“What you do speaks so loud that I cannot hear what you say.” ― Ralph Waldo Emerson
Since the first day of school, I’ve been working hard to try to establish a classroom culture where students feel comfortable taking risks, asking questions, sharing and building on each others’ fully-formed and partial ideas, and acknowledging and correcting their mistakes; where all students feel that their contributions and questions are valuable and worthy of consideration. I have tried to do so by pointing out (less often than I should) when a student or a group is exemplifying one of these norms, by waiting (again, less often than I should) after questions and contributions to give more students the time they need formulate and share their ideas, by giving tasks that are accessible to a wide range of students and can be tackled with a variety of strategies, by eliciting and celebrating different solution paths, by highlighting different kinds of mathematical smartness (h/t Ilana Horn)…
In our division, classes on the first day of school are only 15 minutes long. By the time students settle in and introductions are made, there is hardly enough time to wrestle and play with an interesting math problem. I saved that for the second day. Instead of going through the syllabus, however, I gave the time over to my students to reflect on the following questions:
I’ve been substitute teaching for about a month now, which has been a roller-coaster ride (the fun kind). On a few of those days, I was left a lesson or activity to facilitate, but most days I’m not so lucky. Understandably, most teachers prefer to leave substitutes with a work period (alright, let’s call it what it is – glorified babysitting). However, I really enjoy engaging with students, especially when math is involved, and so I usually can’t resist showing the students a mathematical “magic” trick that I leave as a challenge for them to figure out during the period. I now have a small collection of tried and true “tricks” that I like to pull out at the beginning of class, but there’s one in particular that kills every. single. time, no matter the age group (although it will likely need to be adapted for grades below 6; I haven’t tried it). Continue reading “The sub trick that kills (On engagement)”
The premise is that you are invited to an auction, and given a budget of $10 [I changed the budget to $15 for my students to encourage a bit more risk taking]. Everyone at the auction has the same budget. The participants are all bidding on certain events that may occur when two 6-sided dice are rolled (e.g., both numbers are greater or equal to 5; a single 2 is rolled; both numbers are odd; etc.). After all the events have been auctioned off to the highest bidders, the two dice are rolled 20 times. Each time the event that you purchased occurs, you collect a prize. Bidding always begins at $1 and goes up in increments of $1. You cannot bid against yourself. The order of the events up for auction is known beforehand. If you choose not to spend (some, or all of) your money, the auctioneer will sell you prizes at a cost of $2 per prize after the bidding has ended. Your task is to get as many prizes as possible. Continue reading “Card Auction (Introducing dependence)”
Last week, Dan Meyer wrote a brief reflection on Ed Beagle’s First and Second Laws of Mathematics Education:
The validity of an idea about mathematics education and the plausibility of that idea are uncorrelated.
Mathematics education is much more complicated than you expected even though you expected it to be more complicated than you expected.
The second law particularly resonated with me, a soon-to-be teacher. The more I learn about mathematics education, the more I realize that there is still so much to learn, and that anyone who says it’s simple is selling you something (Dan Meyer). My to-read list is growing longer and longer, even as I realize more and more fully that what matters most is not what I read, but what I do at the ground level with my students. (Side note: Last week I also began my foray into John Mason’s work – thanks, Danny Brown.)
The other day, I presented some students with the following game:
Last cookie is a game for two players. In this game, a number of cookies are divided between two cookie jars, and each jar has at least one cookie. Each player can take cookie in one of two ways:
By taking any number they like from just one jar or
By taking the same amount from both jar.
The winner is the person who takes the last cookie(s).
Some of you may recognize this as Wythoff’s game; on the NRICH website, which has a great online version of the game, it’s called Last Biscuit (I modified the name for a Canadian audience). If you aren’t familiar with the problem, I highly encourage you to give it a go – very easy to understand and play, but the optimal strategy is not particularly obvious.
I assigned this game as homeplay (get it?? because it’s a game… terrible, I know). Then, the other day, we picked it up again after about a week of rumination.
Last week, some incredibly talented students at our high school put on an evening of one-act plays. I was particularly excited to see A Charlie Brown Christmas, and I was not disappointed – I was so impressed by how well the kids brought the classic cartoon to life. However, the play that really gave me some food for thought that night was A Straight Skinny: a story about a high school algebra class that had been caught cheating on a midterm exam.