Is going over the answers negative reinforcement?

Posted on March 4, 2012 by Peter Newbury

My wife works with people with developmental delays, like autism and fetal alcohol spectrum disorder. Her niche is sexual health.  Imagine the hormones of a teenaged boy with the impulse-control of a 5-year-old. She often gets called in when some Grade 6′er starts whippin’ it out – either for the reaction he gets or because he doesn’t realize that’s not what typical Grade 6ers do.

The other day, we were talking about how to change people’s behaviours and she gave me an example of positive, no wait, negative, erm, reinforcement. I’m out of my depth when it comes to psychology so let me remind me (and you) about the difference, in overly-simplified terms I can get my head around. Oh, and when I’ve mentioned I’m writing this post, everyone I’ve spoken to gives a different definition of negative reinforcement, so it’s possible the one below is different than yours…

Positive reinforcement is something that’s added, typically by the person in authority – a parent, teacher, boss – after a person does something good. Like a high-5 by the coach after a good play, for example. That action strengthens the person’s motivation to repeat the behaviour.

Negative reinforcement strengths the unwanted behaviour. Your kid is having a fit because she doesn’t want to clean her room. Suppose you say, “Okay, I understand you don’t want to do it. Why don’t you watch TV for half an hour, calm down, and then clean your room….” It reinforces the undesired behaviour.

Every source I googled made sure to point out negative reinforcement is not the same as punishment. Getting grounded because you haven’t cleaned your room is not negative reinforcement.

(Geez, this is subtle. I can imagine some amazing clicker questions about positive reinforcement, negative reinforcement and punishment. [Update March 19, 2012: A couple of days after I wrote this post, Derek Bruff wrote about a clicker workshop he gave, including some pos/neg reinforcement clicker questions created by one of the participants.]  Okay, back to the conversation with my wife.)

Scene 1: Grade 6 classroom

There’s this boy, let’s call him John. John like to strip his clothes off at school. Like in the middle of class. His teacher intervenes. Frustrated with John’s continual stripping, the school decides they have no choice but to send John home when he strips, punishing him for his behaviour. But here’s the thing – John might have a developmental delay but he knows what’s what: he doesn’t like school. He strips so he can get sent home. In fact, John has started stripping on the school bus on the way to school so he doesn’t even have to go through the charade of going to class. Sending John home, which the staff feel is punishment for his behaviour, is, in fact, a reward for John. What they think is punishment is, in fact, negative reinforcement for John.

“So what are they supposed to do?” I asked her.

They shouldn’t send John home. And they shouldn’t praise him for keeping his clothes on. Instead, throughout the days when John is at school, the teachers should say, “We’re so glad you’re here with us today, John!” That’s positive reinforcement, something added to John’s school day that strengthens the good behaviour of keeping his clothes on.

What I’ve left out is what to do during the difficult transition time between he continually rips off his clothes and when he keeps them on. The teacher needs to intervene somehow. Calling my wife is a good start!

Scene 2: University physics lecture hall

The physics instructor has realized that his traditional, “all lecture, all the time” style of teaching does not promote learning like he wants.  He’s decided to make the class more student-centered. He gives 10-15 minute mini-lectures and then hands out worksheets which are supposed to guide and scaffold the students through the next stage of the development of the concept. The problem is, the students don’t do the worksheets. They just sit there, staring at the empty spaces on the page or desperately scribbling down formulas like I described here, biding their time, because they know he’ll be going over the answers in a few minutes. Sure enough, after a while, he goes over the answer to Question 1. The students madly scribble down his solution or, increasingly, grab their phones and start snapping pictures.

He’s not punishing them for not doing the worksheets (“Why have you not answered the questions!? You will all Remain. In. This. Classroom. Until I see some work!”) Rather, he’s reinforcing their behaviour of not doing the worksheet. They get what they want (the answers) and he thinks he’s helping. This seems to be an example of negative reinforcement, at least according to the definition I posited earlier.

“So what is he supposed to do?”

Good question.

Let’s look at this top down: What do the students need to get out of the activity? They need feedback on their answers in a timely manner. “Timely” because feedback a month later when they fail the exam is too late. One way to give them feedback is to go over the answers so they can check. That’s not the model used by the significant portion of the astronomy education community who use the Lecture Tutorials worksheets. Instructors do not go over the answers. Instead, the worksheets have built-in feedback and most instructors follow the worksheets with a sequence of peer instruction questions. If you get those questions correct, you know you’re okay on the worksheet. If you don’t get the questions correct, your peers will straighten you out. At the very least, you’ll know which concepts you didn’t get and can talk to the prof or TAs about them. More positive reinforcement comes when you ace those identical or “identical except some parameters changed” questions on the exam.

I’d love to create a sequence of clicker questions to follow the worksheets in this physics class but that’s not the simplest alternative because it requires the instructor to be agile with worksheets AND with peer instruction. One thing at a time…

What about this? The instructor watches the students doing the worksheet questions, monitoring their progress. If everyone is getting along just fine, don’t stop them. When it looks like students are stuck, and individual attention by the instructor or TA can’t handle the widespread confusion, intervene with a class-wide discussion. Don’t begin with, “I’m so happy you answered Questions 1 and 2 by yourselves!” (“John, I’m so glad you kept your pants on today!”) Instead, work together to get past the sticking point. Get the students to contribute to the solution, using the work they’ve already done to chip away at the problem. A pat on the back or a high-5 for a good tidbit of problem solving. The students are praised and rewarded for the work they’ve done, even if it’s not complete. That’s positive reinforcement for good behaviour, right?

(Unless that’s an example of “intermittent” negative reinforcement which, according to my wife, is even stronger than continuous.)

Yes, there will be difficult transition period, when students are not solving the problems and the instructor is not going over all the answers. Sorry, tough it out.

What if the students were never allowed to get into the habit of not doing the questions? What if, from Worksheet 1 on Day 1, this collaborative solution approach was the way it’s done. Ahh, now that would be something, wouldn’t it?

Alright, I’m not exactly sure where I’m at. I know the current method of going over the answers isn’t working. And that if we make changes, there will be a difficult period of transition. I like the collaborative problem solving approach — I’ve seen it happen in a physics class of about 30, where the agile instructor knew everyone’s name and kept track (in his head) of who hadn’t contributed yet, calling on them for input.

One other thing I know:  I should learn some more psychology.

Image: RaaksBeton2 by Dan Kamminga on flickr CC. In my mind, it shows people working together to reinforce what they’re building.

Posted in astro 101, clickers, physics, teaching | Tagged , , , , , , | 5 Comments

What does open communication mean to you?

Posted on February 22, 2012 by Peter Newbury

I’m struggling with an issue. I can’t decide, or maybe I’m afraid to admit, if I’m being naive. Or perhaps so inexperienced, I’m blinded by imposter syndrome, the feeling that you really don’t belong in the group of experts you find yourself in. I’m hoping that by the time I get to the end of this post, I’ll at least have a better understanding of my confusion.

In a few months, there will be a Gordon Research Conference (GRC)  that I’d like to go to. It’s called Astronomy’s Discoveries and Physics Education. The theme is finding ways to use the latest discoveries in astronomy (and astronomy education, knowing the invited speakers) to motivate and enhance undergraduate physics education.

I haven’t been to that many conferences – maybe a dozen over my academic career, often by the same organizations. With my limited experience, there are 2 aspects of the GRC that are new to me.

1. Attendance by application and selection

You have to apply and then be accepted to attend. Not the usual,  accepted to present a paper or hang a poster, but accepted to be there. Kind of like TED talks, I hear. I guess that ensures that the people attending are motivated to be there and, more importantly, are sufficiently knowledgeable about the subject that they can make meaningful contributions to the conference.

2. All communication is treated as private.

This is the one that’s got me confused. By accepting the invitation to attend the GRC, you agree to their “Disclaiming Statements” which, because you can’t link directly to them, I’ll reproduce here:

To encourage open communication, each member of a Conference agrees that any information presented at a Gordon Research Conference or Gordon Research Seminar, whether in a formal talk, poster session, or discussion, is a private communication from the individual making the contribution and is presented with the restriction that such information is not for public use. Prior to quoting or publishing any such information presented at a Conference in any publication, written or electronic, written approval of the contributing member must first be obtained. The audio or video recording of lectures by any means, the photography of slide or poster material, and printed or electronic quotes from papers, presentations and discussion at a Conference without written consent of the contributing member is prohibited. Scientific publications are not to be prepared as emanating from the Conferences. Authors are requested to omit references to the Conferences in any publication, written or electronic. These restrictions apply to each member of a Conference and are intended to cover social networks, blogs, tweets or any other publication, distribution, communication or sharing of information presented or discussed at the Conference. Guests are not permitted to attend the Conference lectures and discussion sessions. Each member of a Conference acknowledges and agrees to these restrictions when registration is accepted and as a condition of being permitted to attend a Conference. Although Gordon Research Conference staff will take reasonable steps to enforce the restrictions against recording and photographing Conference presentations, each member of a Conference assumes sole responsibility for the protection and preservation of any intellectual property rights in such member’s contributions to a Conference.

(Source: follow the Disclaiming Statements link on the right-side menu here.)

Buried in the middle of this statement is a restriction on communicating any information from the conference via “social networks, blogs, tweets or any other publication, distribution, communication or sharing of information.”

In other words, I will not be able to tweet from this conference. And that’s got me, well, disturbed.

It’s not that I’ll have to disconnect my iPhone from my hand and won’t be able to follow what @RealSomeFamousPerson had for #theirmeal. Fine, whatever. I can catch up with my followers and those I follow on Twitter each morning at breakfast or evening at the pub.

Rather, it’s that as I’ve attend more conference and benefited from people I follow who share their conference experiences, I’ve learned of 2 remarkable ways that Twitter enhances my conference experience and my professional development:

  1. Twitter creates a forum for people at the conference to share ideas and reactions to the speakers. This “back channel” connects people around the room and in different parallel sessions.
  2. Twitter invites the outside community, the people not at the conference, to be a part of what’s happening there. In fact, and this is the heart of my confusion with the GRC policy, I benefit so much from following colleagues who tweet and blog their conference experiences, I feel an obligation to share the inspiration, ideas and resources that I am privileged to gather in person.

I posed this dilemma on Twitter and received replies from John Burk (@occam98), Chris Goedde (@chrisgoedde), Brian Utter (@quantumtweep), Phillip Cook (@cookp) and Joss Ives (@jossives) that helped me begin to understand the policy. Both Chris and Joss suggested that policy allows people to speak more freely and more easily share their latest ideas and results, without the fear of being scooped. I think that’s what the opening line of the Disclaiming Statement is all about: “To encourage open communication…” I get that, especially if the GRC about breaking research, which many GRC’s are. If you’ve on the verge of discovering a better way to assay your samples or process your data or distill your protein, and want feedback from your peers, then you want to keep that communication private. Phillip suggests this is pretty common with pre-published research.

I’m having a hard time applying this model to education. I suppose I’ll come away from the conference a better science education practitioner, which should cascade to my colleagues and their students. But I don’t feel like I’m doing this for me. I don’t have that killer instinct that might be necessary for academics (see “imposter syndrome”.) In my heart, I do what I do for the students (see “naive”.) Obviously I’m benefiting from this job and salary and perks (like attending conferences) but I continually filter my activities through, “Who will benefit from this?” If the answer isn’t students or their instructors, I think twice. In my mind, I can think of no better way to pique the interest and boost the enthusiasm of science educators than to share the latest discoveries, approaches and practices from the experts in the field.

Hmm, all this writing has helped. I won’t not go to the GRC because of this policy. A colleague who has an important presentation at this GRC has offered to introduce me to the organizer, Charlie Holbrow, so we can talk about the origin of the policy and the breadth of the restrictions it imposes. In the end, perhaps I’ll just have to turn off my phone. But that doesn’t seem like “encouraging open communication” to me.

Have you attended a GRC? Maybe these restrictions are relaxed or ignored. What about other professional events where communication with the outside world is restricted – what have you done before, during or after those? Drop a comment below if you have any thoughts, thanks.

Image: Communications Artwork by thomasfrank09 on flickr CC

Posted in astro 101, communicating science, physics, research, social media, teaching | Tagged , , | 10 Comments

Problem solving like a physicist

Posted on February 13, 2012 by Peter Newbury

In my role in the Carl Wieman Science Education Initiative at the University of British Columbia, I am often “embedded” in an instructor’s course, providing resources, assistance and coaching throughout the term. This term, I’m working with an instructor in a final-year, undergraduate electromagnetism (E&M) course.

The instructor has already done the hard part: he recognized that students were not learning from his traditional lectures and committed to transforming his classes from instructor-centered to student-centered.  Earlier, I wrote about how we introduced  pre-reading assignment and in-class reading quizzes.

This course is heavy on the math. Not new math techniques but instead, math the students have learned in the previous 3 or 4 years applied to new situations. His vision, which he shared with the students on the first day, was to introduce some key concepts and then let them “do the heavy lifting.” And by heavy lifting, he means the algebra.

The vector for this heavy lifting is daily, in-class worksheets. The students work collaboratively on a sequence of questions, typically for 15-20 minutes, bookended by  mini-lectures that summarize the results and introduce the next concept.

We’re making great strides, really. After some prompting by me, the instructor is getting quite good at “conducting” the class. There are no longer moments when the students look at each other thinking, “Uh, what are supposed to be doing right now? This worksheet?” It’s fine to be puzzled by the physics, that’s kind of the point, but we don’t want students wasting any of their precious cognitive load on divining what they should be doing.

With this choreography running smoothy and the students participating, we’re now able to look carefully at the content of the worksheets. Yes, I know, that’s something you should be planning from Day 1 but let’s face it, if the students don’t know when or how to do a worksheet, the best content in the World won’t help them learn. Last week’s worksheet showed we’ve got some work to do.

(Confused guy from the interwebz. I added the E&M canaries.)

The instructor handed out the worksheet. Students huddled in pairs for a minute or two and them slumped back into their seats. You know those cartoons where someone gets smacked on the head and you see a ring of stars or canaries flying over them? You could almost see them, except the canaries were the library of equations the students are carrying in their heads. They’d grasp at a formula floating by, jam it onto the page, massage it for a minute or two, praying something would happen if they pushed the symbols in the right directions. Is it working? What if I write it like….solve for….Damn. Grab another formula out of the air and try again…

After 10 minutes, some students had answered the problem. Many others were still grasping at canaries. The instructor presented his solution on the document camera so he could “summarize the results and introduce the next concept.” The very first symbols at the top-left of his solution were exactly the correct relationship needed to solve this problem, magically plucked from his vast experience. With that relationship, and a clear picture of where the solution lay, he got there in a few lines. The problem was trivial. No surprise, the students didn’t react with “Oh, so that’s why physics concept A is related to physics concept B! I always wondered about that!” Instead, they responded with, “Oh, so that’s how you do it,” and snapped some pix of the screen with their phones.

Scaffolding and Spoon-feeding

We want the worksheets to push the students a bit. A sequence of questions and problems in their grasp or just beyond, that guide them to the important result or concept of the day. Here’s what doesn’t work: A piece of paper with a nasty problem at the top and a big, blank space beneath. I’ve seen it, often enough. Students scan the question. The best students dig in. The good and not-so-good students scratch their heads. And then bang their heads until they’re seeing canaries.

There are (at least) 2 ways to solve the problem of students not knowing how to tackle the problem.  One is to scaffold the problem, presenting a sequence of steps which activate, one by one, the concepts and skills needed to solve the nasty problem. The Lecture Tutorials used in many gen-ed “Astro 101″ astronomy classes, and the Washington Tutorials upon which they’re modeled, do a masterful job of this scaffolding.

Another way, which looks the same on the surface, is to break the nasty problem into a sequence of steps. “First, find the relationship between A and B. Then, calculate B for the given value of A. Next, substitute A and B into C and solve for C in terms of A…” That’s a sequence of smaller problems that will lead to a solution of the nasty problem. But it’s not scaffolding: it’s spoon-feeding and it teaches none of the problem-solving skills we want the students to practice.  I’ve heard from number of upper-level instructors declare they don’t want to baby the students. “By this stage in their undergraduate studies,” the instructors say, “physics students needs to know how to tackle a problem from scratch.”

This is the dilemma I’m facing. How do we scaffold without spoon-feeding? How do we get them solving nasty problems like a physicist without laying a nice, thick trail of bread crumbs?

Fortunately, I have smart colleagues. Colleagues who immediately understood my problem and knew a solution: Don’t scaffold the nasty problem, scaffold the problem-solving strategy. For a start, they say, get the instructor to model how an expert physicist might solve a problem. Instead of slapping down an elegant solution on the document cam, suppose the instructor answers like this:

  1. Determine what the problem is asking. Alright, let’s see. What is this problem about? There’s A and B and their relationship to C. We’re asked to determine D in a particular situation.
  2. Identify relevant physics.  A, B, C and D? That sounds like a problem about concept X.
  3. Build a physics model. Identify relevant mathematical relationships. Recognize assumptions, specific cases. Select the mathematical formula that will begin to solve the problem.
  4. Execute the math. Carry out the algebra and other manipulations and calculations.
    (This is where the instructor has been starting his presentation of the solutions.)
  5. Sense-making.  Sure, we ended up with an expression or a number. Does it make sense? How does it compare the known cases when A=0 and B goes to infinity? How does the order of magnitude of the answer compare to other scenarios? In other words, a few quick tests which will tell us our solution is incorrect.

Wouldn’t it be great if every student followed a sequence of expert-like steps to solve every problem? Let’s teach them the strategy, then, by posing each nasty problem as a sequence of 5 steps. “Yeah,” my colleagues say, “that didn’t work. The students jumped to step 4, push some symbols around and when a miracle occurred, they went back and filled in steps 1, 2, 3 and 5.” Students didn’t buy into the 5-step problem-solving scheme when it was forced upon them.

So instead, for now, I’m going to ask the instructor to model this approach, or his own expert problem-solving strategy, when he presents his solutions to the worksheet problems. When the students see him stop and think and ponder, they should realize this is an important part of problem-solving. The first thing you do isn’t scribbling down some symbols. It’s sitting back and thinking. Maybe even debating with your peers. Perhaps you have some insight you can teach to your friend. Peer instruct, that is.

 

Posted in physics, teaching | Tagged , , , | 14 Comments

One Earth, one sky: the power of Twitter

Posted on January 29, 2012 by Peter Newbury

This post was inspired by the beauty of the night sky and the interactions that followed down here on Earth.

A couple of nights ago, Venus, the Evening Star, hung a few degrees below a spectacular, 3-day old crescent Moon. I hesitate to paste in a photo here because it just won’t capture the breath-taking, awe-inspiring beauty of the evening sky. Like I often do when there’s a break in the clouds — something we Vancouverites try to take advantage of — I tweeted an alert to my followers

Down on Earth, people started retweeting my alert, forwarding it to their twitter communities. And people did look up, in Vancouver, Vancouver Island, Edmonton, and Winnipeg, sharing their experience with me and others through twitter @replies and mentions. Like a good tweep, I tweeted one last invitation to keep the conversation going (my apologies for missing a few RTs: that darn “Twitter doesn’t always show your RTs” bug)

Mission accomplished, I thought to myself.

It took someone outside my circle of astronomy friends to point out what had happened. (Thank-you, Marie-Claire @mcshanahan!) She wrote back

She made me remember what Twitter has done for “backyard astronomy,” a hobby so rewarding it can pull you off the couch and into your backyard and neighbourhood park just for a chance to glimpse something you’ve seen a hundred times before. In sharing our experience on Twitter, we connect with others around the World doing the same thing. I knew that at that moment, @LuckyStrz was standing outside in Winnipeg with one, freezing, un-gloved hand tapping away on her phone. I tried to sum up that feeling with

Her reply was one of the nicest and most-rewarding I’ve received:

This is the magic that Twitter has brought to astronomy. People around the World simultaneously look up at the night sky and share their experiences. Timezones, borders, politics, age, race, gender — none of that matters. We’re one Earth, one sky.

That’s a powerful phrase. Certainly not one I coined. It might have been @ThilinaH and @ObervetheMoon. Or @unawe. Maybe it was @VirtualAstro with his amazing, viral #meteorwatch. I’m not sure. But I am sure that if you’re on Twitter and start following these folks and the backyard astronomers in your community (in Canada, follow @rasc; in the US, check out the Night Sky Network) you, too, can experience breath-taking, astronomical events and heart-warming, global connections. And standing outside in your slippers or Sorels in the dead of winter, you need all the warming you can get!

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The astronomy of Chinese New Year

Posted on January 17, 2012 by Peter Newbury

Chinese New Year occurs on January 23 this year. The fact that we even have to announce the date reveals that it changes each year. That’s because the date for Chinese or Lunar New Year depends on how the annual cycle of the Earth orbiting the Sun interlocks with the roughly monthly cycle of the Moon orbiting the Earth. The event that lights the fuse on the celebrations is the December solstice.

There are some parts of the Northern hemisphere where it doesn’t get very cold in the winter, like Vancouver where I live. But talk to anyone living just about anywhere else, and they’ll tell you through chattering teeth, that December 21 is the middle of freakin’ winter, not its beginning, as our Western calendars proclaim.

On Western calendars, winter begins in the Northern hemisphere on the December 21 solstice, not when it starts to get cold out.

In other words, those freezing cold days on the Prairies in November? Fall, not winter. Changing the name doesn’t make them any warmer.

The ancient Chinese astronomers and calendar-makers knew their hot from cold, though, and recognized the December solstice is the middle winter, just like March is the middle of spring, June is the middle of summer and September is the middle of fall:

In Chinese tradition, the December solstice occurs in the middle of winter.

Chinese New Year marks the end of winter and the beginning of spring, the transition from dreary blue to vibrant green in the diagram above. Now the Lunar Cycle comes into play. Each season — winter, spring, summer and fall — is roughly 3 months long so there’s about a month and a half from the solstice to the New Year.

Or a lunar cycle and a half.

Here’s how it works: take note of the Moon’s phase on December 21 and let the lunar cycle play out. Last year, for example, there was a new Moon on December 24, 2011, a few days after the solstice. So began the last lunar cycle of the year which finishes on Monday, January 23, 2012, Chinese New Year.

Depending on the Moon’s phase at solstice, the date for Chinese New Year can vary by about a month. This year, we’re pretty close to the earliest possible date. For next year, though, there are new Moon’s on December 11, 2012, on January 11, 2013 (the end of the middle, winter solstice cycle) so that Chinese New Year won’t be until February 10, 2013.

If all this dependence on the phases of the Moon seems a little archaic and superstitious, let me ask you a question: When are Canada Day and Independence Day?

No brainers: July 1 and July 4.

What about Halloween? October 31. D’uh!

Okay, smarty-pants, when’s Easter this year?

Er, um, just a sec while I… [google google google] … Sunday, April 8, 2012.

You see, the phase of the Moon also plays a part in determining the date for Easter, which is defined as the first Sunday after the first full Moon after spring equinox. This year, the Moon is pretty close to new at the equinox and there won’t be a full Moon until Friday, April 6.  Easter occurs that Sunday, April 8. The fact that the most important date in the Christian calendar depends on the phase of the Moon, and that preparing for Easter depends on predicting those phases far in advance, are reasons why the Vatican has had an observatory for more than 250 years.

There is long and prestigious history and tradition of Chinese astronomy and time-keeping. I’ve only scratched the surface here, and my sincerest apologies if I’ve misrepresented that tradition through my over-simplification or just plain got-it-wrong-edness. In any case, be sure to take a moment next Monday to wish your friends a hearty Gung Hei Fat Choi!

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