial amount” of evidence that shows the effectiveness of humor at attracting and maintaining students’ attention. If students are not paying attention, then it’s a pretty sure bet they are not learning the content, at least not at that moment. Rather, than actually causing learning, it seems more likely that humor helps to create conditions that are conducive to learning.

Probably the best advice contained in the review involves deciding which kind of humor to use. The authors recommend that teachers use humor that fits comfortably with who they are and how they teach. In other words, a teacher should bring to the classroom the kind of humor used outside it, with the caveat that classroom humor always needs to be professionally appropriate. So, if a teacher loves puns, then that teacher should use puns. If a teacher regularly laughs at him or herself, then let that self-deprecating humor find expression in the classroom. If a teacher can tell funny stories, make the most of a spontaneous event or deliver one-liners, let that be the humor used in the classroom. It’s another case of building on those natural proclivities.

I don’t think this advice rules out the possibility of experimenting a bit now and then. But let the experiments be modest attempts at trying alternatives because as we’ve all seen it first hand— there’s nothing quite as deadly as someone trying to be funny and not succeeding.

Should every teacher use humor? These authors say that humor isn’t an essential feature of good teaching. They acknowledge that some people just aren’t very funny—humorless aptly describes several professors and administrators I’ve known. If you aren’t all that funny but would like to accrue the benefits of humor, consider using the humor of others. You can post a cartoon on a PowerPoint slide and not have to say a word about it.

Is there any humor in the review on humor? Nope—but then who’d want to risk being funny on such a serious topic! What do you think? Does humor have a place in your classroom? Please share your thoughts in the comment box below.

Reference: Banas, J. A., Dunbar, N., Rodriguez, D. and Liu, S. (2011). A review of humor in educational settings: Four decades of research. Communication Education, 60 (1), 115-144.

I do have to say, however, that I found some of the assumptions embedded in the responses troubling. I have been thinking about the issues they raised and thought it might be useful for us to continue the conversation.

Several of the responses asserted that teachers need to control students and the processes by and through which they learn because students can’t be trusted. Here’s a comment that illustrates this sentiment: “If the purpose of your syllabus isn’t to state your requirements in such a way that it’s a defense against shenanigans, I would suggest you are a very new prof.” A later comment by this respondent as well as others indicated that the problem has been individual students, not whole classes. But class policies affect everyone. If policies are in place indicating a lack of trust in all students, what kind of impact do they have on students who are trustworthy? What kind of messages do they convey about teacher-student relationships? If the teacher doesn’t trust students, can students be expected to trust the teacher?

In some of the responses there was the sense that students are not mature, responsible learners. That they won’t do what they need to do to learn and they won’t act responsibly in class. How many of your students could be characterized in this way? All? Most? Some? Let’s say that this claim is true of a significant number of students. Does that mean students cannot learn to be more mature and responsible? If they can, then the question is how are they best taught? How likely are they to learn maturity and responsibility in an environment where the teacher makes all the decisions for them?

If students are dependent learners and prone to act irresponsibly with respect to learning, they should not be given more control than they can handle or be asked to make decisions for which they are not prepared. I don’t know any parents of teenagers with newly minted driver’s licenses who given their children keys to the family car Friday night and say, “Have fun. We’ll need the car back Monday morning.” Beginning students are in no position to select course textbooks or say what they might want to learn about a content area. Becoming a mature, responsible learner is a developmental process. The question is when and how does that process start or continue in college?

Behind that question is another one: Do teachers have the responsibility to teach students how to learn or is our only obligation to teach them what they should learn? Actually the two are inextricably linked. When we teach the scientific method or the writing process, we teach the how and what simultaneously. So I suppose it’s more a matter of degree with the decision being whether we let them learn by implicit suggestion or explicit instruction.

The value of comments presenting different perspectives, like those posted on the August 24 entry is that they cause us to revisit what we believe and why. I still believe that teachers have the responsibility to teach students lessons about learning—both lessons about how to learn and lessons about those conditions we know to be conducive to learning. I believe those lessons are best taught not by seeking control over students and their learning environments but by involving them in decisions and by providing guidance and feedback that will improve their decision-making.

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Robert Ehrlich and Stanley Zoltek (reference below) are strongly in favor of telling students when they are wrong. Their context is science, but the points they make apply to other kinds of knowledge as well. They think that instructors ought to “destigmatize” wrong answers. Mistakes are an inevitable part of learning. They recommend encouraging students to be less afraid of asking “stupid” questions, quoting noted physician Alvan Feinstein, “Ask stupid questions. If you don’t ask, you remain stupid.”

They think that putting students under some pressure, while it may undercut their confidence at the moment, in the long run benefits their learning and prepares them for the future. In the world of work, employers have to tell employees when they are mistaken. College classrooms are safer places where students can learn how to handle negative feedback so that it doesn’t traumatize or humiliate them.

Always praising answers puts instructors in the awkward position of having to respond to wrong responses indirectly or vaguely. This may result in “considerable student confusion over where the truth lies, or even the misguided belief that correct answers in science may be a matter of opinion.” (p. 10)

Finally, they make the point that not using corrective feedback in the classroom is actually a condescending way to respond to students. If a colleague makes a mistake or says something foolish, he or she would quickly be corrected by other colleagues. It’s something expected among equals.

Erlich and Zoltek do understand that how wrong answers are handled is crucial. They make two points: “First, telling students they are wrong must be done in a noninsulting and nonpersonal manner.” (p. 8) It is the answer that is wrong, not the student. “Second, it is not enough to tell students that they are wrong; they must also be told which aspects of their answers are correct, and which aspects are incorrect.” (p. 8) They hold that corrective feedback is not the same as negative feedback. The correction may include many additions, like “Jim, that answer is not correct, but you’re on the right track.” “That answer is close, but not quite right.” “That’s a wrong answer, Susan, but you’ve made a common mistake that all of us can learn from.”

They summarize their case for calling wrong answers wrong with this observation: “If you succeed in creating a class environment in which everyone is treated with mutual respect, and being wrong is okay, you should find that students are less fearful of being wrong, and more apt to contribute to class discussion. In this case, students will also be apt to analyze your comments more carefully and may on occasion have the pleasure of correcting you the next time you are wrong!” (p. 10)

Reference: Ehrlich, R., and Zoltek, S. (2006). It’s wrong not to tell students when they’re wrong. Journal of College Science Teaching, 35(4), 8–10.