Bloom's Sixth

My trips to the office of Paul Jess often seemed liked counseling sessions. I was a master’s student at KU in 1990, and I’d go to Jess’s office with a stream of problems: My students weren’t responding as well as I’d hoped, and some even seemed hostile toward me in the classroom. My thesis wasn’t going as well as I’d expected, and I didn’t know where to begin a search for doctoral programs. It all seemed so grave then (and seems so innocuous now). Jess would lean back in his office chair, fold his hands over his bulging stomach, and listen intently. Then he’d smile and nod and…