Ph.D., The Pennsylvania State University (1996), English
M.A., The Pennsylvania State University (1988), English
B.A., Kent State University (1986), English and Secondary Education

Kathryn M. Plank, Director of Center for Teaching and Learning and Associate Professor of Education

Office: Center for Teaching and Learning, 3rd Floor Library
Phone: 614.823.1034
Fax:
Email: kplank@otterbein.edu
Mailing address: Center for Teaching and Learning, 1 South Grove St., Westerville, OH 43081

While going through some still unpacked boxes in my office to find materials I needed for my portfolio, I came across a yellowed folder from long ago marked “Teaching Portfolio.”  Inside was a copy of the Penn State teaching center’s newsletter from April 1991, featuring interviews with recent teaching award winners.  After a quick skim, I saw my name at the beginning of the last paragraph, which I proceeded to read with one eye shut, fearful of what youthful naiveté I may discover.  The quote reads:

Finally, Kathryn Plank suggests that teachers should experiment as they teach. “We should always force ourselves to experiment in the classroom.  We will, of course, make mistakes, but it balances out in the end…. One of the best ways to learn to teach is to teach by learning.”

The Kathryn Plank who said that was not only much younger than I am now, but also in a very different place as a teacher and looking forward to a different career than the one I eventually pursued. Despite the differences, however, the way I think about teaching today is surprisingly similar. Only last week I was inspired by reading a chapter about the importance of failure in the learning process, and like 1991 Kathryn, I believe that we’re at our best as teachers when we force ourselves to experiment, to grow, to fail, and to learn.

When that article was written in 1991, I was still teaching English, and I suspect that the philosophy I expressed then came in part from the experience of teaching writing courses.  In my very first years teaching, I became frustrated that students saw writing as something they had to do in school so teachers like me could tell them whether what they wrote was right. I was even more frustrated in realizing that the assignments we gave often reinforced this view of writing.

For example, after a couple of semesters teaching Rhetoric and Composition, I realized that the “personal narrative” paper students were required to write—a paper for which there was no audience or purpose beyond me and getting a grade--did nothing to help students understand rhetorical situation, one of the supposed goals of the course.  So I redesigned the assignment. We read and watch videos about the Kent State shooting, and then students wrote a narrative of events from the perspective of a particular person—e.g., a student, a member of the National Guard, the governor, a journalist, Richard Nixon, whoever they wanted. Students related to the topic since it involved college students from (at the time) the relatively recent past.  They were more motivated and creative, and, most important, they had to explore how rhetorical situation affects writing.  They moved away from thinking there was one right way to write. I used what I learned from this experiment to create assignments in other writing courses I taught, including one in a summer program for at-risk high school students, all designed to empower students to use language in different ways to accomplish different purposes.

As I continued to learn as a teacher, I sought new ways to help students take risks and to reflect on their writing. I realized that the revision requirement that was built into writing courses was a perfect opportunity.  Rather than have students simply correct the graded paper, which often meant simply changing things I had commented on, I introduced the idea of revision as “re-vision,” re-seeing the possibilities of the paper.  After they received a graded paper, they could choose to re-see it, to change it somehow.  This was their chance to take a risk, try something different, and then, most important, write a short reflection paper assessing how they thought the revision worked. I told them their revision didn’t have to make it better because it was the reflection paper, not the revision itself, that would be graded. If their revision wasn’t as good as the original, but they explained to me why it wasn’t as good, they would get the A.  I wanted them to be able to self-assess, to reflect, and to understand what works and why rather than merely to fix their papers for my benefit.

That approach to teaching writing is closely tied to my approach to teaching teachers.  When I began to work in the teaching center, I continued to teach in English occasionally, but the main focus of my teaching became college teachers and those who aspired to become college teachers.  At Penn State, I helped design and create a non-credit Course in College Teaching for faculty and TAs that is still offered today. Just as I wanted my writing students to experiment, I wanted the "students" in this course to have a safe space to explore and the tools they needed to become the best teacher they could be (rather than all try to match a single ideal of good teaching). This required focusing on some of the invisible parts of teaching, like planning, reflection, and assessment, which led me to create an assignment that I still do in graduate courses. 

Rather than have students do a practice teaching or classroom presentation, which would focus on the performance aspects of teaching, I decided to have a small group of them team-teach with me each class period. We met ahead of time for a planning session or two.  Together we  discussed the goals for the day and the assigned readings (I still created the overall course goals and structure), and then we  planned what we wanted to focus on and what activities would help the class best reach the goal.  Students then also helped me teach that class period, assigning roles to me and to themselves (I particularly loved it when some groups gave me very little to do).  Feedback over the years has revealed that this activity, both in doing it and in watching other students do it, helped students to become more aware of the the processes of teaching and learning and also to better understand themselves as teachers. Just as writing courses follow the principle of "writing to learn," this assignment follows the idea of "teaching to learn."  (A sample plan for group team-teaching is included in the materials section.)

This activity also forced me to continually step outside my own comfort zone.  Now, after two decades of teaching about teaching, it would be much easier for me to just teach the class.  I have my bag of tricks for each topic and my own preferred way of looking at things.  But turning the class over to the students--every class period except 2 or 3 was team taught by a student team and me--meant that every single time I taught was different.  I wasn't always sure how it would go, and sometimes the class was less than perfect, but many times students created activities that I subsequently borrowed and adapted.  They added to my repertoire while constantly challenging me to be open to new ideas and perspectives and to forever be experimenting.

That is a principle that guides much of my work as an educational developer.  I am lucky to have just about the best job someone who loves teaching could have because I get to learn from a wide range of teachers in many different disciplines.  I don't see myself as the "teaching expert" so much as a repository of examples, stories, patterns, and principles collected over years of observing classes, talking with teachers, listening to their students, and reading scholarship. Most of my work in educational development is not in teaching students, but in creating the space--whether it be in a one-on-one consultation or in a 5-week institute or a year-long learning community--and providing the tools for teachers to experiment and explore and learn.

When I read the 1991 quote which opens this statement, I was actually surprised to recognize myself in it because in many ways it seems like a different life.  At the time, I was ABD and teaching in the English department. Up to that point, I had been searching to find my place as a teacher--starting college in special education, moving into secondary English, then going to graduate school to be an English professor.  But that interview marks a pivotal moment.  It was my first encounter with a teaching center and my first awareness of the existence of the field we now call educational development. Within a year I was working at the center and knew I had finally found my place.  Looking back, it all makes sense.