Como defende Hoffmann, a avaliação mediadora consiste no acompanhamento permanente, na observação, no contato direto entre alunos e professores e na real preocupação em mudar a forma de funcionamento das engrenagens da educação. Porém, a interpretação errônea que se tem desse tipo de avaliação a torna descartável logo que citada ou trazida à tona em reuniões, encontros, formações e outros tipos de eventos acadêmicos ou institucionais. O argumento utilizado pelos professores que estão presos às suas práticas conservadoras e positivistas se volta para a superlotação das salas de aula brasileiras, o que supostamente tornaria impossível conhecer cada um dos discentes mais profundamente e mediá-los individualmente durante cada encontro.

Pelo que é apresentado por Hoffmann, nota-se como é vago o conhecimento dos discentes sobre a avaliação mediadora. Quando a prática não é situada, lacunas são observadas, as quais podem prejudicar, de forma considerável, o andamento e até mesmo a permanência dos alunos nas salas de aula. Algo que ilustra bem essa afirmação é o seguinte exemplo: em determinado ano letivo de quatro bimestres, um aluno consegue alcançar a nota máxima nos dois primeiros, em que foram trabalhados os conteúdos, por exemplo, de present simple e de verbo to be. No entanto, ao chegar ao terceiro e ao quarto bimestres do ano, o aluno se depara com o simple past e o past-perfect, e não consegue compreender nem produzir conhecimentos efetivos sobre esses tempos verbais. Contudo, conforme a atual lógica matemática das escolas tradicionais, o aluno somente precisa obter determinada nota média ao final do ano letivo. Como ele se saiu bem nos primeiros bimestres, ele é aprovado pela média, porém com certos espaços incompletos, pois os outros dois conteúdos que não foram bem construídos e apreendidos pelo estudante não são retomados. Isso pode ser totalmente danoso, principalmente no que se refere à aprendizagem de um idioma, que requer prática e construção progressiva. Assim, a escola foi imprudente e negligenciou o aprendizado do aluno, simplesmente entendendo que os números conquistados por ele foram suficientes para sua avaliação, o que se mostra totalmente inadequado por desconsiderar as dificuldades que o aluno teve nos últimos bimestres.

Internet: <https://editorarealize.com.br/>(com adaptações).

Como defende Hoffmann, a avaliação mediadora consiste no acompanhamento permanente, na observação, no contato direto entre alunos e professores e na real preocupação em mudar a forma de funcionamento das engrenagens da educação. Porém, a interpretação errônea que se tem desse tipo de avaliação a torna descartável logo que citada ou trazida à tona em reuniões, encontros, formações e outros tipos de eventos acadêmicos ou institucionais. O argumento utilizado pelos professores que estão presos às suas práticas conservadoras e positivistas se volta para a superlotação das salas de aula brasileiras, o que supostamente tornaria impossível conhecer cada um dos discentes mais profundamente e mediá-los individualmente durante cada encontro.

Pelo que é apresentado por Hoffmann, nota-se como é vago o conhecimento dos discentes sobre a avaliação mediadora. Quando a prática não é situada, lacunas são observadas, as quais podem prejudicar, de forma considerável, o andamento e até mesmo a permanência dos alunos nas salas de aula. Algo que ilustra bem essa afirmação é o seguinte exemplo: em determinado ano letivo de quatro bimestres, um aluno consegue alcançar a nota máxima nos dois primeiros, em que foram trabalhados os conteúdos, por exemplo, de present simple e de verbo to be. No entanto, ao chegar ao terceiro e ao quarto bimestres do ano, o aluno se depara com o simple past e o past-perfect, e não consegue compreender nem produzir conhecimentos efetivos sobre esses tempos verbais. Contudo, conforme a atual lógica matemática das escolas tradicionais, o aluno somente precisa obter determinada nota média ao final do ano letivo. Como ele se saiu bem nos primeiros bimestres, ele é aprovado pela média, porém com certos espaços incompletos, pois os outros dois conteúdos que não foram bem construídos e apreendidos pelo estudante não são retomados. Isso pode ser totalmente danoso, principalmente no que se refere à aprendizagem de um idioma, que requer prática e construção progressiva. Assim, a escola foi imprudente e negligenciou o aprendizado do aluno, simplesmente entendendo que os números conquistados por ele foram suficientes para sua avaliação, o que se mostra totalmente inadequado por desconsiderar as dificuldades que o aluno teve nos últimos bimestres.

Internet: <https://editorarealize.com.br/>(com adaptações).

As I was driving, the snow had started falling in earnest. The light was flat, although it was midmorning, making it almost impossible to distinguish the highway. I turned on the radio to help me concentrate on the road ahead; the announcer was talking about the snow. “The state Highway department advises motorists to use extreme caution and to drive with their headlights on to ensure maximum visibility.” He went on. “The state highway supervisor just called to say that one of the plows almost hit a car because the person driving hadn’t turned on his ligths.” I checked, almost reflexively, to be sure that my headlights were on.

How can information serve those who hear or read it in making sense of their own worlds? How can it enable them to reason about what they do and to take appropriate actions based on that reasoning? My experience with the radio illustrates two different ways of providing the same message: the need to use your headlights when you drive in heavy snow. The first offers dispassionate information; the second tells the same content in a personal, compelling story. The first disguises its point of view; the second explicitly grounds the general information in a particular time and place. Each means of giving information has its role, but I believe the second is ultimately more useful in helping people make sense of what they are doing. When I heard the story about the plow, I made sure my headlights were on.

In what is written about teaching, it is rare to find accounts in which the author’s experience and point of view are central. A point of view is not simply an opinion; neither is it a whimsical or impressionistic claim. Rather, a point of view lays out what the author thinks and why. The problem is that much of what is available in professional development in languageteacher education concentrates on telling rather than on point of view. The telling is prescriptive, like the radio announcer’s first statement. It emphasizes what is important to know and do, what is current in theory and research, and therefore what you — as a practicing teacher — should do. But this telling disguises the teller; it hides the point of view that can enable you to make sense of what is told.

Donald Freeman. Series Editor’s preface. In: P. R. Moran. Teaching culture: perspectives in practice. Boston (MA): Heinle, 2001 (adapted).

As I was driving, the snow had started falling in earnest. The light was flat, although it was midmorning, making it almost impossible to distinguish the highway. I turned on the radio to help me concentrate on the road ahead; the announcer was talking about the snow. “The state Highway department advises motorists to use extreme caution and to drive with their headlights on to ensure maximum visibility.” He went on. “The state highway supervisor just called to say that one of the plows almost hit a car because the person driving hadn’t turned on his ligths.” I checked, almost reflexively, to be sure that my headlights were on.

How can information serve those who hear or read it in making sense of their own worlds? How can it enable them to reason about what they do and to take appropriate actions based on that reasoning? My experience with the radio illustrates two different ways of providing the same message: the need to use your headlights when you drive in heavy snow. The first offers dispassionate information; the second tells the same content in a personal, compelling story. The first disguises its point of view; the second explicitly grounds the general information in a particular time and place. Each means of giving information has its role, but I believe the second is ultimately more useful in helping people make sense of what they are doing. When I heard the story about the plow, I made sure my headlights were on.

In what is written about teaching, it is rare to find accounts in which the author’s experience and point of view are central. A point of view is not simply an opinion; neither is it a whimsical or impressionistic claim. Rather, a point of view lays out what the author thinks and why. The problem is that much of what is available in professional development in languageteacher education concentrates on telling rather than on point of view. The telling is prescriptive, like the radio announcer’s first statement. It emphasizes what is important to know and do, what is current in theory and research, and therefore what you — as a practicing teacher — should do. But this telling disguises the teller; it hides the point of view that can enable you to make sense of what is told.

Donald Freeman. Series Editor’s preface. In: P. R. Moran. Teaching culture: perspectives in practice. Boston (MA): Heinle, 2001 (adapted).

As I was driving, the snow had started falling in earnest. The light was flat, although it was midmorning, making it almost impossible to distinguish the highway. I turned on the radio to help me concentrate on the road ahead; the announcer was talking about the snow. “The state Highway department advises motorists to use extreme caution and to drive with their headlights on to ensure maximum visibility.” He went on. “The state highway supervisor just called to say that one of the plows almost hit a car because the person driving hadn’t turned on his ligths.” I checked, almost reflexively, to be sure that my headlights were on.

How can information serve those who hear or read it in making sense of their own worlds? How can it enable them to reason about what they do and to take appropriate actions based on that reasoning? My experience with the radio illustrates two different ways of providing the same message: the need to use your headlights when you drive in heavy snow. The first offers dispassionate information; the second tells the same content in a personal, compelling story. The first disguises its point of view; the second explicitly grounds the general information in a particular time and place. Each means of giving information has its role, but I believe the second is ultimately more useful in helping people make sense of what they are doing. When I heard the story about the plow, I made sure my headlights were on.

In what is written about teaching, it is rare to find accounts in which the author’s experience and point of view are central. A point of view is not simply an opinion; neither is it a whimsical or impressionistic claim. Rather, a point of view lays out what the author thinks and why. The problem is that much of what is available in professional development in languageteacher education concentrates on telling rather than on point of view. The telling is prescriptive, like the radio announcer’s first statement. It emphasizes what is important to know and do, what is current in theory and research, and therefore what you — as a practicing teacher — should do. But this telling disguises the teller; it hides the point of view that can enable you to make sense of what is told.

Donald Freeman. Series Editor’s preface. In: P. R. Moran. Teaching culture: perspectives in practice. Boston (MA): Heinle, 2001 (adapted).

As I was driving, the snow had started falling in earnest. The light was flat, although it was midmorning, making it almost impossible to distinguish the highway. I turned on the radio to help me concentrate on the road ahead; the announcer was talking about the snow. “The state Highway department advises motorists to use extreme caution and to drive with their headlights on to ensure maximum visibility.” He went on. “The state highway supervisor just called to say that one of the plows almost hit a car because the person driving hadn’t turned on his ligths.” I checked, almost reflexively, to be sure that my headlights were on.

How can information serve those who hear or read it in making sense of their own worlds? How can it enable them to reason about what they do and to take appropriate actions based on that reasoning? My experience with the radio illustrates two different ways of providing the same message: the need to use your headlights when you drive in heavy snow. The first offers dispassionate information; the second tells the same content in a personal, compelling story. The first disguises its point of view; the second explicitly grounds the general information in a particular time and place. Each means of giving information has its role, but I believe the second is ultimately more useful in helping people make sense of what they are doing. When I heard the story about the plow, I made sure my headlights were on.

In what is written about teaching, it is rare to find accounts in which the author’s experience and point of view are central. A point of view is not simply an opinion; neither is it a whimsical or impressionistic claim. Rather, a point of view lays out what the author thinks and why. The problem is that much of what is available in professional development in languageteacher education concentrates on telling rather than on point of view. The telling is prescriptive, like the radio announcer’s first statement. It emphasizes what is important to know and do, what is current in theory and research, and therefore what you — as a practicing teacher — should do. But this telling disguises the teller; it hides the point of view that can enable you to make sense of what is told.

Donald Freeman. Series Editor’s preface. In: P. R. Moran. Teaching culture: perspectives in practice. Boston (MA): Heinle, 2001 (adapted).