Total 21 Posts

If Exponent Rules Are Aspirin, Then How Do You Create The Headache?

This Week’s Skill

Rules like these are too quickly abstracted, memorized, confused, and forgotten.

We can attach to them meaning and purpose by asking ourselves, why did we come up with these shortcuts? If these shortcuts are aspirin, then how do we create the headache?

What a Theory of Need Recommends

Again, with Harel’s “need for computation,” students need to experience the “longcut” before they learn the shortcut. Otherwise it’s just another trick in the endless series of tricks students call “math class.”

Several people suggested the same in last week’s thread, of course. Ask students to calculate expressions like these the long way before discussing shortcuts the students may have noticed (or that you may have noticed as a member of the class also).

Chris Hulitt was one of my workshop participants in Norristown, PA, and his group suggested an important addition to this idea. Ask students to calculate this expression instead

Looks the same as the last, right? But whereas the last expression resolves to 16, this expression resolves to 1. That headache is a little bit sharper. How did this gangly mess of numbers result in such a simple answer? Could I have realized that in advance?

Again, this isn’t real world, or relevant, per our usual definitions of the term. And yet this approach may still endow exponent rules with a purpose they often lack.

Next Week’s Skill

Determining if a relationship is a function or not.

This is another skill that can become quickly instrumental (run a vertical line over the graph, etc.) and obscure why it is aspirin for a particular kind of headache.

Let us know your ideas for motivating the definition of a function in the comments.

What You Recommended

I think of my 6th grade students writing down the prime factorizations of whole numbers (Why learn that? Oh yeah, to improve number sense and seeing structure behind numbers, among other reasons). When you work with something simple like 24, writing out 2*2*2*3 is not so bad. When you up the stakes to something like 256, writing out 2*2*2*2*2*2*2*2 becomes annoying. It’s not so much a headache as a tedious process that any normal person would like to make quicker and easier. At this point, I discuss exponents as a means of communicating all of that multiplication without having to write it all.

If Factoring Trinomials Is Aspirin, Then How Do You Create The Headache?

This Week’s Skill

eg. We can express quadratic trinomials like x2 – 7x – 18 as the product of the two binomials: (x – 9)(x + 2).

If you find that language disorienting, if it makes you wonder why anyone would even bother on a sunny day like today, you’re in good company with lots and lots of math students. At the secondary level, there are few skills that seem less necessary to students and few skills that seem harder to motivate for math teachers than factoring quadratic trinomials. (Sample their stress.)

What You Recommended

Mercifully, very few of the 70-ish comments on my last post suggested an instructional strategy for this skill without also describing the theory that gave rise to the strategy. We need more of that kind of conversation, not less.

Here are three theories I found particularly interesting:

The first two solutions seem to me very clearly defined and very easy to implement but also very far-fetched.

Why am I interested in the history of a topic that has terrorized me for years? I’d like to know less about its history than more. (Even Andy, who suggested the idea, admits its vulnerability.)

And if learning this tough skill now helps me learn some tougher skill later (what Josh G. described as “passing the buck upwards“) I can save myself the trouble twice over and learn neither.

The last design theory has a lot of promise. People love puzzles after all, even the kind that are far from thereal world.” But it seems very difficult to implement.

I consulted two textbooks —Â one Algebra 1 text from McGraw-Hill and Pearson each. OneÂ attempted to tie the skill to the real world. The other said, “Look we’re just going to teach you this stuff okay.” The latter approach is honest, if uninspired. The former approach seems overly self-satisfied. After checking off the “real world” box, they proceed to teach the skill abstractly through a series of worked examples.

What a Theory of Need Recommends

First, ask yourself, if the skill of factoring quadratics is aspirin, what is the headache? How does the skill relieve a mathematician’s pain? The strongest answer, I think, is that the skill helps us locate zeros. The number that evaluates the expression x2 – 7x – 18 to zero isn’t obvious. In its factored form however — (x – 9)(x + 2) — the zero product property tells us the answer quickly: x = 9 and x = -2.

This is Guershon Harel’s “need for computation,” particularly the need for efficiency in computation.

Once that need is clear, the activity becomes much easier to design. Students should experience inefficient computation before we help them develop efficient computation.

So with nothing on the board, ask your students to: “Pick a number between 1 and 10. Write it down.”

Not a problem. Now put the expression x2 – 7x – 18 on the board and ask students to evaluate it for their number.

This is an unreal and irrelevant task, admittedly, but no one asks “When will I ever use this?” because students tend to ask that question when they feel disoriented and stupid. This prompt is relatively clear and accessible.

Now you ask: “Who got zero? Anybody? Anybody? Raise a hand. Nobody? Okay. Not a problem. Try a different number. Try a different number. Try a different number. Don’t stop until you get a zero. Call me over when you do.”

If someone did get a zero, ask them to get another one. (Later question: how do they know there are only two solutions to this equation.) Record the solution next to the quadratic on the board. Put up three more. Ask them to find more zeros.

Tease the possibility that a more efficient method than guess-and-check exists.

After 5-10 minutes of guess-and-check, help them learn that method.

What This Is and Isn’t

I’m not saying this activity will be your students’ favorite day in your class all year. Factoring quadratics was never going to be that.

But I’ll make a mild claim that this activity will be motivating for students. We’ve created a task with a clear goal state and a low entry and a high exit, a task that is iterative with timely feedback. These features are all common to the most intriguing puzzles. Of course a student could ask, “Why do I care about finding zero?” But they could ask similar questions about Sudoko, Tetris, and other puzzle games. They don’t because puzzles are, by definition, puzzling.

I’ll make a strong claim that this activity will endow factoring quadratics with a sense of purpose that it often lacks. Not purpose in the world of work or surfboards or trains leaving Philadelphia traveling west, but a purpose in the world of math. By tying the skill of factoring quadratics into a network of older skills (especially “guess and check”) we strengthen all of them.

I’ll make a strong claim that this is an example of taking a theory of instruction and enacting it. Finding a workable theory of instructional design is hard enough. Enacting it is even tougher. I love that work.

Is it bad/good theory to expect that they will “construct” their own aspirin? (Do we leave them in disequilibrium until they get themselves out?) Is it good/bad theory for teachers to deliver the aspirin, or should students only get aspirin from other students

I’m not making any recommendations here about how students should learn that more efficient method for finding zeros. Tell them that method directly. Let them discover it. I know what I would do. We can draw from research. But that isn’t what this series about. This series is about creating the need for new learning, not satisfying it.

Next Week’s Skill

It’s like foldables were invented for exponent rules. Students can memorize a bunch of rules and write them down in something organized and pretty.

But why do we need them? If exponent rules are aspirin, then how do we create the headache?

It turns out I was on a similar frequency as Eric Fleming, Joshua Greene, Chuck Collins, and others.

Tim Hatman does some really impressive work exploiting Harel’s “need for certainty”:

So here’s my headache. Graph y=(x2 + 7x + 10)/(x + 5)

Without factoring, the only way to graph this is to just start plugging in x’s and making a table — that’s a headache! But when you start plotting the points…Whaaaaaaaat?!? It’s a straight line! How did that happen? What’s the equation of that line (why is one point missing) and how can I get there through a shortcut?

Malcolm Roberts names a central dilemma to all theories of instruction, not just this one:

Given that all learners are different, and that the context of learning varies every time we teach, it seems to me to be a near impossible task to create a situation that will be headache inducing for all (maybe even the majority of) students all (maybe most of) the time.

Simon names one key misunderstanding of factoring quadatics:

I think one of things that’s important is that our students understand that 1) factorising doesn’t change the value of the expression and 2) why it is more useful. Too often I find students thinking (x-3)(x+2) only ‘works’ for x = {-2,3}.

Chuck Collins names a second:

you’d be surprised how many college students don’t realize that the quadratic formula gives the same solutions that you get from factoring

Scott Hills recommends “diamond puzzles” in the weeks running up to this instruction:

I start out, about 2 weeks before factoring becomes a part of the math lexicon, with “diamond puzzles” in which students must first identify what 2 numbers add to a particular sum while multiplying to a particular product. The puzzle being the point, no mention is made of factoring.

If Math Is The Aspirin, Then How Do You Create The Headache?

Several months ago, I asked you, “You’re about to plan a lesson on concept [x] and you’d like students to find it interesting. What questions do you ask yourself as you plan?”

There were nearly 100 responses and they said a great deal about the theories of learning and motivation that hum beneath everything we do, whether or not we’d call them “theories,” or call them anything at all.

• “How can [x] help them to see math in the world around them?”
• “How can I connect [x] to something they already know?”
• “How can I explain [x] clearly?”
• “What has led up to [x] and where does [x] lead?”

You can throw a rock in the math edublogosphere and hit ten lessons teaching [x]. They might all be great but I’d bet against even one of them describing some larger theory about learning or mathematics or describing how the lesson enacts that theory.

Without that theory, you’re left with one (maybe) great lesson you found online. Add theory, though, and you start to notice other lessons that fit and don’t fit that theory. When great lessons don’t fit your theory about what makes lessons great, you modify your theory or construct another one. The wide world of lesson plans starts to shrink. It becomes easier to find great lessons and avoid not great ones. It becomes easier to create great ones. Your flywheel starts spinning and you miss your highway exit because you’re mentally constructing a great lesson.

Here is the most satisfying question I’ve asked about great lessons in the last year. It has led to some bonkers experiences with students and I want more.

• “If [x] is aspirin, then how do I create the headache?”

I’d like you to think of yourself for a moment not as a teacher or as an explainer or a caregiver though you are doubtlessly all of those things. Think of yourself as someone who sells aspirin. And realize that the best customer for your aspirin is someone who is in pain. Not a lot of pain. Not a migraine. Just a little.

Piaget called that pain “disequilibrium.” Neo-Piagetians call it “cognitive conflict.” Guershon Harel calls it “intellectual need.” I’m calling it a headache. I’m obviously not originating this idea but I’d like to advance it some more.

One of the worst things you can do is force people who don’t feel pain to take your aspirin. They may oblige you if you have some particular kind of authority in their lives but that aspirin will feel pointless. It’ll undermine their respect for medicine in general.

Math shouldn’t feel pointless. Math isn’t pointless. It may not have a point in job [y] or [z] but math has a point in math. We invented new math to resolve the limitations of old math. My challenge to all of us here is, before you offer students the new, more powerful math, put them in a place to experience the limitations of the older, less powerful math.

I’m going to take the summer and work out this theory, once per week, with ten skills in math that are a poor fit for other theories of interest and motivation. As with everything I have ever done in math education, your comments, questions, and criticism will push this project farther than I could push it on my own.

The first skill I’ll look at it is factoring trinomials with integer roots, ie. turning x2 + 7x + 10 into (x + 5)(x + 2). All real world applications of this skill are a lie. So if your theory is “math is interesting iff it’s real world,” your theory will struggle for relevance here.

Instead, ask yourself, “Why did mathematicians think this skill was worth even a little bit of our time? If the ability to factor that trinomial is aspirin for a mathematician, then how do we create the headache?”

2019 Jan 18. The Directory of Mathematical Headaches.

Don’t Teach Math the “Smart Way”

Smartness and mathematics have an unhealthy relationship.

If you have been successful in math, by public consensus, you must be smart. If you have been successful in the humanities, you may also be smart but we cannot really be sure about that now can we, says public consensus.

In a world where our finest mathematical minds ruined the global economy and perpetuate unequal social outcomes, outcomes most ably critiqued by people trained in the humanities, public consensus is wrong.

This worksheet is worse.

This worksheet associates smartness with a certain way of doing math, diminishing other ways your students might develop to do the same math. Because there are lots of possible ways to tell time — some new, some old, and some not-yet-invented!

Worse, this worksheet associates smartness with a certain way of doing math that is culturally defined, diminishing entire cultures. For example, depending on your location in the world, “2/5/19” and “5/2/19” can refer to the same calendar date. Neither of those ways are “smart” or “dumb.” They work for communication or they don’t.

If I’d like students to learn a certain way of doing math — whether that’s adding numbers a certain way or solving equations a certain way — I need to understand the reasons why we invented those ways of doing math and put students in a position to experience those reasons. I also need to be excited — thrilled even! — if students create or adapt their own ways of doing math when they’re having those experiences. Anything less is to diminish their creativity.

If I want students to learn how to communicate mathematically, I need to ask them to communicate.

So in this Desmos activity, one student will choose a clock and another student will ask questions to narrow 16 clocks down to 1.

I have no idea what ways students will use, create, or adapt in order to tell time. I will be excited about all of them.

I will also be excited to share with them the ways that lots of cultures use to tell time. When I share those ways, I will be honest that those ways aren’t “smart” any more than they are “moral.” They are merely what one group of people agreed upon to help them get through their day.

So I’d also offer students this Desmos activity, which tells students the time using several different cultural conventions, including the one the worksheet calls “smart” above.

Students set the clock and then they see how easy or hard it was for the class to come to consensus using that convention.

Later, we invite students to set the clock themselves and name the time using three different conventions. They make two of them true, one of them a lie, and submit the whole package to the Class Gallery where their classmates try to determine the lie.

The words we use matter. “Real world” matters. “Mistakes” matter. “Smart” matters. Those words have the power to shape student experiences, to extend or withdraw opportunities to learn, to denigrate or elevate students, their cultures, and the ideas they bring to our classes.

Defining smartness narrowly is to define “dumbness” broadly. Instead, we should seek to find smartness as often as possible in as many students as possible.