Tag Archives: teaching

Unconventional Lesson: A Moment That Defines My Approach to Education

If you had asked me years ago how I felt about school, my response would have been less than enthusiastic. School was not a place of excitement for me; in fact, it was a struggle to stay engaged unless something truly piqued my interest. I was academically ahead, yet the challenge of schoolwork failed to hold my attention. But one particular experience stands out—a moment that, while negative, has profoundly shaped how I approach teaching today.

As a child, I remember the routine of walking up to the board in math class, as we all did back then, to solve problems on the board in front of everyone. It was during these horrifying moments that my teacher would consistently and publicly point out that I was “doing it wrong.” My mistake? I wrote my numbers from right to left instead of the conventional left to right. This was never a conscious choice, just the way my brain processed numbers. And yet, rather than guiding me with understanding, my teacher reinforced that my way was incorrect, making me feel abnormal.

At the time, I didn’t see the issue—after all, my numbers still appeared in the correct order. But that persistent criticism instilled a deep-seated fear of numbers in me, one that lingers even today. I avoid writing long numbers on the board whenever possible, a habit born from years of internalized anxiety. Looking back, I now recognize that this teacher’s approach was not only unhelpful but also harmful. However, in an odd way, I am grateful for the experience because it has given me a profound awareness of how students feel when they don’t fit the mold.

This awareness has become the foundation of my teaching philosophy. In my classroom, kindness is a rule, not a suggestion. I emphasize the importance of embracing differences because it is often those who think differently who drive innovation and progress. I want my students to feel seen, heard, and respected—not for how they conform, but for what they uniquely bring to the table.

Education should not be about forcing students into a singular mode of thinking; it should be about fostering creativity, curiosity, and confidence. My journey has taught me that learning is not about getting everything “right” but about discovering new ways of understanding the world. So, if a student in my class approaches a problem in an unconventional way, I celebrate it. Because breaking the mold isn’t a flaw—it’s the spark of something extraordinary.

“It’s Complicated”

heart shaped images
Photo by freestocks on Unsplash

Like many educators, my initial reaction to AI was visceral rejection. When ChatGPT joined the scene in Nov. 2022, I felt shock and isolation. Would my assignments become obsolete? Would my role as an educator be reduced to managing prompts and outputs? Was my job going to turn into the philosophy I slip into in tough times–“shit in, shit out”? I’ll admit it—I had a minor panic attack about the future of my career as a composition teacher.
But I was curious. I started experimenting with AI tools like Claude, Poe, and Perplexity. I could see an appeal. I saw them assisting in tasks that would typically take a long time. I got a little excited about the possibilities. AI could free up time for more meaningful student interactions or help me with RSI. Maybe it could help level the playing field for learners who struggle with specific tasks. I became more enthusiastic and eager to share these tools with colleagues and students.
Then I got deeper into the AI ecosystem after reading numerous books; I started to see some complexities lurking beneath the surface. The environmental cost of training large language models is staggering—the water and energy consumption is similar to that of small cities. Then there’s the human cost: the invisible labor force in the Global South, working under challenging conditions to label data and moderate content. These AI systems, while impressive, are potentially widening the digital divide between those who have access to cutting-edge technology and those who don’t.
I am adopting a more nuanced stance now. I still use AI tools, but with greater intentionality. I am trying to balance their benefits with their drawbacks, and I’m trying to be thoughtful about how I present them to my students. Instead of positioning AI as either a threat or a salvation, I frame it as a complex technology that requires critical engagement.
My relationship with AI has evolved from rejection to enthusiasm to careful consideration. The relationship is not over, and I’m not sure where it will head next. I want to help my students understand the tools but also to think critically about their use. So my relationship status remains: “it’s complicated.”

A Magnetic Tradition

Forty (40!) years ago this fall, I received this refrigerator magnet as a gift:

Why would I still have this magnet, and why would I remember the year it was given to me? It dates back to the fall of 1985, when I was an elementary education major at ASU. One of the courses I took that semester was a social studies teaching methods course.

The course itself was not remarkable. I do remember a project where my group was assigned to teach a lesson to the rest of the class on how history is recorded. We broke the class up into smaller groups and placed them in surrounding classrooms. Our professor had a meltdown of historic proportions when she realized we left some of our “students” unsupervised. It was the first (and last) time a professor ever yelled at me. (I also had a TA throw a book at me that year, but that’s a story for another day.)

On the last day of the semester, though, this same professor gathered us all in a circle. She had each of us reach into a bag and take out a magnet. She then explained that, as teachers, we would receive many gifts from students in the future (and, by the way, a lot of them would be magnets!) She wanted to show her appreciation for our hard work by being the first one to present us with a “teacher gift.”

It was a moving moment, and one that stuck with me.

Years later, I found myself in a professional learning seminar about teaching with heart. At the end of the multi-day workshop, the presenter gave us all heart pins to remember the important insights we had gained together:

I’ve thrown away a lot of crap things in my life, but I’ve held on to this heart pin for the last 25 years.

In the book The Power of Moments, authors Chip and Dan Heath would describe both of these experiences as “defining moments” – meaningful experiences that stand out in our lives. The authors share four elements that can create a defining moment:

  • Elevation – moments that rise above the everyday and “break the script” of what’s usual
  • Insight – moments that rewire our understanding of the world
  • Pride – moments of achievement and/or courage
  • Connection – moments we share with others

I believe the act of sharing a small token in a ceremony has the potential to include all the elements of a defining moment. As such, I’ve been inspired by these experiences to create a similar tradition in my courses. For example, I teach Educational Psychology, which is a first block course in GCC’s BAEE program. At the end of the course, I, too, give magnets to my students:

I offer the same sentiment to my students about wanting to give them their first teacher gift. The energy in the room is palpable as students take in the importance of the moment. There is, dare I say, a sacred feel to this tradition.

For my Positive Psychology students, we have a similar ceremony, but instead I share smooth heart-shaped rocks:

In every ceremony I’ve conducted, I’ve seen students’ faces soften and I’ve sensed hearts open as they experience a little elevation, insight, pride, and connection. And after the ceremony, I have significantly more students coming up to thank me for the semester.

And by the way, I feel nothing but affection for that professor from 40 years ago (not so much the book-throwing TA). After all, I never, ever left an elementary student unsupervised, and perhaps I have her to thank for that. But I am grateful that she modeled how to have a defining moment in a closing ceremony and that she gave that to me to share with my students.


For more information on using The Power of Moments in higher education see this Teaching Tip.

Show and Tell: It’s Not Just for Kindergartners

I’ve been teaching at GCC for 20 years and have tried a lot of best practices and trends in my teaching: gamification, flipped classrooms and project learning are just a few. However the best teaching trick I ever introduced to my class is my version of Show and Tell. 

Every week students are asked to bring something from their home to share and discuss during class.  I select specific items each week for either a purpose or to relate the item to the content being covered for lecture. For example, on the first night of class, I ask students to wear their favorite shirt, hat, or piece of jewelry to encourage students to want to have their cameras on during our live online class. Week two they bring their favorite snack for the discussion on Sensation and Perception. For the week we cover Lifespan Development, students are asked to bring a picture of themselves during their childhood. For Memory week, they are asked to bring a family heirloom or something they want to pass down to future generations. Every week I put the students into breakout rooms where each student has a turn to share what they brought that week with some of their classmates. During break-out sessions, students share their item and the story behind the item. Students then submit an assignment where they list who was in their group and describe the item they brought. I refer to these break-out sessions as In-Class Activities, and here is an image of one of these assignments.  

Just because I think this is a great idea, doesn’t mean that it is. However here is what students had to say when asked about their favorite sharing activity.

  • My favorite thing overall about the class was sharing activities
  • My favorite sharing theme was the collections. Seeing people’s items was cool but hearing the stories behind them is why it was so memorable. I still remember my group mates concert shirts, butterfly themed items, and baking supplies.
  • I loved hearing about everyone’s achievements, and it was really uplifting to see all the amazing things my classmates have accomplished. Plus, hearing the teacher’s encouraging words at the end, made it even more special. 
  • My favorite theme is the most recent one talking about our collections and why they started. I enjoyed this one because it showed me more about my classmates and what they enjoy. I got to see some really cool legos and hear about books that are different from what I’m used to. 
  • I enjoyed every breakout session and sharing activities; talking with everyone and discussing various topics was delightful. 
  • My favorite sharing theme was the toy theme, I enjoyed seeing all the little tiny toys that my classmates have. It was my favorite theme because it made me relate to my classmates in that they also had little toys on hand with them.
  • My favorite theme was also our most recent when everyone brought something they’re proud of. I think knowing what someone is proud of tells you a lot about their life and personality, and it was fun learning that about people.
  • My favorite breakout session theme was when we all had to bring a favorite picture of ourselves and explain it. I loved learning about my classmates lives
  • I’m going to be honest, all the sharing activities were interesting and informative because they all related to the topic we were learning about for the week. It was also very interactive because the people I had in my breakout room not only participated, but I was able to get their opinion about the topic and could even ask for their input about certain concerns I would have and vice versa.
  • My favorite sharing subject from the weekly small group breakout sessions was “Memories from Childhood.” This subject promoted a feeling of understanding and connection among group members by enabling a sentimental journey into everyone’s history. Talking about our early years brought up a variety of feelings, from reflection to laughter, and gave us an insight into the early events that shaped the people we are now. This topic was the most enjoyable to me since it sparked meaningful stories and strengthened the group’s sense of friendship.

Show and Tell allows my students to connect with each other and build community in a virtual space. They are given a space where they can share personal stories and life dreams with their classmates. Although in-person class time is limited, I encourage everyone to create some time during the semester to give students that space to build friendships. If you are interested in ideas for Show and Tell themes, send me an email and we can surely come up with some fun ideas! 

Battling with AI and Community Building

I’m taking on both sides of the coin again this week, although I just have a couple of things to say about AI. First, AI has been a part of our lives a lot longer than we think or knew. Second, I’ve spent a good deal of time on voice-activated technology (think ’90s) and it should work a lot better than it does.

For example, I finally changed the female voice of Siri to a male voice because my female was taking on a bit of an attitude, if you know what I mean. Every once in a while you could tell she really thought that you should just do whatever it was you asked her to do – yourself. The male version of Siri has gotten to the point where he just simply doesn’t respond – a bit passive aggressive, it seems, especially when I ask for directions. So, AI, we’re listening, and we are silently grading your actions! (It’s kind of like silently correcting your grammar – but with more attitude)…

Now the other side of the coin is creating a community. I am happy to say that I learned from some excellent GCC instructors here to do this for my online classes. In my classroom classes I would just use my enthusiasm to help create the community, but this is all online and asynchronous – and you and the students have to build that community through the words you choose and how you say it.

My Community Building Exercise has to get going right from week 1, so it is a Discussion Assignment in Canvas, and I start with my own, relatively down-home introduction, with a photo of my family, or our puppy dog. I want them to feel comfortable and get them to want to share as well. But, between that Introduction – Tell Us a Little About Yourself, with a great selfie of a happy young woman we start off by talking about ourselves. For example, above, you see a photo from years ago of my son eating snow. When we went back to Minnesota for a wedding in December a few years ago, we had a magical snowfall, and my son got to eat snow again, one of his favorite things. It’s not something you would generally include in an introduction.

The idea of the more laid-back introduction is to open up and tell something about me (and I mostly talk about how I ended up back in Arizona, when I actually was born here — but never lived here). That’s complicated enough. This is important because we (I’m already using the “royal” we) want to welcome, encourage, and trust what we say to each other in our discussions. We are all in this together. This is what ‘we’ are working on this week…

The Introductions take us wherever it goes. I’ve already mentioned on a previous Canvas page that positive responses help to create a more positive environment – and that was one of those ideas I got from one of the GCC teachers I mentioned. I answer every student during that first week with their own public answer to their introduction, as well as answer, in the public forum, any question they ask of me.

I’ve had some fabulous students from all different study areas, coming from all over the world, and those who have never been outside of Phoenix, but the point is that we share. We share our lives, our experiences, and then we continue throughout the semester — so that it doesn’t stop right there. It’s exciting to meet all of these people! And the last thing I say to them is the last announcement of my module:

“There are no goodbyes for us.  Wherever you are, you will always be in my heart.” – Gandhi

And I include this: “This is where we leave the class.  Grades are in, scores are (mostly) high!  You did well – and you lasted the semester!  Please don’t feel that because a few years pass you cannot send me an email about this course.  I’ve had many students re-connect and say, “because of this course I did amazing things.”  Go out and be amazing!“

That’s how I end our community. The community is not over, if you want to contact me you can. And saying goodbye for me is the hardest part.

Estonian composer Arvo Pärt said to a group of us, “If you are walking down the street and you see me, don’t be afraid to say, “Hi.” I’ll appreciate the fact that you did.” Such an internationally famous composer to say something like that to us! And I’ve learned from many of my students that they changed their major because of my class, or it saved them from their difficult semester of STEM classes or I’ve been happy to run into some of my honors students and one said to me, “You were right about the university atmosphere.”

Are You Feeling OK?

How are you feeling? Do you feel alone in that feeling? Do you think anyone else feels similarly to you? Would it help you to know that other people feel the same way? These are questions that motivated the tradition I started in my classes. I realized that the students were dealing with complex emotions and occasionally felt isolated by those emotions. Survey after survey has found that students are dealing with stress and loneliness, and these feelings that impact students’ mental well-being can contribute to issues with concentration, motivation, and keeping up with their coursework. So, to help students recognize, cope with, and even build connections from their emotional states, I asked them how they were feeling at the beginning of class.  

First, I started with the traditional “What’s filling your bucket, what’s draining your bucket?”.

Then, I tried a scale of pop culture icons. How are you feeling on a scale of Nicholas Cage?

Then, I moved to a scale of memes. How are you feeling on a scale of Sponge Bob memes?

And I ended up settling on a scale of animals. How are you feeling on a scale of llamas?; or dogs, cows, cats, birds, the list goes on. 

It was a small effort initially, but students began to recognize that they had a lot of shared emotions. Many students were tired, stressed, frustrated, or anxious, and they could see that other students felt the same way. At the end of the semester, I asked the students how they felt about the “emotion check,” they shared with me that they felt like they had a chance to express their feelings. Seeing other students feel similarly was comforting. They felt like it showed them that I cared about them as people. In many ways, the students expressed that they felt like the class was a community and that they felt like they were building connections with one another. 

One nice side effect of taking a survey of the students is that if I see a strong pattern, I can do a check in the class and see if I need to pivot to give them greater support. If most students choose the stressed llama, something is going on, and it might be a better use of my time to work with them on what is frustrating them. 

It doesn’t take much time. It is a fast “temperature check” that gives me a clear idea of how the students will respond in class. I find it helpful (and fun). Maybe you will, too.

Winding Down After 35 Years

Thirty-five years ago, I stepped into my first classroom at Deer Valley HS with a mix of excitement and maybe a little bit of terror. It was a high school classroom after all. Teenagers are scary. I had my lesson plans meticulously typed (on actual paper, mind you), and I was raring to go. Today, as I begin the process of winding down my career, I find myself reflecting on the moments, big and small, that have made this journey unforgettable.

When I started teaching, the idea of an online class seemed about as futuristic as video calls, making calls with your watch, and flying cars. Remember the Jetsons!? Over the years, I’ve adapted to hybrid learning, digital platforms, and yes, even Instagram and Twitter posts for assignments. From overhead projectors and chalkboards to Smartboards and AI-powered tutoring, the landscape of education has transformed in ways I never could have predicted. I remember sitting on a desk with a bunch of other faculty at Westwood HS in 1993 discussing the World Wide Web and how it could possibly change education. Wow! We had no idea!

Educause 2007 Alisa and Mary Jane Onnen

There have been moments of brilliance, moments of comedy, and moments of sheer chaos in those 35 years. And somewhere along the way, I became part-instructional designer, part-IT support, and part-time coach. Who knew that I’d one day be troubleshooting WiFi issues while also trying to explain the nuances of APA documentation. Even in a digital world, nothing replaces a well-timed pep talk, an encouraging email, or a spontaneous laugh shared over a technical glitch. “Just turn it off and restart that computer.” That used to fix it every time.

I’ve learned that students are more engaged when they feel heard, whether that’s through a discussion board post at 2 a.m. or an impromptu debate over whether a particular sentence is a run-on or not. Who argues with their English teacher about that? Navigating the world of Zoom, breakout rooms, and “Can everyone hear me?” moments has been a learning curve, but one that ultimately expanded the reach of education way before Covid.

I will miss the energy of a classroom deep in discussion, the playful groans when I announce a group project, and the pride in a student’s eyes when they realize they’ve written something truly great. I’ll miss the camaraderie of my colleagues and the sense of being part of something bigger than myself. Teaching has never been just a job; it’s been a calling, a community, and sometimes, let’s be honest, a bit of a circus. But I’m not done yet. I think I’ll stick around for at least one more year and give “just teaching” a try. No leading a committee, no painfully maneuvering through a software purchase, no trainings, no leading ecourses. Just teaching.

Hold the Door, Please

When offered the prompt this week to write about doors as a metaphor in education, my mind immediately went to the doors I’ve seen on the Camino de Santiago, a thousand-year-old matrix of pilgrimage paths winding through Spain, Portugal, and France.

The doors I’ve encountered on the Camino have a magical quality, and I am often left wondering, “What is on the other side?”

Rabanal del Camino, Spain

This spring, GCC will graduate its first baccalaureate class of elementary and special education students. I had the honor of teaching their first-semester Educational Psychology course in fall of 2023, and this semester I am teaching the Professional Seminar course as these same students complete their student teaching.

As I think about it, so much of what I do is try to explain to these students what’s on the other side of the “teaching door.” I want to preview for them both the joys and pains that are part of this venerable profession. I want to flag potential pitfalls without scaring my students away. I want to share all the reasons why becoming a teacher was the best decision I ever accidentally fell into.

Very often, my students envision the door to the teaching world lined with roses, perhaps with a set of charming stone steps leading to their entry:

Riego de Ambros, Spain

And others have in mind a more slapped-together entrance like the doorframe of this iconic bar on the Camino:

El Ganso, Spain

And still others envision a combination of whimsy and reality:

Povoa de Varzim, Portugal

But as much as I want to forecast for them what they might experience in their first years of teaching, they will only really know when they cross the threshold to their own classrooms.

By establishing a teacher preparation pathway, GCC has opened the door for many students who might not have otherwise sought teacher certification. (And what Heather Merrill and her team have done to create this opportunity for students is nothing short of magic!) As a result, we professors now hold the door for our soon-to-be graduates as they take over in the profession where some of us began many years ago.

May what these new teachers find on the other side of the classroom door be nothing less than the stuff of their teaching dreams!

Rabinal del Camino, Spain

Two Roles, One Mission: Supporting GCC Students

I have a couple of  roles at GCC.  As the primary administrator for Canvas on our campus, I have extensive Canvas knowledge and experience. As an adjunct faculty member for the Psychology Department, I teach the MCCCD curriculum for Psychology 101.

Each semester on the first night of my live online class, I give a tour through my course and show students how to effectively navigate through Canvas. At the end of the tour, I invite students to come to me for help with Canvas, even if the help is related to another course. I let them know I am the Canvas go-to person for faculty and staff and I can also be their personal Canvas go-to person to support them on their academic journey. Every semester at least one student has come to me for Canvas support. Since Canvas is deeply integrated into the teaching process at GCC, helping students cross the Canvas threshold helps them on their learning journey. Through the years there has been several students who expressed how grateful they were for the Canvas support and how my assistance helped them understand how Canvas works.

As faculty, all of us are subject matter experts in our designated area.  However I challenge everyone to ask themselves “What else am I am expert in, and how can that help our GCC students?”

“Bad” Teaching, “Good” Teacher?

In a previous Write 6X6 season, I wrote about my teaching heroes (Teaching Inspiration En Pointe and Just a Girl in Senior English). In those essays I waxed nostalgic about teachers who were undeniably “good.” Hallmark movies could be made about them all, “She had solid pedagogy” could be written on their tombstones.

So, I’m not sure why another set of teachers came to mind when asked this week, “Is there anyone in education you felt was exemplary in teaching, learning, or student success?” I’ve studied teaching for the last 38 years, and I know all the qualities that would be on the “good teacher checklist.” But sometimes teachers go off-the-good-book, so to speak, and their students can be all the better for it.

In my doctoral program, I took Research Methods in the Learning Sciences with a highly-respected and highly-introverted professor. She had a funny habit of curling up like a cat on a desk in the front of the room and lecturing from her scratching post podium. And as with all doctoral courses, Research Methods had a heavy reading load.

In one of the first weeks of class, we all filed in as the professor vaulted her tiny frame above us. She started class by asking, “What are your reactions to this week’s readings?” I don’t remember if we were all shy/didn’t do the reading/were still asleep from an all-nighter, but none of us spoke. She employed the good-teacher tactic of using wait time, and then promptly, but not unkindly, announced, “Well, if you all don’t have something to share, class is over.”

She matter-of-factly padded her way out of class, and we all just sat slack-jawed. What just happened?

The good-teacher checklist would dictate the professor should have offered scaffolded prompts to get us talking. She should have used encouraging words to help us take risks. But the effect of her walk-out was the same: We all came prepared to discuss the reading in every class moving forward.

Her strategy only worked because she knew her students. She knew we were a bunch of highly motivated (read: somewhat neurotic) PhD candidates. And when she wordlessly left the room, she communicated loud and clear, “You are responsible for your own learning!” I personally would never do the walk-out with my own students. But this experience reminds me of the importance of transferring the responsibility of learning to the student.

Another professor in the same doctoral program was a renowned qualitative scholar. It was amazing that she was still teaching 1) because she was world famous, and 2) she had a very interesting (read: strange) approach to teaching: She would sit in front of the room with notes she had handwritten in a big book and read them . . . verbatim . . . for over an hour . . . in each and every class! The good-teacher checklist would not be amused.

I don’t know how she did it, but she made it work. She would read for a bit, take off her glasses, and chuckle to herself about some aspect of what she just read. She was provocative – challenging all of us quantitative folks by saying our numbers had just as much potential for bias as the ethnographic methods she taught us. In her own little weird way, she roped us all in as she recited her notes class after class.

I would never straight-on read notes to my students and attempt to pass it off as teaching. But I am reminded that I don’t have to be the entertaining dancing monkey for my students that sometimes I feel compelled to be. I’m not sure any student ever stitched these professors’ names on a pillow, but I believe we all benefited from their unconventional (read: not research-based) instructional approaches. And this former-kindergarten teacher learned to have elevated expectations for college students who are ultimately responsible for their own learning.