How does face-to-face interaction impact language learning? Three researchers from the University of Washington performed an experiment with 9-10 month old babies that sheds some light on this question. [See citation below.] In their very pre-COVID study (from 2003) babies from English-speaking households were tested to see if they could distinguish the difference between two Chinese phonemes after 12 brief sessions with (1) live Chinese-speakers, or (2) after listening to audio or (3) viewing video recordings of the same Chinese-speakers. As a control group, some babies were only spoken to in English.

The results? The babies who only had the audio or audiovisual resources were distinguished between the phonemes no better than the babies who only were exposed to English. The AV resources added no benefit to their learning. But those with live Chinese-speakers performed significantly better.

I reflect on study now that remote learning is happening all around us. It would be interesting to have introduced a fourth experimental condition. What would be the impact of a synchronous video call with a live person? How would you predict language learning would be impacted? If the experiment was repeated with older children would the results have been the same?

Citation : Kuhl, P. K. Tsao, F. M., & Liu, H. M. (2003). Foreign-language experience in infancy: Effects of short-term exposure and social interaction on phonetic learning. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences of the United States of America, 100 (15), 9096-9101.

A recent NPR episode discussed the use of sophisticated AI chatbots in customer service. Will an AI chatbot be able to recognize when to soothe an irate customer? Can it learn to type or say “I understand you are frustrated” to de-escalate the situation?

With the huge advances in AI these days, I don’t doubt that AI can learn to do these things. But how will we feel when we hear/read these messages? Although AI will learn to communicate caring, will we feel cared for when we receive those messages? I am not so sure.

I have two opposite experiences that make me wonder about this. The first experience was one that happened during the pandemic. I got an unaddressed card in my physical mailbox that said “we can make it!” and signed with some nick-name I didn’t recognize. I believe this was a well-meaning gesture by an unknown neighbor, who was trying to spread good energy. But it had the opposite effect for. I really got very annoyed instead. I thought: “You don’t know who the hell I am, and I don’t know who you are – so why are you trying to say you care!” This experience makes me think I would react to a chatbot the same way. I don’t think a chatbot could make me feel more anger or annoyed instead of calm me down.

However, a second experience makes me think maybe I could be calmed by AI. About a week or so ago I was waiting for the signal to walk across the street, when a little food-delivery robot wheeled up next to me. When the cross light came on, the robot didn’t move. And I felt the urge to say “come on little robot, it’s safe. Here, cross with me.” I noticed how easy it was to think of this little box as a child I wanted to protect. So maybe if a cute little robot tells me it cares, I will believe it.

Here’s a quote from MIT psychologist Sherry Turkle, that I feel sums up my feelings about this topic.

“The performance of empathy is not empathy,” [Turkle] said. “The area of companion, lover, therapist, best friend is really one of the few areas where people need people.”

How do you think you’ll feel when AI tells you it cares? Will you feel cared for?

Since I originally published this post on April 28 [2023], I have seen articles about this topic. I add them here to keep a record:

From Nature News, on May 4, 2023, “Is the world ready for ChatGPT therapists.”

From NYT, May 3, 2023, “My weekend with an emotional support A.I. companion.”

I had a very interesting discussion recently about the role of the teacher in learning. One question that arose: What does it mean to care for / care about your students? Does caring mean being “soft” on your students? Does appearing to be caring lessen the students’ regard for the teacher?

I reflected a bit on my own sense of “caring.” For me, part of caring for students means that I respect what they have to say, and I encourage them to make the effort to express themselves in ways that others can understand their ideas. I totally disagree that a caring teacher encourages students to be lazy and neglect their work. In may ways, I see caring about students to mean the opposite of having an “anything goes” attitude.

I think caring means that you respect your students, are confident in their ability, and care about what they are learning. As I caring teacher I urge students to put in their best effort to learn the material and produce work they are proud of.

It seems ironic to me that some people equate “caring” with “being soft”. Doesn’t being soft mean you don’t care? That anything goes? That you don’t care if students do quality work or not? I think being soft is the opposite of caring. It is a mark of disrespect, not an indicator of regard and love.

Today, as I read through final writing assignments, I am faced with a familiar dilemma: what to do with students who haven’t turned assignments in “on time.” How can I be fair but also accommodate students’ struggles?

I realize that the heart of my dilemma lies in the conflict between my desire to help students learn, with my need to follow the rules of the cultural institution we call “education.”

I need to assign specific grades by a specified date, to specific amount of work, that needs to completed by another specified date. I know learning doesn’t really work this way. Complex tasks that require critical and/or creative thinking – the kind of learning we want students to engage in these days – does not happen on command, or within a particular timeline. But institutional rules force us into a very specific window. No wonder so many educators say that “assessment” is their least favorite task in teaching.

A posting on a wellness newsletter I recently read touted the benefits of social connections as a way to improve mental and physical health. My socially-embedded learning framework argues that humans’ need for connection to others goes beyond something nice to have. Something more than a “bonus” to improve our health.

I argue that social connections are vital and essential. Without social connections we can lose our minds [solitary confinement is torture and can lead to insanity], or physically die [humans cannot survive in the world very long without the aid of others].

Yet do we recognize that social connections are essential? Do we prioritize them? When faced with the push of a long to-do list, do we isolate ourselves and ignore those we love? I know for me the answer to those questions has too often been “yes.” As I rapidly approach retirement, one of my few regrets is that I let the addiction of getting things done often crowd out my connection to others.

Fred Bail, my PhD advisor at the University of Hawaii, loved to walk on the beach near his home in Waimanalo, Hawaii. He called the ocean and nearby Koolau Mountains his “church.” On January 17 (2019), while on his daily walk, Fred collapsed and died. He was a big Bostonian, with a wide grin and twinkling blue eyes. I was stunned to learn of his passing. Fred was only 74 and much too full of life to be gone.

I’ve been thinking a lot about Fred and wanted to share the memory from 2006, when I attending the Hawaii Educational Research Association conference. Fred and I were guests at the home of Mike and Chris Kirk-Kuwaye on the windward side of Oahu. We had had a lovely dinner with lots of laughing. (Typical for time spent with Fred). The conversation turned towards philosophy (also typical for Fred) and Fred said:

“What if enlightenment isn’t some place you ‘get to’? What if enlightenment is actually a series of pings?”

He went on to explain what he meant. Pings were these brief, pure moments, when you realized the perfection of what was. They were like a soap bubble. Fleeting. Momentary. Impossible to grasp.

And I remember when Fred mentioned this, thinking about the previous day, and recalling a clerk in a restaurant who gave me a heartfelt smile along with my order. PING! Yes, that definitely was a ping. A stranger projecting a namaste-kind-of-love to another stranger. Perhaps Fred was right and that enlightenment is a series of these pings.

I surely hope when Fred was walking in his “church” on January 17, that the last thing he felt was “PING.”