"I don't understand why using AI for assignments isn't allowed. AI is a tool, right, like a phone or a computer?" Peter made this comment in authentic good faith. The tone was curious. Peter, my student, wasn't being performative, or jockeying for social capital - no other students were even around. He honestly wanted to know my thoughts. And so I answered honestly and openly.
"I guess it depends on the purpose of the assignment," I told Peter. "I agree, AI is a tool, a robot. Would you use a robot to vacuum your floors?"
"Well, yes," he said. "That's what a roomba is."
"Right," I said. "Because the purpose of vacuuming floors is to have a clean floor."
I followed up. "Would you use a robot to lift weights for you when the team goes to the weight room?"
"Of course not! That's dumb," he said.
"Why is that dumb?"
"Because the purpose of weightlifting is to build muscles, not just to raise and lower a dumbbell." Peter's eyes widened a bit. "Oh, I get it. That makes more sense now."
My analogy here is not likely novel or interesting to people reading this blog. Conversations in which I explain simple ideas to teenagers are commonplace. I mean, I teach 9th grade. I'm used to student puzzlement about things that are obvious to me, things beyond Newton's third law. For example, I had to explain the meaning of the word "sacred" the other day. The student newspaper, edited by a senior, referenced "the Beatles rock musician John Lennon," which still provoked the question "what's a Beatle?"
So why do I relay my conversation about AI? Well, because it's not only about AI. AI is just the bogeyman of the day.*
*To paraphrase Neil DeGrasse Tyson, who was totally speaking tongue-in-cheek: AI has been all around us for years. It's only become a "problem" since humanities professors realized it could write students' papers for them.
The idea of a school assignment as authentic practice, in the same category as sports conditioning or musical scales, was foreign to Peter. He had always thought of schoolwork as a chore, as a means to an end. Get these answers right by any means necessary.
Before you harumph at Peter, consider typical middle school or elementary school culture. How often do you hear about parents who do their kids' homework for them?* Even in 1983, a quick look around my class's "visual aids" would show twenty professional-level works of art, and two thrown together with watercolors and rubber bands. Twice (in the 1990s) I took jobs tutoring middle school students. Twice the parents stopped calling me when they realized that I wasn't just giving the student answers, and that I wasn't making myself available on short notice when said student forgot they had a major assignment due the next day.
*Well, the parents SAY "I never do my kids' homework for them! But I always check it over to be sure their answers are correct. If they're confused and I don't know how to help them, I ask my spouse. Boy, do I hate it when a class covers material that we don't know about!"
Worse, my experience - in both public and Catholic school - was that teachers praised the students who produced high-end projects with, shall we say, heavy adult influence. And the few of us with projects that looked like they were fully created by a middle schooler were either shamed or pitied.
I've often addressed assemblages of middle school parents who are considering sending their kid to my high school. They ask, "what can we do to help our child be ready for the rigors of high school academics?" My answer is always, "Make them do their homework on their own. Don't help, check, read over, or discuss their assignments at all, ever. Allow them to fail - and then let them recover. Then they will know their successes are truly their own, not due to a 'support network.'"
This response never fails to produce surprised looks. Not hostile looks, as the parents are asking the question authentically and are willingly listening to the answer of an "expert". It seems, from the reaction and the follow-up conversations, that most parents had simply never thought about the developmental purpose of authentic schoolwork.
Just as Peter hadn't.
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