Wednesday is Pork Chop Night

Branagh, K. Henry V, BBC Films, 1989.

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead.

Henry V, Act III, Wm. Shakespeare (1598)

Perhaps a little more dramatic than need be for the start of another school year, but I will confess, there have been times at the end of the first week of school when I feel like Sir Kenneth and Sir Derek after their battle scene in Henry V. (Sorry Sir Lawrence fans - he was just too clean and kempt for this post. But it was very good in the role.) I will admit that when I hear people who describe teachers as "those in the trenches," I feel a bit of "oh, yeah!" But there are times when I cringe, because it brings to mind a very specific image.

Trench warfare. (Was there a time when anyone really enjoyed that?)

Yet there are times when I am mine own enemy. I am teaching the same schedule of courses that I've been teaching for the past five years (with minor variations). I (mostly) don't have a choice in this matter, but for me, it has been a good thing despite the lack of variety. For one, I can take materials, lessons and units that I have devised in previous years and tweak them so they fit the changing landscape that is the 11th and 12th grader. I can make choices with instruction that will allow for more meaningful learning, and after teaching this schedule for the past two years while attending grad school, I can implement technology in ways that I had not thought of before. These are all things in the plus column of "Why It's Good to Have My Schedule." 

Untitled. Hawkins, Z. , Dec. 13, 2007.

With repetition, however, comes the risk of routine. I found myself looking at last year's planner and grade book to see what I was doing on Day Six of the first term. Because I needed to know what I was going to do on Day Six of this term. This might sound like it's a smart thing to do, but I discovered that this year's students are way ahead of last year's students when it comes to understanding plagiarism and citing sources. This is the material that I start the course with so that all expectations are understood, and students write and research with a bit more confidence. So, on Day Six of last year, I spent time on reviewing the use of parenthetical references because, as apparently was the custom, my classes did poorly on their first two attempts. This year, they got it on the first try. Which meant that I had to come out of my trench. And coming out of the trench can be harsh. Allow me to illustrate this with a recent conversation I had with my inner imaginary Master Teacher:

Me: Ah, Day Six! Today is the day I spend time reviewing how to insert parenthetical references, like I have for the past five years, because my students haven't quite mastered that skill.
Imaginary Master Teacher: Except you don't need to do that. They all got it by Day Four. You checked it. They know it. Move on.
Me: Yeah, but ... it's Day Six ... and Day Six is ... I  ... um ...
Imaginary Master Teacher: No, go ahead. I'll wait.
Me: Well, see ... Day Six is that day that I hand out ... well, you know ... those three short stories that ... and ... um ...
Imaginary Master Teacher: Keep going, I think you're getting there.
Me: ... I ... ah ... see, they read the stories ... and ... 
Imaginary Master Teacher: Listen, you just keep talking, and I'll find some reading material to pass the time while you come to grips with things. Hmm, let's see ... something light ... here we go! Les Miserables. That'll do it.
Me: ... and then I show them ... more examples ... uh ...

Pork Chop. All Things Mimi, Sep. 26, 2010.

Perhaps you came from a family, or knew a family where the dinner menu was dictated by what night it was: Wednesday was "Pork Chop Night," Friday was "Pizza Night," Sunday was "Burgers on the Grill." That's what almost happened to me this year. Day Six nearly became "Pork Chop Night." Thankfully, I have voices in my head. (I know, that sounds really creepy, but it's OK - they aren't the type that keep repeating "redrum.") These voices are seasoned veterans of my teaching career, they have good instincts, and they headed off what would have been a redundant, not-so-useful day. I think teaching by the calendar is an easy habit to fall into when you have more than a few years under your belt. It can put a teacher in the mindset of trench warfare - the "I gotta do this no matter what" feeling of classroom instruction. And let's face it - if you don't like it, how do you think your students will feel?

The beginning of the year is where you make the first impressions upon your students and set the standards. There are times when you need to have "Pork Chop Night" in your classroom because it is a lesson that works, or is the slam-dunk example that every student understands and finds engaging. However, this year, Day Six needed to become "Carry-out Stir Fried Pork with Long Beans Night." Same ingredient, different flavor. So, today, on Day Six, we marched forward with Neil Simon, American Playwright, to feast upon two of his works. Not because it was next on the list, but because the students were ready to move to that. It's a good thing. 

So, once more unto the breach dear friends, once more we take charge of the classroom and everything that happens there. What are things you do as teachers to keep Day Six from becoming Pork Chop Night? How do you make this happen without reinventing the whole menu? 

And Now, My Quadrennial Rant

Ah, the Olympics. That amalgam of sporting conquest, inspiring back stories, the thrill of victory, the agony of defeat .... and the NBC color commentators.

I know that those who have previously played, participated, trained and/or coached a sport or activity have knowledge about what they are supposed to cover that the rest of us don't. That brings the potential for a reasoned and informative commentary. It can also provide a little excitement for when someone does something great, even at the risk of being a little too Ameri-centric. But what it ultimately does is ruin the amazement for the rest of us, to the point that in normal conversation we sound pretentious:

Me: "Did you see that awesome gymnastics thingy by Zelda Rheumatismansky last night? It was one of the most amazing things I've ever seen!"

Someone Else: "Yeah, she was good, but her feet were a little apart when she did the tripple-axel-Molotov-Hamill-Camel-extension-with-a-drop-loop-Aye-Caramba on her dismount. Really disappointing. 

Me: "Oh, yeah, I ... noticed that ... too ..." 

I have a new definition of "The 99 Percent:" It's the percentage of the worlds population who CANNOT DO ANY of what an Olympic gymnast does in competition. And I'm going to speculate that it's probably a higher percentage. So, "I am the 99.98 Percent," which means I am just in a lot of awe that a body can self-propel itself to fling, run, swim, spike, tumble, throw, shoot, and goal as much as I've been seeing in London.

While I appreciate the explanation of rules and technicalities, I don't think using descriptors such as "devastating," "catastrophic," or "horrendous" is right when a highly trained athlete makes a bobble. I can understand why an athlete will feel that way when things don't go well. Training for four, eight, or even twelve years to attain an Olympic medal only to come up short will illicit empathy from all of us watching. We want our people to do well, and to realize their goals. We cheer with them when they do well, and we may even cry with them when they miss their opportunities. What I don't want to hear half way through a routine or a match is that "it's over for him/her." Thanks, expert color commentator! Now I don't have to tediously watch the rest. I'll just turn the channel now to see what whacky things are happening in Judge Judy's courtroom. Now if we can just get Turner Classic Movies to flash the graphic "Rosebud is the sled!" right in the middle of Citizen Cane, we could spend more time watching reality TV.

(Oh, spoiler alert: I may divulge a critical plot element of the film Citizen Cane at some point during this post.)

I would like for color commentators to keep their hyperbole in check, or at least in the realm of reasonable. When I think "devastating," it conjures up scenes from Joplin, MO after the EF-5 tornado last May. "Catastrophic" is the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina or the Haitian earthquake. The human tragedy in Darfur is "horrendous." I really don't think that a highly trained athlete with sponsorship and endorsement deals missing out on Olympic medals is "tragic." It's disappointing, discouraging and heart aching - and we need to allow them to have these feelings. But please, don't try to get me believing that our world is a little worse off because someone else triumphed and is celebrating their victory. And don't tell me that someone is "done for" in the middle of their match. It's like seeing a graphic in the middle of Godfather III that says "Michael Corleone dies at the end, old and lonely, in one of the most laughable death scenes in film history."

(Spoiler alert: technically, this is not a spoiler, because very few people have the stomach to watch Godfather III to its conclusion. Think of this as me saving three hours of your life for something far better. You're welcome.)

There is a lot of other nonsense that NBC is doing: using winter Olympics athletes to promote summer games (I'm looking at you, Apollo), getting Matt and Al  to "humorously" attempt and make a mockery the events that most of us don't watch, the six-hour tape delay that requires Brian Williams to urge the NBC Nightly News viewers to "turn away from the screen because we're just going to 'show' the results and not 'talk' about them" (Spoiler alert: big tall swimmers win some medals ... again ...), and of course, the contest to see who can be the first one to really piss off Michael Phelps by asking him for the umpteenth time "how does it feel," and "you're really not going to retire this year, are you?" All of this is fair game, but alas, I don't have time to write about it.

I have to watch the horrendous, devastating catastrophe that is the final of women's beach volleyball, as it is certain that one American team will fail miserably and be forced to take home the silver. Oh, the humanity ...

Sub-letting Your Instructional Day

Karns, K. (2008). "What's in my bag." http://bit.ly/IXSjiJ

If there is one thing I know of that sets classroom teachers apart from the rest of the work-a-day world, it's this: when someone calls in sick, they can hang up the phone and go back to bed. (I know that there are exceptions, but let's for the moment take a look at the big picture.) When a teacher calls in sick, he or she is expected to construct a plan for the day so that someone else can take over. Many times, this calls for a moderate adaptation of what a teacher has actually planned for that day. In some cases, a teacher may need to find the substitue themselves. (It's probably no secret that teachers have a "go-to" substitute for when the need to be out of the classroom; that person isn't always be available, however.) The final step is for the teacher to get the day's plans to the sub. The advent of email and websites has made doing that remotely easy. Sometimes, however, a teacher needs to deliver the materials to the classroom prior to the school day.

Something that I've observed regarding integrating technology into lessons is that most subs don't understand the overall assignment, or don't know much about the technology that is being used. How does that affect the classroom if the missing regular classroom teacher?

Based on a recent experience, I would say poorly.

Please don't mistake this as a harangue on the substitute teacher. I have many to choose form that are perfect for my classroom: energetic, tech savvy, and possessing of a good dose of common sense. There are some who I have asked never to be be assigned to my classroom ever again. The reasons for those folks are less than exciting: they mostly didn't want to be in my classroom. Still, there are days when the best classroom plan is "silent sustained reading," simply because what I had planed to do would take more time to explain in a written plan than would actually take to implement by the substitute teacher.

The issue is this: the classroom teacher who integrates technology into their lessons/units/courses puts a lot of time and effort into the thought and planning process. If they do it right, they consider all of the benefits and pitfalls of implementing technology in their classroom. They are damn near experts on the software, hardware, and perhaps even the research behind its integration. They are prepared for all of the successes and failures that will come.

Kirkland, M. & Selman, M. (2009). "Bart Gets a Z."

The sub is there to satisfy the legal requirement that a licensed teacher be in charge of the classroom. There is no law or rule that stipulates they need to be expert in the subject they are stepping into. That's not to say that they aren't expert - some of the subs for my classes have had some amazing experience and credentials. But the substitute that helped write the AP World History exam last year will likely not have the knowledge of how my students use digital image editing for their projects, or have access to or experience with Edmodo.

The easy answer is "well, when I get back, I'll get everything back on track." The problem is - based on actual experience - is that the nagging back pain might be a kidney stone blocking the essential plumbing. (You'll miss three-to-five days because of this, but the painkillers are amazing.) This means your sub will be on call for many days in a row. That's a lot of time to have to "get everything back on track." You may not be able to schedule the substitute who understands exactly what you are doing in your classroom. What do you do then?

I wish I had an answer to this one. I'm fortunate that I work in a school and a department who support integrating technology, but they also have their own classrooms to tend to. Sometimes you have to restort to the "life gets in the way" philosophy. Perhaps your technically infused lesson will have to wait until your return. In my experience, a day or two delay is not a lesson killer; a week is a long time to let things go without specific instruction. I've had those days where specific instructions were left behind, along with the caution "please make sure they are working on their projects." I've always received the report the next day that "those kids really worked and were focused on the computers." Many times, the work wasn't project related. Kids are still kids when it comes to the substitute teacher.

How do you handle the heavy tech lessons when a substitute has to step in for you?

UDATE: And, oh, by the way, Happy 2nd Anniversary, BlamSpot! I can't wait to see how you handle the terrible twos!

Why Yes, You May Call Me "Master"

"Marty Feldman" (07/2011). Critical Fright.

Two years ago, I began my quest for an advanced degree. As a teacher, I had observed many colleagues fulfill their goal of receiving a Master's degree, and they all claimed that while it was a lot of time, work and money, it was worth it. The University of Northern Iowa's Instructional Technology Cohort program seemed to be the right program for my needs and schedule. I qualified for admittance, and began my trek with my first online class at 6:00 PM on Tuesday, May 4th, 2010. At 7:00 PM Friday, May 4th, 2012, the journey ends when degrees will be conferred.

Please - you don't be formal when you address me. You may just call me "master" from this point on.

The next chapter of my educational journey is now largely up to me, but it does come with that little tag at the end of my credentials: MA. How that will affect what I do in the classroom or with my career is yet to be seen, but there is an aire of optimism regarding how I will be accepted in the realm of education. The fruits of my labor - and newly acquired knowledge - will bring me more than just a better paycheck (not that there's anything wrong with that, I'm not complaining. I'm just saying.) So as opposed to speculating on my future, allow me this posting to reflect upon the experience.

First of all, for those who are interested, my ePortfolio can be found here. This is the academic treatment of my past two years, and while not all of the artifacts will turn the pedagogical sphere inside out, I do feel that I've shed some light on things that otherwise needed some light. It represents a lot of work, observation, practice, collaborating, pontificating, writing, revising, revising, and revising.

Some other musings:

People ask me if getting my doctorate is next. The anser is "no," for these reasons:

1. I had a hard enough time just writing a research literature review that met specs. I think a dissertation would kill me. Even though I know I am a better academic writer than I was two years ago, it's just hard to let my mind go to that space right now. Maybe in two years when I get really bored I'll consider it - but I doubt that I'll considering for very long.
2. My wife would probably be less than thrilled - at least at this point in time. She's really enjoying the fact that for the first time in two years, I "don't have to write something." (Come to think of it, so am I.) She encouraged me to pursue this degree, and has been a huge cheerleader during the past two years - and there where many "poor me" moments that she managed to slap down. I think I owe her some "I don't have to write something" time.
3. I like the title of "Master." I think it beats "Doctor" any day. Consider it from this point of view: "Doctor" makes it sound like you have to take care of someone, or cure their ills. It concocts an image of a kindly old country doctor taking care of the boo-boos ala Norman Rockwell. "Master," on the other hand, conjures images of an imposing figure with chiseled features and Fabio hair flowing in a gale-force wind, hurling thunderbolts down from a cliff while pounding his chest and shouting "I am man imortal!" Do you really have to think about this one? Please.

The human element must be addressed as well. I had the opportunity (which after a very short time became apparent that it was a privilege) to collaborate with fifteen amazing cohorts. I've learned volumes from them all, but more specifically (and importantly):

• Chelsea, Lisa and Joni were champions for the elementary student viewpoint. Their projects and reflections reminded me that their students' challenges and successes will eventually become my students', and they will likely do better because of what these three do every day. 
• Sarah constantly amazed by guiding us with her research abilities. I think she may have special powers, but we all agree that she's just a wicked-smart teacher-librarian.
• Jennie inspired us by shattering the image of "the man's realm" with her teaching a unique male dominated subject.
• Brandi, Marty and Deb constantly proved to us that they would (and probably should) be amazing classroom teachers, and that what we do in the classroom isn't always as clear as we think. Their perspective was sometimes humbling, but always valued.
• Lance created some amazing opportunities via the ITEC conferences and set up important infrastructure for our projects. His ability to backchannel on multiple platforms was awe-inspiring.
• Jamie and Stacy demonstrated to us that yes, you can teach full time, get a Masters degree AND have children all at the same time. I didn't think anyone could be that bored, but then again, what do I know? I think those kids are pretty lucky to have them as mothers. 
• Carrie showed us that fighting the good fight for the kids who need a bit more help is always worth it, and challenged those she presented to to treat all kids with respect and compassion.
• Mande and Cathy showed how collaboration between their students in two different school districts allowed for new learning opportunities and teaching methods. (Cathy also showed us that leaving your hometown and all that that is familiar can, despite being painful, provide some amazing revelations both in and out of the classroom.)
• Dr. Z shepherded us through all of this by challenging, confounding, celebrating, confusing, and coordinating us. I don't know if anyone else could have done as well with this group. I suspect no one else could.

I think very highly of these folks, and I will miss them. From the start, it was clear that we all liked each other and got along fairly well. When posible, we would get together for some valuable face-to-face time. We collaborated, commiserated, edited each others' work, and sent messages to each other during our online classes. We bonded. In this era of online communication, it's not likely that we will all lose touch; at the same time, though, these were the people that made hopping on line every Sunday night much more enjoyable, especially when the backchannel chatting began. It was easy to post "We are the Cohort, the mighty MIGHTY Cohort" after successful presentations and accomplishments.

I know I'm a better person today, a better teacher, because of these people and the associated activities. It's been worth it. I think that's the real payoff of receiving the title of "Master." So, yes, you can call me "master," thank you.

You're an Analog Player in a Digital World

"Pen Collection." Aztura82, 5/26/2008. 

Like the rest of the e-world, I get many emails plugging and extolling the virtues of the next greatest thing - usually a technology or a gee-whiz gizmo. Like the rest of the e-world, I will pick and choose what I read and what I ignore. (Spam can be irritating, but it can also be entertaining as well.) Today, I received an email with the following subject line:

"Important News from Paper Mate!"

My first reaction was "oh, this will be good." My curiosity was handsomely rewarded: there is a "new kind" of pen and ink delivery system out there. At the risk of appearing like a shill for PaperMate, they are touting that this "revolutionary new ink delivery system" will cause pen thefts to skyrocket (assuming normally honest people will be so envious of this marvel they will turn to a life of petty larceny to acquire their class- or officemate's pen.) If you think I'm making this up, see for yourself here.

Then my giggly snarkiness turned a bit melancholy. It was like watching the guy who invented the DittoMaster standing in the middle of an empty, cavernous warehouse, waving his arms and screaming "Wait! It reproduces stuff in black ink, too! And kids won't get high anymore sniffing the fresh ink!" Here is a pen company trying to sound like they are just as high tech as Apple or Google. Ink is still a very analog medium, no matter how revolutionary it is. And they aren't alone. The Eastman Kodak Company, who brought us many decades of memories in KodaChrome fashion, is on the brink of collapse because of the advent of digital imagery. And in case you need a healthy mouthful of irony, they are putting their over 1,100 patents for digital imagery up for sale. This is the company that practically invented digital photography. 

The Boston KS Model 1031. 

I confess, I know as much about "ink delivery systems" as I do about microcircuitry, so I won't rule out that there may be something very exciting going on at PaperMate. But we are at a kind of turning point here. Our classrooms now use a significant amount of digital input devices. More students in my classroom then ever before are using computers, email, PDA, tablets, electronic notebooks and Web 2.0 tools for completing assignments. However, I still do the analog thing: paper worksheets, journals, "jot this down in your notes," etc. Some students just get their personal computing device out and tap in there responses and reflections, and I don't discourage that in the least. The rest dig a pen out of their backpack, or come up to the pencil sharpener. (Ah, my good ol' trusty Boston KS Model 1031. Has there ever been a more effective workhorse in the classroom?) 

I've been in the classroom fulltime for 22 years now - and I am the quintessential analog teacher in the digital age. I still love the feel of a good, heavy pen in my hand, but most of my writing is done via a digital input device. In my classroom, I use chalk on my blackboard, dry erase markers on my whiteboard, project documents on my SmartBoard, and connect to the Internet seamlessly. My dictionaries sit on a shelf not far from the wireless router. A 21" cathode ray tube TV casts a shadow on my 15" LCD flat screen computer monitor. The classroom clock has three hands and twelve numbers; the phone is connected to a LAN. Somewhere, some time, something's gonna give. 

Tomorrow, my World Humanities class will construct character sociograms using a Web 2.0 tool like Webspiration or MindNode, and I know someone is going to ask if they can do it by hand because they "are just better at that." It always happens. Perhaps it's fear of trying something new, or perhaps it's the limitations of the tool itself. And in the interest of constructivist learning theories, I will let them. But I will have them try the tool during class. I still don't think it's futile for an analog player to teach the digital natives. If I did, I wouldn't be writing this today. We just need to remember that there is room for the analog tools, and that they still help learner achieve in ways their digital counterparts can't.

In-Tuh-Gray-Shun! Hallelujah!

So how do you end a semester of Selection and Integration of Instructional Technologies? With two things:

The final project, which you can find here, and a song ... sort of...

(With apologies to lyricist Lynn Ahrens, performer Essra Mohawk, and all of the creative geniuses behind this gem from Schoolhouse Rock. And special thanks to former student and musician Andrew C. for his talents.)

This almost feels blasphemous. Almost. (And "almost" has yet to stop me.)

UPDATE: Due to a recent request, you have two options. Choose wisely ...

Option #1: "I'm going to play it safe, I've just eaten, and I don't want to risk hysterical blindness." Click play for the instrumental

Podcast Powered By Podbean

Option #2: "I have an empty stomach, I regularly throw caution to the wind, and I'll gamble that hysterical blindness is a temporary condition at best." Click here for the "vocal" version (and may God have mercy on your soul ...)

Podcast Powered By Podbean

When Reginald was home with the flu, uh-huh-huh,
The teacher knew just what to do-hoo.
She made the connection
In the online direction

Which meant Reginald was getting that 

Integration!

Hey! That's smart!
Sweet! How cool!
Yow! That's really clever providing me with an assistive technology!

Integration (Hey!) It's exciting (Sweet!) What a notion (Yow!)
It's usually set apart from a lesson that's missing Universal Learning Design,
It adds some karma to a unit that's not so strong.

So Geraldine thought she was all set, uh-huh-huh
She figured she was the teacher's pe-het
Assignments done to perfection,

With a podcast reflection -
But Geraldine was receiving some 

Integration!

Well! I never thought I could learn so much!
Oh! I've never been so impressed in all my life!
Hey! I love that I can do more than just write my responses!

Integration (Well!) It's exciting (Oh!) What a notion (Hey!).
It's usually set apart from a lesson that's minus that thing called Gee-Ar-Ar,
It adds some karma to a unit that's not so strong.

It makes kids happy (Hurray!) Not sad (Aw!)
Enlightened (Whee!) Not mad (Rats!)
Delighted, (Wow!) And glad (Hey!)
The integration starts the day's plan right.

A research paper was assigned to them all, uh-huh-huh,

And Franklin? He was on the ba-hall.
He made a citation
For his researched quotation;
He's a cyber citizen because of

Integration!

Wow! I cited this the right way!
Cha-ching! I know how to play this game!
Bazinga! I'm respecting intellectual property!

Integration (Wow!) It's exciting (Cha-ching!) What a notion (Bazinga!).
It's usually set apart from a lesson that ignores teaching cyber citizenry ,
It adds some karma to a unit that's not so strong.

It makes kids happy (Hurray!) Not sad (Aw!)
Enlightened (Whee!) Not mad (Rats!)
Delighted, (Wow!) And glad (Hey!)
The integration starts the day's plan right.

Integration (Hey!) It's exciting (Wow!) What a notion (Cool!).
It's usually set apart from a lesson that's missing a whole heckuvalot,
It adds some karma to a unit that's not so strong.

Integration! It's exciting! What a notion!
Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah... YEA!

Darn! That's the end!

For you purists out there, here's the real deal (with a bit of assistive technology tossed in there).

You're letting WHO do WHAT?

Ever think a blind kid could run a spotlight? A deaf kid do a sound check? A wheelchair-bound kid run scenery? A Downs Syndrom kid dance on stage?

Ask me that twenty years ago, and I'm not sure what I would have said. Today I can say "yeah, we've done that,"and we've done it with success.

Working in educational theater presents enough challenges for the ordinary director. Working with kids who have no challenges to speak of is enough for most of us. When we're faced with working with kids who have more severe challenges, we're faced with change, and creative thinking, and ... well, I'm not sure what we call it. At times if feels like panic, fear, worry, or anything else but opportunity.

And that's exactly what it is.

In the 19 years that I've been teaching at my school, our theater has been graced by two blind students, not quite a dozen deaf students (some profoundly, others functionally), four students with Downs Syndrome, three kids in wheelchairs (strangely enough, all three with acute rheumatoid arthritis), several with varying degrees of Asbergers ... and we've always tried to give them a shot and doing theater. Aside from it being "the right thing to do," it would often give we directors as well as our veteran theater students the opportunity to work with kids that we wouldn't work with otherwise. We have yet to have anyone come away from these experiences thinking that it was a mistake. 

That's the warm-fuzzy part of this: the kids get a chance to learn from each other. You don't need a stack of research to prove that - it's plainly obvious to even the casual observer. It raises the question, though, regarding what we provide: as instructors, are we doing enough to provide a quality educational experience? 

Universal Design for Learning (UDL) is a framework for the structure of instruction for those who need assistive learning - whether that is through technology, the help of an assistant, or the use of materials designed to assist. It provides us with guidance and presses us to think through a lot more scenarios than what we're probably used to.

A particularly challenging moment for me as a theater educator was several years ago when a deaf student wanted to help with sound. The mechanical part was easy - you don't really have to hear to make cable connections and flip on switches. The array of lights and indicators tell you when things are plugged in correctly. But how did she know that the mic worked? You have to hear that, right?

Sort of.

With the help of an interpreter, she was able work with another hearing student - but that was his hearing interpretation of the sound, not her deaf interpretation. She really didn't perform the sound check - it was someone else doing it and then telling her the mic was working. So how can a deaf person work in a theatrical sound environment?

Welcome to the 21st Century, and meet industrial designer Frederick Podzuweit. He has envisioned a collar called "Music For Deaf People" (MFDP) that allows deaf people to experience music. It looks something like this:

Podzuweit, F (2010). Music for Deaf People device.

It plugs in to a sound device much like a set of headphones, except instead of the signal running to transducer speakers, it runs to a series of membranes that vibrate, expand and contract with the beat and frequency of the sound source. The neck and shoulders receive the tactile sensation, and therefore create a relationship between the intended sound and the sensation of the collar. This allows a deaf person to experience and sense sound by way of the sense of touch.

Suddenly here is a device that solves the dilemma. By connecting this to a sound output device (a sound mixer, iPod, speaker, wireless receiver, etc) my deaf student could do a sound check alone (or at least without the help of an interpreter.) How would the MFDP be used in the classroom? Here is one possible lesson scenario using my Stage Design class as an example.

(UPDATE: Sadly, this is only a conceptual design and not a reality - yet. If only I were good with tools, electronics and pneumatic actuators ...)

Still not convinced that deaf people can perform in the sound-rich environment of theater? Evelyn Glennie is a fantastic example of how a deaf person can still hear sound and perform music. This is her TedTalks presentation from 2003:

We live in a great age - our technology is allowing for more and better opportunities for students, be it in the arts or the math class. We need to keep looking for ways that allow them to learn better, and allow us to teach them better.