Carl, who was 6 at the time, got Lego WeDo for Christmas, and after our first experiments with it, I was very enthusiastic. Now that we've been using it for awhile, I have some reservations about it I'd like to mention.
Building the robots is still very fun, and the programming interface is bright and easy for Carl to use. The information is well-organized and very clear, for both me and him. But we have some consistent problems with our robots. I mentioned in my first review that WeDo uses standard Lego bricks for construction, rather than the girder-and-connector building style used in Lego Mindstorms robotics and Lego Technics. The top image at this page is of a Mindstorms robot that shows the girder building components. If you scroll down to the bottom of this page, you can see some images of WeDo robots for comparison.
The WeDo robots are very easy for Carl to build, and they look cute. The problem is that the standard Lego bricks just don't hold onto each other the way Mindstorms NXT girders do. So, under stress, they come apart. Our boat-on-a-stormy-sea WeDo robot, for instance, regularly beat itself to pieces. This is very frustrating for Carl.
Another problem we've bumped into is that many of the robots can really only do a single thing. We were spoiled when Carl chose the Dancing Birds robot as his first project; once you've built it, you can program the birds to spin in the same or opposite directions, at different speeds, for differing durations, and with different sounds. They can be made to speed up and slow down. Carl played around with programming his Dancing Birds robot for a long time over several days.
Alas, some of the other projects are less playable. One reason the boat kept beating itself to pieces was that it couldn't tolerate the speed of the motor being adjusted any higher than in the sample program; the other is that the Lego studs just weren't strong enough to hold the boat's stand to the baseplate when there was repetitive movement.
Today we built a giant that stands up and roars; once we built it and copied the sample program, we couldn't figure out anything else to do with it, except run the motor in reverse so it sat down again. You had to run the motor for a very specific amount of time or the giant either didn't stand all the way up or was flipped over by the lever controlling it. The rubber band connecting the motor pulley to the lever pulley came loose about half the time. We watched the giant stand up once; Carl experimented and found 12 different ways for the thing to go wrong; and 10 minutes later, he was done. His verdict? "Well, that was boring."
So, what do I think overall? There are still some good qualities to the program. The robots are designed to demonstrate the use of certain mechanics; for instance, our standing-up giant was raised by a lever that was driven by a worm gear. The software points out these things, and Carl finds them interesting. But if mechanics is the point, then perhaps some kits that introduce simple machines, either from Lego or elsewhere, would be more cost-effective. I know that a big part of what is most fun for Carl is experimenting with programming the robot to do different things; if too many of the robots are single-action, that's too many days he's walking away from the computer with the word "boring" on his lips. We still have a lot of robots to try out, so much will depend on the ratio of good ones to duds.
Lego says the WeDo kit is for kids 7 and up; Carl just turned seven last week, so he's at the young end of the range for it, and yet one of my thoughts is that this might be better for younger kids. Or maybe for 7-year-olds who haven't been fellow travelers for their older brothers' Mindstorms robots already.
My buying advice? If $180 isn't a lot of money for you and you have a 5, 6, or 7 year old who is really into robotics but not ready for Mindstorms, go for it. There is some fun to be had here, and some basics to learn. Otherwise, wait a couple of years until your kid can accompany you on some Mindstorms adventures; Mindstorms has been a much better investment.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
I Have Surprisingly Strong Opinions About a Lot of Things. Here's One.
Parenting leads to some unexpected places. For instance, I have surprisingly strong opinions about the theme music for children's TV shows. Here is one of the best: the theme for Dragon Hunters. It's by
The Cure, so you know it's good.
I also love the quirky little tune that starts Adventure Time, a quirky little show that I am pretty sure is not actually appropriate for children.
Another song I will stop and listen to every time? The Johnny Test theme. I love this song. The boy's best friend is a talkin' dog!
I also stop and listen every time the Max & Ruby theme comes on. Mostly so I can say in disgust, "Did someone get paid to write those lyrics?" To wit: "Max and Ruby. Ruby and Max. Max and Ruby. Ruby...and her little brother Max!" Aargh!
I do think there's a correlation between the theme song and the show; if I like the theme song, I probably also like the show, though the kids might not. Nobody is watching Adventure Time around here, for instance. On the other hand, if the theme song makes me want to stab my ears with chopsticks, the show will probably make me crazy (but one of the kids might well love it). Yehva was a big fan of Max & Ruby for awhile. I endured. I will always love what stark. raving. mad. mommy. had to say about certain children's shows.
[Update: I'm checking my links, and get to the Max & Ruby one. Eric says, "Why would you even listen to this? It's terrible. But it's not as bad as the Caillou one." I say, "I don't know the Caillou one," and start a youtube search. David says, "I guess it's unmemorable," and then, as the music starts, "Oh, God, no! It's horrible! Ah!"
The Cure, so you know it's good.
I also love the quirky little tune that starts Adventure Time, a quirky little show that I am pretty sure is not actually appropriate for children.
Another song I will stop and listen to every time? The Johnny Test theme. I love this song. The boy's best friend is a talkin' dog!
I also stop and listen every time the Max & Ruby theme comes on. Mostly so I can say in disgust, "Did someone get paid to write those lyrics?" To wit: "Max and Ruby. Ruby and Max. Max and Ruby. Ruby...and her little brother Max!" Aargh!
I do think there's a correlation between the theme song and the show; if I like the theme song, I probably also like the show, though the kids might not. Nobody is watching Adventure Time around here, for instance. On the other hand, if the theme song makes me want to stab my ears with chopsticks, the show will probably make me crazy (but one of the kids might well love it). Yehva was a big fan of Max & Ruby for awhile. I endured. I will always love what stark. raving. mad. mommy. had to say about certain children's shows.
[Update: I'm checking my links, and get to the Max & Ruby one. Eric says, "Why would you even listen to this? It's terrible. But it's not as bad as the Caillou one." I say, "I don't know the Caillou one," and start a youtube search. David says, "I guess it's unmemorable," and then, as the music starts, "Oh, God, no! It's horrible! Ah!"
Friday, March 4, 2011
Nel Noddings' Critical Lessons
I've had mixed results keeping my new year's resolution to stop thinking so much about stuff and focus my reading on genre fiction. I've enjoyed The Gone-Away World by Nick Harkaway; The Hunger Games series (very violent, but I appreciated the author making it clear that the violence the characters were involved in had long-term consequences for them); Hull Zero Three by Greg Bear (I have loved generation ship stories ever since I read Ben Bova's Exiles Trilogy as a child); Jack Finney's Time and Again, which was recommended to me in the comments on my blog; and Feast of Souls and Wings of Wrath, by C. S. Friedman, the first two books in a trilogy about magic users who pay the cost of their magic use in lost moments of life.
That's SFF. In mysteries, I liked In The Woods a lot; I thought at first it was a bit over-written but then I got sucked in. I was wary because I don't like books in which children get hurt, but she never dwells on what happens to the children, so I was able to cope with it. I can't say what else I liked about it without spoilers, but I will say that it's a great example of an unreliable narrator--it's told in the first person by someone who isn't trustworthy. He tells you right up front that he lies, but more subtly he is also wrong about a lot of things, and so you have the challenge of reading between the lines of his interactions with people (this is where he is most often wrong about things) to try to figure out what is really going on.
I also liked the Liam Campbell series of mysteries by Dana Stabenow. I will not make any claims of greatness for these books (and when I tried to read another of Stabenow's series I was unimpressed). But they are competent mysteries that work for me because they hit what I am coming to understand is my mystery-series sweet spot: the mysteries are not necessarily easy to figure out, but they're easy to understand. At the end of the book, I know what happened. And there is a tortured, unfulfilled romance that stretches through more than one book (cf. Clare/Russ). Perhaps I should just cave in and start reading romance novels, but I choose instead to skirt around the edges of that genre, re-reading Jane Austen and Jane Eyre, and mysteries with a romance component.
But that's not what I came here to talk about. As with most resolutions, I have sometimes failed in keeping mine. Since January 1, for instance, I've read four books on economics, nine about education, and two on child development and children's issues, as well as a few on miscellaneous other topics. So, really, I've failed pretty spectacularly at the "stop thinking so much" part of the resolution, while doing pretty well at the "read more fun genre fiction" piece of it. A mixed bag.
Right now, I'm reading Nel Noddings' Critical Lessons: What Our Schools Should Teach, and am liking it. She wants us to encourage young people to apply critical thinking--which she defines very broadly--to all sorts of areas where we either don't attempt to educate them at all (parenting, homemaking), or where we want them to just listen to us and do what we say (the value of homework, the idea that everyone should always try to do their best).
The bulk of the book is chapters that take up specific topics: Learning and Self-Understanding; The Psychology of War; House and Home; Other People; Parenting; Animals and Nature; and so on. In her introduction, she identifies some of the kinds of questions we might encourage young people to ask, and I like her questions:
and:
I think I'm drawn to her approach because of my own experiences with gradually coming to think critically about received wisdom from my family and the schools I attended. Also because I hear parents and educators talk about wanting their children to have "critical thinking" skills, but having either a very narrow view of what that might mean (Noddings wants a very broad and deep definition of it), or assuming that it means that the children will come to agree with them.
I see this in some liberals I know, who believe that they have reached their political position through critical thinking, and so their efforts to practice critical thinking with young people look more like leading them down a path to a foregone conclusion. If that makes sense. I have had some teachers of my acquaintance describe things they've done in the classroom as "introducing critical thinking" that sounded more to me like "introducing a liberal point-of-view," and I think it's important for adults to make the distinction. Especially for those of us who see ourselves positioned in opposition to the mainstream or to the status quo, who might have to be extra-vigilant in remembering that not everyone who thinks deeply about a subject will reach the same conclusions.
I could go into a whole digression here about how I see us ("us" being me and my liberal friends; me and my fellow Quakers) engaging in persuasion and socialization that we fail to recognize as such. For instance, in my monthly meeting we regularly reinforce the idea that young people should go to college; that "name" colleges are important; that the kind of professional accomplishments that win awards and garner articles in the paper are worth celebrating publicly; and so on. I'd like to see us thinking more critically about how we engage with these things, and I'd like our young people to see us doing it. End of digression.
Noddings says, "Students need to believe that they should reflect, evaluate, and make authentic decisions. That means perhaps rejecting some of what the adult community advises them to do" (p. 99). I think that's hard for even the best-intentioned grown-ups to grasp.
Noddings goes on to say, "There are risks in conducting these discussions with teenagers.... The risk may be worth taking" (pp 100-101). Even though the thesis of her book is clearly that we should be raising these questions and having these conversations with young people, she invites us to consider: What are the risks? What are the trade-offs? Are they worth it?
That's SFF. In mysteries, I liked In The Woods a lot; I thought at first it was a bit over-written but then I got sucked in. I was wary because I don't like books in which children get hurt, but she never dwells on what happens to the children, so I was able to cope with it. I can't say what else I liked about it without spoilers, but I will say that it's a great example of an unreliable narrator--it's told in the first person by someone who isn't trustworthy. He tells you right up front that he lies, but more subtly he is also wrong about a lot of things, and so you have the challenge of reading between the lines of his interactions with people (this is where he is most often wrong about things) to try to figure out what is really going on.
I also liked the Liam Campbell series of mysteries by Dana Stabenow. I will not make any claims of greatness for these books (and when I tried to read another of Stabenow's series I was unimpressed). But they are competent mysteries that work for me because they hit what I am coming to understand is my mystery-series sweet spot: the mysteries are not necessarily easy to figure out, but they're easy to understand. At the end of the book, I know what happened. And there is a tortured, unfulfilled romance that stretches through more than one book (cf. Clare/Russ). Perhaps I should just cave in and start reading romance novels, but I choose instead to skirt around the edges of that genre, re-reading Jane Austen and Jane Eyre, and mysteries with a romance component.
But that's not what I came here to talk about. As with most resolutions, I have sometimes failed in keeping mine. Since January 1, for instance, I've read four books on economics, nine about education, and two on child development and children's issues, as well as a few on miscellaneous other topics. So, really, I've failed pretty spectacularly at the "stop thinking so much" part of the resolution, while doing pretty well at the "read more fun genre fiction" piece of it. A mixed bag.
Right now, I'm reading Nel Noddings' Critical Lessons: What Our Schools Should Teach, and am liking it. She wants us to encourage young people to apply critical thinking--which she defines very broadly--to all sorts of areas where we either don't attempt to educate them at all (parenting, homemaking), or where we want them to just listen to us and do what we say (the value of homework, the idea that everyone should always try to do their best).
The bulk of the book is chapters that take up specific topics: Learning and Self-Understanding; The Psychology of War; House and Home; Other People; Parenting; Animals and Nature; and so on. In her introduction, she identifies some of the kinds of questions we might encourage young people to ask, and I like her questions:
When and under what conditions do I do my best work? Is it possible that a problem, topic, or potential product might "speak" to us or somehow reveal itself? Is it sometimes morally acceptable and creatively productive to do less than my best work? What does it mean, anyway, to be educated? (pp 2-3)
and:
Today we insist that everyone (almost without exception) must study academic mathematics. Yet relatively few students will actually use this material in their adult lives. In contrast, all of us will make a home of some sort. Why, then, does homemaking not appear as a serious and sustained subject in our schools? Among the questions we [might] consider are these: What is a home? What does our house, room, or corner say about us? What attitude might we take toward our possessions? What organic habits do we acquire in our childhood homes? Is it possible (or desirable) to enjoy household tasks? What role does conversation play in contributing to the growth of partners or children? What does ignorance or ineptitude on these topics contribute to present societal conditions? Are there people who want to maintain these conditions? Can it be that your ignorance might serve my purpose? (p. 6)
I think I'm drawn to her approach because of my own experiences with gradually coming to think critically about received wisdom from my family and the schools I attended. Also because I hear parents and educators talk about wanting their children to have "critical thinking" skills, but having either a very narrow view of what that might mean (Noddings wants a very broad and deep definition of it), or assuming that it means that the children will come to agree with them.
I see this in some liberals I know, who believe that they have reached their political position through critical thinking, and so their efforts to practice critical thinking with young people look more like leading them down a path to a foregone conclusion. If that makes sense. I have had some teachers of my acquaintance describe things they've done in the classroom as "introducing critical thinking" that sounded more to me like "introducing a liberal point-of-view," and I think it's important for adults to make the distinction. Especially for those of us who see ourselves positioned in opposition to the mainstream or to the status quo, who might have to be extra-vigilant in remembering that not everyone who thinks deeply about a subject will reach the same conclusions.
I could go into a whole digression here about how I see us ("us" being me and my liberal friends; me and my fellow Quakers) engaging in persuasion and socialization that we fail to recognize as such. For instance, in my monthly meeting we regularly reinforce the idea that young people should go to college; that "name" colleges are important; that the kind of professional accomplishments that win awards and garner articles in the paper are worth celebrating publicly; and so on. I'd like to see us thinking more critically about how we engage with these things, and I'd like our young people to see us doing it. End of digression.
Noddings says, "Students need to believe that they should reflect, evaluate, and make authentic decisions. That means perhaps rejecting some of what the adult community advises them to do" (p. 99). I think that's hard for even the best-intentioned grown-ups to grasp.
Noddings goes on to say, "There are risks in conducting these discussions with teenagers.... The risk may be worth taking" (pp 100-101). Even though the thesis of her book is clearly that we should be raising these questions and having these conversations with young people, she invites us to consider: What are the risks? What are the trade-offs? Are they worth it?