On the Shoulders of Giants
My wonderful colleague, who teaches 8th grade science next door, got a parakeet for her classroom this year. It is small, cute and yellow and sings songs softly. Students were very excited when she introduced him and they have treated him with care for months. Students especially love the privilege of having the bird cage rest on their table while they work.
On Thursday afternoon, my colleague was at a PD and a substitute covered her class. Sometime during that class, a student sprayed the bird in the face with white-board cleaning fluid--which is basically alcohol. The bird's eye became red and enflamed, the area around it was swollen, and it's body language indicated it was quite sick.
Students were upset and anxious about the situation. Many thought that the bird would die. But no one owned up to the deed. The majority of the class seemed unsure which of 3 or 4 boys who were goofing around near the bird had done it.
The deans and principal investigated and narrowed it down to two boys. Neither of the boys is an extremely malicious or violent student. It seemed to have been a matter of extremely poor judgment, a negative response to perceived lack of boundaries, and lack of self-restraint.
One of the boys, while being questioned, said, "It's not that big of a deal. We can just buy her another bird; they only cost 8 dollars."
This response caught my attention. Mind you, this is a student who lacks impulse control, but who is very bright and who shows care for others. Though a bit of an enigma, (his writing is, without fail, no matter what I try, the longest, most interesting, run-on sentence you've ever read) he is one of my favorite students. How could he so totally miss the point here?
On the one hand, this was a thirteen-year-old child's attempt to right a wrong situation. On the other had, I also wonder if his sentiment is symptomatic of today's out-of-control consumer culture and the disconnect of the urban environment from the natural world.
Broken bird? Buy another one.
As it turns out, the bird is recovering... but I'm a little concerned for our children. Are they getting the message that anything in the world can be bought? That problems--crimes, even--are easily fixed with money? And that the price of something dictates its worth?
[image credit: blogs.thatpetplace.com}
I just read this op-ed by Bob Herbert, "In Search of Education Leaders" in the New York Times about a new doctoral program at Harvard in "Educational Leadership" that will be tuition free.
If you haven't seen it, it is worth checking out.
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/12/05/opinion/05herbert.html?hp
It left me slightly confused. First, I think Herbert does a good job of showing readers why there is a need for huge change in education, and for with the vision and skills to lead it. What confuses me is whether or not Harvard's program will create education leaders who are any different than those we already have. In the NY Times article, the dean of the program, Kathleen McCartney says, “If you look at people who are running districts, some come from traditional schools of education, and they understand the core business of education but perhaps are a little weak on the management side. And then you’ve got the M.B.A.-types who understand operations, let’s say, but not so much teaching and learning.”
So it seems the program aims to produce well-rounded ed reformers who understand both business and management as well as teaching and learning. That leaves me wondering how these candidates are going to learn about teaching and learning in a doctoral program at Harvard? There is no mention here (or anywhere else I searched) of the role of teachers in this vision. There is nothing that says a candidate needs to have taught in classrooms, especially those that serve Black and Hispanic students, the population Herbert says is most in danger of not getting a decent education, an important piece of his case for new leaders in American education.
I myself read this news and thought, so let's say I were interested in the vision of this program. What does it mean to be an education leader and how does this fit with my desire to also be a teacher? An article at Boston.com states, "The program aims to train graduates for senior leadership roles in school systems, government agencies, nonprofit organizations, and the private sector." Does this mean that graduates of this program will not be teachers, teacher leaders, or even principals, all of whom work in actual schools and and are responsible for educating actual students?
On the one hand, I get it. We live in a hierarchical society. Government itself is hierarchical and the people at the top are mostly NOT equipped to tackle the issues of education in the 21st century, though they need to be. That's what creates the imperative for innovative new programs to help fill in the gaping holes education policy makers are currently staring down into or trying to cover up. The reality seems to be--at least at present time-- that if you work in government, you probably cannot also be a classroom teacher. Nonetheless, I'm skeptical about the idea that graduates of this program will be in any better position to transform American education than current education reformers are so long as teachers are left out.
Turning the question around, could a classroom teacher--or group of classroom teachers--become a major force in education reform? I think yes. Teacher Leaders Network and, in a different way, unions seem to be examples of this. I'd be much more optimistic if I knew that a group of teachers were entering Harvard's program and would graduate having created and prepared to take on hybrid roles--splitting their time between actual classroom teaching and working closely with senior "educational leaders" to help transform education.
Who will create that program?
[image credit: life.com]
Over Thanksgiving break, I planned to launch a new novel study. Boys will read The Dream Bearer by Walter Dean Myers and girls will read Like Sisters On the Homefront by Rita Williams Garcia. This is always a very successful study for the students, because they find the novels compelling and the gender split adds some developmental dimension to the experience (This is the only time in the year I split by gender. More on that another time.)
As excited as I was to start the novel study, I felt that over the last month or so, things had gotten too ragged in my classroom. Students seemed lax about their own behaviors--in conversations with them later, students knew exactly what they had done wrong, but just seemed to lack self-consciousness or motivation to act appropriately in class. I'm talking about the usual 8th grade stuff--socializing excessively during class, antics that interrupt lessons or set off other students, etc., etc., etc. These behaviors were upsetting the momentum of the learning and the group dynamic.
At the end of every period I have the class assess itself as a group in 5 categories on a scale of 1-4:
- Agenda (did we complete it?),
- Quality of Work (this is for the class as a whole, not individual students)
- Jobs (official jobs in each class are Teacher's Assistant, Supply Manager, Director of Maintenance, and Librarian--did they do them?)
- Golden Rule (Harm no one in word or deed--did we follow it?)
- Neatness (how did we leave the classroom?)
The self-assessment chart serves as a good data source for me. Students are very honest when completing the self-assessment, because it doesn't count as a grade, so there's no motivation to cheat. I saw the scores decreasing and decreasing--and it was only November.
20% of my students' final grade is reserved for a category I call "Member of a Learning Community." In my mind, it's very clear what this includes: coming prepared to class, participating in lessons, meetings and discussions, active listening, supporting peers, following the Golden Rule, good work habits, professionalism, etc., and I have communicated this to students. However, I needed to find a way to make students' individual grades in this category more visible to them, more immediate and short-term, and empower them to improve in specific ways. But logistically this can be challenging.
I remembered something a student teacher I had last year from Bank Street College shared with me from another cooperating middle school teacher she'd worked with that year--Sharon Kramer, also a Bank Street-trained teacher who teaches in NYC public schools. I had debated implementing it in September, but thought nah, I'll be alright without. Now things are falling apart a little bit, so it's time for a change.
So it's only been 2 days, but this new system has been really positive. The atmosphere of the class is quite different. Kids are more focused, more self-aware and we've picked up the pace a lot. Maybe it's the new novels, or the new system, or a combination. Any which way, I'm happy about the change. I'm happy I found the courage and time to take a risk and switch things up.
The new system: Each table has a student leader who keeps track of participation points on a chart using a code for the members of the table. Every student begins every period with 60 points. Positive behaviors and negative behaviors are assigned + or - point values and a code letter. For example, coming to the meeting area within 60 seconds of the bell ringing (M) is worth 10 points. Cursing (C) is worth -10 points, and so forth. Students gain points for great group work, helping another student, leaving their table area beautiful, etc. Students lose points for eating in class, coming late, not having a writing utensil, breaking the Golden Rule, etc. I made it so there are equal number of positive and negative behaviors. (I've been training students to calculate grades based on those letter codes, which as some basic math value as well!)
The table leader rotates weekly. At the end of the day I tally up the points and make any corrections if need be. Every day students see their official grade from the day before. At the end of the week each student averages their scores from each day together and gets a grade out of 100, which I will enter into my online grade book.
It's not rocket science, but I think it helps kids be clear on what they are choosing to do and the consequences of those choices, good or bad. Also, there are many ways within a single period to redeem a falling grade, and this makes that visible. However, if a student has made poor choices throughout a period, it also becomes clear that he or she can't simply work for 5 minutes and redeem the grade. It helps kids check each other, which is much much better than me playing the cop. I hope and suspect students also see more clearly how their actions affect their learning and the rest of the class. Maybe that's something we could have a class discussion about soon.
I've never really been a fan of point systems for behavior. Ideally, we will use this for a while and then outgrow it. But for the moment, it's the structure and clarity my students need in order to do their best work and become members of a learning community, not just students in a class.
[Image credit: a student deep in thought on a trip to study the neighborhood. This is how I want my students to feel in class every day!]
After reading Nancy Flanagan's post at Teacher In a Strange Land about Public Agenda's report on Teaching for a Living: How Teachers See the Profession Today, I am questioning whether I fit into the contented, idealist, or disheartened category of teacher. Like some of the teachers she mentions, I think I may shift between the three perspectives over the course of a single day. However, a few months into my sixth year, I am pretty sure I'm becoming less idealistic and possibly less contented than I used to be.
What does that mean and why is it happening? Well, when I first entered teaching, I was just excited to be there. Everything I did was experimental. I was aware that the conditions of my school were far from ideal, and that I was a beginner, and I was mentally prepared to succeed or flop any day. I was eager to capitalize on success when I met it and also content to cut my losses and learn from my mistakes when I failed. The pace of my own learning was as exhilarating as that of my students. Success happened in moments, and I cherished them. At the end of two years of teaching one group of students for 7th and 8th grade, I saw evidence of major long-lasting growth. I also was able to pinpoint things I had not achieved with my students and plan for the next year. When I was frustrated, it was usually with the fact that I lacked voice within my top-down structured school.
Over the years I figured out some things that seemed to work. I began to reuse and refine those practices. As satisfying as that was, I also began to expect success most of the time. I also raised my standards for what success in the classroom should look like. At the same time, I was indoctrinated into a culture that increasingly looks to test scores to measure learning and the success of teachers. I went from teaching my students for two years to teaching them for one. I expected success sooner, faster, and all the time.
Additionally, I switched schools in order to work in a place where teachers had more voice in curriculum and decision making processes. With a new school came adapting my teaching--which is a student-centered, responsive approach, where students themselves matter a lot--to a different and less familiar population of students. Eager to have more voice my school, I took on leadership roles, and began spending more energy on team and school-wide issues than I ever had before. My involvement with the Teacher Leaders Network has also opened me up to the world of education policy and edu-blogging. Practically speaking, teacher leadership has meant cutting back on the amount of time and energy spent on my own teaching practice. At the same time, I couple that with higher and higher expectations of my own teaching and less tolerance for failure of any kind.
I was never a total idealist about teaching and I was never fully content with my own teaching, my school, or the teaching profession as a whole. What worked for me was that I never took success with students for granted. And I never beat myself up when something didn't go as well as I expected. Now I do both of those things regularly, which is a recipe for becoming one disheartened teacher.
I guess the first step is acknowledging there is a problem. I'll be working on how to shift my outlook so I can keep on enjoying this work. Advice is welcome :)
[image credit: roddzblog.wordpress.com/ 2007/05/]
Tomorrow I'll be at the NCTE convention in Philadelphia doing a poster presentation with my mentor from Bank Street, Madeleine Ray, on the Whole Novels Program, a student centered literature program we've been developing for some years. In honor of that, I'm posting a piece I wrote last year about my favorite part of the Whole Novels Program--discussions. Here it is.
It is my
favorite time again--discussions of the novel the class has just finished
reading. I pull two tables together on one side of the room to form a “discussion
table,” and call half of the class to the table. The other students have
independent work to do quietly; halfway through the period the two half-groups
will switch. Students know that
there will be three days of successive discussions, and that only students who
have completed the reading are eligible to join. A few students catch up on unfinished reading in a corner so
that they may enter discussions the following day, or even by the end of the
period.
This is a
tradition I became a part of six years ago as a student teacher at Bank Street
College, working with faculty advisor, Madeleine Ray, who teaches this methods
each year in her Children’s Literature course. When I was student teaching in an English class, she
instructed me to try allowing the students to read and experience an entire
novel on their own. The point was
to hold off on discussions and public interpretations until they had read the
entire work. Then, she urged, let
the students discuss the work openly, as adults do in book groups or as art
critics would do at an opening. “Don’t
script a list of questions for students to answer,” she said. “Just ask them what they notice, what
they think and go from there.”
Many
teachers wince at this suggestion, predicting that their students will fail at
the task, or that they, as teachers, will fail to teach the content they feel
obliged to cover. I also
questioned if it would be possible.
Over the
years, I’ve developed structures that help me hold students accountable for
completing the reading and others that help struggling readers succeed in the
process. I’ve found that this core
framework for the study of literature is one of the most sucessful and
rewarding pieces of my teaching practice.
“Welcome to
our first novel discussions,” I say to my group of nine students sitting around
the table holding their novels, packed with post-it notes where they’ve
recorded their thoughts over the last 2 ½ weeks of reading. I explain, “First,
we will go around the circle and hear once from each student. After that, the
discussion is open. The student to my left goes first. You can say anything you
want about the book…tell us your general impressions of it, something you loved
or hated, a character or scene you want to comment on, something you noticed or
wondered…”
And the
discussions begin. Everyone gets a
turn. Students fight to hold back
their responses until we’ve gone around the circle once. Then the discussion
accelerates as students unleash their insights into characters, challenge one
another over what really happened and why, whether the book was compelling or a
bore, and frantically searching for the pages that hold proof of their points…
All the while I take notes on everything that is said, only occasionally asking
a question, or reminding students to take turns and make sure to hear from
everyone.
During these
discussions, year after year, I have the wonderful sensation that time around
us has stopped—we are consumed by the experience—until then the bell rings (or
the timer goes off, indicating that it’s time for the groups to switch).
“Class
is over?” a student usually asks, confused.
“Yes,”
I say. “But we’ll continue tomorrow.
Before we go we need to decide on a homework assignment based on today’s
discussion.” A student usually comes up with a question or challenge for the
group to write a paragraph about.
If there are competing ideas, I ask students to write on something they
would like to discuss tomorrow, in round two. This may include locating a specific passage in the book
that supports their position for the group to reread and analyze. By the end of
the year, students create these types of assignments for themselves without my
prodding.
That night,
I spend the extra time it takes to type up the notes from today’s discussions,
and bring a copy for each student to read at the beginning of the round
two. I give them a few minutes to
read over the notes. They are
thrilled to see their words in print!
“As you read, highlight anything they want to return to in today’s
discussion.” We begin by again allowing everyone to speak once. Then it’s open and the discussion picks
up both speed and depth. On day
one, students mostly offer strong visceral opinions about characters or the
book as a whole. By day two or
three, the students progress from analyzing characters, their relationships and
conflicts, to analyzing more subtle themes and subtexts in the work. They become aware of the author’s craft
and purpose, and are able to critique them.
Due to
popular demand from students, this time every class continues discussing for
four days straight. We could have
gone on even longer, but it was time to work on portfolio projects—students
wrote essays on the novel, based on the ideas from our discussions.
To close, I
gave students a quick anonymous survey that asked, What was it like to be
part of the discussion groups this week? Describe the experience. The responses were all favorable, and some were especially
telling of why:
· It was good. I got to say what I think.
· It was a good experience because
we all got to express what we feel about the book.
· It was great and controversial.
· It was interesting because we got
to see what each was thinking.
· It was good because I got to hear
others’ thoughts about the book and know they are thinking the same thing I’m
thinking.
· It was fun and cool that people
actually got to hear what I had to say.
· It was like being in a meeting,
cooperating with others, talking about a girl our age.
· It was good because it was just an
open conversation.
· It feels like I am making progress
100%.
These
comments remind me that it’s not every day that we allow kids to really say
what they think in school and be heard.
Adolescents will tell you if they don’t like your outfit, and some will
tell you if they’re bored. But
when it comes to academic material, even the most outspoken students have been
trained for years to look for the answer that pleases the teacher.
The success
of this process for discussion of literature makes it clear that if we really
want our students to think for themselves, we have to be open to what they will
say. I may want to discuss the
symbolism of the cowry shell in chapter 10, but this does nothing anything for
the students We cannot be the one
thinker in a room full of followers!
Instead, we must be charged with devising ways to create space and
opportunities for our students to share and pursue their own thoughts.
It can be
hard to resist the traditional role of teacher as chief thinker, which is as
ingrained in teachers and schools as it is in our students. Letting go of it, however, is
liberating, and the rewards for students are even greater. Finally, no one spends class waiting
for the bell to ring.
[image credit: fhscrystalg.googlepages.com/]
Last week I posted what was essentially a "vent" about the ATR's who've been placed at my school, who are not being used to fill vacancies, but who are being used as substitutes instead. It was also posted at Gotham Schools, where you can see the heated responses I received. The level of anger in the comments has been troubling, (1) because it is not productive and (2) because it is evidence of the feeling of powerlessness among teachers in the debate about public education.
After a few days of discussion and many accusations of being Anti-Teacher by readers at Gotham Schools, I've arrived at this point and posted this comment there this morning.
"Marty is right. At this point if an ATR or any teacher at my school is not fulfilling basic requirements of his or her job, it is the job of the principal to take action using due process. It is also the job of my principal to explain expectations and procedures to the ATRs placed at my school and give them the support they need to do their jobs.
I did not write about my situation in order to suggest that ATR’s lose their jobs. I am sorry if that has been the effect of my post. I see now the damage that could cause–I become political fuel for the people who want to save money by getting rid of “expensive” experienced teachers who’ve done nothing wrong, but work in a school that was closed down, or where funding was cut. Although it happens in other professions a lot, and people are left to find new jobs on their own, I value the job security our contract provides and our union protects. Teaching is too personal and full of risk-taking to have to worry that you could lose your job if the principal doesn’t like you or a choice you made. There needs to be due process for all of us.
I am going to take Rhoda’s advice and not discuss the situation at my school any more than I already have. In my opinion, the situation is unacceptable on a number of levels, but that may not be for discussion here.
I think Renee brings up some productive direction: 'From what you all have described, it sounds more like this ATR system might be a way for principals or higher administrators to eliminate people they may simply not like (???) as well as those who are not doing a good job. But, the process begs the question, if the person were in fact doing such a bad job, why not just put up the evidence of that and have the person removed from the profession period, rather than continue to pay them a salary? Perhaps what we really need is to examine our processes of evaluating teachers to ensure that those who are doing the work of teaching get rewarded (and protected from unfair dismissal or job loss) and that those who are not get removed.'
It seems like policy makers want to change teacher evaluation and the only thing they seem to be thinking about is using test scores, which I think would be a huge mistake.
Is our current evaluation system working?
What should be the goal of teacher evaluation? Feedback for the teacher? A way to identify and support ineffective teachers? A way to terminate ineffective teachers? A way to encourage and reward effective teaching?
If our current evaluation system is not working, what changes could be made to it that would benefit teachers and students?"
[Image credit: growchangelearn.blogspot.com]
Strange happenings... There are ATR's in the teacher's lounge of my school. Let me explain.
As you probably know, starting this summer the Mayor put a freeze on hiring of any non-DOE teachers. So teachers who just moved to the city, as well as newbies out of any teacher prep program, including NYC Teaching Fellows and TFA, have all been left with no job prospects in the public schools. This is because of the ATR's, who are teachers who have been excessed--NOT fired--from their positions.
Excessing happens when funding for a position closes up or a school closes down. Now, it is pretty difficult to fire a tenured teacher. It requires lots of documentation from the principal, multiple chances for the teacher to redeem him or herself, and there is strong legal representation for all teachers provided by the union, so even in the clearest of cases, it can take a few years. Many principals take the easy way out and simply dry up the position, thereby excessing the unwanted teacher. Often this is nothing more than a bad match between teacher and principal/school, and such teachers secure positions at other schools quickly. In other cases, the excessed teacher doesn't find a position at another school, but continues to receive his or her salary from the DOE as per the contract--if you're not fired, then you still have a job, even if that job is actually no job at all.
My school had a number of vacancies at the end of last year. We were able to hire a bunch of experienced NYC teachers who were fleeing their schools for the greener pastures promised by my school (I hope we're delivering!) But a few positions remained open. My principal interviewed 37 ATR's. That's right, 37. She said they were the most depressing interviews she has ever done, and that she "could not, in good conscience, hire any of them."
Why were the interviews so bad? Are these teachers really the dregs of the profession? Or is it that they've become all too comfortable being ATR's with no teaching position and do not want to go back to the classroom?
Two weeks into the school year, we still did not have a math teacher for my grade. A string of subs covered the math class, while we attempted to wait the hiring freeze out.
A few weeks later, the city decided to place all ATR's in vacancies throughout the city. We received three from a high school that was shut down. These three teachers, all middle aged, have 10-15 years of experience and get paid much more than I do. However, they do not want to be at my school, and they know they are not wanted either. In the classroom, they behave like incompetent substitutes. No order, no real planning, no real teaching. Some have been rude to students on occasion. Students get rude right back to them (and you know how middle schoolers can be when they feel disrespected). It's not good.
Finally, we found a solution. The hiring freeze has been lifted in the area of special education. One of our special education teachers is certified to teach any middle school subject. She agreed to take over the math position, although she's never been a head teacher before. We are now in the process of hiring a new special education teacher.
Meanwhile, we still have the three ATR's...in our classrooms covering whenever someone's absent, and on our payroll as the most senior people in the building.
In the teacher's lounge they are like refugees. It's weird. I feel bad for them. They seem like they have come from a school that was, like many large urban public schools, more of a war zone than a learning environment. They seem almost traumatized, and ready to attack at any moment.
One of the ATR's is covering for a special education teachers who is on maternity leave. If no teacher is absent, I can count on her to be in my room while I have my CTT class. (When she's not there, I'm on my own...another story for another post.) She's actually a nice woman who is trying to do a decent job. She observed in my classroom, while students busily did their work, then came to the meeting area to respond to a poem. She visibly relaxed and her facial expression changed when she saw my students' real capabilities. Now she greets me in the morning and tells me whether she'll be in my class or not that day. She asks me about the curriculum, and is trying to work more with the students. It's nice to see the shift, but honestly, I feel like I'm training her, while she gets paid twice my salary.
Another ATR as been assigned to teach an 8th grade advisory, since our (now) math teacher cannot, because she's still in charge of all middle school IEP's and needs time in her schedule for it, and I cannot because I am team leader and department chair and need time in my schedule for that. However, this ATR just hands out whatever materials we give him, and sits in the room and reads a book.
So who's responsible for this situation? I do not fault the mayor. It's a smart business move to stop paying for teachers who have no positions, especially in a recession. However, given the turnover rates in high poverty schools, you know which schools had to take the ATR's instead of the usual TFA'ers (who can be just as inept, but are usually far more committed and faster learners).
But who is responsible for these ATR's apparent low ability to teach? Look at the environment they must be coming from. Is it their fault they were teaching under horrible conditions and probably received no support? And, although, I believe principals need a real reason to fire a teacher, perhaps the union is at fault when the process for firing inept teachers takes years. Kids lose out during those years. And which principal gave these teachers tenure so many years ago? Were they different teachers back then?
I feel like I'm in the twilight zone. Should I just "suck it up" and teach this woman what I know? Like said, she's actually a nice person who seems eager to learn. Should I train this man to run an advisory? My kids deserve that...
[Image Credit: sodahead.com]
"Education is not the filling of a pail, but the lighting of a fire."
~William Butler Yeats
This summer my virtual colleagues on the TLN Forum shared our favorite education quotes. It was a wonderful exercise that helped reenergize me about teaching. I copied them all into a word file and selected a bunch to post around my classroom.
I had a beautiful ending to my week. It was the third day of school, Friday, and students were going to be finishing writing me letters about education and the role it plays in their lives (an assignment inspired by Renee Moore's recent post). I decided to see what my students would have to say about Yeats' quote. It turned out to be a great assessment of my students' ability to think abstractly and work with metaphors. It also sparked a great discussion. (no pun intended ;)
I gave the quote out as a "warmup" when the students entered class and asked them to write down what they thought it meant. Most students were stumped for while. I told them that was fine. Many took a decent guess and wrote something like, "It means don't come to school to play around or do nothing. Education is serious." But a number of students in each class had interesting interpretations that I couldn't have even thought of myself!
I called them to the meeting area and they began sharing. Here are a few of the most interesting responses:
- "Knowledge is power and that if you light a fire you can see."
- "He means it is like an opening to another side you have never seen."
- "Get an education and have a bright future."
- "Education is not just finishing school, but doing something with it."
- "Your education is like a fire. You light it up by learning."
- "This is a true saying, 'cause education is not going to be easy all the time."
- "It is not the beginning of something big, it is the beginning of something huge."
- "It means education is energy! (It means we are powerful because we are educated)"
- "It means that if you don't understand something, you should at least do your best, and our fire is going to build up and up."
- "Education is not done at a certain point, but instead you learn more and more everyday, like a fire keeps spreading."
And finally...gotta love 8th graders for making me wonder if this was tongue-and-cheek or not:
- "I think Yeats means that having an education can get you high in life."
It was also interesting to see which kids wrote something insightful but chose not to speak.
After we shared, I knew there were a bunch of students who still did not grasp the metaphor. I drew a pail on the board. I said, "This is a pail." Then I drew some shapes that looked like crumpled up pieces of paper above the pail, kind of dropping into it.
I asked, "What does the pail represent?" "You...your brain...your mind," students said. I pointed to the objects going into the pail. "What do these represent?""Knowledge," they said, light bulbs going on as the meaning of the image became clear. "So... what's the pail doing?" I asked. "Nothing!" they said. "Yes!" I said. "It's like me coming around to all of you and dropping pieces of knowledge into your minds while you just sit there!" I acted this out as I said it. "Hm..." their faces seemed to say. "And how do you feel if you're a pail?" I asked. They laughed at the absurdity. "No way, really... Bored!" they said. Then I drew a fire. Without my prompting, kids started saying, "Fire is powerful...it's exciting...like when learning is fun...It means inspiration!" "So, where is the fire?" I asked. "Inside of you," students said. One boy (who had written nothing on his paper before) raised his hand and said carefully, "See, the pail has a limit to how much it can hold. The education ends. But the fire has no limit. It gets bigger and bigger and can go everywhere." Another boy built on that saying, "The fire takes you into your future, into what you desire for your future." In one class, a student added, "But what about water? Water goes into the pail, but water makes the fire go down." "What would water represent, then?" I asked. Students thought for a few seconds. "Boredom!" someone called out. "True..." I said.
Luckily, I had another quote handy from one of my TLN colleagues, and it was posted in the highly visible spot right below the board, around which the meeting area is centered. I pointed to it...
"The cure for boredom is curiosity. There is no cure for curiosity."
~Dorothy Parker
Suffice it to say, I am very excited about my students and the year to come! A special thanks to the Teacher Leaders Network for helping to relight my fire for teaching (a process which happens in a slightly different way each year). I'm working on a new sign to post in the classroom that will have a drawing and say something like,
Don't be a pail! Keep your fire burning!
(Suggestions for alternate wordings welcome)
[thanks to http://inphotos.org/category/night/ for the great photo of fireand pail image found at craftamerica.com]
As I've written before, grading has always been a weak point for me. Partly because it's tedious, but more likely because my own methods have never fully made sense to me. And if they don't make sense to me, they can't make much sense to my students.
This summer I did some reading on the topic, including Rick Wormeli's Fair Isn't Always Equal: Assessment and Grading in the Differentiated Classroom. I'm now pretty convinced that grading needs to be based on mastery of academic standards and classroom objectives (even if some of these are not reflected in actual state standards), and not much else.
However, as I get closer to designing a clear, standards-based assessment and grading structure for my classroom, some philosophical questions arise for me.
The major benefit of standards-based grading that includes multiple opportunities for students to demonstrate proficiency and growth is that students get a clear picture of what their strengths are and what they need to work on. This can help them gain agency in their own development of these skills and understandings, which is a goal of any progressive educator.
In progressive classrooms, teachers design experiences for students. The idea is that through experience, students construct knowledge and build skills. One question that sometimes concerns me is, are students always aware of what they are learning? At what point is it necessary for them to become aware?
Sometimes teachers design such compelling learning experiences that students are able to forget they are doing a "school" activity. They derive genuine pleasure from the curiosity and intellectual engagement of the experience. This is what we want and, in my experience both as a teacher and student, leads to the highest levels of understanding. But it's not ALL we want. It's a necessary step in the learning process called exploration.
What happens after exploration? In a well-run classroom, reflection and analysis and term introduction--and often multiple rounds of the whole process--lead students to develop conceptual understanding of the topic. They have also built relevant skills along the way.
At what point in the constructivist process does it make sense to assess students on what they've learned? When is it fair and useful to grade the students on said learning?
Since individual students may differ in what they take from a given activity, at some point it seems only fair to let students in on what the learning objectives are and what they'll be graded on. That way students and teachers can be full partners on the road to proficiency and understanding, right?
The place where I get philosophically tied up is around who is calling the shots on what needs to be learned and when. Do students get a say in this? Is the trajectory basically the same for all students with slight variation, or are there fundamental differences in what each child should learn and when?
In my last post, I describe a student who has been home-schooled and has had almost total agency over his own learning for years. Guess what? At age 14--the same age that some 50% of our country's youth begin to think of dropping out of high school--he chose to enroll in junior college, where he selected his courses. He selected some classes based on interest (architecture) and other classes based on his own perception of what his weaknesses are (writing). Seems like he came around to those objectives without anybody else setting the bar for him at any point. And my guess is that he'll go as far as he needs to with his education.
In the end, as a public school teacher with 65 students for one year only, I will have to compromise in the name of efficiency. I will not cut out the exploration stage of the the learning process, because without it, I don't believe real learning takes place. But after students reflect upon and analyze the introductory experience, it is far more efficient for students to go into a second experience knowing what they should pay closer attention to and learn. In many cases, individual students or the whole class together can identify what point or skill they will focus on in a subsequent activity.
Thinking hard, as I create standards-based rubrics and tracking grids that anticipate all of the learning my students will do this year... I would love to hear your thoughts.
[image found at dvice.com]
I just returned from the Bay Area of California, where I spent a week enjoying the last moments of real summer vacation, before entering heavy preparation mode for the new school year. I breathed fresh air, slept in the mountains, saw wild horses, took a dip in hot springs, and met some cool people while out here.
I crossed paths with two children who reminded me that there is no one right way to educate.
G and his parents live most of the way "off the grid" in the mountains of Ukiah two hours north of the city. I met G in a room in the barn on "the Property," that is part kitchen, part living room, part library and part music room. He looked to be about 17. He was fixing himself lunch and reading a thick, small print, college-looking book called "The Rules Of Writing" or something to that effect. Also in his pile of reading materials were books on architecture and biology. He explained that he was taking courses at Junior College.
In the course of conversation I shared that I taught 8th grade English.
"So you teach writing?" he asked.
"Yes," I said.
"That's sort of my weak point," he said, and pointed toward the book on the Rules of Writing.
I told him, "The more you write, the better you become at it." He nodded.
Then his father said, "So, 8th grade...that's about the class he'd be in if he had gone through normal schools." I was confused. "Yup," he said. "He's forteen."
Wow! He seemed much more mature than most 14 year olds I know, and in one way that especially caught my attention--he was mature about his learning. His father said G had always loved learning, because he'd learned through playing and experiencing the world, especially the outdoors, and through various types of apprenticeships. A year ago, he expressed interest in taking classes, so he enrolled in a k-12 program at the Junior College. He'd done well so far and seemed to be able to transfer his motivation to learn to the formal classroom context.
G's path wouldn't work for everyone. He benefits from the unique environment of his upbringing and values and care of his parents. But its a reminder that the lock-step grade levels and benchmarks we become obsessive about in public schools are quite artificial.
Another moment that spoke to this very same issue came when I met A, a friend's 7 year old son, who was going into third grade. I noticed that he seemed to have strong verbal skills and a wide vocabulary. He was able to hold a conversation with us adults at the dinner table for a while without getting completely bored.
At some point, I asked A one of my favorite questions for kids: "Do you like to read?" I was expecting him to tell me he just finished the entire Harry Potter series, based on how he spoke.
"I can't read," he said, matter-of-factly. I paused in momentary shock, not sure how to respond. What was I going to say? Then I remembered hearing earlier that he attended a Waldorf school, where I knew kids learned to read in 3rd grade.
"Oh, that's right, you go to Waldorf," I said, feeling silly. He seemed unphased.
Then my friend asked him, "A, Do you like to listen to stories?"
"I lovelistening to stories," he said,
with the passion I often hear when kids speak about video games.
"We're on the third Lord of the Rings book now. I love Lord of the Rings," A said.
I thought about what this meant. A's mother had been reading to him since he was little. He now had the patience and story background to sit through thousands of pages of dense prose and to fully enter the world of the books. He got true enjoyment out of this.
I thought how strange it must be for him not to be able to read yet, not even signs or menus. And yet, how exciting will this year be for him, when he finally gets to unlock the world of reading for himself. And how different it will be to do this when his vocabulary is already impressive, his knowledge of the world is as wide as it is. I have a feeling his motivation to read on his own will be very strong.
The Waldorf way might not be best for everyone. It relies on strong parental buy-in and involvement, from which not every child benefits. But meeting A was another reminder that there are so many different ways to learn. If a student cannot read by third grade in the public schools, he's almost definitely going to be labeled learning disabled. The Waldorf schools turn that practice on his head.
Why are our schools so obsessed with rushing children through their education? Why are public schools so averse to giving kids time to play? To teaching through play? It seems to me that we picked up these habits of mind, because we are charged with educating large groups of children as efficiently as we can. In other words, the factory model. I don't think it's coincedental that in this model students as young as third grade suffer from lack of motivation... and that when given time and space to learn in his own way, G is actually far ahead of most 14 year olds...or that A loves listening to Lord of the Rings while most 2nd graders, who can breeze through I-Can-Read books, would not have the patience.
I believe that in the future we will move beyond the factory model of schooling. But as for the present, one thing's for sure: the end of the year testing that has become obligatory starting in early elementary school and going through high school (and losing half the country's youth along the way), is taking children farther and farther away from authentic learning experiences and the joy that comes from them.
[image credit: www.elvincountry.com/ tags/volunteer-vacations]
