Teaching Generation Tech

A long time ago, just after being awarded a teaching position but before beginning it, I started to look at teenagers - I mean really look at them. And they positively freaked me out. They came in all varieties - sporty, artsy, skateboard-y, stinky, pretty, pimply, sweaty, giggly, haughty, nerdy, small, medium, and large. Regardless of their motley physical traits, they were interchangeably consistent in pubescence, awkwardness, and moodiness. How was I going to relate this audience? No, audience assumes they might actually listen to me; I remembered myself as a teenager and really started to regret my career decision.

Oddly enough, I think that was the last time I really gave a lot of thought to the unique appearances of this young generation. Once I started teaching, I didn't really differentiate too much by appearance, unless it was to learn their names. And once I got to know these kids, I no longer viewed them as a separate species, but really more as children. Even the dyed, pierced, and tattooed girl with the F*** off belt buckle became one of my favorite personalities.

Now that I spend my days in an office far, far away, I can honestly say I miss those little stinkers. Once you crack the code of their existence, they are really not so hard to manage. My belief is that all teenagers want to be treated like adults, but held accountable like children. That is, they crave choice and control but when faced with the consequences will throw a classically-toddler tantrum.

Did I say I missed that?

I am no longer Old Lady Hanifin in front of the classroom, chalk and spittle flying. Because I am building a learning video game for industrial workers (from mining to oil refineries) my learners now seem even more foreign to me. To be sure, I'm designing a video game for 50-year olds that may not even know how to start a computer. During one beta test, a player was told to move the mouse "up" and actually lifted it in the air.

It's certainly a new adventure in teaching and learning. Not only are these workers unfamiliar to me, I'll no longer even be in front of them as they go through the lessons I've created. Unfortunately, I don't have a test classroom full of miners ready to play "Just Like Me!" at the beginning of the year.

As learning continues to evolve into virtual spaces that are no longer run by teachers, but rather designed by them, it seems more important than ever to understand the learner. In the absence of a cognitive scientist, we might want to ask our students, "Who are you and why are you here?"

Posted by Katie Hanifin at 11:23 AM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (0)

I normally don't ask my readers to do anything for me. This is mostly because it's pretty much my mom and dad and the occasional passerby, forcing me to reconcile that I don't actually have readers. I'm not even convinced my parents are clicking in.

Is anybody out there? If you are, PLEASE vote for the education idea in Google's 10 to the 100 contest. It's a very exciting concept, with enormous potential to begin to change this outdated and outmoded system we call public education.

I don't say that lightly, and I'll continue to fight the good fight. But if Google can lend its Google-self and its Google-bucks, then please just click for education.

May the best teachers meet in a virtual school one day soon, and may they let me write about it. (Mom, I'll explain later.)

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If there was one idea that I would like to leave with my students it is to open themselves up to possibility. At the broadest level I would like to think that is the true point to education. You never know when what you know will come in handy. Knowledge is power, and is no longer the domain of the wealthy or even the wise. Fortunately for young people, the world and all its opportunity have never been more accessible.

Let me offer a really great example of what I mean. Last weekend I was at a beer tasting event and met a free-spirit named Tim. He's a tattoo-clad brewer for a local bar as well as an easily conversational and likable guy. His right arm bore the hippie prerequisite Steal-Your-Face, branding him a fan of the Grateful Dead. But much more interesting and specific to him was another tattoo below it of a skeleton playing the bagpipes, so I had to ask.

He proceeded to take me through the story of how an everyday bloke like himself was afforded the opportunity to play his bagpipes onstage with Bob Weir. Even if you've never counted yourself a Deadhead, you have to admit that's pretty cool. And it's a learning experience for anyone interested in existing in the realm of possibility.

It starts with a generous offering of his microbrew to one of the band's managers, followed by an invitation to the tour bus. It ends with, "Hey, why don't you come to our next show and play your bagpipes onstage?" To which our affable aficionado replied, "Dude, what if I suck?"

He didn't. And he now has a great story to tell, and an even better life experience from which to grow. My new job is not nearly as exciting, but simply would not be a reality if I, too, didn't dwell in possibility. I just took a more academic approach.

About a year and a half ago I was finishing up a very traditional master's of education to maintain my teaching license. I saw an ad for a new program in media design that seemed to have everything I really wanted. I made a very risky, $30,000 decision and, to make a long story short, will be on a plane next week to build a video game in Europe.

There is a wonderful book titled The Art of Possibility by an equally likable musician named Ben Zander, although his is the classical genre. I suggest everyone read it and open themselves up to this new world of opportunity and by all means teach your students to do the same.

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In Spain one rarely hears "Good-bye". They prefer to bid everyone a casual "See you later", even if you're in a big city full of strangers. It's one of my favorite things about their warm, welcoming culture.

After seven years, today is my last day at Canastota High School, at least for this school year. They've been kind enough to grant me a leave of absence to continue working on the video game project in Europe. So now is my chance to say "Hasta luego" but certainly not "Adios".

I am leaving the classroom at quite possibly the most exciting time. In just the first two weeks of school I have seen teachers setting up blogs where students discuss controversial health topics, using cell phones as remote response systems, and Web 2.0 tools such as xtranormal.com and Wordle to engage the modern learner (and motivate the future writer). I am so proud to say that I am a member of such a forward-thinking faculty.

Sometimes teacher technology is just another to-do on an ever-growing list for educators - this, while available time, resources, and support dwindle. My school is full of SMART Boards, but even smarter people. My colleagues are constantly pushing themselves to catch up with our ever-savvy consumers. What many other professions may not appreciate is that actually just getting through the day is no small feat. Amidst the monumental logistics of managing thousands of kids through subjects, meals, and sports, they are closing the gap on decades of innovation at an impressive rate.

This level of progress is not possible without colleagues sharing their successes and learning from their failures. I have learned more as a member of the public education system than I ever thought possible before I entered it. One forty minute period is a mini-orchestra of management, motivation, planning, and performance.

As I leave the bells and busses behind my hope is to bring an immersive video game platform to education. It's a giant leap from chalkboards and textbooks but at least I know there is one school that's already ahead of the game. Hasta luego, Canastota.

Posted by Katie Hanifin at 11:31 AM | Permalink | Comments (5) | TrackBacks (0)

Who's the FOUR-est of them all?

I entered this virtual world project a little late in the development process so I was left to look at a finished prototype and figure out where to fit left over pieces, so to speak. This metaphorical machine was beautiful, shiny, crafted with the attention only a true master can afford - but you couldn't really "ride" it. Imagine telling Paul Sr. that it's not ready for paint the day before the American Chopper debut.

OK, so Jose Carlos doesn't have a handle bar mustache or biceps the size of a human thigh, but I was the bearer of bad news - a magnificently-executed 3D learning platform from which you don't actually learn.

And the blueprints that went into this project - scoring factors, completeness criteria, graphical elements, feedback ladders. They really thought of everything. Or had they?

It became obvious to me that something was missing. They knew exactly what they wanted the player to do and created a unique virtual space in which to do it. But an independent learner doesn't have to do what you want them to. This is the primary challenge of this type of video game. The player is free to explore, encouraged to make choices in order to create a non-linear path for the avatar. How do you ensure learning?

So I created a rubric for each exercise they had built, as simple as a 4,3,2,1 to spell out all the possible outcomes both acceptable and unacceptable. I presented the concept, even showing how a passing grade is calculated from the academic grid. This rubric could then generate customized feedback, well-placed hints along the way, even new game variations.

The team was thrilled. It was fascinating to be back in the business world and realize that none of these people knew about something as basic to education as a rubric. They reveled in its simplicity, marveled at its flexibility. They celebrated the unusual word itself, allowing the first 'r' to roll theatrically from their mouths. With a collective sigh of relief, knowing that we were firmly on the right path, they nodded at me appreciatively.

So if anyone in Spain asks, I'm the inventor of the rubric.

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I love to ask people what they do for a living. They inevitably give me their job title, but that doesn’t really tell me what they do. I’ve been teaching for the last seven years, so I didn’t really need to explain a whole lot. (Although there is a lot more to it than “teaching”.)

Now I find myself working as an instructional designer on a video game for learning. But what is it that I do?

Imagine a house is being built – a very large, fancy mansion. There are three key people involved in this process – the owner, the architect, and the builder. The owner knows exactly what the house has to have to satisfy his or her needs, the architect develops specifications based on those needs and the builder, well, builds it.

The owner in this scenario is what we call a “Subject Matter Expert”. That is, they know everything there is to know about the subject. That subject could be anything from the arid lands of central Africa to the zeitgeist of post-war Zurich. You can become a SME in just about anything. And you should, you never know when it will be useful.

I’m the architect in this scenario - I know how to teach stuff. It’s more than just “telling” someone something, although we’ve all been the victim of poor instruction. The architect of this “house” has to check all the angles, so to speak, from the first shovel full of dirt to handing over the keys. A well-designed house is as desirable as an effective learning experience.

The builder is, of course, the 3D team. They are the magicians who bring the entire thing to life. Every time I enter the virtual spaces that they’ve created I’m amazed at their omniscience and art. The mirrors reflect, the shadows fall, the kitchen towel has an old coffee stain upon it. I have no idea how they do what they do, but if I could make a career change this would have to be it.

What makes my current position challenging is that for the last year there has only been a builder, with no specific owner in mind. No one ever really looked at this “house” to see if it would pass inspection. The house has been partially built without blueprints, and now I, working backwards, must draw up those plans. I have to accommodate for the difficult work that’s already been done while both enhancing it and planning for the future.

It is no surprise to me that anything challenging has the ability to be equally rewarding. I could offer you a list of students who have proven that to me year after year. And so it is with building this “house”, which is really a 3D simulation video game that trains people to lead healthier and safer lives.

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I wish someone could have captured a before and after photo of me today. So much like my first day of school decades ago, I left well-pressed and anxious and returned well-worn and exhausted.

Not a bad thing, though. I come 'home' this evening much like a kindergartner - enchanted by this new place and all the experiences that lie ahead. I didn't get to work until probably 9:30am, but in Spain "No pasa nada".

We spent the first couple of hours chatting about the weekend and what else I might need for my apartment. Miguel, a wonderfully helpful man, was out the door with a list before I could say no. Just after 11:00 it was 'Pincho'-time, which is not lunch - it's a cafecito and something small to eat. But it's out of the office and into the characteristicly narrow streets of Oviedo to reconvene in one of the many bars very close.

After a brief introduction into the virtual world about which I'm supposed to consult, Jose Carlos, the brilliant lead to the 3D team, looks at his watch, "Ay Katie! No tienes hambre? Es casi las cuatro!" Apparently we were supposed to have lunch around 2:30 and lost track of time. We head to an outdoor cafe surrounded by the Spanish sun and the beautifully ancient European architecture.

We work until just past 6, and before leaving I receive a call from Ana Maria - best described as my boss, as well as the woman who hired me. I have not met her yet, she travels the world selling this project. We will meet tomorrow for dinner (which last time I checked was between 9 and 11pm). Maybe she means lunch?

As I make my way back to my flat, with my hair askew and my laptop bag slipping from my shoulder like an oversized backpack, I am reminded of a picture my mom took on my return from Seneca St. School. This is such a fascinating new world to me and I have so much to learn.

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I’m going to spend a month on this project in Spain, so I have an apartment in Oviedo rather than staying at a hotel. There is no front desk to phone every time I need something, and because I’m in the ‘real’ Spain, there’s not a whole lot of English being spoken. Actually I’m lucky everything is in Spanish, because like so many other regions of this country, Asturias has its own language.

So before I begin my work here I have an entire weekend stretched out in front of me that becomes a one-woman episode of Survivor. During this first weekend, I inadvertently broke into a building and locked myself in a stairwell. I had no toilet paper and no idea how to use the shower. Happily though, I did discover that my shower has nipples, as these strange buttons pelted me with ice-cold water.

I tell you this not to impress you with my obvious travel savvy, but again to question where we teach students of the modern world how to survive. Realistically, if a small town classroom teacher can be offered an international job opportunity, then this is the new marketplace. Clearly, there is a huge argument here for the continued instruction of foreign language. But beyond that, where do we place a curriculum that is the modern world?

Here’s another argument for Thomas Friedman’s The World is Flat. (Have you read it yet? I’m just going to keep mentioning it.) There is a school about an hour from where I teach that is using this text with seniors – and they are loving it. By learning how the REAL world works, they are becoming informed and invested citizens of it. Also, I would argue that they graduate a little more proactive than their counterparts because they have been introduced to international competition. Most high school students don’t even know there’s a race.

I didn’t realistically expect there to be a class that shows me how to flush my European toilet, or cook [GASP!] without a microwave. Being in a foreign country is about so much more than that. Maybe there’s no way to teach it without putting your entire class on a plane.

Or maybe they could learn through a 3D simulation…

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I hope you have read Thomas Freidman’s “The World is Flat”. If not, I am tempted to assign it for homework. Otherwise it might be a little confusing how an American, a Brazilian, and a Spaniard are sitting in an office…

No, it’s not the start to a joke; it’s how things happen in this new global society. And it’s how my experience at Siqur began.

A crash course in globalization…

A businessman in Switzerland partnered with a Spanish company to build a video game simulation to train miners in the Ukraine. The project manager, a Brazilian, got my name from an American, a friend of the Swiss business man, who happens to sit on the advisory board of my grad school in Florida. Got it?

Thomas Friedman told us the world was flat, and I’m telling you it’s also fast. I was contacted in June regarding some instructional design work and in July was on a plane to Spain.

Landing in Madrid, I had to take into consideration my resources. Fortunately, I speak some Spanish. Fortunately, I have an iPhone with an international plan. Unfortunately I can’t seem to find my connecting flight to this city in northern Spain where I’ll be working.

As it turns out, I’m not flying into the city of Oviedo; I’m flying into Asturias – the region in which the city is located. Asturias is a very distinct and proud region of Spain. Upon arriving there I was soon to learn that this is the real Spain – every other region of the country has been conquered. But not Asturias. [Pause here with respect for Pelayo, who fought off the Moorish conquest.] I offer this little bit of history as an interesting juxtaposition to the fact that I have just commuted from Syracuse, New York to Oviedo, Spain to work on a video game. And yet the first thing I learn is something that happened a whole bunch of centuries ago.

So I’m not just welcomed to the real Spain, but the real world. I feel like I know nothing at all. As a teacher, I have to wonder how well we are accommodating this strange international collision course into our schools. This is how the world works now – I get an email, get on a plane, work with a bunch of people from all over the world. What class is that?

Posted by Katie Hanifin at 3:17 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

Well, it’s that time of year again. That magical back-to-school time that feels more like a new year than January 1st. I’ve been absent from my blog for quite a while, but have much to share about what I did over summer vacation.

My answer to this very predictable question is delightfully unpredictable; I traveled to Spain to work on a video game. It’s a 3D simulation game for learning, and I’m not quite sure how I was the “consultant” because I think I learned more than anyone else on the project.

In fact, it’s worth spending a little time sharing how I got this opportunity, especially considering my previous summer résumé of scooping ice cream and teaching tennis lessons. I am the very fortunate graduate of Full Sail University – to which the immediate response is “huh?” (There is a series of articles on my experience completing their innovative new master’s program in educational technology.)

The short answer is that because I opted for an unconventional university with a modern approach to learning, I was awarded the opportunity to work on an unconventional project that incorporates a modern approach to learning. Yes, my master’s is in video games.

So in June when my career advisor from Full Sail asked, “Do you want to go to Europe for a month and help build a learning video game?” I said, “Duh.”

Siqur (pronounced Secure) is a 3D simulation game for large industries interested in improving their employees’ approach to health and safety. Rather than watching a video and taking a quiz, or reading a lengthy computer screen and clicking ‘Next’ at the bottom, this project uses a virtual world and some serious hands-on technology for training, throwing you onto the factory floor to see what you can do. From oil refineries, to mining, to basic first aid, Siqur aims to promote real health and safety performance through the innovative use of simulation.

Grab your passport and your virtual hard hat as I take you through my travels and my work on this project.

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