Archive for the ‘Growth’ Category

Knowledge Work Learning vs. Industrial Work Learning

Tuesday, March 24th, 2009

50 years ago, Peter Drucker, management visionary and guru, forecast a massive shift in the kind of work that would be done in our economy – a shift from industrial work to knowledge work.

Industrial work has boundaries. It has limits. It has superiors telling inferiors what to do, how, and by when. It has clear-cut rewards/punishments for meeting clear-cut goals and targets. Industrial work is quantity-based.

Knowledge work has no boundaries. The most critical task in knowledge work is deciding what needs to be done to reach the goal. And, in many cases, one needs to identify what goals need to be reached before he/she can decide what needs to be done. Knowledge work demands constant and ongoing learning. It’s self-paced, self-regulated, and quality-based … not quantity based.

This was described in 1959. It’s now 2009. And I have to ask myself, “Why aren’t schools waking up to this? Why are we still packaging learning for industrial work?”

Think about it. Most states/provinces require their schools/teachers to guide students through chunks of information packaged in what we call a course. The boundaries are clear (be able to do/recall this, this, and this by the end of this course) and we attempt to calculate results with equal clarity (especially with the standardized testing movement of the last 15 years). What needs to be learned and reached – and why – is predetermined for students, and teachers too. It has industrial work written all over it.

Sure, the state/provincial tests we use measure quality of mastery … but by and large they measure the quality of mastery based on the prescribed quantity … which, in essence, can be reduced to “quantity of mastery.” The ubiquitous Advanced Placement Program epitomizes what I’m describing here. I know. I taught an AP course. I had to ask my students to chug, chug, chug information and churn, churn, churn it out on test after test after test in preparation for the big test. Industrial, industrial, industrial.

What we should be doing.
If we want to prepare our students for knowledge work, our educational focus has to change. We need to teach our youth how to determine their own outcomes and how to identify what they can or should do with a chunk of information instead of memorizing it for the sake of recalling it. If we want to get serious about knowledge work education, standards should focus on presenting students with real-world scenarios and/or problems, asking them to identify their own outcomes, and challenging them to reach them.

Why it’s tough to change.
I’m going to offer some practical ideas and suggestions on how we can tilt the focus of our educational delivery towards knowledge work/learning in future posts (I can’t wait actually), but I end this post with some comments on why – I think – our system continues to package teaching/learning for industrial work when we all know it’s not what we should be doing, but I’m sharing these realities because I get frustrated with too many people’s 5-minute solutions to the education problem when they ignore just how steeped it really is:

1. Efficiency. Let’s face it, teaching and testing industrial work is efficient. And efficient is cost-effective. One test can be written for an entire nation of students to take. It should also be noted that when you offer something to the public for free (i.e. public education), it has to be cost effective.

2. Licensure. Although schools are, by their nature, factory-like, what’s more significant to their perpetuation of industrial work/learning is the fact that they’re part of a world-wide licensure system. My wife recently was cleaning out her university binders and asked, “Why did I have to do all this stuff? I’m never going to use any of it again.” Answer = licensure. She did it to get a teachers license, just as a doctor takes courses/tests to get a doctor’s license, or any of us take much shorter courses/tests to get a driver’s license. Licensure focuses on ‘quantity mastered,’ not on a learner’s ability to grow and progress continually.

3. Tradition. This is the big one. Most teachers received an education that focused on industrial work, and then find themselves teaching in the same system that’s oriented towards industrial work. It’s difficult enough trying to do something different that what the system expects you to do, but it’s even more difficult when that’s all you know. It takes a lot more work to unlearn than to learn, and given the over-burden most teachers face, it makes sense to do what takes less work. Thus, industrial work/learning perpetuates.

Just some thoughts. What do you think?

p.s. I’ll revisit this topic in the weeks to come, offering some constructive suggestions on what we can do to fix/change this.

Where Are You Going In Life?

Thursday, January 1st, 2009

I start my courses by asking my students the title question. Even when I teach literature or government and economics and history and entrepreneurship … I place huge emphasis on this question. And if I taught math or gym or wood work or basket weaving, I would still place huge emphasis on this question.

Why?

Because my course is about my students, not me.  We all teach because there are people – and often very young and inexperienced little people who have their whole lives ahead of them – who need to learn things from us. Teaching is about our students.

Teaching is not about us.

Teaching is not about our love for our subjects.

Teaching is not about passing or failing or percentages and letter grades.

Real teaching – and I mean the best kind of teaching – is about inspiring our students to become more than they are. To motivate our students to challenge themselves and push themselves harder. To actualize their hidden potential.

But this is the problem. Why would anyone work hard and challenge themselves if they had no sense of where they were headed? They wouldn’t. There would be nothing to work towards.

And this is what I realized in my eighth year of teaching: My course did not matter unless it mattered to my students! “If I cannot make this course meaningful for my students,” I asked myself, “Am I fulfilling my duties as their educator? What does it say about me as a teacher if I cannot help my students understand how this course might relate to their own lives and ambitions?” I really believe that when educators ask themselves questions like these ones, the results can be remarkable. It puts our reason for being into perspective. It makes things clearer. It gives us courage to do things differently. It helps us focus our energies. It helps us make our students’ educational experience with us more meaningful.

*           *            *

COURSE INTRODUCTION + WHERE ARE YOU GOING IN LIFE?

So here’s how I introduce my courses while trying to simultaneously answer these questions. It’s an oversimplification and I’m certain that it’s not the best answer, but I thought it would be fitting to share what I do on this first day of 2009 … a day when many of us are asking what we want out of this new year.

1. Introduce myself, my course, grading weights, yada yada yada. Side Notes: Do any of us really take the first day of classes seriously? What’s really the point of the typical introduction?  It’s kind of like a bunch of wolves sniffing one another, marking territory, and getting an intuitive sense of who’s who and what’s to come. I challenge every educator to make their course introduction more meaningful than the typical one. Think about whether or not your course intro is any different than a bunch of pack animals sniffing one another and marking territory.

2. Draw a 100 year line across the board. I would always start the 100 year line so that the date of birth of the oldest looking student would be showing (e.g. 1989), and then indicate where every ten years would be on the line. E.g. 1991—-2001—-2011– … –2091. I would make my students create their own version of this line too. I would mark an “x” on the current year (e.g. 2009) and say, “We are here.” And then I would ask my students, “Where on this line would you like to die?” Some would ask, “Uh, what does this have to do with civics, or economics, or entrepreneurship?” And I would reply, “It has everything to do with you being in this civics, economics, or entrepreneurship course,” because it does. Understanding and feeling the finiteness of our lives helps instill a sense of urgency. And urgency helps motivate us to do a bit more than we would otherwise.

3. Students mark their ages and life-predictions on the ten-year intervals. Then I would ask my students to indicate how old they would be on each of the ten year intervals. E.g. 0 yrs in 1991, 10 yrs. in 2001, etc. Then, I would ask them – if they could imagine their dream life – to write what kind of day they would be waking up to in each of the ten year intervals, in two sentences or less. Who would they be? What would they be doing? Who would be in their lives? Why? Etc. Then, after a few minutes I would interrupt them and move to step 4.

4. Ask them, “How can this course help you achieve your dreams?” This step is the whole point of the exercise. I wanted my students to start thinking about where they wanted to go and who they wanted to become. I wanted them to want something really, really bad. I wanted them to get excited about that dream life of theirs … excited enough that they might even be willing to consider working hard for it. And I wanted them to realize that their experience in my course was part of that journey. And I would tell them that this course would likely not be a big part of their path forward, but a part nonetheless. I wanted them to understand where it fit into their own grand scheme of things.

5. First Homework Assignment. And after making points like this and many others, I would make steps 3 and 4 their first homework assignment. They would have the rest of the class to think about what their dream life would look like in 10 year snapshots. They would have the rest of the class to review my course outline to see how the content might relate to their future path and future needs. And this whole process, assuming they took it seriously (which most did), was an exercise in making my course more meaningful for them! It was about them constructing their own purpose and defining what they wanted out of my course.

And it worked!

Risk Taking

Tuesday, December 23rd, 2008

I have not been practicing what I preach.

I always tried to reward my students for taking risks. Yes, I would admit, our school system beats the ‘risk-taker’ out of them. Yes, I would admit, teachers and tests look for ‘right’ answers. Yes, I would admit, it’s difficult to take risks when our school system prescribes what’s to be learned.

I would, however, do my best to explain that the real world has a wonderful way of rewarding risk-takers. People who ‘put themselves out there,’ who try something new and different, who fight the status quo … these are the people who end up being celebrated and revered by the masses. And who are the masses? The people who were too afraid to take risks themselves. Who else would they be?

It’s a weird paradox, isn’t it?

I try as much as possible to reward my students’ risks. I tell them that within every set-back there is always a seed of equal opportunity and benefit.  I explain that mistakes are magical because they tell us what we need to do differently.

And I have not been practicing this myself the past month.  It’s been over a month since my first post. I’ve been waiting for the features and configurations on this blog to be perfect before I really got started. I wanted things to be perfect first. I was using perfect to avoid a risk. I was making up excuses to avoid putting myself out there.

I was also waiting to write something profound. I wanted to write something that would light up the blogosphere. And then I reread a quote I have hanging on my bulletin board above my desk:

“Do not wait; the time will never be ‘just right.’ Start were you stand, and work with whatever tools you may have at your command, and better tools will be found as you go along.” – Napoleon Hill

How can I (or any of us) ask things of others (especially our students) when we’re not willing to do them ourselves?