From Techno-Pusher to Critic: A Journey of Puzzlement

Failure to Connect
by Jane M. Healy, Ph.D.

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My own experience with educational computing is typical of those of many educators who have reluctantly moved from bedazzled advocacy to troubled skepticism. It is also instructive in several respects, not the least of which is shaking up some simplistic pedagogical assumptions.

Certainly, it has been a long and interesting odyssey since my initial honeymoon with machine intelligence back in 1979. Fired with enthusiasm from using computers in graduate work, I wangled funding to buy the first Apple computer for the elementary school of which I was then principal. For an educational psychologist eternally fascinated by questions about why and how children learn, the potential of this left-hemisphere extension (some might say contraction) of the human brain was irresistible. Soon a dedicated tenderfoot programmer in Applesoft Basic, I was even willing to forgive the machine's choleric disposition and struggled excitedly on while it superciliously spat out its favorite phrase: "syntax error." (Those were the days when a "user-friendly" machine would have been spurned by aspiring "digerati.") I was eager to observe firsthand the computer's potential with kids, so I selected a half-dozen of our best fourth-grade math students for an "enrichment" mini-course.

Since accessible educational software had yet to be invented, our project was to learn how to write a simple program. "Learn" is the operative word here, for teacher and students were about equally innocent. Nevertheless, to my great pride (which, as you know, always goes before a fall!) we finally managed after ten class sessions to make the computer display a simple multiplication problem and ask for a reply; the user would then type in an answer and receive either a congratulatory message ("Good job!") or a prompt ("Try again.").

I was ecstatic and, I'm afraid, a bit obnoxious in touting the potential of this amazing gadget. The students appeared to enjoy the exercise, or possibly they welcomed a change from their classroom routines, but I believed they were learning important skills of logic and sequencing ("if/then" statements, for example), if not a great deal of math. In fact, I immodestly concluded that this was probably close to a perfect lesson with teacher and students exploring and learning together — while having a lot of fun. I was well on my way as a born-again techie.

Years later, with only some of my original enthusiasm dimmed, I returned to the same district as a visitor observing technology use and sat down in the high-school computer lab to do some word processing. By chance, the young lady at the machine next to me was one of those original fourth-graders, now a charming junior, who greeted me cheerfully.

"Well, Charmayne!" I beamed. "What an amazing coincidence! Here we are together in the computer lab, and I'm sure you remember that your very first computer experience was with me!"

Charmayne smiled, politely, but blankly. "I'm sorry, Dr. Healy, I don't remember that at all," she said.

One of my best lessons? As my pedagogical ego withered, she added, "But I do remember my fifth-grade computer teacher."

The death blow had been struck. What had this person done that I failed to do?

"His dandruff was so bad that every time he shook his head it fell all over the keyboard!"

Moral: Kids are always learning, but they're not always learning what we think they're learning — even with the help of technology! It is all too easy to become so seduced by the glitz and novelty of this wondrous equipment that we make optimistic assumptions about what it is doing for their brains. Experience suggests we should temper our enchantment with a critical look at whether anything educational is really being accomplished.

Playing With Powerful Ideas

It wasn't long before I discovered Seymour Papert's seminal book, Mindstorms: Children, Computers, and Powerful Ideas, first published in 1980. In it he describes his innovative programming language, LOGO, through which even five-year-olds might discover fundamental principles of mathematics while learning to write simple computer programs. A true advocate of "constructivism" in education, Papert holds that all learners absorb and remember best when they themselves "construct" or figure out the underlying principles of the lesson rather than having the teacher "spoon-feed" it to them. Needless to say, considerable disagreement surrounds this "learner- centered" approach to education, which stands in direct contrast to more traditional methods. In the next chapter we will return to this point, since "constructivism" has become a fulcrum of controversy in educational politics. For now, here's the basic principle of LOGO: The student develops his own learning by exploring and programming a computer. Also called "turtle geometry," LOGO invites the child/programmer to input commands to a small turtle icon on the screen, which then "walks" a certain number of steps either in a straight line or at an angle, drawing a line as it goes. For example, in programming the turtle to draw a square, the child will ultimately figure out that he must walk straight for a certain distance, turn 90 degrees, then repeat the action three more times. The programs have subsequently been updated and expanded, although research has never consistently substantiated the expected educational gains. (We will consider possible reasons as we view some current LOGO applications in Chapter 8.)

Back in the early 1980s, however, Mindstorms got me so excited about dynamic new electronic teaching that I began running around the country searching for schools to observe, wrote a grant request, and obtained funding to buy two more computers for our school (I think we may now have been up to Apple IIEs), to pay a part-time teacher willing to learn to be a computer consultant, and to purchase a floor "turtle" for the kindergarten. The latter, a space-age-looking object which only vaguely resembled any real-life amphibian, beeped, walked and turned on typed command from the child at the keyboard, theoretically making the experience more accessible for the young programmers.

The outcome? Although we tried to build into the study reliable pre- and post-tests of math and visual-spatial reasoning, we were not very confident of the tests, and we did not find any statistically significant improvements even at the end of three years — results typifying the problems and outcomes associated with measuring intellectual gains from computer use. Nevertheless, I was convinced we were doing something good for children's minds, and especially for the girls, who may tend to avoid activities of this sort in favor of more pencil-and-paper work, to the probable detriment of their future mathematical reasoning. Plus, parents were ecstatic, believing their children now had a significant jump on others from more unenlightened schools that did not yet possess the new technology.

Now, however, I must ask myself: Did the outcomes justify the expense (very modest, in terms of today's equipment needs) in time and money? Was it necessary, or even wise, to start in kindergarten?

Important questions, indeed.

Last spring, on another return visit to this district, I found myself observing a lively class of twelve- and thirteen-year-olds writing programs for LegoLOGO, an advanced offshoot of Papert's system in which youngsters write computer programs to make Lego constructions such as trucks or other vehicles move around the floor. I approached a particularly competent-seeming pair of girls who were totally absorbed in the challenge of trying to get their robot car to turn at a certain angle, then back up and rotate sixty degrees.

"Yes!" shouted one, as success was achieved.

Glowing with a certain amount of inner pride, I assumed I was observing the expertise of two of the "graduates" of my kindergarten program, which had been continued and updated since I left the district.

"How long have you been in this school?" I asked the obvious leader of the team.

To my considerable chagrin she replied, "I just started this year."

"But you must have had a lot of computer experience in your last school," I ventured.

"Actually, no. We didn't have any computer."

"But you must have been really confused when you got here and everyone had been using them since kindergarten," I protested.

"Well," she hesitated. "It took me a couple of months, but then I really caught on — and now it seems so easy."

Questioning Assumptions

Not long after that incident, I interviewed three professors whose courses include extensive use of computer technology at three different Ivy League schools. I asked each of them how important it was for students to come in with computer expertise, and what would happen to a student who had never used a computer before arriving at college. All agreed they primarily wanted students who could read, communicate, and think; computer use was far down the list of priorities. Moreover, here are the three estimates of how long it would take for a complete neophyte to get up to speed once on campus: (a) one month; (b) one semester; (c) one week (in a course required of all freshmen, regardless of past experience).

These experiences, and others, caused me to question many of my own assumptions. Just because children — particularly young ones — are performing tasks that look technologically sophisticated does not mean they are learning anything important. Moreover, the activity inevitably takes time and attention away from other types of learning. Today's software is far more powerful, far more compelling, and, as you will discover in later chapters, far more dangerous than anything we conceived of back in the early days. The brain undergoes certain "critical" or "sensitive" periods in both childhood and adolescence when learning environments exert special kinds of effects and when certain types of activities and stimulation are most appropriate and necessary to maximize mental potential. By providing the proper kind of experience at different ages, we help shape not only the intelligence of brains, but also children's "habits of mind" for a lifetime. If we waste or subvert these developmental windows, the losses may be irrecoverable. I hope we will ultimately learn to harness electronic media to assist learning without compromising other important aspects of development. At present, however, we are still figuring out how to do this, and it is a mistake to make guinea pigs out of children who have better ways to spend their time.

Copyright ©l; 1998 by Jane M. Healy

About the Author

is an educational psychologist and teacher who has worked with students from preschool through graduate school. She consults and lectures worldwide, helping teachers and parents understand the educational implications of current brain research. She has appeared on national media such as the Today show, Nightline, Good Morning America, CNN, and NPR. A mother and grandmother, she currently lives in Vail, Colorado.