Good Intentions & my “Epic Fail”
I recently wrote about a cheat sheet and quiz wrapper strategy. Students are allowed to prepare one side of a 3×5 index card to be used during a quiz that’s worth 10% of the course grade.
I intentionally refer to the assessment as a quiz, not an exam. I stopped calling it a test when I sensed the names “exam” and “test” increase anxiety in unproductive ways. I also wanted to make a clear distinction on the syllabus. Learning in this course is assessed in a variety of ways: homework, classwork, essay exams, multiple-choice quiz, paper, and project.
The multiple-choice format is also an intentional decision. The quiz assesses students’ ability to perform computations, interpret them, interpret related graphs, and understand the implications of a specific set of characteristics. The quiz assesses lower-level Bloom’s taxonomy learning. Understanding the concepts and preparing computations is the foundation for more advanced thinking and analysis in the second part of the unit. Unlike the essay exams, where I want students drawing graphs and explaining in writing, the mechanical basics addressed in this part of the course can be assessed conveniently with bubble sheets.
I introduced the cheat-sheet index card policy a couple of years ago, as a way to reduce stress during the quiz and promote active study strategies. The goal was to get students thinking about the material earlier and differently, prepare more effectively, and perform better on the quiz.
Unfortunately the strategy is,
as my kids would say,
an Epic Fail.
Calling it a quiz has not reduced anxiety. Because this is the first and only multiple-choice assessment, students don’t know what to expect. Lack of familiarity increases apprehension, regardless of what I call the assessment.
To give students an idea of what to expect, I provide a “practice quiz.” Perhaps it should be called “sample questions.” The practice quiz has the unintended consequence of limiting the scope of material studied. At least one student noted they didn’t study anything that wasn’t in the practice quiz.
Calling this assessment a quiz may actually produce more harm than good. “Quiz” may be less stressful than “test” or “exam.” But some stress is good. An unintended consequence of the name change: students may study less when it’s “only” a quiz.
Because quizzes may be seen as less important than exams or tests, some students may conclude the “cheat sheet” notecard is unnecessary. Thus, some students were insufficiently motivated to prepare one. In one case, a student noted they forgot about the quiz. Another prepared a card but neglected to bring it. Overall, about 10% of the class didn’t have one.
To be effective in promoting learning and improving scores, the card needs to be prepared in advance. Unfortunately, I noticed some students writing on theirs in the few minutes before the quiz. Others turned in cards that were incomplete or disorganized. I haven’t been able to analyze the data yet, but early findings are clear: many students aren’t preparing the cards or studying for the quiz as I intended.
From the student perspective, the purpose of a cheat sheet card is to improve their quiz score. Unfortunately, anecdotal evidence (which is all I have at this point) doesn’t bear that out. Grades on the quizzes aren’t much, if at all higher than before I allowed the cards.
That’s at least partly due to the observations above. I tried to convince students that the act of preparing the card promotes learning. The value of the card during the quiz is directly related to the quality of time and effort that went into preparing it. The message didn’t get through. Worse, feedback suggests students may have shifted from thinking about concept interrelationships toward putting basic definitions on the card.
Readers of this blog may be surprised (disappointed?) by this post’s focus on an ineffective strategy. But there is much you and I can learn from epic fails. Here are two quick takeaways:
- Wrappers or other mid-semester feedback is vital to understanding our students. I’m gaining valuable insight from the honest admissions about study time and strategies used. A lot of it depressed me (more about that soon). But I can’t improve instruction or enhance learning if I’m unaware of where my students are as learners.
- We learn a lot from mistakes. Be brave. Pick one instructional strategy and critically examine the intended and unintended consequences. What are your assumptions? What are your intentions? What evidence can you gather to test how well they are or aren’t being met?
I’d appreciate learning from your “epic fail.” Please share what you learned from a strategy or policy that didn’t work. Let’s learn from and with each other.