ENGLISH 101

The essay is organized well, with a clear introduction, body paragraphs that explain the research, and a conclusion that wraps up the main points. It follows the assignment guidelines by summarizing sources and connecting them to the main idea about independence. One suggestion is to add a slightly stronger thesis at the end of the introduction so readers immediately know the main argument. Adding a few transition words, like “for example” or “in addition,” could also help the essay flow even more smoothly.

The summaries of the articles are strong and accurate. You include important details, like statistics on mental health and the benefits of play and part-time jobs, which really support the argument. Some sentences are a little long and could be split up to make the writing easier to read. Overall, the summaries clearly show that you understood the articles and can explain them in your own words.

You did a good job explaining the ideas from the sources in your own words, and the information clearly supports the essay’s main points. Since this is a rough draft, it’s understandable that formal citations aren’t included yet.

Each paragraph has a clear main idea and stays on topic. The essay explains how independence affects mental health, social skills, and confidence in a logical way. Some sentences could be simplified for clarity, but the paragraphs are mostly coherent and easy to follow. The paragraph about “risky play” is particularly interesting and could be expanded with examples to make it even stronger.

The essay is very thoughtful and makes interesting points about the importance of independence. The connection between independence, mental well-being, and social skills is well-developed. You also introduce engaging ideas like risky play and part-time jobs, which show deep thinking. These points could be expanded even more with specific examples or small stories to make the essay even more compelling.

Overall:
This is a strong and meaningful rough draft. You clearly put effort into summarizing sources and connecting them to your argument. With a few small changes—like adding a stronger thesis, using more transitions, and giving a few extra examples—the essay could be even more engaging and polished. The ideas are important and well thought out, and the essay already does a great job of showing why independence is valuable for kids and teens.

Caroline Kulig

Holly Pappas

English 101

19 October 2025

In today’s world, childhood looks very different than it did just a few decades ago. Kids now spend less time playing freely and exploring on their own, and many parents worry about safety more than ever before. This change may be connected to the growing mental health struggles among young people. The article Decline in Independent Activity as a Cause of Decline in Children’s Mental Well-being explores this connection, and this essay will summarize its key ideas and share my personal thoughts on the topic.

The authors, Peter Gray, PhD, David F. Lancy, PhD, and David F. Bjorklund, PhD talk about how in recent years, more and more kids and teens have been struggling with mental health problems like anxiety and depression. In this article, the authors argue that one major reason for this is that kids today don’t get as much freedom or independence as they used to. Instead of playing and exploring on their own, many children are constantly supervised by adults and spend most of their time in school, structured activities, or in front of screens.

The article explains that kids need to feel in control of their own lives in order to grow up healthy and confident. According to a psychological theory called Self-Determination Theory, people need three basic things to feel good mentally: autonomy (feeling like you have choices), competence (feeling capable), and relatedness (feeling connected to others). When kids get to play freely, take on responsibilities, and make their own decisions, they’re meeting all three of those needs. That helps them feel happier and more confident.

The authors also look at this issue from an evolutionary point of view. In many traditional and indigenous cultures, kids are given lots of freedom from a young age. They’re trusted to explore, help out around the house or village, and even look after younger siblings. These experiences help them learn useful life skills and become part of the community. But in modern societies, kids are rarely allowed to do these things. They’re more protected and controlled, which might actually be hurting them in the long run.

While some people blame technology or social media for the rise in mental health issues, the research shows that those things have only a small effect. A bigger issue seems to be that kids aren’t getting enough chances to do things on their own. Constant supervision and pressure to succeed in school can make kids feel stressed and powerless. Parents are also more fearful today, the author stating “In systematic surveys, parents have reported that their children play independently outdoors far less than they themselves did as children and that they limit their children’s freedom outdoors largely because of fears of crime and traffic.”

The article says that parents, teachers, and especially pediatricians can help change this. Parents should try to give their children more chances to play and do things independently, and doctors can talk to families about how important this is. There are also organizations like Let Grow working to make it easier for parents to give kids more freedom without being judged or reported.

Overall, the article makes a strong case that giving kids more independence could really help improve their mental health. Letting children play, explore, and take on small responsibilities might be one of the best ways to help them grow into happy, capable adults.

• As a parent myself, this article really hit home. I often find myself torn between wanting to give my kids more independence and constantly worrying about their safety. It’s hard not to feel anxious when we’re bombarded daily with horror stories in the news or on social media about children being abducted, harmed, or worse.
• Compared to parents in previous generations, I think today’s parents live in a much different emotional environment. Back then, they didn’t have 24/7 access to stories from all over the world about things going wrong. If something bad happened, it might be talked about in the local paper or word of mouth, but now every tragic or frightening story goes viral instantly.
• This constant exposure naturally makes us more cautious, even if we logically know the chances of something terrible happening are very small. I’ve definitely caught myself saying “no” to my kids’ requests for independence—not because I don’t trust them, but because I’m afraid of what could happen, no matter how unlikely.
• For example, my child recently asked to walk home from school with a friend, and even though it’s a short, safe route, I said no. Not because I had a specific reason, but just because I kept thinking, “What if something goes wrong?” It’s hard to separate real risk from perceived danger when you’re constantly seeing scary stories online.
• Reading this article made me realize that part of the fear comes from this modern media environment. It also made me reflect on how kids in past generations were probably safer than we give credit for—not because there were fewer dangers, but because they were trusted more, given more freedom, and had opportunities to build life skills early on.
• In my own research, I have found an article showing a percentage of parent’s answers to allowing their children unsupervised play time.

“National Survey Reveals Parents’ Deep Concern About Protecting Kids from Violence”

https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/20938312

Authors- Meredith Kalish ¹, Leonard Banco, Georgine Burke, Garry Lapidus

Overall, I really agree with the article’s argument that kids today are missing out on important parts of development because of our culture of overprotection. As a parent, I still feel cautious—but this gave me a new perspective. Maybe the best way to prepare my kids for the world isn’t by shielding them from everything, but by slowly giving them chances to take responsibility, explore, and solve problems on their own. It won’t be easy to let go of the fear, but I think it’s worth it—for their confidence and their mental health.

In “Decline in Independent Activity as a Cause of Decline in Children’s Mental Well-being: Summary of the Evidence”, Peter Gray, PhD, David Lancy, PhD, and David Bjorklund, PhD discuss the evidence-based reasoning for the substantial increase in reported cases of depression, anxiety and suicidal thoughts in children ages 5-18 years.

In this article, there are two main points the authors target to explain the decline in adolescent mental health. Most of the article discusses the fact that there has been a significant decrease independent play, without adults present, as a cause for the decline in mental health over the past 5 or 6 decades. It references the way of life as our grandparents as children, their freedoms and how they were largely unsupervised as children. The authors go into detail about how school work demands and less time for outdoor play have attributed to this mental health crisis. Homework has increased and started as early as kindergarten, the school days are longer and have increased 5 weeks over the years.

The article talks about studies done in other countries, with an interesting fact that “Finland stood out as allowing children the greatest freedom of movement.” And therefore, has a lower rate of depression and anxiety in children. There are less reports of children being allowed to use transportation alone, whether that be public busses or walking to and from places alone, and be free to play unsupervised without an adult present at all. The author quotes “in one study, for example, 6- to 8- year old children were asked to depict activities that made them happy, with the result that almost all the depicted activities were identified as play” and “a review of 12 studies in which young children were interviewed about what is or isn’t play concluded that children understood play to be an activity “that took place with other children with little or no involvement from adults.” In one study, for example, kindergarteners who were shown pictures of children engaged in activities that looked fun generally identified the activity as play only if no adult appeared in the picture.”

The article touches on the fear of parents who are constantly exposed to stories of crime and traffic as reasons for allowing their children to play independently outdoors by themselves less than they did as children. It also references the difference between the reports of anxiety and depression in the summer vs school year, with much lower instances in the summer months where children have more time for outdoor or unsupervised play, reports were “cut in half.”

The article is filled with many studies and evidence to support the theory of why the crisis has become to troublesome. As physicians, the last paragraph of the article discusses what pediatricians can do to educate parents and ease the crisis. This includes talking to parents about safe, independent activities, showing studies that support increased time for play, asking about children activities and brainstorm ways to alleviate constraints and promote freedoms of children.

Reflecting on this essay and the changes I’ve made in the final draft, I am pleased with the outcome. The two main points I took away from the feedback I received were 1- describe more about who my Mom was as a person to paint a better picture, and 2- smoothen the transition between jumping from that night 5 years ahead.

In some of my paragraphs I attempted to describe more of my moms personality, who she was and the positive impact she had on her loved ones. In my rough draft I also noted to myself that her personality would have to be written out more clearly in my final draft. I also re-wrote the intro to my essay to begin where I am, right now in 2025 while I reflect on what my life was 5 years ago before I enter the scene of that night and morning. At the end of my essay I am back (5 years later) again. I attempted to make these transitions as smooth as possible without being to abrupt. I agreed with the revision comments completely. I think it can be difficult to step out of your own mind and into another’s while writing about such a pivotal and personal moment in your life, so the feedback was greatly appreciated to make the essay flow more easily.

I did not use AI at all during this writing process. This essay was written entirely from my own personal memories and feelings.

In “The Makers Eye” passage, there is a small paragraph that reads as follows:

Finally, I listen for tone. Any piece of writing is held together by that invisible force, the
writer’s voice. Tone is my style, tone is all that is on the page and off the page, tone is grace, wit,
anger the spirit that drives a piece of writing forward.

The tone of my essay was more bland and dark rather than excited and jumpy. I really tried to pull from my inner dialog in certain parts and portray my emotions and feelings. The tone of my essay had somewhat of a bleak and sarcastic sense to it, at least that is what I make of it.

The faint sound of birds chirping wakes me. It’s still warm enough during the day to warrant a pair of shorts and a T-shirt to sleep with, but the temperature drops significantly during the night time lately, so I’ve been waking up with shivers. It’s September 4^th, 2025. I grab my phone and silence the alarm, a bird chirping sound I’ve chosen. It’s a much more peaceful way to start my day, as opposed to the blaring tornado siren-like selection I previously had. Closing my eyes tight, my mind travels back to what my life was like, 5 years ago.

—–

The night before the worst day of my life was just like any other night. Its September 3^rd, 2020. I pick up my two kids from school and come home to my parents’ house after a long day working at the local nursing home. We live with my parents, the kids and I, while I focus on saving money for nursing school. Theres a white stain on the left hip of my favorite dark blue scrubs from a smear of Desitin I used on a resident at the nursing home. The spot is still wet from when I lazily scrubbed at it with a wet paper towel in the employee bathroom. “I could not care less” I think to myself. My body is sore from a day of lifting, moving and transferring adults much heavier than I. My kids are young, 7 and 4, and I’m their sole caregiver. I’m chronically exhausted. As I walk inside, I shuffle the kids inside and sigh heavily. My inner dialog repeats itself around this time every day. I’m 25 years old and I’m stuck living at home. I hate it. I want my own place. My thoughts are interrupted by the warm smell of dinner on the stove. My mom is in the kitchen wiping down the counter with a wet cloth. Chicken thighs over rice, my favorite. She meets me with a cold glass of Cavit as I set our bags down in the family room. The kids are excited to be home as well, my daughter jumping up and down as she runs to hug her grandma. My son can’t be bothered and has his mind set on the train tracks and Thomas the train figurines waiting to be played with in the basement.

The night goes on in its typical fashion, we eat together, share work stories, and I get started on the dishes. After many attempts, the kids are finally asleep. My legs feel like rubber and my brain feels like tv static. I slip on a baggy Bruins t-shirt and a pair of purple jogging shorts and slug down the stairs to pack lunches for the kids for tomorrow. My mom is watching her new favorite show, Grace and Frankie. “Come on, watch an episode with me!” she says through high pitched giggles. “It’s so funny, Caroline. I’m dying over here!” “Come on! Please!!” But I’m exhausted. I’m annoyed because I’m so exhausted. I sharply decline, explaining the hard and long day I just had, my one-track mind on my bed. “Okay, fine. Goodnight!” she says. “Goodnight, ma” I reply as I head up the stairs to my room. Did I pack their lunches? Yes, duh, just did. Shoot, I never got gas. Ok, I’ll wake up early tomorrow and do that before dropping the kids off. I’ll still have enough time to get to work.

The temperature has dropped as the sun set and I crack two of my windows. I curl up in my comforter, feeling the cool fresh air fill the room, and I fall asleep.

“Caroline, Caroline, wake up. Something is wrong with Mom” I open my eyes. Its bright out, wow. I slept like a rock. The sun is shining through the cracked windows leaving trails of white along my hardwood floor. My eyes burn as they try to adjust to the brightness. My dad is standing over me, his arm on my shoulder. I feel my body shaking back and forth, and it takes me a moment to realize that he’s the one shaking me. His words don’t register with me immediately, until they do, even though he doesn’t repeat himself. “Something is wrong with Mom” finally reaches my brain.

I don’t remember how I got to the bottom of the stairs, or why I knew to go there. My mom sleeps upstairs with my dad typically, but for some reason, downstairs is where my legs take me. The couch is to the left against a wall between two windows, and I see her. She’s laying on her back under a white velvet blanket, the one I gifted her for Christmas the year before. Her water bottle is on the coffee table within arm’s reach, her cell phone beside it. I think about Grace and Frankie. I think about the sharpness in my voice from the night before. Why did I answer her like that? Why didn’t I watch that God damn episode with her? I think these thoughts first because when I look at her, I know she’s dead.

I recall the CPR class I took two days prior. The irony passes me. I instruct my dad to call 911 and I begin chest compressions. Her skin still feels warm. Her mouth is blue, but her skin is warm. That means I can bring her back. I can fix this. I can watch hundred more episodes of Grace and Frankie. I can apologize for being stern. I can be sure to never take a single moment with her for granted again. “Please, mom. I need to tell you how much I love you. I don’t tell you that enough” I shout as I feel her rib crack beneath the palm of my hand.

The doctor meets us in the family room of the hospital. It smells of must and sadness here. My hands are shaking and my heart feels like it’s made its way deep into my stomach. I reach my arm across my abdomen and hold it there, trying to prevent it from falling any further. Theres a small tv in the top right corner playing re-runs of Leave it to Beaver, and some old magazines scattered lazily on a table next to a box of empty tissues. “Im so sor-“ he mouths and the room erupts in sobs.

—–

I couldn’t tell you the amount of people who showed up to her wake if you asked me. There were so, so many people. Many of whom I’d never met before. People from across the country, from her work, from her childhood, hiking clubs, college, the list goes on. It was amazing to see how many lives she touched during her time on earth, and I realized how devastating my mom’s passing was, not just to our family, but to all of these people. My mom loved life, and she loved living. She found it beautiful, even. She was a person who could take a negative situation and put a playful, positive spin on it, never taking life too seriously. Her energy was so radiant you could practically see it coming off of her. To know her was to love her.

After my mom left us, I spent a year in my own personal hell. Waking up felt like a chore, or a sick joke, rather. I read a statistic that said the most common age to lose your parent is early to mid-50’s. I was angry in my 25-year-old body, and I felt robbed. I kicked myself for taking her for granted, not knowing that my time with her would be cut so short. I tortured myself with could haves and should haves and would haves. The cruel thing about hindsight is that is always shows up late.  

After my year of self-loathing, mourning, and depression, I realized how unsustainable it was to live my life like this. I remembered learning about the stages of grief in a psychology class years ago, never really relating to most of them. In hindsight, I went through each stage unknowingly, messily and out of order. Starting to come to terms with the final stage, acceptance, was when I began to consciously adopt as many of her mannerisms as I possibly could. With each hurdle life threw at me, I would put myself into my mom’s wonderfully energetic and loving headspace and it has somehow always moved me one step closer to a happier life. To be a better person, I would channel her.

Today, 5 years later, as I lay in bed curled up in my favorite comforter, I remember her. My room is at the back end of a two-bedroom apartment, one that I moved myself and my kids into about 3 years ago. I’m a nurse now, and I just started school again to pursue my RN. My body isn’t sore anymore from lifting patients, since I’m mostly behind a computer or administering medications. I think about how alive my mom’s spirit still is within me, and how only in her death was I truly reminded to live.

I tell my dad that I love him every single day. My patients at work compliment me on going the extra mile. A woman in a hospital bed recently told me that she can feel my love radiate through my eyes; it makes me smile and I think of my mom. I never turn down an invitation or plans with my loved ones, even when I’m tired. It’s interesting how one day can change your personality for the rest of your life, even if it’s the worst day of your life.

I flip on an episode of Grace and Frankie and start to get ready for the day.

I really enjoyed this piece.

First of all, I’m so sorry your birth experience was met with so much fear and uncertainty. It must have been so scary to watch your baby cry for you and receiving news that her blood levels were on the fence.

I like how you took us through a timeline from the start of your labor all the way until bringing your baby home.

The following sentences really stood out to me to me while reading this- “Fear leads my mind.” “The feeling of defeat crept over me.” “My eyes began to water. I just wanted her to be okay.” I think as people we have all felt these feelings at some point in our lives, so these sentences really were relatable on a human level. I could feel the fear and desperation as the reader.

To me the point of the essay was to detail your birth story and give a special shout out to the healthcare workers who supported you through some pretty intense moments. If I could add to the essay, I would give some more scenic descriptions of the ambulance, hospital, or even workers, colors, etc. What did the scenes look like? Smell like? Are there any moments you can recall from the experience that would put the reader right there in the room with you?

I loved the ending paragraph where you are met with a happy ending. After being so involved in how scary the experience was, it was so nice to read how peaceful it was to have your baby be okay and to be able to take her home. I especially loved the sentence- “I never put her down, and she never wanted me too. I know we both felt peace when we felt each other’s touch.” And appreciated the final sentence “They helped me bring my favorite person into this world” Really touching and beautiful!

The night before the worst day of my life was just like any other night. Its September 3^rd. I pick up my two kids from school and come home to my parents’ house after a long day working at the local nursing home. We live with my parents, the kids and I, while I focus on saving money for nursing school. Theres a white stain on the left hip of my favorite dark blue scrubs from a smear of Desitin I used on a resident at the nursing home. The spot is still wet from when I lazily scrubbed at it with a wet paper towel in the employee bathroom. “I could not care less” I think to myself. My body is sore from a day of lifting, moving and transferring adults much heavier than I. My kids are young, 7 and 4, and I’m their sole caregiver. I’m chronically exhausted.

I shuffle the kids inside and sigh heavily. My inner dialog repeats itself around this time every day. I’m 25 years old and I’m stuck living at home. I hate it. I want my own place. My thoughts are interrupted by the warm smell of dinner on the stove. My mom is in the kitchen wiping down the counter with a wet cloth. Chicken thighs over rice, my favorite. She meets me with a cold glass of Cavit as I set our bags down in the family room. The kids are excited to be home as well, my daughter jumping up and down as she runs to hug her grandma. My son can’t be bothered and has his mind set on the train tracks and Thomas the train figurines waiting to be played with in the basement.

The night goes on in its typical fashion, we eat together, share work stories, and I get started on the dishes. After many attempts, the kids are finally asleep. My legs feel like rubber and my brain feels like tv static. I slip on a baggy Bruins t-shirt and a pair of purple jogging shorts and slug down the stairs to pack lunches for the kids for tomorrow. My mom is lounging on the couch watching her new favorite show, Grace and Frankie. “Come on, watch an episode with me!” she says through high pitched giggles. “It’s so funny, Caroline. I’m dying over here!” “Come on! Please!!” But I’m exhausted. I’m annoyed because I’m so exhausted. I sharply decline, explaining the hard and long day I just had, my one-track mind on my bed. “Okay, fine. Goodnight!” she says. “Goodnight, Ma” I reply as I head up the stairs to my room.

The temperature dropped after the sun went down, these nights always remind me that fall is just around the corner. I crack two of my windows and set my alarm for the morning. I curl up in my soft comforter, feeling the cool fresh air fill the room, and I fall asleep.

“Caroline, Caroline, wake up. Something is wrong with Mom” I open my eyes. Its bright out, wow. I slept like a rock. The sun is shining through the cracked windows leaving trails of white along my hardwood floor. My eyes burn as they try to adjust to the brightness. My dad is standing over me, his arm on my shoulder. I feel my body shaking back and forth, and it takes me a moment to realize that he’s the one shaking me. His words don’t register with me immediately, until they do, even though he doesn’t repeat himself. “Something is wrong with Mom” finally reaches my brain.

I don’t remember how I got to the bottom of the stairs, or why I knew to go there. My mom sleeps upstairs with my dad typically, but for some reason, downstairs is where my legs take me. The couch is to the left against a wall between two windows, and I see her. She’s laying on her back under a white fleece blanket, the one I gifted her for Christmas the year before. Her water bottle is on the coffee table within arm’s reach, her purple cell phone beside it. I think about Grace and Frankie. I think about the sharpness in my voice from the night before. Why did I answer her like that? Why didn’t I watch that God damn episode with her? I think these thoughts first because when I look at her, I know she’s dead.

I recall the CPR class I took two days prior. The irony passes me. I instruct my dad to call 911 and I begin chest compressions. Her skin still feels warm. Her mouth is blue, but her skin is warm, and that means I can bring her back. I can fix this. I can watch hundred more episodes of Grace and Frankie. I can apologize for being stern. I can be sure to never take a single moment with her for granted again. “Please, mom. I need to tell you how much I love you. I don’t tell you that enough” I shout as I feel her rib crack beneath the palm of my hand.

The doctor meets us in the family room of the hospital. It smells of must and sadness here. My hands are shaking and my heart feels like it’s made its way deep into my stomach. I reach my arm across my abdomen and hold it there, trying to remember to breathe. There’s small tv in the top right corner playing re-runs of Leave it to Beaver and some old magazines scattered lazily on a table in the center of the room. “Im so sor-“ he mouths and the room erupts in sobs.

I wake up in my room, its 5 years later. My room is at the back end of a small 2-bedroom apartment, one that I moved myself and my kids into after I graduated from nursing school with my LPN license. My eyes adjust to the brightness. It’s the morning of September 4^th, and cool air flows in from my cracked window. I replay the past 5 years of my life in my head, curled up in my soft comforter.

After my mom left us, I spent a year in my own personal hell. I kicked myself for taking her for granted. I tortured myself with could haves and should haves and would haves. The cruel thing about hindsight is that is always shows up late. I eventually became tired of living in that hell and I vowed to never take a single moment for granted again.

My family sealed itself together after her loss, strangely becoming closer than ever. I’m present now, always accepting quality time with them, even when I’m tired. I tell my Dad that I love him every single day. I relearned patience, understanding, and love. Patients at work compliment me on going the extra mile. A woman in a hospital bed tells me she can feel my love radiate through my eyes; and it makes me smile. I think of my Mom in these moments. It’s interesting how one day can change your personality for the rest of your life, even if it’s the worst day of your life.

I’m a nurse now, and I just started school again to pursue my RN. My body isn’t sore anymore from lifting patients, since I’m mostly behind a computer or administering medications.

I smile to myself, remembering my Mom and how she reminded me to live. I flip on an episode of Grace and Frankie and start to get ready for the day.

The memoir is about a girl who falls asleep hungry and the last thought she has before drifting off to sleep is her family’s empanadas she grew up eating. This writer takes us on an adventure through dreamland where she describes vivid memories centering around the food her family grew up making and enjoying together. Each paragraph takes us to a through a new scene, which are actually memories within her dreams, where she vividly describes the setting including lighting, smells and flavors, and conversations between family members. When she wakes up, she is happy to have re-lived some of those times and considers going to the store to buy dough for empanada making in the morning.

Three moments stood out to me. The first being the hazy and questionable grey area of time between falling asleep and diving into her dreams, she really captured what it felt like to be half awake and half asleep at the same time. The second moment that stood out to me was the writer describing the small apartment she grew up in vs. the big house she now lives in. She talks about how in the apartment it felt huge, fitting tons of people comfortably somehow, as if it expanded. She refers to the big house and how it feels like there is too much space. The third moment that stood out to me is when she is making empanadas with her aunt and mother, and she is nervous to tell them her hands are hurting. She doesn’t want to be pulled from the empanada making line and wants to be involved in the importance of the creations with these powerful women. The universal meaning I take from this memoir is that core memories never leave you, life evolves and changes but your memories remain and are something to smile back upon and give to generations below.

I read this memoir because the theme I chose for this course was related to food, however as I continued reading, it became apparent that I chose this essay because it reminds me of childhood memories with my own mother. I often dream in scenes just like this writer and am brought back to childhood memories with my mom. She isn’t here anymore, and I’m always so glad when these dreams happen. It feels like a gift.

A Smile From Ear to Ear (Final Draft)

In 2025, both AI and the use of calculators are used widely in the classroom as a tool to help support learning but they differ greatly in the manner of which they do so. In a mathematics class, the use of a calculator to produce an answer to an algebra question quickly may come in handy to lessen the time spent on an equation. A calculator might be helpful to find the square root of a number, or fact check your work quickly and efficiently. The use of AI in the classroom might help you understand a lecture or assignment you are having trouble with by asking further questions, or asking it be explained to you in a different manner. It might help you explore your ideas and offer new concepts branching off of your thoughts and questions. Both of these tools produce a quick solution, or answer, to your question and are similar for this reason.

Calculators are highly efficient tools but they are very limited to the functions they are programmed to handle. For example, a calculator can give you the square root of 650 in the matter of less than one second, but it cannot explain the reasoning behind that answer, or explain how the process works. They are limited to math-based question and answer system only.

Artificial intelligence on the other hand, can go beyond just answering a question. It is much more human like in this way. It would be able to tell you the square root of 650 in the matter of one second, explain how it came to that conclusion, the steps needed to solve it on your own, and even resources it might think are helpful in understanding square roots. AI can interpret mathematical word problems, which is something calculators cannot do. Artificial intelligence can also offer feedback and identify common mistakes that might be made in calculating square roots.

In conclusion, calculators and AI both are similar tools used within the classroom setting and in education, but in different ways. While calculators excel at computing one answer, AI offers much more in terms of giving the answer while explaining concept behind it, individualizing its response to your current situation, and even assisting in brain storming ideas and ensuring that you understand learning processes.