Opinion

JENNIFER CALFAS

EDITOR IN CHIEF

AARICA MARSH 

and DEREK WOLFE 

EDITORIAL PAGE EDITORS

LEV FACHER

MANAGING EDITOR

420 Maynard St. 

Ann Arbor, MI 48109

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The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
4 — Tuesday, December 1, 2015

As a likely pre-health student 

in a science heavy major, I don’t 
get a lot of choices when it comes 
to academics. It’ll be helpful to 
take these, says my adviser. You’ll 
need to take these, say graduate 
schools. Within courses is even 
worse. Introductory science and 
math courses essentially operate on 
the pedagogical model of read this, 
attend this lecture, do this problem 
set, take this exam, rinse, repeat. 
The only real choice is how many 
hours of the day I want to spend with 
my head buried rereading a chapter 
or doing another problem set.

Hundreds of years of higher 

education have told us this is how 
it must be. College learning is 
supposed to be all about guided 
learning in how to teach ourselves. 
We all learn in our own unique 
ways, so it is up to us to figure out 
how to absorb the material. Exams 
exist to make sure we have learned 
the material we are supposed to 
have learned.

Common sense about how we 

actually learn dictates otherwise. 
As the old adage goes, you haven’t 
learned until you have failed. But 
the standard grading model of just 
totaling up points received and 
dividing it by points possible flies in 
the face of this. If you actually fail 
an assessment, there is no way to 
demonstrate in your grade that you 
have learned from your mistakes; 
that mark of failure will always 
have an enormous impact on that 
final calculation. Sure, practice 
exams and smaller assignments are 
designed to simulate that learning 

through failure, but they never 
come with the same type of directed 
feedback that accompanies an exam 
or essay grade.

There’s a different way to think 

about 
learning 
called 
gameful 

learning, and a project funded by 
the University’s Third Century 
Initiative, the Digital Education 
Initiative, the School of Education 
and the School of Information 
seeks to harness it. It seeks to 
expand the reach of gameful 
learning, 
a 
pedagogical 
model 

built on the principles that grades 
should be built from zero and not 
a ratio, and that learning should 
feature multiple paths to success, 
not just a single list of homework 
and exams. Gameful learning at 
the University is built on top of 
the learning management system 
Gradecraft, 
which 
features 
a 

grade predictor that lets students 
experiment with different options 
for success, and constantly gives 
them opportunities to reevaluate 
their chosen method.

This semester, I am taking a course 

that uses this model, Honors 240: 
The Games We Play. It does happen 
to have the added benefit of being a 
class about games graded as a game, 
but the gameful model certainly 
shows its stripes. Its gameful model 
empowers me to make choices about 
how I want to learn the material and 
lets me take risks that I might not 
otherwise take.

For example, as part of the 

course’s goal to apply the basic social 
science concepts we’re learning 
to real-world scenarios, I had the 

option to do any combination of 
developing my own empirical study 
of an issue on campus, analyzing 
one aspect of the Department of 
Education’s College Scorecard data 
or writing an essay trying to tie all 
of the individual concepts together. 
I decided to take a risk and spend a 
majority of my time analyzing data, 
and found some really interesting 
results that I would have never had 
seen if it was something I was forced 
to do along with other objectives. I 
also knew that even though I was 
taking a risk by focusing so much of 
my time on one project that could 
potentially lead to uninteresting 
results, or have it not be what my 
professor wanted, I could always 
try something new without risking 
a serious grade deduction. I would 
still have to work harder than if I 
didn’t fail the other assignment, 
but at least my grade might 
 

not suffer.

This type of choice in my learning 

was incredibly empowering. I felt 
so much more ownership over 
my work in the end because I felt 
like I chose to go down this path, 
and it wasn’t something someone 
was forcing me to do just to jump 
through 
some 
next 
proverbial 

hoop. While this model certainly 
can’t work in every educational 
circumstance, it is worth it for 
professors to think about adjusting 
the very model of their classrooms 
if they want their students to think 
the way the real world thinks. 

Jeremy Kaplan is an 
 

editorial board member.

Claire Bryan, Regan Detwiler, Jeremy Kaplan, Ben Keller, Payton Luokkala, 
Aarica Marsh, Anna Polumbo-Levy, Jason Rowland, Lauren Schandevel, 
Melissa Scholke, Rebecca Tarnopol, Ashley Tjhung, Stephanie Trierweiler, 

Mary Kate Winn, Derek Wolfe

EDITORIAL BOARD MEMBERS

W

hen I was in high school, the most 
common Facebook cover pictures 
I saw were poses with friends 

or 
random 
aesthetic 

succulents. Now, it seems, 
pictures with parents and 
siblings have dominated 
my news feed. From my 
experience, my peers and 
I have been opting more 
for #MimosasWithMom, 
rather than the infamous 
#foodporn 
or 
#nature. 

Life at college, it seems, is 
instilling in students value 
and pride for their families 
rather than despoiling it.

My freshman year, I think I thought pretty 

much the opposite. Everybody on campus 
seemed to be studying and working all the 
time, barely having enough time to think of 
their families at home at all, let alone call or 
visit them. When students weren’t studying, 
they were partying, which seemed like 
the last thing someone who highly values 
their parents would spend their expensive 
university time doing. My second semester 
freshman year, I spent exactly one night in 
Bloomfield Hills. One night!

Granted, I spent my Spring Break in 

Atlanta participating in Alternative Spring 
Break, but the fact that I didn’t think about or 
miss my family at home much at all supported 
my idea that college was a time for students to 
grow apart from their families. 

However, this year, after noticing the 

opposite trend, I caught on to reason why 
I didn’t notice it my first two semesters 
at Michigan: I didn’t have to go home to 
Bloomfield Hills for a family recharge because 
I had so much family already here with me. My 
sister, two years older, was already a University 
student when I came here — I didn’t have to 
go home or call my parents to necessarily get 
that family-values feeling. Every time I felt 
stressed or needed to talk to family, I would 
call or text her to meet up for a bit at Bert’s in 
the UGLi.

For example, when I really needed someone 

to be there for me in times of personal distress, 
I didn’t have to go all the way home to see 
someone who was unconditionally there for 
me. Instead, I just had to walk five minutes to 
meet up with my sister at a coffee shop. While 
I imagined I was floating away from my 
family life, I was, in fact, just developing it in 
different, more adaptable ways. I didn’t have 
to be living at home with my parents to know 
that I had the support network I needed.

This 
Thanksgiving 
break, 
some 
high 

school friends put together a reunion event of 
sorts. The Facebook event was actually titled 
“Re-onion 2: the onioning.” On the day of the 
event, our friend who goes to Princeton posted:

“OK, I’m the worst, but I can’t make it. I’m 

leaving tomorrow morning and I only have a 
day left with my parents and (sibling name). 
frown emoticon. I really suck because I had 
the day changed for this event. Please leave 
all hate messages below:”

At any point before this year, I almost 

certainly would have actually left at least 
some sort of passive remark in the comments 
about how we changed the event date just for 
her, and how I haven’t seen her in months 
yada yada yada (I used to be — still am? — a 
high-maintenance friend). 

But this year, after almost three semesters 

in college, I can totally understand where 
she’s coming from. While at face value it may 
seem that university students are drifting 
away from their parents and siblings, they 
are simply developing a more complex 
relationship. I’m no longer just living at home, 
in need of my parents’ and siblings’ constant 
support. Instead, I know I have that support 
even when I’m far away, and my family knows 
the same from me. Therefore, when I do 
actually go home and physically spend time 
with them, that time is more precious than 
ever, and I think many college students also 
appreciate that added value.

So what does this mean for our home 

life? Succinctly, home life has become a 
precious, almost nostalgic time to take selfies 
with Mom and genuinely enjoy being in the 
presence of one’s family. I honestly feel like 
I’ve become so much less of a brat than I was 
in high school (but I really couldn’t have 
been more of one, so that’s not saying much), 
because being away at school forces me to 
appreciate every minute.

School life away from home is now 

a time when I’m physically separated 
from my family, but feel the support (and 
expectations!) more than ever. And if I’m 
ever unsure about that, I can give them a call 
anytime and know they’re willing to take an 
hour out of their day just to talk.

I love going on Snapchat while on break. 

During holiday time, rather than expecting 
to feel FOMO when opening friends’ stories, 
I can always look forward to cute sibling 
pictures and posts of gratitude for parents. 
Though at times University life is separating 
us from these family moments, in actuality, it 
only makes us value them even more.

— Liam Wiesenberger can be 

reached at wiesliam@umich.edu.

Valuing family time

What is normal?

T

here 
were 
only 
four 

sentences on the sheet of 
paper in front of us. My 

classmates and I sat there stumped 
for a moment, struggling to answer 
a few questions. 
Floating among 
all 
the 
white 

space 
we 

weren’t entirely 
sure 
how 
to 

fill 
was 
the 

question “What 
is normal?”

Tossing aside 

my initial (and 
mildly sarcastic) 
reaction to ask 
if 
the 
prompt 

was a trick ques-
tion, we were able to jot down a few 
phrases and a few words to com-
plete the exercise. This particular 
question, though, resurfaced when 
I traveled back home for Thanks-
giving break. Home had always 
had its own definition of “normal” 
— a respective series of expecta-
tions about how to act, what to do 
and the “proper” order to perform 
these actions. I — for 22 years — had 
disagreed with the vast majority of 
them. I didn’t tend to fit home’s def-
inition, and more often than not, I 
wasn’t necessarily sure I wanted to.

Yet as I returned to a place where 

I continually felt I was deviating 
from the norm, my mind sudden-
ly became preoccupied with the 
notion of normal. Given the ambi-
guity of what the next year — or 
even the next few months — will 
hold, a prescribed route with some 
sort of direction to follow was an 
attractive option. Normal promised 
a degree of certainty and stability. 
Normal would provide a measure of 
where exactly I “should be.” How-
ever, as I began to worry whether 
I was falling behind or making a 
mistake, I began to really consider 
what has actually constituted nor-
mal up to this point in my life.

Throughout the years, it was 

normal for me to be highly aware 
of my status as a woman, and if I 
ever began to forget about this label 
— and all of the limitations society 
entwines into it — I was promptly 
reminded. “Because you’re the girl” 
was the customary response when-
ever I asked for any explanation 
as to why my parents hesitated to 
let me do certain things my broth-
ers were able to do without ques-
tion. With this phrase came the 
acknowledgement that I needed to 
follow special precautions in order 
to obtain a certain degree of inde-
pendence my brothers and male 

friends seemed to acquire easily. 
Going to a party, walking back from 
the library late at night, jogging in 
a secluded area, spending a day in 
a bigger city, going for a run in the 
evening, going to a concert or driv-
ing across the state were endeavors 
that filled those around me with 
visible discomfort if I mentioned I 
was going alone. These endeavors 
typically required a great deal of 
negotiation and reassurance before-
hand, and an even greater degree of 
self-awareness and vigilance dur-
ing the time. Both then and now, 
my friends and family display some 
anxiety at the idea of me venturing 
out alone in these scenarios. But it’s 
still a fairly common phenomenon 
for concerns about these excursions 
to instantly evaporate whenever I 
mention I’ll be in the company of 
my male best friend.

Each time I open my laptop or 

turn on a tele-
vision, 
I’m 

bombarded 
by 

what the media 
portrays as nor-
mal. 
Normal 

is 
constantly 

questioning 
and 
critiqu-

ing 
numerous 

forms of media 
because 
I’m 

tired of hearing my body compared 
to some variety of amorphous 
fruit, especially when the bushel 
depicted in society still looks pretty 
homogenous. Searching through 
Photoshopped images on various 
platforms for one with familiar 
proportions is an all-too-common 
activity — one that regrettably pro-
duces few results. And as I do this, 
my friends struggle to find valid 
representations of their race, sexu-
ality or disability in the media they 
watch, listen to and read.

I’ve read innumerable articles 

about “leaning in,” “having it all” 
and alleviating the wage gap. In 
my column, I’ve argued for initia-
tives to diminish gender inequality. 
Despite all of this, I know any hur-
dles I encounter as I try to navigate 
the professional world as an indi-
vidual from a lower socioeconomic 
background will only be magnified 
by my identity as a woman. Accept-
ing the norm involves the realiza-
tion that until things change, I’ll 
most likely find myself smashed 
up against a glass ceiling holding 
onto about 77 cents where a dol-
lar should be. Normal is knowing 
that dressing in more androgy-
nous clothing over the years is not 
merely a style choice, but a poten-

tial strategy to avoid being classi-
fied and stereotyped by my gender 
in the workplace.

One particular norm permeating 

each of my days is the continuous 
internal debate between saying too 
little and saying too much. At points, 
it’s simply holding my tongue dur-
ing a conversation when it takes a 
turn toward the reasoning “that’s 
just the way things are,” and when 
a dissenting opinion will most likely 
be dismissed as a “feminist rant.” It’s 
swallowing my anger and frustration 
when a passing car volleys catcalls 
as I walk across an intersection on 
my way to class. Conversely, a sort 
of insecurity sets in the moments 
when I feel like I haven’t contributed 
enough to a conversation. It leaves 
me wondering whether my silence 
was perceived as shyness, a lack of 
knowledge on the topic or just a cold, 
judgmental persona. Then, in rare 

moments 
with 

certain 
people, 

I begin to worry 
I’ve monopolized 
the conversation, 
and an unneces-
sary apology fol-
lows. In fact, the 
word “sorry” has 
assumed a prom-
inent place in my 
vocabulary, act-

ing as a preface to far too many ques-
tions and as an entrance to far too 
many conversations.

While these instances and expe-

riences define the norms in my 
life, normal is a subjective con-
cept, where some definitions are 
undoubtedly far more privileged 
than others. Normal, in my expe-
rience, has been presented as soci-
ety’s agreed-upon codes of what’s 
acceptable.

Looking back at the question 

from class, the idealist in me wants 
to say normal doesn’t exist. As 
much as I want to point out that the 
concept is socially constructed, I 
can’t deny that women are held up 
to various definitions of what’s nor-
mal — very often ones we’re never 
given a say in at all. In class, we 
focused on two approaches one can 
take in regard to normality. Either 
you can embrace the notion of nor-
mal, or you can combat it. If these 
norms and expectations are just a 
few examples of what women can 
expect if they embrace and accept 
it, society seriously needs to defy 
its own definition of “normal” and 
start redefining.

— Melissa Scholke can be 

reached at melikaye@umich.edu.

MELISSA 
SCHOLKE

LIAM 
WIESEN-
BERGER

Dear professors, think gameful

JEREMY KAPLAN | VIEWPOINT

Society needs to defy 
its own definition of 
“normal” and start 

redefining it. 

CONTRIBUTE TO THE CONVERSATION

Readers are encouraged to submit viewpoints. Viewpoints should be 550-850 

words. Send the article, writer’s full name and University affiliation to 

opinioneditors@michigandaily.com.

ANDREA CUAMATZI | VIEWPOINT

I was 16 when I left home to study abroad 

for the first time. Right before I left for the 
airport, my grandma said goodbye to me in 
a way only she could do: Que la Virgencita 
te cuide y te acompañe — May Our Lady of 
Guadalupe be with you at all times. As a 
farewell gift, she put a gold charm on my neck 
with Our Lady of Guadalupe on one side and 
my name on the other.

Until that moment, I had always taken 

for granted the significance of Our Lady of 
Guadalupe. I was born and raised as a Catholic 
in Mexico, and Our Lady of Guadalupe has 
not only been a symbol present in my family, 
my church and my Catholic high school, but 
also a historical figure used in war emblems, 
constitutional seals and famous literature.

In the Mexican community, Dec. 12 

represents a day of gathering and hope, 
a moment of union and faith. Classes are 
cancelled, Mom and Dad are off work, and 
churches are opened. There will be family 
gatherings full of tamales and hot chocolate. 
The significance of Our Lady of Guadalupe 
goes beyond religious celebrations; she is a 
symbol of culture and tradition.

Why are Mexicans so devoted to this 

figure? Our Lady of Guadalupe appeared as 
an application to Juan Diego, a native Aztec, 
in 1531 — a period of annihilation of the Aztec 
Empire and of imposition of the Spanish 
culture and religion. The Aztecs were known 
as a devoted polytheistic community. It was 
not until Our Lady of Guadalupe made her 
apparitions that indigenous people started 
accepting the Catholic faith as their own. She 
appeared in a way Aztec people could identify 

with. The color of her skin was neither white 
nor indigenous; it was a blend of both. She 
used Nahuatl, not Spanish, to communicate 
with Juan Diego.

She is replete with symbolism. Her pink 

robe, her blue stellated mantle, her name 
“Guadalupe,” 
her 
facial 
expressions 
— 

everything is full of meaning for the Aztec 
community. Instead of imposing a new, 
unfamiliar set of values and beliefs, she 
acknowledges the richness of a culture, 
blending the Catholic faith with Aztec beliefs. 
The message of Our Lady of Guadalupe 
is a message of love and protection. She 
acknowledges those in the margins who don’t 
seem to have a voice.

The image of Our Lady of Guadalupe 

among the Mexican community in the United 
States carries the same meaning it carried 
500 years ago in the Spanish-Aztec context. 
It reminds us of the value every human being 
has beyond nationality, social class or racial 
privileges, portraying that the reconciliation 
of a heterogeneous and complex society is 
possible. This message is just as important 
today with our struggles with immigration as 
it was in the time of Juan Diego. In that spirit of 
inclusion, the Mexican community welcomes 
everyone to join us in the celebration of Our 
Lady of Guadalupe this Dec. 12 at 7 p.m. at 
St. Mary Student Parish. The mass will be in 
Spanish, and English guides will be available. 
Directly following mass, all are invited to 
celebrate with traditional Mexican food and 
Mariachis. 

Andrea Cuamatzi is an LSA senior.

Our Lady of Guadalupe

