Ten (Current Focus)

Most of my work focus is devoted to drafting my prospectus. It is an exciting and rigorous task.  I plan to write a post about it once the project is off the ground.  In one sentence?  I will be examining how children with ASD initiate requests for communicative repair during communicative breakdowns (i.e., when they do not understand their social partner’s bid).   There is some evidence related to how children with ASD respond to requests for repair, but we know very little about how they may initiate requests.

Some of my work focus is thinking ahead to next week and the ASHA Convention in Denver. I am presenting a (fabric) poster related to treatment intensity and vocabulary acquisition in learners with ASD.  Conferences combine some of my most favorite things – learning, thinking, receiving feedback, seeing colleagues/friends (Bita!) and one of my least favorite things – flying on an airplane.

All of my focus wants to be on reading Dr. Barry Prizant’s new book, “Uniquely Human: A Different Way of Seeing Autism,” although I finally made it through the library queue and it is now in my possession until the end of the month. (Yep, I proudly read real, printed and bound, books from the public library.)  I plan to read it while I’m traveling next week and will write my thoughts in a future post.   Really looking forward to the book. I anticipate it is going to be a great resource for parents who are interested in learning about the SCERTS model and a strengths based approach to intervention.   I am certain he’ll use person-first language. Therefore, it will have nice examples for graduate students to consider as they are thinking about how we refer to the people and families with whom we work.

In general, I am trying focus on one thing at a time, like the frog in the photo. I walk by him when I leave the gym.  I guess he is a reminder to cultivate awareness, to focus on the present.  Perhaps next week, I’ll remember his message as I enjoy ASHA and the break from prospectus-writing.

 

Nine (On Engineering)

Early in my clinical fellowship, I didn’t fully appreciate how much intervention design I would be responsible for in my work as a therapist.   In retrospect, I think I worried too much about evaluation and too little about intervention.  I thought quite a bit about which standardized, norm-referenced measures and which criterion-referenced measures would help me understand a specific client’s speech and language strengths and weaknesses.  Over time, I began to realize how much teaching and engineering we do as therapists.

Recently, I have been thinking quite a bit about how incorporate this idea into my teaching.  Of course, students need to develop robust evaluation skills.    But what if they also saw themselves as teachers of skills and engineers of intervention?

As SLPs we apply scientific knowledge to deliver intervention.  The ultimate goal is to increase a person’s communication abilities and participation in daily life.  Interventions must be driven by data.  If we are continually monitoring how a client is doing, we are able to make small adjustments in the strategy.  These adjustments may accelerate progress, expand generalization, or influence the likelihood of long-term maintenance.

Clearly, this is not a fully fleshed-out analogy or plan for incorporation into coursework.   Nevertheless, I like thinking about engineering intervention.  It seems like another way to engage students in discussions about the importance of using evidence (i.e., client data and empirical studies) to inform their professional work.

 

Eight (On Back to School)

Fall term begins next week.  I find myself, like many, saying something like, “Summer went by so quickly!”  My summer was consumed by my preliminary exams and work on a manuscript.  I also had the opportunity to work with some neat kids while a colleague was on vacation.   There is so much joy in clinical work.  Of course, there is also so much paperwork.  Nevertheless, opportunities to practice are a positive reminder for me.

golden haired Spiderman with lightsaber on pink castle, in Legos, created by a neat kid

I begin this semester as a doctoral candidate, ready to tackle a dissertation project and consider what lies ahead. I am excited to approach my work in academia with the same imagination that I find when I work with clients.   The result of my work may not be a golden haired Spiderman on a pink castle with a light saber, but in the end, the work of teaching and scholarship is about preparing future clinicians and special educators and contributing to our knowledge of best practices.   If curiosity can drive careful, systematic inquiry, who knows what we may imagine along the way?

Seven (On Walking and Thinking)

Pokey – the dog that walks with me.

Typically, I walk our dog an hour each day.  Sometimes, we are lucky and my husband joins us.   Most (week)days,  the dog and I walk.  We have our routes well-memorized at this point and so the rhythm of walking is uninterrupted by decisions about which way to turn or the distance we have covered.  As I prepared for my written exams, I wanted to use this time for spaced retrieval or deep thinking about the research I was reading.

Cal Newport’s method of priming one problem helped me address thinking outside of the time(s) I was reading and writing.  Although I’m not working on proofs (like Dr. Newport), I found value in priming 1-2 questions for exploration while I walked.    There was a clear starting and stopping point (bound by the walk) that prevented me from spending too much time on this task.   While developing my ideas is critical at this point in my PhD program,  without access to feedback about the strength of my reasoning or the clarity (and importance) of a specific research question, there is a point at which this time would become unproductive.

Now that my exams are over, I am excited to continue to refine this strategy as a tool in my workflow.

Six (On My Teaching Statement)

I am working on developing my Teaching Statement. No  small task but a good summer writing project. . . particularly as my written exams approach (end of June!) and I am looking for ways to remember why I decided getting a PhD was a good idea.  I have wanted to be a professor since I was a first-year undergraduate student.   Learning how to be a professional scholar  is much different than I anticipated.

I’ve thought about quitting more than a handful of times but my interactions with students and daydreams about teaching are both reminders about my motivations and vocational goals.

Goodyear and Allchin (1998) indicate that a teaching philosophy should answer the question, “Why do I teach?”   They provide specific questions that may help answer the broader “Why” question:

• What motivates me to learn about this subject?
• What are the opportunities and constraints under which I learn and others learn?
• What do I expect to be the outcomes of my teaching?
• What is the student-teacher relationship I strive to achieve?
• How do I know when I have taught successfully?
• What habits, attitudes, or methods mark my most successful teaching achievements?
• What values do I impart to my students?
• What code of ethics guides me?
• What theme(s) pervade(s) my teaching?

What motivates me to learn about this subject?   Children and adults with Autism Spectrum Disorders whose deficits in social communication and adaptive behavior significantly impact their opportunities to learn and participate in the world around them.

What are the opportunities and constraints under which I learn and others learn?   I learn best when I feel respected and free to express my opinions and ideas.  I am constrained by my own self-doubt and anxiety about being right (or wrong).    It is my experience that others learn best when they feel respected and free to express their opinions and ideas.   It seems important to create a classroom culture of respect for ideas while welcoming constructive (but kind — for more see Andrew Bosworth’s post) feedback from other classroom members (including the instructor).

What do I expect to be the outcomes of my teaching?  Students who have a robust knowledge of specific content (i.e., social and symbolic communication development, ASD, assessment, intervention, cultural responsiveness in clinical-decision making) as well as students who demonstrate the ability to work independently and collaboratively to analyze information, solve applied problems and write clearly

What is the student-teacher relationship I strive to achieve?  One that is professional, positive and built on mutual respect.

How do I know when I have taught successfully?  Students ask questions, apply their knowledge and are open to what they want to (or need to) learn next.

What habits, attitudes, or methods mark my most successful teaching achievements?   Sufficient preparation;  discussion of my knowledge and expertise (and the limits of it); context for the class material (i.e., Why does this matter?); robust and active class discussions; and opportunities for students to work in groups, apply their knowledge, and provide (and be provided with) feedback

What values do I impart to my students?  Integrity, kindness, reason, lifelong learning

What code of ethics guides me?  See ASHA Code of Ethics.

What theme(s) pervade(s) my teaching?  Learning and professional practice are processes, not endpoints.

Just some initial thoughts . . . clearly these need to be organized and fleshed out into one statement.   At a minimum, it is a start.

Goodyear, G. E., & Allchin, D. (1998). Statements of teaching philosophy. In M. Kaplan (Ed.), To Improve the Academy, 17, (pp. 103-122). Stillwater, OK: New Fonnns Press and the Professional and Organizational Development Network in Higher Education.

Five (On Robust Student Discussions)

I recently used the 2012 Facebook study as a way to start a conversation about ethics and research.

Image (unedited) attributed to Owen W Brown. Accessed through Flickr Creative Commons.

As I have been thinking and reading about student motivation (see this great article by David Gooblar), I had the opportunity to facilitate a lecture for one of my advisors in her undergraduate-level course, Language Acquisition.   Dr. Finestack provided me with a framework (thanks, Liza!) for the class.   In addition to covering the importance of child language research and the anatomy of a scholarly article, we also covered research with human subjects.

Class started something like this:

“I am going to ask a few questions about your experience with research.  You do not have to participate by raising your hand to indicate your answers but I invite you to do so if you choose.”

“How many of you have participated in research before?” (About 50% of the class raised their hands.)

“How many of you have volunteered or worked in some capacity on a research project? This could include any point in the project – design, data collection, data preparation and synthesis, analysis etc. . . ” (Again, about 50% of the class raised their hands.)

“How many of you use Facebook.”  (Nearly every hand went up.)

“Okay, so a few of you.”  (I got a few laughs.)

“How many of you most likely posted at least 1 post to your Facebook page in January of 2012?  If you did, you may have participated in a study conducted by researchers who work for Facebook.”  (Then, I spent 2-3 minutes describing the study. . . including that the “participants” were not aware their NewsFeed content was being manipulated.)

This lead to a nice discussion about the nuanced way we talk about the people who engage in research. Are they subjects? Are they subjected to a set of experimental procedures?  Are they participants?  Do they actively participate in the entire process? If not what parts do they participate in? Who has opportunities to participate in research?   How do we protect the people who participate?  Why does it matter?

Sometimes,  teaching is exhausting and frustrating. But other times, you introduce a unit on research, spend a short time discussing a study about social media and students animate a discussion with articulate insights.   In the midst of feeling frustrated and down about my place in Academia, it was a highpoint.

Four (On Written Preliminary Exams)

April. Where did you come from?

I know. You were hiding behind the stacks of articles I am reading in preparation for my written preliminary exams.

In January, I started the process.  I set up meetings with advisors and considered who would be appropriate committee members.  We discussed potential content areas and I expressed my desire to prepare for questions that would closely align with my dissertation project (which does not exist. . .yet).   Near the end of the month, I had a general idea of the three content areas I would review for each committee member: interventions for conversational management (one of many social communication constructs) skills in persons with ASD, measurement of functional outcomes of social communication intervention for persons with ASD, and the application of adapted alternating treatments design (Sindelar, Rosenberg, & Wilson, 1985) to compare communication interventions for persons with ASD, with a particular focus on internal and external validity issues.  (I am also writing a “Specials Paper” for one of my advisors in lieu of answering a fourth question).

In February, I started compiling reference lists for each content area.  This was no small task.  I had no idea how many references would be “enough.”  Honestly, I could spend the rest of my life reading relevant literature and still feel behind.   This feeling has not been reconciled in a systematic way; I still search for references, add them to my reference manager and realize that I should be reading, so I return to that task.

March was (mostly) spent reading and annotating.  I have not quite finished annotating all of my references (and I’m certain there are ones I have not considered that I probably should).  I tried different workflow approaches to maximize my study time.   I learned that I work better with large chunks of time versus smaller units broken up by meetings and other projects.

Here are a few strategies that have helped me carve my time in a way that makes me most productive.  On designated days, I try to read and write when my brain works the best (typically between 5-6am, 8-11am, and 6-8pm).  I schedule time mid-morning and late afternoon to check and respond to email.  I am a PhD student; the fires that appear in my inbox are not critical.  There is no reason to be accessible via email throughout the day.  If my students have an assignment that is coming up due, I increase the amount of time I spend responding to emails but do not check more frequently.  The other hours I use for meetings and tasks related to my research assistant position or my teaching assistant position.  The end of a work day includes reflecting on my progress, tracking the articles and annotations I’ve completed, and updating my to-do list (both short and long term lists).

So, this is the strategy that I am using.  It is certainly not the strategy that some of my colleagues implemented (who passed by the way) but it is my strategy.  Academia is filled with people who work, think, and contribute in different ways.    I hope my strategies serve me well when I sit for the exams. I know my approach will continue  to serve me in the future.  The annotating has provided ample opportunity to practice writing and the time management tactics will help me when I write dissertation pages.

 

Three (On Fabric Posters)

Academic posters are rad. I recently asked a few colleagues and am happy to report that they, too, think posters are rad. They explained their affection for large, paper posters (and their carrying cases), particularly within the confines of tight conference itineraries and crowded airports. Also, posters turn out to be extremely useful even after their presentation. Lab corners would be empty without them.We all need more paper in our lives.

This is why academic posters, printed on fabric, have ruined my life.  Last fall, I printed two posters for a conference on fabric instead of paper. What a waste.  They were inexpensive, easy to transport, and didn’t get wrinkly when I crumpled them into my carryon. The fonts, colors, figures, and tables turned out beautifully.  Just a complete waste.

If you are interested in making your next conference more difficult, I would highly recommend creating a fabric poster.   Just so you know, you’ll likely get more traffic near your poster display, more people asking questions, more opportunities to talk about your research, and more feedback about your ideas.  Don’t do it.

 

Two (On Scholars and Wizards)

There are two things I wish I would have known when I started my PhD program.  There are probably more than two, but for now, I am going to explore just two.  Both concepts are well captured by Schwartz (2008) in which he explains how PhD programs “disserve” their PhD students. He suggests two ideas: that students are not explicitly taught how difficult it is to conduct research and that students are not taught how to engage in “productive stupidity,” to reach the limits of their knowledge (via the work of others) and push forward.

No one told me that doing research was hard.  I have always thought that scholars were wizards.  This was supported by the evidence that professors always seemed to know the answers, so of course this translated into knowing the answers in their labs.  I am learning that true scholarship requires years of practice.   This is work that requires infinite decisions about how and why, particularly during the design phase of an experiment.  I wish someone would have told me that the practice of research is difficult, there are few answers and many questions.  There are many experiences of getting it wrong.   I have found this to be challenging. It has caused me to question my decision to pursue a PhD.  It has definitely caused me to be uncomfortable.

Schwartz (2008) asserts PhD students would be well served by learning to be comfortable when they get it wrong (or don’t know where to start).  I don’t know if I will ever feel any shade of comfortable when I get something wrong.   However, if I can remind myself that getting it wrong is part of discovering how to get it right (and that it comes with the territory), I think I’ll be closer to feeling content as a scholar.

Schwartz, M. A. (2008).  The importance of stupidity in scientific research.  Journal of Cell Science, 121, 1771.