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Questions, Questions (First of a Series)
Andrew Watson
Andrew Watson

Because teachers spend so much time asking questions, we’d be grateful if we had research to guide us as we do so.

On many pedagogy topics, we face a tricky problem: not enough research to paint a clear picture.

One this topic — questions — we face a completely different problem: SO MUCH RESEARCH.

In fact, we’ve got so many studies on so many different sub-topics here, we can easily get lost in the muddle of terminology, recommendations, and limitations.

My goal in this series of posts is to sort through the several kinds of research focused on questions, trying to nudge them into useful categories. I’ll also try to point out some easy mistakes to make along the way.

To organize this post, I’ll focus on three points:

When to ask this kind of question?

Who benefits most immediately from doing so?

What do we do with the answers?

Before the Thinking, part I

Daniel Willingham tells us that “memory is the residue of thought.” If we prompt our students to do the right kind of thinking, they’ll get the right kind of residue: useful long-term knowledge.

The first group of questions comes well before we want our students to do that “right kind of thinking.”

To teach an effective unit, teachers need to know our students’ prior knowledge on the subject.

To learn what the word “tragedy” means, students need to know who a “protagonist” is. Heck: they need to know what a “play” is. Do they? I should ask.

To learn about covalent bonds, students need to know what elements are, and what electrons are. Do they? I should ask.

And so forth.

Practically ANY unit draws on this kind of prior knowledge. If my students don’t already know these essential facts, ideas, or skills, they’ll experience working memory overload when the unit gets underway. (If you’re interested in the importance of prior knowledge, check out Graham Nuthall’s bookThe Hidden Lives of Learners.)

Female High School Teacher Asking Pointing at a student who is raising her hand

So: the very first questions I ought to ask my students explore the depth and breadth of their knowledge on a topic they’ll be learning about next week, next month, next semester.

Notice who benefits first from these questions: I — the teacher — do. Because…

What do I do with the answers? Once I evaluate my students’ prior knowledge, I can design a more effective and targeted lesson—one that neither bores nor overwhelms my students.

Recap of “prior knowledge” questions:

When? Before the unit – sometimes well before the unit.

Who benefits? Initially, the teacher – who now has information that will help plan the full lesson.

What to do with the answers? Design upcoming instruction effectively.

Before the Thinking, part II

Of course, not all questions that precede the lesson are for my benefit. We have a growing body of research into “prequestions.”

Notice this distinction:

I ask “prior knowledge questions” to find out what my students do and don’t know.

I ask “prequestions” about important information I’m already sure my students DON’T KNOW.

In fact, I can’t ask effective “prequestions” until I check their prior knowledge; otherwise, my prequestion might ask them about important information they DO already know.

Now, why would I do such a thing? Why ask students to define the Five Pillars of Islam if I’m sure they just don’t know?

Well, this growing body of research suggests that such questions prime students for upcoming learning.

They are likelier to learn those Five Pillars if I ask prequestions about them – even though they almost certainly can’t and won’t answer those questions correctly.

Let’s be honest: this strategy seems peculiar. Asking students questions when I’m sure they don’t know the answer feels a little mean. But, if this research pool is correct, doing so gets them mentally ready to learn new stuff.

Recap of “prequestions”:

When? Before the unit, probably right at the beginning.

Who benefits? The student – who is now better primed to learn this new information.

What to do with the answers? Don’t sweat the incorrect answers. We assume they’ll get incorrect answers! Instead, carry on with the lesson, knowing that students are mentally prepared for this new learning.

Digging Deep

Even this brief review suggests important distinctions.

I should ask both kinds of questions “before the thinking”; that is, before the students have started learning this topic.

But I will plan these questions quite differently.

If I’m asking “prior knowledge” questions, I need to consider quite a broad range of possibilities. Because I don’t yet know what my students don’t know, I should probably ask …

… both conceptual questions and factual questions,

… questions that seem easy to me, and questions that seem hard to me,

… questions from early in the upcoming unit, and questions later in the unit.

And so forth.

However, if I’m asking “prequestions,” I should focus quite narrowly on…

… information that is most important in the upcoming unit, and

… information that I’m confident most of my students don’t already know.

Also, I will respond to the answers quite differently.

If I’m asking “prior knowledge” questions, my students’ answers are simply data. If I ask the right questions, their answers tell me what they do and don’t know — and in this way guide me as I design the upcoming lesson.

If I’m asking “prequestions,” my response will be rather different. Because I’m almost sure my students don’t know the answers, I expect that most answers will be wrong.

That wrongness is a feature, not a bug. (If most students get the answer right, then I didn’t accomplish the goal of priming future learning.)

I should probably be on the lookout for “prior misconceptions.” That is: if several students answer a “prequestion” with a commonly held false belief, that information will be important and helpful to me.

Devils in Details

As I write about these topics, I think two details merit attention.

First: I’ve written above about “prequestions” — asking students information I’m sure they don’t know.

I should confess that most people have a different name for this technique; they call it “pretesting.”

Now, I think “pretesting” is a TERRIBLE name. No teacher and no student wants anything to do with tests. And, the technique isn’t a test! No grading required!!!

In this post and others, I’m trying to rebrand “pretesting ” as “prequestioning.” However, you’ll see the term “pretesting” more often.

Second: you may know Graham Nuthall’s famous finding: students already know about 50% of what we’re going to teach them, but that each one knows a different 50%.

If that’s true, this finding makes both “prior knowlegde” questions and “pretesting” questions very tricky.

I myself worry less about this finding than others do.

While Nuthall did find this statistic to be true, his finding hasn’t been replicated (as far as I know.) We should remember Dan Willingham’s motto: “one study is just one study, folks.”

By the way, Nuthall’s methodology is so extraordinarily complex that I’d be surprised if it has could be replicated frequently.

I also suspect that this 50% statistic will vary widely from situation to situation.

If you teach Spanish 4 — well, it’s likely that most of your students have successfully completed Spanish 3. They’ll have LOTS of prior knowledge in common.

But if you teach 9th grade history in a school that draws from many different feeder schools, you might well work with students whose priok knowledge varies quite widely.

TL;DR

BEFORE we start teaching a unit, we should ask students two different kinds of questions.

Prior knowledge questions help us learn what our students already know.

“Prequestions” help prime students to learn new information and concepts.

Although all these questions are, in fact, questions, their purpose, form, and result differ in important ways. We should plan accordingly.

Experts, Expertise, and Teachers (and Students!)
Andrew Watson
Andrew Watson

Researchers often focus on experts and expertise. And bloggers like me often follow their leads.

You’ll read about the novice-expert continuum, the differences between novices and experts, and the expertise-reversal effect.

A substantial collection of tools organized on a peg board above a workbench

But let’s pause for a minute and ask: what is an expert? What is this “expertise” that novices gradually acquire on their way to becoming an expert?

A recent book by Roger Kneebone — Expert: Understanding the Path to Mastery — takes on these fascinating questions.

Biography, and Beyond

Kneebone himself followed an unusual trajectory to this set of questions. He started his professional life training to be a surgeon; his stories of emergency surgery in South Africa will set the squeamish on edge.

By the way, while not slicing his way through gory neck wounds, Kneebone also spent time learning how to fly at a local airport. Here again, his mishaps as a pilot provide important examples for his investigation of expertise.

After some number of years as a surgeon, he decided to retool himself as a general practitioner in rural England — the kind of doctor we would now call a “primary care provider.”

That is: instead of snipping gall bladders out of patients he barely knows, he discusses hang-nails with patients he’s know for years.

Oh, by the way, he also takes up playing the harpsichord — he even builds one of his own. You guessed it: this pursuit also informs his book.

He finally ends up with yet another career: he helped found a program for training surgeons. He is — rather curiously — an expert in expertise.

Sample Size

To explore the nature of expertise, Kneebone reaches outside his own experience to talk to a remarkable variety of experts. As in:

An expert taxidermist

An expert tailor

An expert harpsichord maker

An expert magician

An expert fighter pilot

An expert ceramicist

And so forth.

In these conversations, Kneebone finds remarkably consistent patterns. That is: the path to becoming an expert surgeon is surprisingly like the path to being an expert tailor or an expert magician — even though the actual work of these professions differs substantially.

In his book, he maps out this path, using examples and stories from all those professions.

I won’t trace the entire path from “apprentice” to “journeyman*” to “master*” — you should read Kneebone’s book if you want the details, but I do want to share a few of his insights.

First, Kneebone sees the phase transition from apprentice to journeyman as a change in focus. An apprentice teacher (for example) focuses on what s/he is doing: what does my lesson plan look like? Am I covering learning objectives?

A journeyman teacher focuses on the effect of those actions on students. Are they learning? Did they understand that example? How do their mistakes this week compare to their mistakes last week?

As a developing teacher, I can’t do the second part (focusing on students) until I’ve made the first part (focusing on myself) routine. But that switch really makes all that initial work worthwhile.

Second: the phase change from journeyman to mastery — if I’m understanding Kneebone correctly — involves another such change in focus. Journeyman teachers focus on their students. Master teachers focus on helping other teachers help their students. They switch to a meta-level, and think about the profession itself: how to pass on — and improve! — professional skills, norms, and knowledge.

Once again, this journeyman-to-mastery switch can’t happen until after MANY years of journeyman-level effort. And, in fact, lots of people never make this second leap: they stay focused on the proximate, not the ultimate, effects of their work.

If you’ve been teaching for a while, perhaps you can see these steps in your work, and your colleagues’. Certainly I can see that progression in the schools where I have worked.

Teaching Implications

As teachers, we’re understandably tempted to ask: “How should I think about helping my students along this path? How can I help my students arrive at expertise?”

Kneebone doesn’t address this question directly, but I suspect I know part of the answer.

In Kneebone’s model, the path from apprentice to journeyman to mastery takes…literally…years. Probably decades.

Kneebone doesn’t object to repetitive drudgery; in fact, he considers it an essential step in the process of developing mastery.

For instance: the master tailor he interviews spent literally months sewing a specialized part of a pocket…over and over (and over) again. While he was doing so, he often felt irritated and confused — all too aware of the seeming pointlessness of the exercise. Only once he’d travelled further along the path did he recognize all the subtleties he had absorbed along the way.

So, I suspect Kneebone would tell me: “Andrew, get real. Your high-school sophomores will not become experts at writing — or Shakespeare, or grammar — in a year. Becoming an expert in Shakespeare — in anything — takes DECADES.”

Instead, I found Kneebone’s book to be most helpful as we think about teacher training: how we can reasonably expect apprentices in our profession explore and sift their experiences on their way to later stages of expertise.

A Final Distinction

While I think Kneebone’s book gives better guidance for training teachers (over several years) than teaching students (over several months), I do think the terms “novice” and “expert” are useful in understanding our day-to-day classroom work.

Specifically, we should be aware that our students (almost always) know much less than we do about the topic we’re teaching; they are, relatively speaking, “novices.” We should not act as if they’re experts; doing so will almost certainly overwhelm their working memory.

And, we should not abandon “expertise” as a goal — as long as we focus on “relative expertise.”

That is: my sophomores won’t be Shakespeare experts at the end of the year. But — if I’m doing my job right — they will have more expertise than they did before.

They’re better at parsing Shakespearean syntax.

They know more about King James I’s obsession with witches, and with deception. (Hello, Gunpowder Plot.)

They’re on the lookout for the words “do,” “done,” and “deed” as they make their way through the poetry.

They’re not experts, but they’re relative experts: that is, experts relative to themselves at the beginning of the year.

As long as we keep the goal of “relative” expertise in mind, then the novice/expert distinction provides lots of useful guidance for our work with students.

As long as we recognize that Kneebone’s insights apply more to teaching training than to student instruction, I think his book provides importand and helpful insights into the nuances, trials, and joys of our work.


* These terms, of course, raise questions. Kneebone considers them, and sticks with this terminology.


Kneebone, R. (2020). Expert: Understanding the path to mastery. Penguin UK.

Rewired by Carl Marci
Erik Jahner, PhD
Erik Jahner, PhD

rewiredIn Rewired: Protecting Your Brain in the Digital Age, Dr. Carl D. Marci takes readers on a fascinating journey into how our brains are adapting (or struggling to adapt) in the digital age. According to Marci, our brain wiring is not predetermined but develops extensively outside the womb as we encounter new challenges. He seeks to explain the emerging landscape for brain development by exploring the history of media and advertising, setting the stage for the smartphone revolution. What is our brain becoming? Despite our unprecedented connectivity, many of us feel more isolated than ever. Marci argues that our constant engagement with smartphones and social media is reshaping our brain functions, overstimulating our reward centers, and hindering our ability to form deep, meaningful relationships crucial for our mental and physical health.

Marci delves deep into the concept of neuroplasticity—the brain’s incredible ability to reorganize itself based on our experiences, thoughts, and behaviors. This adaptability can lead to both positive and negative changes in our neural pathways. While technology has the potential to contribute to distraction and emotional distress, Marci believes it also offers opportunities for proactive brain reshaping. By engaging actively in our brain’s development, we can influence its structure and function to support personal growth and well-being. But we need to take control rather than allow the digital landscape to determine our path.

The book is divided into three main parts. Part 1, “Wired: Connected Brains,” explores how the evolution of media and advertising has prepared the ground for the smartphone era. It highlights the prefrontal cortex’s crucial role in managing our interactions and behaviors. Part 2, “Rewired: Assaulted Brains,” addresses the negative impacts of smartphone use, such as diminished attention spans, increased multitasking, and the risk of developing unhealthy habits and addictions. Marci emphasizes the importance of understanding these effects at various life stages. Finally, Part 3, “Beyond Wired: Better Brains,” offers practical strategies for mitigating the negative impacts of digital technology. Marci provides actionable recommendations for enhancing brain health through digital literacy and mindful tech use, advocating for a balanced approach that maximizes technology’s benefits while minimizing its potential harms.

Rewired covers a wide range of relatable topics, from porn addiction and FOMO to the influence of advertising on obesity and self-image. It tackles how passive technology use affects cognition, attention, and mental health, supported by well-researched studies that separate fact from fiction. Marci’s focus is not just on the negative aspects but also on the brain’s remarkable power to rewire itself. By harnessing the powers of neuroplasticity and cognitive control, we can mitigate the downsides and amplify the benefits of our digital environment.

Marci outlines key principles affecting neuroplasticity, such as how mindfulness, self-reflection, and healthy habits positively impact brain function. For instance, mindfulness and meditation can increase gray matter density in areas associated with memory, learning, and emotional regulation. Positive habits like regular exercise and a nutritious diet also support brain health, improve cognitive function, and reduce inflammation linked to mood disorders.

The book also explores experience-dependent plasticity, which is the idea that our brains change in response to specific activities. Learning new skills—like playing an instrument or acquiring a new language—creates and strengthens neural pathways. Marci provides compelling examples of how people with learning disabilities or cognitive challenges can improve their cognitive functions through targeted exercises and therapies.

Moreover, Rewired addresses the role of emotions in neuroplasticity. Positive emotions such as joy and gratitude can enhance brain health, while negative emotions like stress and anxiety can impede it. By fostering a positive emotional state through practices like mindfulness and meditation, we can promote beneficial brain rewiring and improve our overall well-being.

Marci also highlights the importance of social connections in supporting neuroplasticity. Positive relationships and meaningful social interactions are vital for brain development and adaptability. Strong social bonds not only contribute to emotional resilience but also enhance the brain’s ability to adapt and grow.

Overall, Rewired is both a critical examination of our digital habits and a practical guide to achieving a balanced life. Dr. Marci provides valuable strategies for managing technology use and restoring genuine connections. While acknowledging the significant changes brought about by smartphones and media consumption, he shows that with conscious effort and healthy practices, we have the power to shape our brain’s future. The book offers a hopeful perspective on navigating the digital age, providing actionable advice to help us thrive in both our virtual and real-world interactions.

Do Fidget Spinners Help Children with ADHD?
Andrew Watson
Andrew Watson

Good news: cognitive science research can be SPECTACULARLY useful in guiding and informing teachers.

Less good news: that guidance isn’t always clear or prompt.

After all:

Research findings often contradict one another.

They can also contradict our deeply-held beliefs, and/or our school’s policies.

Not everyone who quotes research actually understands research, or quotes it accurately.

And so forth.

Another problem with research gets less focus: it takes so much time.

In this case: fidget spinners were a thing back in 2017!

Perhaps you — like me — frequently heard the idea that “we can give fidget spinners to students to help them get the wiggles out!”

More specifically: “fidget spinners will help those students diagnosed with ADHD let off jittery steam without wandering around or distracting others.”

At that time, those claims sounded plausible or implausible — depending on your perspective and experience. But we didn’t have any research to support or contradict them.

As one group of pediatricians wrote in 2017:

Fidget spinners and other self-regulatory occupational therapy toys have yet to be subjected to rigorous scientific research. Thus, their alleged benefits remain scientifically unfounded. Paediatricians should […] inform parents that peer-reviewed studies do not support the beneficial claims.

Well: SEVEN years later, now we do have research!

Worth the Wait

Researchers in Florida worked with a group of 60 children enrolled in a summer program for young children diagnosed with ADHD.

A closeup of two hands holding fidget spinners out toward each other

This program offered both academic and behavioral training over eight weeks, to better prepare these children for the upcoming school year.

Both in the first two weeks and the final two weeks, the research team gave several children fidget spinners during the 30-minute ELA class. They looked for data on these questions:

Did the fidget spinners change the amount of wandering around?

Did they change the students’ attention to the class work?

And, did they affect the other children who did not get fidget spinners?

Sure enough, the data they gleaned provide helpful classroom guidance.

Good News, Bad News

If you’re in the pro-fidget spinner camp, you’ll be glad to know that the fidget spinners did NOT lead to an increase it problems among the other students who didn’t get one.

They didn’t wander any more than usual; they didn’t pay less attention than usual. (“Area violations” and “attention violations” were the two categories tracked by researchers.)

That’s the good news.

If you’re pro-fidget spinner, the rest of the news won’t encourage you.

First: the spinners reduced wandering a bit at the beginning of the program. But they did NOT reduce wandering at the end.

Second: the spinners raised inattention levels both at the beginning and at the end of the program. And the increases in inattention were greater than the decreases in wandering.

In brief, fidget-spinner champions will not find much support here.

Questions and Caveats

No one study can answer all questions, so we should keep its limitations in mind.

What about older students? This research doesn’t explore that question.

Won’t students get better at using fidget spinners AND paying attention over time? We don’t know. (But: eight weeks is an unusually long research study.)

Don’t they benefits SOME students? Maybe. A 60-person study doesn’t really allow us to look for granular sub-populations.

A later study should show the opposite results! It certainly could.

In other words, passionate fidget-spinner advocates can ask worthwhile questions. And, we shouldn’t be too emphatic based on one study.

But we can say this:

According to this one research study, fidget spinners did not help young students diagnosed with ADHD pay attention; they did more harm than good.


Graziano, P. A., Garcia, A. M., & Landis, T. D. (2020). To fidget or not to fidget, that is the question: A systematic classroom evaluation of fidget spinners among young children with ADHD. Journal of attention disorders24(1), 163-171.

Attention Contagion in the “Real World”: Plato was Right!
Andrew Watson
Andrew Watson

I’m always grateful to have research guidance for my classroom work, but I have to admit: it can take A LONG TIME.

For instance, I’ve got an upcoming blog post about reseach into figdet spinners — and those little guys were a thing back in 2017. It took (can it be?) SEVEN years to look into their benefits/harms for students with ADHD.

Bored Male Student Listens Lecture at the University. Tired, Exhausted and Overworked Young Male Holds His Head.

However, I have to say that attention contagion is moving quickly.

I first heard about attention contagion — the idea that students can “catch” attentiveness, and inattentiveness, from each other — this summer. Back in that blog post, I noted that we’ve got only two recent studies on the topic. We need more research — and research in conditions that look like real classrooms — before we make too much of this concept.

Well, this research team (led by Noah Forrin) must have heard my request — they ALREADY have another study out. And, this one looks at students in a classroom-like setting. SO COOL.

The Setup

Team Forrin set up a fairly typical lecture hall scenario: rows of desks facing a large screen, where a video tape of lecture played.

60 students attended this “lecture,” and took notes as they did so. Afterwards they took a quiz on the lecture content and filled out a survey about the experience.

Here’s the key: fifteen of those 60 students were — basically — college-age actors. (The technical word is “confederates.”)

For half of the lectures, these actors were trained to be attentive: they took notes, sat upright, focused on the lecture video, and looked intersted.

For the other half, they were trained to be inattentive: they took no notes, slouched, looked around, and looked bored.

Notice — this detail will be important — the inattentive students were not distracting. They didn’t fidget or stretch  or yawn or tap their pens or play games on laptops. (In fact, laptops and cell phones were not allowed.)

Importantly, the seating was carefully arranged. The non-actors were seated either…

… between actors, or

…behind or in front of actors, or

… far away from actors.

So, here are the questions:

Did the students catch attentiveness from the actors? Or, did they catch INattentiveness from actors?

And: did the seating location matter? Specifically, did the in between students or the in front/behind students react differently than the far away students?

The Payoff

Forrin and his colleagues had A LOT of data to sort, and I won’t go through it all. The results, in my view, aren’t terribly surprising — but they are very interesting. And, helpful.

First: yes, students could catch inattention from the actors.

Researchers know this because, when seated near inattentive actors:

On their surveys, the students rated themselves as more inattentive.

The took fewer notes.

They scored lower on the post-lecture quiz.

Second: students catch inattention when sitting next to or between inattentive actors.

I am — honestly — not surprised that students seated far away didn’t catch inattentiveness. (If you check out the seating diagram on page 4 of the study, you’ll see why.)

I am — and the researchers were — surprised that students DIDN’T catch inattentiveness when sitting behind or in front of inattentive actors.

By the way, you remember the important detail from above: the actors were trained to be inattentive but not distracting. Sure enough, those end-of-lecture surveys showed that the students were not distracted by classmates.

This point merits focus because we can have some confidence that the problem was actual inattentiveness — not distraction. The researchers, in other words, effectively isolated a variable — even though it’s a difficult one to isolate.

Practical Implications

Teachers since Plato have known to sit the distractible students between focused students. Well, this research suggests that we’ve been right all along.

More surprising, sitting students in front of or behind attentive peers doesn’t (in this study) have the same effect.

And, completely unsurprisingly, students sitting far away from attentive peers do not “catch” their focus.

Forrin’s team concludes by suggesting that further research be done in actual classrooms. Here’s hoping they publish that study soon!


Forrin, N. D., Kudsi, N., Cyr, E. N., Sana, F., Davidesco, I., & Kim, J. A. (2024). Investigating attention contagion between students in a lecture hall. Scholarship of Teaching and Learning in Psychology.


Thanks to professor Mike Hobbiss for drawing my attention to this study.

 

Retrieval Practice “In the Wild”: Lots of Good News
Andrew Watson
Andrew Watson

Last year at this time, I summarized an ENORMOUS meta-analysis about retrieval practice.

The reassuring headlines:

Retrieval practice helps students of all ages in all disciplines.

Feedback after RP helps, but isn’t necessary to get the benefits.

The mode — online, clickers, pen and paper — doesn’t matter.

The meta also includes some useful limitations:

“Brain Dumps” help less than other kinds of RP.

Sadly, retrieval practice might make it harder for students to recall un-retrieved material.

So, researchers have kicked these tires A LOT. We know retrieval practice works, and we know how to avoid its (relatively infrequent) pitfalls.

What more could research tell us?

From “Lab” to “Classroom”

Psychology researchers typically start studying cognitive functions — like “memory” or “attention” — by doing experiments in their psychology labs, usually on college campuses.

These labs, of course, control circumstances very carfully to “isolate the variable.”

Several middle school students eagerly raise their hands to answer questions

But let’s be honest, classrooms aren’t labs. Teachers don’t isolate variables; teachers combine variables.

So we’d love to know: what happens to retrieval practice when we move it outside of the psych lab into the classroom?

One recent survey study by Bates and Shea, tries to answer this question.

In their research, Bates and Shea sent out a survey to teachers in English K-12 schools to find out what is happening “in the wild.”

Do teachers use retrieval practice?

If yes, how often?

When?

What kind of retrieval practice exercise do they prefer?

What do they do with the results of RP?

And so forth.

Once again, this study brings us LOTS of good news.

First: teachers — or, at least the teachers who responded to this survey — use retrieval practice a lot.

Second: they use a variety of retrieval practice strategies — short quizzes, do nows, even (less frequently) “brain dumps.”

Third: teachers use retrieval practice at different times during class: some at the beginning, some at the end, others throughout the lesson.

In other words: retrieval practice hasn’t simply turned into a precise set of rigid instructions: “you must do five mintues of retrieval practice by asking multiple choice questions at the beginning of every other class.” Instead, it’s a teachnique that teachers use as they see fit in their work.

Better and Better

For me, some of the best news from this survey comes from a surprising finding — well, “surprising” to me at least.

Where did teachers learn about retrieval practice?

Fully 84% learned about RP from their colleagues; 63% from internal staff training; 57% from books. Relatively few — just 20% — heard about it from training outside of school.

You might think that — as someone who blogs for a conference organization — I would want teachers to hear about RP from us.

And, of course, I’m delighted when teachers attend our conferences and hear about all the research on retrieval practice.

But the Bates and Shea data suggest that retrieval practice has in fact escaped the bounds of conference breakout rooms and really is living out there “in the wild.” Teachers hear about it not only from scholars and PowerPoint slides, but from one another.

This development strikes me as enormously good news. After all: I didn’t hear much of anything about RP when I got my graduate degree in 2012. A mere 12 years later, it’s now common knowledge even outside academia.

An Intriguing Question

One finding in the Bates and Shea study raised an interesting set of questions for me: what should teachers do after retrieval practice? In particular, what should teachers do when students get RP questions wrong?

We do have research to guide us here.

We know that students benefit when we correct their incorrect RP answers.

We also know that they learn more from RP than from simple review — even if they don’t get corrective feedback.

So, what do teachers “in the wild” actually do?

Some — 46% — reteach the lesson.

Some — 15% — give corrective feedback.

Some — 10% — use this information to shape homework assignments.

Of course, some teachers choose more than one of these strategies — or others as well (e.g.: use RP answers to guide small group formation).

At present, I don’t know that we have good research-based guidance on which strategy to use when. To me, these numbers suggest that teachers are responding flexibly to the specific circumstances that they face: minute by minute, class by class.

If you read this blog regularly, you know my mantra: “Don’t just do this thing; instead, think this way.”

If I’m reading this survey study correctly, teachers have

a) heard about retrieval practice from colleagues and school leaders,

b) adapted it to their classroom circumstances in a variety of ways, and

c) respond to RP struggles with an equally flexible variey.

No doubt we can fine tune some of these responses along the way, but these headlines strike me as immensely encouraging.


Bates, G., & Shea, J. (2024). Retrieval Practice “in the Wild”: Teachers’ Reported Use of Retrieval Practice in the Classroom. Mind, Brain, and Education.