Having just completed my sixth year of teaching, I am noticing an interesting trend among my teacher friends who are at similar points in their careers.  It has to do with a shift in what we want from professional development experiences. One thing many of my teacher peers and I are looking for is valuable feedback on our teaching.   

As I trace my own development, I see distinct changes in what I felt I needed from other people to be successful.  I can look at it in these stages:

1. In my first and second years of teaching, I was looking for a blend of practical support and permission to experiment from mentors, supervisors, and more experienced colleagues.  I was looking for inspiration from traditional and untraditional sources for things to try immediately, like the next day, in my classroom.  I also sought out empathy and moral support from anyone who understood the serious ups and downs of beginning teaching.  

2. Once I began to know my way around my classroom and curriculum, I wanted to be left alone to work creatively and develop independently.  I read a lot about teaching on my own, and occasionally took courses of my own choosing.  Eventually, I wanted opportunities to share what was working in my classroom.  At the same time, I was extremely wary of anyone who wanted to tell me how to teach, especially by individuals who did not know my school context and had the potential to take a bulldozer approach, or who did not share my desire to educate my students to think critically.  I developed camaraderie with my colleagues.  We listened to one another, offered advice, and shared resources; at the same time, we held protective attitudes toward our own practices, not wanting anyone to come and tell us what and how to teach or bulldoze the progress we'd already made.  

3. Now, I'm reaching a new place.  I've had ample time to develop more or less independently.  Now I'd like to know what someone else thinks and sees in my teaching; I'm open to someone pointing out things that I might never notice on my own, or asking questions I might never ask myself.

If I could imagine the ideal person to give me feedback on my teaching, he or she would have these qualities:

• an experienced and effective teacher--preferably with at least ten years of experience 
• ideally an English teacher, so I can get discipline specific feedback
• able to give feedback with the understanding that I am a professional who takes pride in my work; that the choices I make in my teaching are informed decisions with rationales behind them; I want to be questioned, but in a way that values the experience and knowledge I've gained thus far
• values a student-centered approach to teaching; committed to helping me develop this
• asks good questions
• believes that there is not one right way to teach; not trying to clone him or herself; able to adapt his or her valuable experience to different classroom contexts

Off the top of my head, I can count five of my teacher peers who are moving from positions where they received little feedback and little support as teachers, to positions where their classroom practices will be monitored more closely and they will be given more feedback.  There seems to be a fair tradeoff--give up some freedom, get more support.  

At the school where I'll be working next year, a National Board Certified English teacher will observe me and the other humanities teachers in our classrooms and debrief with us individually every two weeks.  A few years ago, I might have run the other way.  I wanted freedom and placed little value on support. Now it sounds just right.  I feel confident enough in my identity, values and practices as a teacher, but also clear enough on my need to grow and improve, that I welcome someone else's perspective and advice on my practice toward a common goal of increasing and deepening student learning.  

[image credit: http://www.fergusonmoving.com/contact-us/submit-feedback/]

 Lately I have noticed that a great number of new schools opening in New York City are configured as "secondary schools," serving grades 6 through 12.  In fact, it is almost difficult these days to come across a brand new middle school.  As an educator trained in middle school education, certified to teach grades 5-9, and a proponent of the middle school movement--which advocates for schools to specialize in this particular age group, because of its unique needs--I am curious about the rationale for combining middle school with high school. I looked for information on this trend, but found surprisingly little.

Recently, I spoke to a principal who is starting a 6-12 school this year in Staten Island for new immigrants.  I asked her about her perspective on the benefits of a school serving grades 6-12. She said, quite reasonably, that the benefit is continuity. When you have a middle school that functions well, she said, one of the downsides is that you have to send your students on to a high school with a totally different program that usually doesn't build coherently on the work done at the middle school level. 

When I used to teach seventh and eighth grade in a middle school, I would become very attached to my students after the 2 years I'd spend as their ELA teacher.  I was always nervous about sending them off to their respective high schools, never knowing how they would fare.  I was especially nervous since most of them were ELL's, and the treatment of ELL's can be quite inconsistent from school to school. After that experience, I was excited about moving to the 6-12 school, where I've taught for the past three years.

I have had opportunity to reflect on some of the pros and cons of this configuration.  One challenge for my school was that it started with both a sixth and a ninth grade and added a grade at each level every year until it reached 6-12.  The middle school and high school were being developed simultaneously, and this rate of growth was challenging to keep up with, according to the founding principal.  Ideally, in a 6-12 school, the high school would be created as an extension of an already well-defined middle school. Years later, the middle and high school levels of my school have some distinct characteristics, but they and the students blur together at times, being housed all on the same floor, using the same uniform, sharing hallway space, deans, guidance counselors, cafeteria space, etc. 

One benefit of 6-12 schools mentioned in this Pittsburg Gazette article is that, "Educators said high school students can be tutors or role models for middle-grade students, but they stressed that boundaries must be observed... Administrators of 6-12 schools say the structure offers special opportunities for learning, provided officials remember to meet the discrete needs of two student groups -- pubescent, rambunctious middle-grade children and high school teens preparing for adulthood, college and careers."

I have seen high school students wield both positive and negative influences on my middle school students.  High schoolers are more mature and can handle a certain amount of freedom that most middle school students cannot.  High school teachers interact with their students differently than middle school teachers do, and sometimes this can be confusing for middle school students to observe.  A consistent message about what's appropriate school-wide is not always possible to communicate due to the differences in these two age groups.  But space makes it hard to establish a firm boundary between the two.  An eighth grade female student spoke to me once this year about how the presence of high school boys can be a distraction for middle school girls.  The dating expectations are not the same from middle school to high school, but some students do date across this line anyway.  

One the other hand, some of the best moments I've seen have been when high school students do serve as positive role models.  A school social worker has trained a group of tenth graders as mentors.  They begin mentoring students as sixth graders and continue to mentor them them through the eighth grade. This year, we had a group of college-bound high school seniors talk to our 8th graders about their high school experiences and offer advice.  We separated our students by gender, and high school girls spoke to middle school girls, while high school boys spoke to middle school boys.  It was fantastic.  Afterward, our eighth graders thanked us profusely for the opportunity.  

I see many positive opportunities that arise from the 6-12 configuration, but I remain committed to the needs of middle school students. To that end, I'd like to see more research and discourse on the best practices for this model, since it is becoming so prevalent.     

I'm curious if any readers have experience working or sending their children to a 6-12 school.  If so, please share!

[image credit: http://isles.org/main/wp-content/uploads/2009/02/iyi-060.jpg]

 After all that preparation, we finally took a leap of faith and went out into the neighborhood to conduct our original surveys on issues of interest the students had identified relating to Crown Heights.  These included businesses, education, racism, violence, opportunities, religion, the future of Crown Heights, languages, and more.  As I explained in my last post, there was much nervousness from students, and a little for myself, I admit.  A number of eighth graders claimed they were not going to survey anyone, for fear that they would be received poorly by strangers, and that conflict could arise from the interaction.  That was not how it turned out though.  It went GREAT.  Better than great, it was transformative.

After the first brave student timidly went up to a stranger asking for them to participate in their survey on an issue in Crown Heights, it was like open season, surveying people on the street.  Most participants happily spent a few minutes with our enthusiastic and polite students, wearing their school uniforms and holding clip boards and pencils.  A few strangers were hurrying somewhere and were apologetic when they declined to participate.  And just one or two people were a little gruff when they said no.  My students took it in stride and did not waste a moment moving onto the next person.  

Despite the initial nervousness, my biggest problem on the trip was getting students to realize that if they RAN up to a stranger, trying to beat out their classmates, the person might be a little taken aback!  Take your time!  Be aware of how you look from the outside!  Those were classic middle school teachable moments ;)

By far the most stunning experiences of the day were the real conversations my students got to have with adults from their community about their community.  For example, student got to ask members of their community whether Crown Heights could ever be a non violent neighborhood, and why, and what it would take to make that happen.  They got to ask adults if they believed there was still racism in the area, and if so, how did it manifest?  They heard many adults' perspectives on the purpose and value of an education.  

There was something so immediate, gratifying and hopeful about these interactions.  Kids got to be investigators, got their questions taken seriously, and listened intensely to their elders.  This in contrast to that classic role of teenagers being somewhat of a nuisance to adults on the streets, or alternatively, being pent up inside their homes, because of their or their parents' fears that the streets are too dangerous. 

I repeated this trip 3 times, with three different classes.  Each time as we made our way back to the school, kids skipped up to me and said, "This trip was the BEST!  Can we do it again?!"  Throughout the year students have randomly said, "Remember the Crown Heights trip? We should do more stuff like that."  

Afterwards, students tabulated the results of the surveys and had real original data to respond to in their articles.  Individually, for homework, students also conducted in depth interviews of adults in the community on their topics.  We held discussions in class, and finally students wrote their articles.

But the trip itself holds a special place in my memory that I can't shake. Ever since, I have been thinking about what made it so special.  It was one of those teaching experiences where time stops and everyone involved experiences a kind of flow of genuine curiosity and realization of our own efficacy as human beings and learners.  One thing I have come up with is that in this study, there was no glossing over of the harsh realities to which so many children in this neighborhood are exposed at too young an age.  

So often in school, kids are asked to put all of that aside to "learn."  I'm all for exposing students to new ideas and experiences, but what's to say that we can't guide our students to learn from familiar content as well? Isn't learning a universal process of observation, experience, reflection, asking questions, investigating, and creating? On the flip side, sometimes, in effort to connect to kids' lives, teachers may bombard their students with depressing texts that depict the realities of "the ghetto" in a way that does not bring new light to the situation. I've seen kids respond to these texts glumly and react out of boredom or frustration.   

In the Crown Heights study, [an adolescent version of the neighborhood study progressive elementary schools have been doing for decades, and which Bank Street College became famous for training teachers to implement--see Bank Street Founder, Lucy Sprague Mitchell's book, Young Geographers for more on where this comes from and how to do it], we look at the realities of a neighborhood in an active way through an academic lens.   Kids investigate their own questions--which is also in contrast to the "Essential Questions" that teachers often devise for their classes.  

I must say, this study was one of the most challenging endeavors I have attempted in my teaching career so far, on both an organizational and emotional level.  But I will remember it a defining moment of my teaching career, on which I will continue to build in years to come.  

 A yoga teacher I know urges his students to be observant of themselves, but "get rid of the stick."  This has been an important concept for me lately both personally and professionally. The idea is to take time to notice things--both obvious and subtle.  Notice how you feel as you walk into the school building in the morning. Notice how you feel as the bell is about to ring to end first period. Notice how you feel when a student asks for your help. Notice how you feel when you tell a student to put her food away when she is eating in class. But leave the stick out of it.  

If I notice something I'm uncomfortable with, my reaction may be to chastise myself mentally for what I could have done differently or earlier or better.  Or I may have the urge to chastise someone else for not meeting an expectation I had of them.  But in the end, the stick just creates more discomfort where there already was enough to begin with.  It distracts us from the process of learning from experiences.  

When we take the time to notice things, we are creating an opportunity for ourselves to illuminate the choices we make on a regular basis, some of which we may not even be aware.  Lately, I've even been taking time to notice what I notice.  Do I take as much time to notice the progress one student makes, or how well a lesson went, as I do berating myself about a student who was messing around period 4?  How I fill up my mental space involves choice as well.  I've been trying to make the choice lately to notice the positive as much as the other things that beg my attention.  

At the same time, feelings of discomfort can reveal choices I've been making that need to change.  For example, I noticed that I felt irked when I had to tell a student to put her food away--in that moment, I felt irked by the food as well as the student.  I realized I felt that way because I'd been telling the same student to put her food away almost daily, though she is fully aware that it's against school rules to eat in class.  

The trap was that I kept seeing the situation through the lens of the choice my student had been making--to flout school rules.  But in that moment I was able to note the choice I'd been making--to "remind her" of this rule every day, and then forget about it 'til the next day.  Ha!  Instead of whipping out the figurative stick on either her or myself, I simply identified that I needed to make a different choice so I could refocus my attention and interactions with her back on our real purpose: teaching and learning.  I pulled her aside later that day and told her what I'd noticed.  I told her that it was necessary that she follow school rules so we can spend time on what's most important during class time.  She got the point and understood that failure to correct the problem would cause me to take further action, which she does not want.  We also talked about her eating breakfast at home instead of buying it at the store on the way to school.  She is no longer eating in class, and making that change was pretty painless :)

Too much of the culture of schooling is based around using the stick to modify and control students. And it's no wonder because the same is true for teachers... and principals.  I'm thinking about how we could shift toward illuminating choices instead.  How can our schools be set up to help students to see the choices they make and how these make them feel and learn to make better choices?  How can schools be set up for teachers to practice this as well?  Principals?  

Are there places where we would just bump up against walls with this?  For example, in the story I told above, what if the "no eating in class" rule were something truly oppressive, like, "no looking out the window in class"? Then how does choice play out?  Or for a teacher, if the rule were, "No designing your own curriculum"? Hmm...

[image credit: chickyog.net]

 I'm excited about a neat trick for teaching vocabulary I stumbled upon last week that is breathing some new life into this month of test prepping.  We've been gearing up for the NY state middle school ELA exam, and I realized my students' vocabulary gaps were hurting them on the multiple choice part.  Sometimes, for example, they comprehended the text--and know how to use context clues to guess meanings of words they don't know--but didn't know the meaning of a key word in one of the multiple choice answers. Those answers have no context, so they ended up choosing the wrong one.  I felt the need to do some explicit vocabulary work to try to improve their chances.

I went through the actual and sample tests from the last five years and selected 50 words that I encountered that my students might not know.  I passed out a list of the words with student-friendly definitions, and asked them to make flash cards for homework.  Each night they are supposed to study ten words.  At the end of the week there will be a test on the 50 words.  

Here's where the fun part comes in.  Knowing not every student will actually study the ten words each night, I created a tool to help them study during the first 5 minutes of class, during which I give them social time.  (See this article, Ask the Kids!, for more on this practice.)  

Each night I've been spending about ten minutes finding photographs on the internet to match five of the ten words the students were supposed to study the night before and dragging them onto a Word document.  Then I make problems like this:

Commence or determined?  (with picture below)

There are five questions like this on the worksheet and students must reason through their selection. This problem above, for example, provoked some interesting debate.  Some thought the players of chess would be determined to win, while others felt certain that the answer was commence because the positions of the pieces indicated that the game was about to begin.  In the end, students decided "commence" won, because the picture has more evidence about the game itself than the players, which are not shown.  

Students seem to be learning the words pretty quickly and happily this way, and also using critical thinking skills!  

I know something is working right because students are working on these voluntarily.  Social time is really their time to talk, daydream, etc.  But I hand these out saying, "Optional--quiz yourself and see how well you studied last night!"  Kids actually work on them, consult their flashcards, and talk through their answers, and still manage to socialize.  When social time is over and the meeting/lesson commences (love how words new words make their way into all kinds of situations...) everyone wants to go over the answers.  That's where we really hash out the answers.

Of course, chances are, none of these words will appear on the test at the end of this month, but I'm enjoying watching the learning happen anyway, and my students seem to be too. 

[cartoon image credit: educa.madrid.org      chess board photo credit: gutenberg.org]