The newspaper shows
A photo of a herdsman
in Afghanistan
I can see his breath
As he crouches by a fire
And warms his fingers
While village elders
And American solders
Meet and talk nearby
I think of the cost
in lives, energy, money
to make this meeting
where global interests
of power, religion, war
and peace intersect
where so much desire
has descended upon one
man warming his hands
This Afghan herdsman
and I aren't so far apart
We want the same thing
The peace that comes with
A warm place by the fire on
A cold winter night
Monday, December 21, 2009
Monday, December 14, 2009
Education Yakuza
I know when I teach
There are things that must be taught
Which the state mandates
As a rule of thumb
About seventy percent
Belongs to the state
And thirty percent
Belongs to me and I don’t
Know who’s thumb it is
Maybe if I don’t
Give the state its percentage
And try to short them
They’ll cut off my thumb
Like Japanese Yakuza
And wrap it up nice
And send it to my
Students - a message not to
Trifle with the state
So if I see some
Wise guys in the school hallways
I’ll just play it cool
and make sure that they
notice a multiple choice
test on my clipboard
and not the writing
my students generated
yesterday about
standardization
as the worst enemy of
creativity
There are things that must be taught
Which the state mandates
As a rule of thumb
About seventy percent
Belongs to the state
And thirty percent
Belongs to me and I don’t
Know who’s thumb it is
Maybe if I don’t
Give the state its percentage
And try to short them
They’ll cut off my thumb
Like Japanese Yakuza
And wrap it up nice
And send it to my
Students - a message not to
Trifle with the state
So if I see some
Wise guys in the school hallways
I’ll just play it cool
and make sure that they
notice a multiple choice
test on my clipboard
and not the writing
my students generated
yesterday about
standardization
as the worst enemy of
creativity
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Thinking in the Air
The National Writing Project in Philly was worthwhile, but not for the reasons that I expected. The most valuable part of the gathering was not the workshops or the keynote speaker, but the conversations with people.
After having been caught up on all this generative, ‘writing to think’ stuff, I’ve been dogged by the reality that most of our writing is done for others. It’s a fact. We write to answer the questions of others, to respond to the needs of others, to give and to get information from others. Most of our writing is transactional; an exchange between people prompted by a form, a question, a need.
The conversations I had at the NWP were prompted as well. Someone may have asked, “What did you think of that workshop?”, and I might have answered, “It was OK.” Or I might have gone on and elaborated on the high points and low points. But either way, I was responding to an external prompt, exchanging ideas, and developing a thread of conversation in an exchange with someone else’s ideas.
I can carry on a pretty good conversation. I can take the bait and run with it, stretch it, knead, revise and edit what I’m saying, and what I’m going to say. I suppose it took practice for me to be able to do this. And being among others who model it well. Yet, some people can’t carry on a good conversation. Specifically, I’m thinking about many of my students.
In her book, Writing to the Prompt, Janet Angelillo speaks about the power of structured conversation as a means of thinking and strategizing to prepare for a writing to a prompt.
“During conversations, students hear others’ ideas and work through or try out their ideas. In many ways, talking leads to clarification of thinking and rehearsal for writing.” (Angelillo, 2005)
I bought in to those extended conversations with others in Philly. I want my students to buy-in to the questions and prompts that they inevitably confront in school and in the world. Conversations created with my students, with the intention of examining the structure, course, and evolution of the conversation itself, may help them to ‘think in the air’ before they think with their pens.
Angellillo, Janet. Writing to the Prompt. 2005. Hienemann, Portsmouth, NH.
I highly recommend it.
After having been caught up on all this generative, ‘writing to think’ stuff, I’ve been dogged by the reality that most of our writing is done for others. It’s a fact. We write to answer the questions of others, to respond to the needs of others, to give and to get information from others. Most of our writing is transactional; an exchange between people prompted by a form, a question, a need.
The conversations I had at the NWP were prompted as well. Someone may have asked, “What did you think of that workshop?”, and I might have answered, “It was OK.” Or I might have gone on and elaborated on the high points and low points. But either way, I was responding to an external prompt, exchanging ideas, and developing a thread of conversation in an exchange with someone else’s ideas.
I can carry on a pretty good conversation. I can take the bait and run with it, stretch it, knead, revise and edit what I’m saying, and what I’m going to say. I suppose it took practice for me to be able to do this. And being among others who model it well. Yet, some people can’t carry on a good conversation. Specifically, I’m thinking about many of my students.
In her book, Writing to the Prompt, Janet Angelillo speaks about the power of structured conversation as a means of thinking and strategizing to prepare for a writing to a prompt.
“During conversations, students hear others’ ideas and work through or try out their ideas. In many ways, talking leads to clarification of thinking and rehearsal for writing.” (Angelillo, 2005)
I bought in to those extended conversations with others in Philly. I want my students to buy-in to the questions and prompts that they inevitably confront in school and in the world. Conversations created with my students, with the intention of examining the structure, course, and evolution of the conversation itself, may help them to ‘think in the air’ before they think with their pens.
Angellillo, Janet. Writing to the Prompt. 2005. Hienemann, Portsmouth, NH.
I highly recommend it.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Mission Intentional (can you hear the theme song?)
So here's the thing. I figure that if I want to be 'intentional' about what I'm doing in my classroom, and how I'm doing it, I ought at least to start with whatever it is I am intending toward. You know what I mean?
Looking way way off into the distance, about the farthest thing I can aim at with any intention is my beliefs and values as a teacher. Hence, I wrote a mission statement. This is my mission - the loftiest target I can possibly aim for with my students.
Here goes...
"I intend to guide my students' to explore their world in an atmosphere of safety and trust; to build skills that allow them to share, appreciate, and learn from each other; and to apply knowledge of the diverse heritage of the United States of America and of the U.S. Constitution toward a greater understanding of themselves and their world."
Hoo-Whee! Yeah, I told you it was lofty. But I really hammered over - and can provide my own justification - for every word in there. Let's just move on. This is my own version of designing backward, and you don't get to argue (unless, of course, you comment!)
But here's the thing. Have I just set myself up for a crash? I mean, what is a mission, or a belief statement, but a border to my own thinking? In a sense, by defining my professional mission, I've basically marked my territory. Sure, it's a pretty big chunk of territory, and I really shouldn't have any problem working sustainably off of it, but still, in effect I'm saying that if you don't like the smell of it, stay away.
For now, that's the way it is, and I can defend it. So if you don't like it, you know what you can do.
But come back later, I may be in a better mood.
So, I got a mission goin' for me. That's cool. What else?
My mission is based on some pretty basic beliefs. Let's open the drawer and see what they are:
I believe that:
* Students should think
* Students should have choices
* Students should know what is expected of them and why
* Students should experience a safe and trusting classroom
* Students should do most of the work
* The teacher should model every aspect of these beliefs daily
Mission - check. Beliefs upon which mission is based - check. Let's keep going backward, from the lofty and broad toward the more immediate and focused.
Goals. What tangible goals do I have to achieve, using these basic beliefs, to accomplish my mission?
I can tell you they have to do with the daily practice of writing, speaking, reading, and listening in the classroom, always based on these beliefs, and moving toward accomplishing my mission.
More later.
Looking way way off into the distance, about the farthest thing I can aim at with any intention is my beliefs and values as a teacher. Hence, I wrote a mission statement. This is my mission - the loftiest target I can possibly aim for with my students.
Here goes...
"I intend to guide my students' to explore their world in an atmosphere of safety and trust; to build skills that allow them to share, appreciate, and learn from each other; and to apply knowledge of the diverse heritage of the United States of America and of the U.S. Constitution toward a greater understanding of themselves and their world."
Hoo-Whee! Yeah, I told you it was lofty. But I really hammered over - and can provide my own justification - for every word in there. Let's just move on. This is my own version of designing backward, and you don't get to argue (unless, of course, you comment!)
But here's the thing. Have I just set myself up for a crash? I mean, what is a mission, or a belief statement, but a border to my own thinking? In a sense, by defining my professional mission, I've basically marked my territory. Sure, it's a pretty big chunk of territory, and I really shouldn't have any problem working sustainably off of it, but still, in effect I'm saying that if you don't like the smell of it, stay away.
For now, that's the way it is, and I can defend it. So if you don't like it, you know what you can do.
But come back later, I may be in a better mood.
So, I got a mission goin' for me. That's cool. What else?
My mission is based on some pretty basic beliefs. Let's open the drawer and see what they are:
I believe that:
* Students should think
* Students should have choices
* Students should know what is expected of them and why
* Students should experience a safe and trusting classroom
* Students should do most of the work
* The teacher should model every aspect of these beliefs daily
Mission - check. Beliefs upon which mission is based - check. Let's keep going backward, from the lofty and broad toward the more immediate and focused.
Goals. What tangible goals do I have to achieve, using these basic beliefs, to accomplish my mission?
I can tell you they have to do with the daily practice of writing, speaking, reading, and listening in the classroom, always based on these beliefs, and moving toward accomplishing my mission.
More later.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Intentionality - Part I
Once, long ago, in a far-away school, I had a student that drove me nuts. As I griped at the copy machine, a fellow teacher leaned in and said with all seriousness, “You know, Eric, whatever happens in your classroom is completely up to you.”
Right…
I could think of a hundred scenarios in which that was clearly not the case. I didn’t pull the strings that made the mouths open that let the bad words fly. I didn’t push the lethargic heads down on the desks when there was work to be done. I didn’t create the poorly completed assignments, and neglect the homework from the night before.
But it stuck, what he said. I knew, in some fundamental way, that the pompous jerk was right.
I accept that my presence, attitude, and actions in the classroom have a profound impact on my students. I don’t always acknowledge or handle this awesome power too well, but I recognize it. I’ve started to watch for it, and have begun seeing it at work in my classroom.
I’ve been thinking a lot about ‘intentionality’. It was a big mistake to look it up. Seems that a lot of other people have been thinking about intentionality, too – thinking very hard about it, and making it way too complicated for the likes of me. So as far as 'intentionality' goes, I just want to dwell for a while on my own little realization that every word I say, every gesture I make, every action, response and oversight in my classroom sends a message to each of my students - one that may be interpreted in many ways, but is received and processed by them, however subliminally. As such, I need to look and listen carefully.
My first and most disappointing realization after reflecting on this was that I am not Superman. I am not Super-Teacher. I am flawed; prejudiced, opinionated, and weak. It took awhile, about ten years of teaching, but I’ve accepted that. Really, I’m OK.
The second thing that occurred was to become a little more attuned to, and forgiving of, my students' imperfections. They noticed, too. I mean, I didn't become a pushover, but I started to listen to the complaints about soccer games, play rehearsals, and not enough time. I started to notice that my students read more, and wrote better, when they did it in class.
The last thing I discovered was that as a flawed, prejudiced, and opinionated person, I - the teacher - became a little more interesting. I found that when I shared a bit of myself, admitted a shortcoming or two, revealed an opinion in an open and fair exchange of ideas, my students perked up a bit.
Part II on Thursday (good to set deadlines, even if I break them.)
Right…
I could think of a hundred scenarios in which that was clearly not the case. I didn’t pull the strings that made the mouths open that let the bad words fly. I didn’t push the lethargic heads down on the desks when there was work to be done. I didn’t create the poorly completed assignments, and neglect the homework from the night before.
But it stuck, what he said. I knew, in some fundamental way, that the pompous jerk was right.
I accept that my presence, attitude, and actions in the classroom have a profound impact on my students. I don’t always acknowledge or handle this awesome power too well, but I recognize it. I’ve started to watch for it, and have begun seeing it at work in my classroom.
I’ve been thinking a lot about ‘intentionality’. It was a big mistake to look it up. Seems that a lot of other people have been thinking about intentionality, too – thinking very hard about it, and making it way too complicated for the likes of me. So as far as 'intentionality' goes, I just want to dwell for a while on my own little realization that every word I say, every gesture I make, every action, response and oversight in my classroom sends a message to each of my students - one that may be interpreted in many ways, but is received and processed by them, however subliminally. As such, I need to look and listen carefully.
My first and most disappointing realization after reflecting on this was that I am not Superman. I am not Super-Teacher. I am flawed; prejudiced, opinionated, and weak. It took awhile, about ten years of teaching, but I’ve accepted that. Really, I’m OK.
The second thing that occurred was to become a little more attuned to, and forgiving of, my students' imperfections. They noticed, too. I mean, I didn't become a pushover, but I started to listen to the complaints about soccer games, play rehearsals, and not enough time. I started to notice that my students read more, and wrote better, when they did it in class.
The last thing I discovered was that as a flawed, prejudiced, and opinionated person, I - the teacher - became a little more interesting. I found that when I shared a bit of myself, admitted a shortcoming or two, revealed an opinion in an open and fair exchange of ideas, my students perked up a bit.
Part II on Thursday (good to set deadlines, even if I break them.)
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
NaNoWriMo
NaNoWriMo
My English team-teacher got me on to NaNoWriMo. That’s “Na”tional “No”vel “Wri”ting “Mo”nth. Thirty days of writing to crank out 50,000 words by November 30th. No edits, no revisions, just crank out the crap and see at the end of November what kind of pile you have. It’s possible, if you average a mere 1660 words per day.
I signed on. It’s November 3. I’m at 800 words. But I’m learning. So far I’ve learned that writing a novel-length story is not as easy as writing a drunken manifesto. You have to think. That’s not fair.
So I walked to school today. It took me an hour, and that gave me time to I solve a few problems with my story. Which, in turn, created problems. But at least I could keep writing.
My English team-teacher opened up the challenge to her students. Kids are encouraged to go for 7 to 15,000 words by the end of the month. She’s tracking each participants progress, including mine.
So what? I don’t have time for this. I won’t possibly reach 50,000 words by the end of the month.
A couple things. The challenge and the freedom to just write without editing, writing for quantity over quality, frees things up. The time frame is doable, with some commitment, of which this rates as pretty low on the priority list. But at least it’s on the list! Getting the kids involved was a great idea, and having me and other adults in the school involved gives the act of writing just a little more cred. Not that I’m oozing with ‘cool’ or anything, but the kids see adults involved, and they think, well, writing for fun and the challenge like this is something that even some adults do. Writing isn’t so weird.
That’s all for now. Back to the story. I need help though. What would a Tibetan monk be doing with a satchel full of cash? Stay tuned, or, just put in an order for my NaNoWriMo book!
My English team-teacher got me on to NaNoWriMo. That’s “Na”tional “No”vel “Wri”ting “Mo”nth. Thirty days of writing to crank out 50,000 words by November 30th. No edits, no revisions, just crank out the crap and see at the end of November what kind of pile you have. It’s possible, if you average a mere 1660 words per day.
I signed on. It’s November 3. I’m at 800 words. But I’m learning. So far I’ve learned that writing a novel-length story is not as easy as writing a drunken manifesto. You have to think. That’s not fair.
So I walked to school today. It took me an hour, and that gave me time to I solve a few problems with my story. Which, in turn, created problems. But at least I could keep writing.
My English team-teacher opened up the challenge to her students. Kids are encouraged to go for 7 to 15,000 words by the end of the month. She’s tracking each participants progress, including mine.
So what? I don’t have time for this. I won’t possibly reach 50,000 words by the end of the month.
A couple things. The challenge and the freedom to just write without editing, writing for quantity over quality, frees things up. The time frame is doable, with some commitment, of which this rates as pretty low on the priority list. But at least it’s on the list! Getting the kids involved was a great idea, and having me and other adults in the school involved gives the act of writing just a little more cred. Not that I’m oozing with ‘cool’ or anything, but the kids see adults involved, and they think, well, writing for fun and the challenge like this is something that even some adults do. Writing isn’t so weird.
That’s all for now. Back to the story. I need help though. What would a Tibetan monk be doing with a satchel full of cash? Stay tuned, or, just put in an order for my NaNoWriMo book!
Monday, October 26, 2009
New Student
Every parent would like to know that their child, as a new student in a school, will be greeted enthusiastically by teachers and warmly by students. The hidden reality is that a new student comes with a trace of anxiety. One more student in an already large class can be perceived by a teacher as the tipping point between control and chaos - the difference between effective teaching or what amounts to mere seat work for students. The thought of additional reporting, and even the apparently simple yet important consideration of where to seat a new child, can tinge that hoped-for welcome a new student so critically needs. After several weeks of hard work together, a class and a teacher create a working relationship that can be quickly altered by the emotional, academic, and social needs of an incoming student.
At a recent intake meeting, I learned of a prospective new student with significant challenges. I thought about how another teacher, perhaps even me a few years ago, might have smiled outwardly yet quietly internalized this information. How am I going to do this? Is this fair to my class? Is this really the right placement for the child, considering all the accommodations required?
I felt none of that. I thought about how fortunate this incoming child was to have a parent advocating for him. I thought about what a great experience this child’s presence would be for my students. Finally, I thought that I really don’t need to change a thing in terms of my instructional approach.
I wonder how it came to this. I can say now that writing with my students in my classroom has made that much difference in my approach to teaching. With that, we may not have precisely or entirely covered the curriculum prescribed, but we have learned and I have taught all that needs to be in order to accommodate this particular student, or any student. Together, we’ve learned to flex, to allow ourselves to be shaped and to embrace whatever person or idea comes through the classroom door. We've practiced patience with the process of writing; with the process of finding our thoughts and clarifying them with written words. We’ve established trust; that from wherever one approaches their writing is legitimate, fragile, and needs to be made to feel safe in order to share with others freely.
Where else will a new student like this be more suitably placed, but in a writing classroom?
At a recent intake meeting, I learned of a prospective new student with significant challenges. I thought about how another teacher, perhaps even me a few years ago, might have smiled outwardly yet quietly internalized this information. How am I going to do this? Is this fair to my class? Is this really the right placement for the child, considering all the accommodations required?
I felt none of that. I thought about how fortunate this incoming child was to have a parent advocating for him. I thought about what a great experience this child’s presence would be for my students. Finally, I thought that I really don’t need to change a thing in terms of my instructional approach.
I wonder how it came to this. I can say now that writing with my students in my classroom has made that much difference in my approach to teaching. With that, we may not have precisely or entirely covered the curriculum prescribed, but we have learned and I have taught all that needs to be in order to accommodate this particular student, or any student. Together, we’ve learned to flex, to allow ourselves to be shaped and to embrace whatever person or idea comes through the classroom door. We've practiced patience with the process of writing; with the process of finding our thoughts and clarifying them with written words. We’ve established trust; that from wherever one approaches their writing is legitimate, fragile, and needs to be made to feel safe in order to share with others freely.
Where else will a new student like this be more suitably placed, but in a writing classroom?
Thursday, October 22, 2009
An Almost Perfect Day
I had the most incredible day today. One student stopped me in the middle of the class and said, "What I like about this class is that everything is so hands-on." I was shocked. I had to tell him, "You know, the only thing you've had your hands on in this class is a pen and a piece of paper." Then it was his turn to be shocked. It was true.
We're working on getting our heads around creation stories, specifically, comparing the Iroquois Creation Narrative with the Judeo/Christian story of Genesis 2 in the New International Version (NIV) Bible. They've heard both stories, once just a listen, and the second time to pull out and write down objects/events and any symbolism they may percieve in them. We'll be looking for similarities and differences. But, there's so much more, and these seventh graders are so ready for big questions.
I put this writing prompt on the board. "Perfection is the enemy of creativity." - Edward Koch. Then asked them to write what they thought this might mean.
Unbelieveable. The level and intensity of conversation blew me away. I copied statements on the board, and prefaced our conversation by telling students that as we talk, see if you can place some of the things we mention into the meanings of the creations stories we've read. and took suggestions for a diagram that started to develop alongside the statements.
"If something is perfect, it doesn't need anything added to it, so there's no need to create anything for it."
"Perfection is impossible."
"If perfection is impossible, why try?"
"We can't be perfect, but we can try. We should. We struggle."
What about a perfect bowling game?"
"That's just a maximum, not perfection."
"Technology and knowledge cancel out religion. We get so full of knowledge, we think we don't need it."
"People make mistakes, so how can we be perfect?"
"Who defines mistakes?"
"What if we're still perfect, even with mistakes. Who are we to say?"
"There's good and bad. Everyone knows this. It just is."
"If perfection is the enemy of creativity, then imperfection is the ally of creativity."
"Well, we got that going for us."
Beauty, Plato, imperfection, the perfect ideal of something. It was really a thrill to have such a level of participation in class.
From there, we tied it into the creation stories. It seems that both of them begin with a perfect world. Then humans make a bad decision and end up in an imperfect world - this world we live in. They struggle between good and evil.
All of this emerged out of four minutes of writing and thinking.
Then we wrote again.
I'm looking forward to tomorrow.
We're working on getting our heads around creation stories, specifically, comparing the Iroquois Creation Narrative with the Judeo/Christian story of Genesis 2 in the New International Version (NIV) Bible. They've heard both stories, once just a listen, and the second time to pull out and write down objects/events and any symbolism they may percieve in them. We'll be looking for similarities and differences. But, there's so much more, and these seventh graders are so ready for big questions.
I put this writing prompt on the board. "Perfection is the enemy of creativity." - Edward Koch. Then asked them to write what they thought this might mean.
Unbelieveable. The level and intensity of conversation blew me away. I copied statements on the board, and prefaced our conversation by telling students that as we talk, see if you can place some of the things we mention into the meanings of the creations stories we've read. and took suggestions for a diagram that started to develop alongside the statements.
"If something is perfect, it doesn't need anything added to it, so there's no need to create anything for it."
"Perfection is impossible."
"If perfection is impossible, why try?"
"We can't be perfect, but we can try. We should. We struggle."
What about a perfect bowling game?"
"That's just a maximum, not perfection."
"Technology and knowledge cancel out religion. We get so full of knowledge, we think we don't need it."
"People make mistakes, so how can we be perfect?"
"Who defines mistakes?"
"What if we're still perfect, even with mistakes. Who are we to say?"
"There's good and bad. Everyone knows this. It just is."
"If perfection is the enemy of creativity, then imperfection is the ally of creativity."
"Well, we got that going for us."
Beauty, Plato, imperfection, the perfect ideal of something. It was really a thrill to have such a level of participation in class.
From there, we tied it into the creation stories. It seems that both of them begin with a perfect world. Then humans make a bad decision and end up in an imperfect world - this world we live in. They struggle between good and evil.
All of this emerged out of four minutes of writing and thinking.
Then we wrote again.
I'm looking forward to tomorrow.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Of Pups, Faith, and DNA
Seventh graders. They’re like pups, bounding into the room, nipping and bouncing and if they only had tails, they’d be wagging them. Yet, they can transform that energy into incredible insights, clear thinking, and respectful dialogue. They may be like pups, but they want to know. They have big questions. If only that energy can be channeled.
Relate to their lives. The writing prompt yesterday was “Explain how an ipod works.” They all wanted more guidance, but I didn’t give in. Some made up stories about little people inside that played tiny instruments and ran around frantically finding selections for you. Others made a valiant effort to connect memory chips with LCD displays and explain what they could about binary coding. It was entertaining to hear some of the ‘theories’, and indeed, it was quite clear that no one in the room could really explain exactly how that amazing little device works. Extending this further, we could all agree that there is a lot in our world that we believe will work for us, even though we don’t know how many things actually operate.
Then someone popped the F-word, Faith. Can we actually believe in something, have faith in it, and still not understand it? It was good stuff. During the last 10 minutes of class, we wrote again, and I explained the homework. Before you go home today, talk to someone in this class, at lunch, study hall, or wherever, and write madly to fill up a solid page about our class conversation today. Use your second write in class as a starting point.
This morning the pups shared their thinking (that came from the one page think/write homework assignment) with others at their table. They decided whether they wanted to share with the class, and I took notes on the board. What a fascinating and uplifting discussion we had. I tried to capture the essence of what some were saying, with my notion of where I wanted the conversation to go as well. All over the board, we seemed to find belief and knowledge. Yet there was a gap between them. What was that gap? The F-word again. Faith. The Leap of Faith! Oh! They seemed to understand! It’s not like you’re committing suicide by having faith. You're filling in the gaps. It’s not a cliff you’re jumping off of, it’s like a gorge (only in Ithaca) we leap to get to the other side!
Finally, I showed them the clip of a video, in which a geneticist meets with Navajo elders to share their perspectives of human origins. In it, one of the Navaho elders eloquently defends his ancestral beliefs even in the face of scientific proof to the contrary.
We’re going to take a look at Native American creation stories. At this place where scientific evidence of a DNA trail leading all humans back to Africa intersects and Native Americans’ strongly held beliefs of their origins, my pups are ready.
Relate to their lives. The writing prompt yesterday was “Explain how an ipod works.” They all wanted more guidance, but I didn’t give in. Some made up stories about little people inside that played tiny instruments and ran around frantically finding selections for you. Others made a valiant effort to connect memory chips with LCD displays and explain what they could about binary coding. It was entertaining to hear some of the ‘theories’, and indeed, it was quite clear that no one in the room could really explain exactly how that amazing little device works. Extending this further, we could all agree that there is a lot in our world that we believe will work for us, even though we don’t know how many things actually operate.
Then someone popped the F-word, Faith. Can we actually believe in something, have faith in it, and still not understand it? It was good stuff. During the last 10 minutes of class, we wrote again, and I explained the homework. Before you go home today, talk to someone in this class, at lunch, study hall, or wherever, and write madly to fill up a solid page about our class conversation today. Use your second write in class as a starting point.
This morning the pups shared their thinking (that came from the one page think/write homework assignment) with others at their table. They decided whether they wanted to share with the class, and I took notes on the board. What a fascinating and uplifting discussion we had. I tried to capture the essence of what some were saying, with my notion of where I wanted the conversation to go as well. All over the board, we seemed to find belief and knowledge. Yet there was a gap between them. What was that gap? The F-word again. Faith. The Leap of Faith! Oh! They seemed to understand! It’s not like you’re committing suicide by having faith. You're filling in the gaps. It’s not a cliff you’re jumping off of, it’s like a gorge (only in Ithaca) we leap to get to the other side!
Finally, I showed them the clip of a video, in which a geneticist meets with Navajo elders to share their perspectives of human origins. In it, one of the Navaho elders eloquently defends his ancestral beliefs even in the face of scientific proof to the contrary.
We’re going to take a look at Native American creation stories. At this place where scientific evidence of a DNA trail leading all humans back to Africa intersects and Native Americans’ strongly held beliefs of their origins, my pups are ready.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Revolution... One Step At a Time
I handed my students a content map. It has essential questions I hope to challenge students with. It has major understandings that I intend my students to absorb and internalize. It has skills I expect my students to improve and build upon. It even has a vocabulary list of content related words.
I was quite proud of this content map as I passed it out, having worked on it over the summer. I’d been looking forward to sharing it with my students as we set out on this unit of study together. As I read it with them, I told them, “Pay attention. This little piece of paper contains the questions and answers to 70% of any test I may give on this unit.”
Granted, content maps aren’t just for students. They provide continuity among grade levels. They set a foundation of instruction and objectives which can then be supported. They allow for some degree of equity in terms of what all students are learning. They are helpful to support staff, ESL, paraprofessionals, and parents. The kicker is that they are required.
Such a wonderful document for everyone else, why not share it with my students? A bit novel perhaps, but you know, it’s just the kind of teacher I am. No secrets. Laying it out there. Just giving it away! They’ll eat it up and love me for it.
So, why do my students not remember that valuable piece of paper from two days ago? Why do I see it crumpled at the bottom of a backpack, in the recycle bin, and left on a desktop after class?
Easy enough to say I should have given my students the opportunity to help create the essential skills and understandings for the unit. And easy to suggest that I provide some choices to students regarding what they are going to learn. However, right now I don’t have the fortitude to enact a paradigm shift of student-centered curriculum design. The inertia of the current system, the steady stream of daily tasks, and the reality of tomorrow’s lesson plans make the chances of this one man’s heroic stand pretty much nil.
I thought I was doing my little part for the revolution by passing out the content map to my students and sharing it with them. But my students did not catch the spirit. That’s the catch.
Tomorrow, I'll pull out the content map again, and try to involve my students with it in something more than a cursory way. Is there a found poem in it? Maybe a comic strip. I’m wondering if a couple of students can make a quick game of it.
The short of it is, I need to resolve that every document I give to students is, or becomes, meaningful to them. That, or don’t give it to them. I like that idea.
I’m taking suggestions on how to make documents meaningful. Not just the ones students like. The one's they need.
I was quite proud of this content map as I passed it out, having worked on it over the summer. I’d been looking forward to sharing it with my students as we set out on this unit of study together. As I read it with them, I told them, “Pay attention. This little piece of paper contains the questions and answers to 70% of any test I may give on this unit.”
Granted, content maps aren’t just for students. They provide continuity among grade levels. They set a foundation of instruction and objectives which can then be supported. They allow for some degree of equity in terms of what all students are learning. They are helpful to support staff, ESL, paraprofessionals, and parents. The kicker is that they are required.
Such a wonderful document for everyone else, why not share it with my students? A bit novel perhaps, but you know, it’s just the kind of teacher I am. No secrets. Laying it out there. Just giving it away! They’ll eat it up and love me for it.
So, why do my students not remember that valuable piece of paper from two days ago? Why do I see it crumpled at the bottom of a backpack, in the recycle bin, and left on a desktop after class?
Easy enough to say I should have given my students the opportunity to help create the essential skills and understandings for the unit. And easy to suggest that I provide some choices to students regarding what they are going to learn. However, right now I don’t have the fortitude to enact a paradigm shift of student-centered curriculum design. The inertia of the current system, the steady stream of daily tasks, and the reality of tomorrow’s lesson plans make the chances of this one man’s heroic stand pretty much nil.
I thought I was doing my little part for the revolution by passing out the content map to my students and sharing it with them. But my students did not catch the spirit. That’s the catch.
Tomorrow, I'll pull out the content map again, and try to involve my students with it in something more than a cursory way. Is there a found poem in it? Maybe a comic strip. I’m wondering if a couple of students can make a quick game of it.
The short of it is, I need to resolve that every document I give to students is, or becomes, meaningful to them. That, or don’t give it to them. I like that idea.
I’m taking suggestions on how to make documents meaningful. Not just the ones students like. The one's they need.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Playground Essay...Work in Progress
My previously shared weekend update was about playgrounds. While discussing this with my students, I realized I had a lot more I wanted to say on the topic. I told them I would go home, write more, and bring it back.
Here’s what I shared on the LCD projector the next day:
http://docs.google.com/Doc?docid=0AW0d22CwYgP0ZGhwa3hzYzhfMTkzY2tycXZkZDg&hl=en
As I read through this with my class, I shared some of the thoughts I’d had while writing it. What surprised me most was the revelation that I had discovered a Burning Question. I’d actually written right past it, and then in re-reading, found the question written on the page. I edited a bit to point this out to my students.
Here’s that section of the writing…
“The real question to me isn’t, “What happened to the good old days?” aka “What happened to splinters?”, but “Why were playgrounds so UNsafe before?”
Hey, wait a minute. My writing just turned into an intro to a BURNING QUESTION!
(Honest, I didn’t plan that.)”
The point of all this was to share myself as a writer with my students. In the process I shared myself as a learner, a thinker, and a researcher.
I wanted to find some pictures of the lethal animal swings, and started a google image search. Nothing satisfactory came up, but somewhere along the line, I came across a short video of ‘traditional playgrounds’ in New York City. An amateur videographer had put this together from archival photos and footage of Coney Island. I emailed her, and shared my burning question. Her video focused on a man named Robert Moses, a politico-engineer-planner of NYC in the 50’s I think.
Here’s her response…
ethel malley just sent you a message on Vimeo:
Hi Eric!
"sorry i can't help you re: documentation, but for thoughts on safety, i'd guess there actually weren't thoughts on safety to begin with in NYC. Robert Moses was something of an off-shoot of city reformers influenced by Jacob Riis and his documentation of the frankly horrifying tenement conditions. i'd argue that just the very thought of creating a public space not only where people of lower incomes could congregate but their children could actually be children and play (relatively) safely was fairly unique. i'd think at the time of Robert Moses, just creating the space was the goal and that it would be incredibly safer than having children play in the streets and among the trash.
your project/paper sounds fascinating: i wish you the best of luck with it!"
If you want to reply:
http://vimeo.com/messages/#inbox/ethelmalley
ethel malley's profile on Vimeo:
http://vimeo.com/ethelmalley
Ms. Maley helped me a lot. One reason she suggests that playgrounds were so unsafe in the early early years of public spaces is that people were just glad to get kids off the streets and out of the trash, and to have opportunities for clean and relatively safer play.
I poked around more and found lots of information about the developmental considerations of childrens’ play structures. I’m thinking of making a timeline to help sort it all out. And I’m still not sure whether my original question has been answered. More later, when I share with my students what I’ve got so far.
Here’s what I shared on the LCD projector the next day:
http://docs.google.com/Doc?docid=0AW0d22CwYgP0ZGhwa3hzYzhfMTkzY2tycXZkZDg&hl=en
As I read through this with my class, I shared some of the thoughts I’d had while writing it. What surprised me most was the revelation that I had discovered a Burning Question. I’d actually written right past it, and then in re-reading, found the question written on the page. I edited a bit to point this out to my students.
Here’s that section of the writing…
“The real question to me isn’t, “What happened to the good old days?” aka “What happened to splinters?”, but “Why were playgrounds so UNsafe before?”
Hey, wait a minute. My writing just turned into an intro to a BURNING QUESTION!
(Honest, I didn’t plan that.)”
The point of all this was to share myself as a writer with my students. In the process I shared myself as a learner, a thinker, and a researcher.
I wanted to find some pictures of the lethal animal swings, and started a google image search. Nothing satisfactory came up, but somewhere along the line, I came across a short video of ‘traditional playgrounds’ in New York City. An amateur videographer had put this together from archival photos and footage of Coney Island. I emailed her, and shared my burning question. Her video focused on a man named Robert Moses, a politico-engineer-planner of NYC in the 50’s I think.
Here’s her response…
ethel malley just sent you a message on Vimeo:
Hi Eric!
"sorry i can't help you re: documentation, but for thoughts on safety, i'd guess there actually weren't thoughts on safety to begin with in NYC. Robert Moses was something of an off-shoot of city reformers influenced by Jacob Riis and his documentation of the frankly horrifying tenement conditions. i'd argue that just the very thought of creating a public space not only where people of lower incomes could congregate but their children could actually be children and play (relatively) safely was fairly unique. i'd think at the time of Robert Moses, just creating the space was the goal and that it would be incredibly safer than having children play in the streets and among the trash.
your project/paper sounds fascinating: i wish you the best of luck with it!"
If you want to reply:
http://vimeo.com/messages/#inbox/ethelmalley
ethel malley's profile on Vimeo:
http://vimeo.com/ethelmalley
Ms. Maley helped me a lot. One reason she suggests that playgrounds were so unsafe in the early early years of public spaces is that people were just glad to get kids off the streets and out of the trash, and to have opportunities for clean and relatively safer play.
I poked around more and found lots of information about the developmental considerations of childrens’ play structures. I’m thinking of making a timeline to help sort it all out. And I’m still not sure whether my original question has been answered. More later, when I share with my students what I’ve got so far.
Friday, October 2, 2009
Chalk-Talk ~ Going Low Tech
I reserved the computer lab today to guide my students through the process of enrolling in my online Blackboard course, and to give them a little time to try out a U.S. geography game. I distributed new user IDs and passwords to every student. I created a step-by-step hardcopy guide for students to follow. I made a tear-off section so families could post the course log-on directions on their fridges, with a return section to verify that they had successfully logged on at home.
Even though my classes were scheduled for the lab, it was crowded, so I took a mobile lab into my classroom and distributed laptops. Some kids couldn’t log on. Some logged on to a ‘phantom’ website that was like my site, but incomplete. We figured out that everyone had to start from the district webpage link, rather than the school library webpage link. We also found that if they clicked on my class link before they clicked the ‘enroll’ button, bad things happened. Finally, some computers just didn’t boot up.
Enough! I had the kids put the laptops away, and rolled the mobile lab into a corner, where it can stay for all I care. I went to the chalkboard. (yes, a chalkboard, one of the few still left) and drew an outline of North America. With a piece of chalk, I took my students on a visual tour of the major geographic features of the North American continent. We ‘flew’ from west to east, over the Sierra Nevada’s, up to the Cascades, the over the Great Salt Desert, the Grand Canyon and the Rockies. We buzzed the grasses of the Great Plains, ran up the Mississippi, over the Ohio Valley, and around the five Great Lakes. We came over the Appalachian Mountains to the Tidewater region and the eastern seaboard. All the while, I sketched and swirled and ball-parked these features on the chalkboard. It was a whirlwind tour, but it kept their attention when all the expensive electronic technology had failed.
Something to be said for good old chalk - it’s there when you need it. The map on the board was a mess. It was ball-park estimation, sketches and outlines of general areas. I’m wondering whether many of them will be able to ‘retell’ the chalk-talk story of their cross-country flight, with more geographic information, than if they’d gotten online and followed an interactive map game.
Even though my classes were scheduled for the lab, it was crowded, so I took a mobile lab into my classroom and distributed laptops. Some kids couldn’t log on. Some logged on to a ‘phantom’ website that was like my site, but incomplete. We figured out that everyone had to start from the district webpage link, rather than the school library webpage link. We also found that if they clicked on my class link before they clicked the ‘enroll’ button, bad things happened. Finally, some computers just didn’t boot up.
Enough! I had the kids put the laptops away, and rolled the mobile lab into a corner, where it can stay for all I care. I went to the chalkboard. (yes, a chalkboard, one of the few still left) and drew an outline of North America. With a piece of chalk, I took my students on a visual tour of the major geographic features of the North American continent. We ‘flew’ from west to east, over the Sierra Nevada’s, up to the Cascades, the over the Great Salt Desert, the Grand Canyon and the Rockies. We buzzed the grasses of the Great Plains, ran up the Mississippi, over the Ohio Valley, and around the five Great Lakes. We came over the Appalachian Mountains to the Tidewater region and the eastern seaboard. All the while, I sketched and swirled and ball-parked these features on the chalkboard. It was a whirlwind tour, but it kept their attention when all the expensive electronic technology had failed.
Something to be said for good old chalk - it’s there when you need it. The map on the board was a mess. It was ball-park estimation, sketches and outlines of general areas. I’m wondering whether many of them will be able to ‘retell’ the chalk-talk story of their cross-country flight, with more geographic information, than if they’d gotten online and followed an interactive map game.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
I Am Not A Control Freak
Today, my students sit at their desks, read 12 pages of a textbook and take notes. It is very quiet.
This appears to be strange and unusual. People walk by the open door and peek in, eyebrows raised. They think I’m angry at my class - everyone sitting with their noses in a book. They stifle a chuckle at the notion that this is punishment for some misbehavior. Or, maybe they think I just didn’t have a plan for today and regressed to the textbook.
Some teachers assign reading (and writing) for homework, and believe that class time should be used for other things. They do many, many wonderful things with their students during class time. There is an overwhelming amount to get done. It can be justified, then, to defer reading and writing to homework. It is, after all, what a student should be able to do independently.
I do a lot in my classroom as well. I also have students read and write in class. When I do, kids sit in their seats and read or write for a sustained period of time, quietly.
Excuse me while I ask my students what they think of the book they are reading for 20 minutes straight…..
I’m back. Here are the comments.
“It’s interesting.” “I like it.” “It puts you into the story.” “It’s fun.”
OK, not the most eloquent descriptions, but you get the point.
Here’s how my ‘No I’m Not a Control Freak’ class session is set up:
The textbook is A History of US – The First Americans, volume one of a 16 book series written by Joy Hakim about the history of the United States. I’ve modeled reading the first chapter aloud, and have had a discussion with students about why reading aloud and following along is vitally important to their personal growth as readers. In a nutshell – Listening and following along with a good reader helps them to:
1. hear good pace, cadence and inflection
2. hear and see words being pronounced correctly
3. hear and see mistakes that can be glossed over without losing meaning/understanding
4. simply receive input from more than one modality
I read the first chapter out loud, and I thought out loud as well. I stopped when I wondered about something, and I shared that with my students. I wrote down a few phrases that captured my attention. I messed up on a couple of words, and quickly told the class, 'Eh, it doesn't matter. I used another word just like it."
Now it's their turn, reading silently.
There isn’t a corresponding worksheet to go with this reading. They aren’t writing ‘words I don’t know’ for a vocab list. The notes I modeled for them to take consist of listening to their own silent reading, and copying a few sentences from each chapter (2-3 pages) that catch them; make them stop and think, ‘hmmm’; cause them to pause and imagine for a second before moving on. They are leaving space under each set of ‘hmmm’ sentences, and tomorrow we will circulate the ‘captured sentences’ and allow other students to respond to these ‘findings’. Something of a simplified ‘Gallery Walk’ of text statements, that will hopefully generate personalized responses and thoughtful input from others.
What’s the point? Will we make anything of this? I’m not there yet, but if I don’t do anything else (hey, I could test them!), the process I’ve involved my students in is a skill they can repeat anywhere, any time for their own benefit. The content is no longer isolated in some barren text. It is food for thought, individually selected and shared with others. It allows students to have their individual takes on content-related reading be shared, read, and listened to. It will enable students to ‘think big’ in terms of the course content, and to know that simply wondering and being alert to their own thoughts is worthy of sharing. I’m sure I can turn this into a major writing assignment, and if I do, students will be more willing to buy in to it because they generated the thoughtful fodder to make it interesting for themselves. But I don’t have to make something more of this. Some reading and writing should be left just to the pleasure of seeking, discovering, and sharing.
This appears to be strange and unusual. People walk by the open door and peek in, eyebrows raised. They think I’m angry at my class - everyone sitting with their noses in a book. They stifle a chuckle at the notion that this is punishment for some misbehavior. Or, maybe they think I just didn’t have a plan for today and regressed to the textbook.
Some teachers assign reading (and writing) for homework, and believe that class time should be used for other things. They do many, many wonderful things with their students during class time. There is an overwhelming amount to get done. It can be justified, then, to defer reading and writing to homework. It is, after all, what a student should be able to do independently.
I do a lot in my classroom as well. I also have students read and write in class. When I do, kids sit in their seats and read or write for a sustained period of time, quietly.
Excuse me while I ask my students what they think of the book they are reading for 20 minutes straight…..
I’m back. Here are the comments.
“It’s interesting.” “I like it.” “It puts you into the story.” “It’s fun.”
OK, not the most eloquent descriptions, but you get the point.
Here’s how my ‘No I’m Not a Control Freak’ class session is set up:
The textbook is A History of US – The First Americans, volume one of a 16 book series written by Joy Hakim about the history of the United States. I’ve modeled reading the first chapter aloud, and have had a discussion with students about why reading aloud and following along is vitally important to their personal growth as readers. In a nutshell – Listening and following along with a good reader helps them to:
1. hear good pace, cadence and inflection
2. hear and see words being pronounced correctly
3. hear and see mistakes that can be glossed over without losing meaning/understanding
4. simply receive input from more than one modality
I read the first chapter out loud, and I thought out loud as well. I stopped when I wondered about something, and I shared that with my students. I wrote down a few phrases that captured my attention. I messed up on a couple of words, and quickly told the class, 'Eh, it doesn't matter. I used another word just like it."
Now it's their turn, reading silently.
There isn’t a corresponding worksheet to go with this reading. They aren’t writing ‘words I don’t know’ for a vocab list. The notes I modeled for them to take consist of listening to their own silent reading, and copying a few sentences from each chapter (2-3 pages) that catch them; make them stop and think, ‘hmmm’; cause them to pause and imagine for a second before moving on. They are leaving space under each set of ‘hmmm’ sentences, and tomorrow we will circulate the ‘captured sentences’ and allow other students to respond to these ‘findings’. Something of a simplified ‘Gallery Walk’ of text statements, that will hopefully generate personalized responses and thoughtful input from others.
What’s the point? Will we make anything of this? I’m not there yet, but if I don’t do anything else (hey, I could test them!), the process I’ve involved my students in is a skill they can repeat anywhere, any time for their own benefit. The content is no longer isolated in some barren text. It is food for thought, individually selected and shared with others. It allows students to have their individual takes on content-related reading be shared, read, and listened to. It will enable students to ‘think big’ in terms of the course content, and to know that simply wondering and being alert to their own thoughts is worthy of sharing. I’m sure I can turn this into a major writing assignment, and if I do, students will be more willing to buy in to it because they generated the thoughtful fodder to make it interesting for themselves. But I don’t have to make something more of this. Some reading and writing should be left just to the pleasure of seeking, discovering, and sharing.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Generative Writing… Isn’t that like “Inventive Spelling?”…
Generative writing. It has the same ring to it as ‘inventive spelling’, which has its own merits, but woe is the student who never gets past it. You may have heard it before - “His teachers were really into inventive spelling at his elementary school, and now he just spells words however he likes.”
I have to admit, some of the prompts I use to get my students to write are pretty ‘inventive’. “What’s bugging you?” “What’s on your bucket list?” “What Words of Wisdom do you carry with you?” “What’s a burning question you’ve had?”
I’m a social studies teacher - American history. These trite and fluffy questions are not on the New York State Grade 8 Social Studies Assessment. Sooner or later, my students are going to have to learn the facts.
For our students, writing started out as a wondrous way of allowing them to share what they were thinking. What first grade child didn’t bounce back to his seat with his very own words written for him under a stick picture? The child thought and shared, the teacher listened, and the words came out on paper to be kept there, saved, enshrined for the child, the parent, the classmate, the world - to look at and listen to any time later.
By the time they get to middle school, most of what our students are expected to do in terms of writing is what other people want from them – ‘Write an essay on the comparison of characters in book ‘X’’. ‘Write a paragraph explaining how historical event ‘Y’ caused effect ‘Z’’.
Teachers, whose performance is judged in no small part by student scores on standardized tests, learn to ask the same kinds of standardized questions, assign the same kinds of standardized work, and begin to expect the same kind of standardized writing. They light up when a sprinkling of style emerges in a student’s work, but are mandated and conditioned to penalize students for clear streams of original thought in responses that stray from prescribed assessment rubrics.
It’s no wonder students shut down when it’s time to write. Our educational system has fooled itself into believing that writing truly is simply a mechanism for the conveyance of information, which when operated correctly, provides an adequate measure of skills and knowledge generated by others.
Our students aren’t being asked to think. No one is listening to what they have to say.
To recover that enthusiasm for writing students had early on, some ‘unlearning’ needs to occur. Those seemingly fluffy and trite questions are just one small and early step in that unlearning process. It's true, students will not learn the order of the Presidents by responding to “What Words of Wisdom do you carry with you?”, but they will, in time, learn that they can dig something out of their past to have it shared and valued. “What’s on your Bucket List?” won’t help them learn how to construct a five paragraph essay, but it will help them to dream again, and realize that they can share their thoughts for the moment without fear of being edited, boxed, redirected or forced to revise. “What’s a Burning Question you’ve had?” won’t teach them how to take notes for a research paper, but it will allow them to ask their own questions, to be original, and to realize, perhaps, that they have many of the answers themselves.
Most of all, these kinds of, yes, 'generative' questions, allow students the experience of being listened to once again. Whatever they come up with, they know they can share, that they can talk about it, that others can chime in and expand and offer clues, cues, knowledge and experience to the pool. They begin to unlearn the adult imposed expectations of mechanical writing, and begin to relearn the pleasure of writing as a means of thinking, sharing, and listening.
So what about that list of presidents, that essay they need to write, and that research paper they need to complete? That is writing, after all. There are rules.
Students will write to fulfill those tasks, willingly and well, when they know their thoughts are safe. They will edit, revise, and suffer over individual words, when they know they will be listened to. They will jump through hoops generated by adults, when they trust that those hoops are valuable not only for what they show of adult-generated skills and knowledge, but for what they also can learn and tell of themselves.
I have to admit, some of the prompts I use to get my students to write are pretty ‘inventive’. “What’s bugging you?” “What’s on your bucket list?” “What Words of Wisdom do you carry with you?” “What’s a burning question you’ve had?”
I’m a social studies teacher - American history. These trite and fluffy questions are not on the New York State Grade 8 Social Studies Assessment. Sooner or later, my students are going to have to learn the facts.
For our students, writing started out as a wondrous way of allowing them to share what they were thinking. What first grade child didn’t bounce back to his seat with his very own words written for him under a stick picture? The child thought and shared, the teacher listened, and the words came out on paper to be kept there, saved, enshrined for the child, the parent, the classmate, the world - to look at and listen to any time later.
By the time they get to middle school, most of what our students are expected to do in terms of writing is what other people want from them – ‘Write an essay on the comparison of characters in book ‘X’’. ‘Write a paragraph explaining how historical event ‘Y’ caused effect ‘Z’’.
Teachers, whose performance is judged in no small part by student scores on standardized tests, learn to ask the same kinds of standardized questions, assign the same kinds of standardized work, and begin to expect the same kind of standardized writing. They light up when a sprinkling of style emerges in a student’s work, but are mandated and conditioned to penalize students for clear streams of original thought in responses that stray from prescribed assessment rubrics.
It’s no wonder students shut down when it’s time to write. Our educational system has fooled itself into believing that writing truly is simply a mechanism for the conveyance of information, which when operated correctly, provides an adequate measure of skills and knowledge generated by others.
Our students aren’t being asked to think. No one is listening to what they have to say.
To recover that enthusiasm for writing students had early on, some ‘unlearning’ needs to occur. Those seemingly fluffy and trite questions are just one small and early step in that unlearning process. It's true, students will not learn the order of the Presidents by responding to “What Words of Wisdom do you carry with you?”, but they will, in time, learn that they can dig something out of their past to have it shared and valued. “What’s on your Bucket List?” won’t help them learn how to construct a five paragraph essay, but it will help them to dream again, and realize that they can share their thoughts for the moment without fear of being edited, boxed, redirected or forced to revise. “What’s a Burning Question you’ve had?” won’t teach them how to take notes for a research paper, but it will allow them to ask their own questions, to be original, and to realize, perhaps, that they have many of the answers themselves.
Most of all, these kinds of, yes, 'generative' questions, allow students the experience of being listened to once again. Whatever they come up with, they know they can share, that they can talk about it, that others can chime in and expand and offer clues, cues, knowledge and experience to the pool. They begin to unlearn the adult imposed expectations of mechanical writing, and begin to relearn the pleasure of writing as a means of thinking, sharing, and listening.
So what about that list of presidents, that essay they need to write, and that research paper they need to complete? That is writing, after all. There are rules.
Students will write to fulfill those tasks, willingly and well, when they know their thoughts are safe. They will edit, revise, and suffer over individual words, when they know they will be listened to. They will jump through hoops generated by adults, when they trust that those hoops are valuable not only for what they show of adult-generated skills and knowledge, but for what they also can learn and tell of themselves.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Forgive Me, For I Digress
It happened. Try as I did to avoid it, I digressed. Right there in front of my students. Shameful, I know. But I couldn’t help myself. Maybe I set myself up for it.
The heading for today’s half-sheet booklet page was “Booklet 1.7 – Weekend Update”. I know, it should have been about Obama’s healthcare speech, but I just wanted to know about their weekends. The only stipulation was that they had to write about ONE thing, and not make a list of “and then…, and then…, and then…”. Of course, as usual, it needed to be “unique, bizarre, interesting, unusual, reflective, or otherwise noteworthy – not including birthday parties, sleepovers, or the mall.” By the middle of they year, my students can recite this right along with me.
So I wrote about my weekend. We had a picnic at Stewart Park for our 7th grade students and their families. Decent turnout. Nice to see everyone. Beautiful day. But I found myself reminiscing about the days when I brought my own children to that park when they were young. I noticed that all the ‘old’ playground equipment was gone, replaced by plastic structures. And then I ran out of time. Some kids were still writing as I was penning and smiling on the overhead transparency. But I had to stop.
We did a go-around. Pass if you want, talk a bit if you want, read it all if you want. It’s a great way for students to share and learn about each other. It isn’t all school. These aren’t just classmates. Lives are being lived here. It’s revealing.
I shared last. This is what I wrote.
“This weekend I went to a picnic at Stewart Park. It reminded me of when my own kids were younger, and we went there a lot. There were different things to play on then. A tall metal slide, see-saws, and these metal swings shaped like animals. They’re all gone. Now there is a plastic play structure. I’m sure it would look incredibly fun if I was a kid. But what happened to the old stuff?”
Of course, I know, and they wanted to hear. I went on and told them about how I was probably scarred for life, deeply traumatized, by my older brother ditching me on the see-saw and laughing as I came crashing down. Or getting my tongue stuck on the metal slide when I licked the frost off one of the bars, and had to pull it off when the bell rang (Yes, just like in the movie “Christmas Story” – it happened to me.) And about the metal animal swings that moved back and forth like battering rams, ready to knock out any kid that crossed the path. There was even a rooster with a pointed metal rooster comb on the front of it. Lethal stuff.
I told the class, “You know, I could write a whole page about this. I could write an ESSAY about this. Maybe I will!”
Maybe I will. Maybe tonight, I’ll play with this, and share what I come up with in class tomorrow. My work in progress.
But wait, what about Obama’s healthcare plans? Writing about playgrounds isn’t part of the job, is it? I’m a teacher of social studies. There’s the curriculum to get through.
Eh, we’ll do the homework in class tomorrow. They’ll do better than if they’d done it at home, they’ll feel more successful at it, and I’ll know they got it right. And just as a small addition, they will see that I value writing, that writing can GENERATE ideas and CREATE thinking and isn’t just used to SHOW information; that writing is just plain fun.
The heading for today’s half-sheet booklet page was “Booklet 1.7 – Weekend Update”. I know, it should have been about Obama’s healthcare speech, but I just wanted to know about their weekends. The only stipulation was that they had to write about ONE thing, and not make a list of “and then…, and then…, and then…”. Of course, as usual, it needed to be “unique, bizarre, interesting, unusual, reflective, or otherwise noteworthy – not including birthday parties, sleepovers, or the mall.” By the middle of they year, my students can recite this right along with me.
So I wrote about my weekend. We had a picnic at Stewart Park for our 7th grade students and their families. Decent turnout. Nice to see everyone. Beautiful day. But I found myself reminiscing about the days when I brought my own children to that park when they were young. I noticed that all the ‘old’ playground equipment was gone, replaced by plastic structures. And then I ran out of time. Some kids were still writing as I was penning and smiling on the overhead transparency. But I had to stop.
We did a go-around. Pass if you want, talk a bit if you want, read it all if you want. It’s a great way for students to share and learn about each other. It isn’t all school. These aren’t just classmates. Lives are being lived here. It’s revealing.
I shared last. This is what I wrote.
“This weekend I went to a picnic at Stewart Park. It reminded me of when my own kids were younger, and we went there a lot. There were different things to play on then. A tall metal slide, see-saws, and these metal swings shaped like animals. They’re all gone. Now there is a plastic play structure. I’m sure it would look incredibly fun if I was a kid. But what happened to the old stuff?”
Of course, I know, and they wanted to hear. I went on and told them about how I was probably scarred for life, deeply traumatized, by my older brother ditching me on the see-saw and laughing as I came crashing down. Or getting my tongue stuck on the metal slide when I licked the frost off one of the bars, and had to pull it off when the bell rang (Yes, just like in the movie “Christmas Story” – it happened to me.) And about the metal animal swings that moved back and forth like battering rams, ready to knock out any kid that crossed the path. There was even a rooster with a pointed metal rooster comb on the front of it. Lethal stuff.
I told the class, “You know, I could write a whole page about this. I could write an ESSAY about this. Maybe I will!”
Maybe I will. Maybe tonight, I’ll play with this, and share what I come up with in class tomorrow. My work in progress.
But wait, what about Obama’s healthcare plans? Writing about playgrounds isn’t part of the job, is it? I’m a teacher of social studies. There’s the curriculum to get through.
Eh, we’ll do the homework in class tomorrow. They’ll do better than if they’d done it at home, they’ll feel more successful at it, and I’ll know they got it right. And just as a small addition, they will see that I value writing, that writing can GENERATE ideas and CREATE thinking and isn’t just used to SHOW information; that writing is just plain fun.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
I Love Butcher Paper
There’s a lot of construction going on at school, and the start of the year has been anything but normal. With six new modular classrooms outside, and one wing still under renovation, everyone’s routine for the beginning of the year has been challenged, to say the least. I am amused by some very good teachers who've found they can actually begin their classes with dust, of all things, still on the hallway floors. I personally was forced to realize that I can still teach without a whiteboard or chalkboard.
The secret? Butcher paper.
Oh yeah. I have a roll of that stuff that weights in at 40 pounds, and I’ve been using it for years. Cheap, white, easy to rip, easy to recycle butcher paper.
Since I’m moving out of my classroom mid-year to let the hard-hats come in with their hammers, I decided not to completely unpack everything, and to hold back on the annual first bulletin-board competition (no one really talks about it, but it’s true). Instead, I plastered my walls with butcher paper, and here’s what we did with it.
Day One – Words of Wisdom
The kids came in and were immediately initiated with the daily routine of picking up a half-sheet of paper, standing at their desks, putting their backpacks down, getting out a pencil, and labeling with a full heading and “Booklet 1.1 – Words of Wisdom”. One the overhead (secret weapon without chalk or whiteboards), I did the same thing. “Good morning!” “Good morning.” Said the class. “Please sit down, and let’s get started.” That’s my cue that the talking dies down, and we are on to class-related things.
I told them the story of joining the church junior choir when I was a kid. Every year I joined with guarded optimism, and every year I wanted to quit around January. My parents always said, “No, you can’t quit in the middle. If you don’t like it, don’t join next year. But you can’t quit now.” Those ‘words of wisdom’ have stuck with me, and help guide my life. I’m a person who has abided by those words, “Don’t quit in the middle,” more than once since I was a kid.
And another story, about taking risks, about thinking before jumping off the shed into the four foot deep pool, with my buddies chanting, “Do it, do it, do it”, while a little voice inside me said, “If you’re not sure, DON’T.” . Or writing an email or posting a comment on the internet and hearing that little voice right as my finger was about to press the ‘send’ button. It said, “When in doubt, DON’T.” Those words of wisdom have probably saved not only my life, but my relationship with more than one person.
I asked, “Do you have Words of Wisdom from your life?” They were dying to talk. But I didn't let them. “Write,” I said. “Write it down. Write it all down. Write how you got those words, who gave them to you, when you needed them, how you used them, how you love them, or hate them. Tell it all on your half-sheet of paper.”
Three minutes later, I was filling up a sheet of butcher paper with their ideas as they shared them. We have a long and fascinating list of great life lessons, wise words, and family history that will stay on the wall for a few weeks. We’ll make posters after we study advertising techniques, and post them around the school before parents’ night. Each poster will be unique, meaningful, personal, and positive, and hopefully help shape the culture of the school in some small but good way.
My “Booklet 1.1 – Words of Wisdom” half-page went up on another blank bulletin board, so everyone could see it. Tomorrow, Booklet 1.2 goes up, and on, until we have a collection of about 12 or 15 half-pages of freewrites, examples, class notes, reflections, vocab words, ad infinitum – one from each day in class. They’ll make covers and turn the ‘Booklet’ in for credit – one point per page, in order, done completely. When student is absent, s/he can check out the board to see what s/he missed. If a student doesn’t want to think on a particular day, or loses a page, s/he can simply copy my example. (“But, s/he didn’t do the work!”) I could write another entire column on my philosophy toward that. Maybe later.
More on the butcher paper tomorrow. Burning Questions, and My Bucket List. The walls are full of really delightful sparks, all from the students.
I love butcher paper.
The secret? Butcher paper.
Oh yeah. I have a roll of that stuff that weights in at 40 pounds, and I’ve been using it for years. Cheap, white, easy to rip, easy to recycle butcher paper.
Since I’m moving out of my classroom mid-year to let the hard-hats come in with their hammers, I decided not to completely unpack everything, and to hold back on the annual first bulletin-board competition (no one really talks about it, but it’s true). Instead, I plastered my walls with butcher paper, and here’s what we did with it.
Day One – Words of Wisdom
The kids came in and were immediately initiated with the daily routine of picking up a half-sheet of paper, standing at their desks, putting their backpacks down, getting out a pencil, and labeling with a full heading and “Booklet 1.1 – Words of Wisdom”. One the overhead (secret weapon without chalk or whiteboards), I did the same thing. “Good morning!” “Good morning.” Said the class. “Please sit down, and let’s get started.” That’s my cue that the talking dies down, and we are on to class-related things.
I told them the story of joining the church junior choir when I was a kid. Every year I joined with guarded optimism, and every year I wanted to quit around January. My parents always said, “No, you can’t quit in the middle. If you don’t like it, don’t join next year. But you can’t quit now.” Those ‘words of wisdom’ have stuck with me, and help guide my life. I’m a person who has abided by those words, “Don’t quit in the middle,” more than once since I was a kid.
And another story, about taking risks, about thinking before jumping off the shed into the four foot deep pool, with my buddies chanting, “Do it, do it, do it”, while a little voice inside me said, “If you’re not sure, DON’T.” . Or writing an email or posting a comment on the internet and hearing that little voice right as my finger was about to press the ‘send’ button. It said, “When in doubt, DON’T.” Those words of wisdom have probably saved not only my life, but my relationship with more than one person.
I asked, “Do you have Words of Wisdom from your life?” They were dying to talk. But I didn't let them. “Write,” I said. “Write it down. Write it all down. Write how you got those words, who gave them to you, when you needed them, how you used them, how you love them, or hate them. Tell it all on your half-sheet of paper.”
Three minutes later, I was filling up a sheet of butcher paper with their ideas as they shared them. We have a long and fascinating list of great life lessons, wise words, and family history that will stay on the wall for a few weeks. We’ll make posters after we study advertising techniques, and post them around the school before parents’ night. Each poster will be unique, meaningful, personal, and positive, and hopefully help shape the culture of the school in some small but good way.
My “Booklet 1.1 – Words of Wisdom” half-page went up on another blank bulletin board, so everyone could see it. Tomorrow, Booklet 1.2 goes up, and on, until we have a collection of about 12 or 15 half-pages of freewrites, examples, class notes, reflections, vocab words, ad infinitum – one from each day in class. They’ll make covers and turn the ‘Booklet’ in for credit – one point per page, in order, done completely. When student is absent, s/he can check out the board to see what s/he missed. If a student doesn’t want to think on a particular day, or loses a page, s/he can simply copy my example. (“But, s/he didn’t do the work!”) I could write another entire column on my philosophy toward that. Maybe later.
More on the butcher paper tomorrow. Burning Questions, and My Bucket List. The walls are full of really delightful sparks, all from the students.
I love butcher paper.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Bedazzled and Exhausted
There are other teachers, very respectable teachers, who are incredibly organized, and who are firing on all eight cylinders before the kids even arrive. They have the map of the curriculum plugged into the calendar for the year, and they are going to get their students to that place in June where they can look back and say, “We worked hard, and we learned a lot.”
That’s not me. The kids are showing up tomorrow, and I’m exhausted already. I’m still wrestling with the gear-shift and trying to get it into first.
It’s a problem I have each year, that I reinvent myself as a teacher. I create this problem by not saving and filing (and sometimes not recording) what I do in my classes from day to day, and year to year. Dare I say ‘I wing it’? nnnnNo. Not really. I plan. I prepare. I could justifiably say that I ‘fine tune’ my teaching to the needs of my particular classes, students, as well as the times they are living in and the interests they have. I find the curriculum through my classes each year. But it’s the journey, not the destination, that I teach for.
This doesn’t bode well when I try team up with workhorses who are passionate and driven to instill the skills and knowledge they believe, desire, and are obligated to provide to their students. Their minds are like rolodexes, recalling activities, dates, moments and eras in history. They mesh and weave and knead units into weeks, and projects into units, and leave wiggle-room during part of class on every Friday for current events. I get so bedazzled, I have trouble remembering if the Reformation came before or after colonization. And that doesn’t look good when you’re outed, either.
I admire these people. I can learn a lot from them. They are bursting with ideas. I just nod and volunteer to do some of the grunt work, but in the back of my mind, I have the feeling they’re regarding me as some kind of second-chance teacher. I remind myself that I’m a good teacher. And I ask myself, ‘If these teachers are so great, what do I, who teach so differently, have to offer them?’
That’s not me. The kids are showing up tomorrow, and I’m exhausted already. I’m still wrestling with the gear-shift and trying to get it into first.
It’s a problem I have each year, that I reinvent myself as a teacher. I create this problem by not saving and filing (and sometimes not recording) what I do in my classes from day to day, and year to year. Dare I say ‘I wing it’? nnnnNo. Not really. I plan. I prepare. I could justifiably say that I ‘fine tune’ my teaching to the needs of my particular classes, students, as well as the times they are living in and the interests they have. I find the curriculum through my classes each year. But it’s the journey, not the destination, that I teach for.
This doesn’t bode well when I try team up with workhorses who are passionate and driven to instill the skills and knowledge they believe, desire, and are obligated to provide to their students. Their minds are like rolodexes, recalling activities, dates, moments and eras in history. They mesh and weave and knead units into weeks, and projects into units, and leave wiggle-room during part of class on every Friday for current events. I get so bedazzled, I have trouble remembering if the Reformation came before or after colonization. And that doesn’t look good when you’re outed, either.
I admire these people. I can learn a lot from them. They are bursting with ideas. I just nod and volunteer to do some of the grunt work, but in the back of my mind, I have the feeling they’re regarding me as some kind of second-chance teacher. I remind myself that I’m a good teacher. And I ask myself, ‘If these teachers are so great, what do I, who teach so differently, have to offer them?’
Day One - September 9, 2009
Saw my wife, Alison, off a few minutes ago. It's her first day with a new class of first graders. She's a seasoned teacher who knows what to expect, and still, she's got the first-day jitters. What could I say to allay her nerves? "Start easy." "Remember, they're still kindergarteners for a while."
What I advised to her, I need to take to heart myself. Especially when it comes to writing, which to me as a middle school teacher, is the ultimate learning tool.
Start easy.
Kids think writing is hard. It shouldn't be so. How did it get to be that way? Do they remember the thrill they had at successfully scribing their names? Or dictating the caption for that wonderful drawing they did in first grade? I'm sure at some point in their early years, they practically bounced back to their seats with those completed sentences of their very own words. Who cared if they didn't actually tool the letters themselves, or even if they needed help coming up with the words? They had a piece of paper with their very thoughts encoded on it! They were filled with amazement and pride.
Then, we killed it.
Of course, they needed to learn how to spell. And there are proper conventions of grammar and punctuation that need to be mastered. Let’s not forget handwriting, editing symbols, paragraphing, note-taking, tests, assessments, reports, worksheets, rewrites and final drafts.
Writing became lost. The pride, thrill, and amazement disappeared underneath everyone else’s demands for those encoded thoughts on paper (or screen). Nobody was asking for their very own thoughts anymore – pure, raw, unadulterated thoughts. Writing in school became a painful means of producing evidence for others, rather than a pleasurable means of processing for one’s self. In fact, few kids these days can recall that original joy of writing, perhaps because they rarely, if ever, had the experience.
So this year, I’m going to start easy. I think that this year, I’ll start out with a picture, and a sentence. I’ll tell them, and show them, and continue to remind them, that writing is about capturing thoughts, so you can share them with others, look at them later, learn from the past, and talk to the future. We’ll put those pictures and captions up on the wall, and I will try to bring back that pure, raw, unadulterated thrill.
I’m not worried. This is isn’t kindergarten. We’re not going to stay there. My intention is that by the end of this year, ALL of my students will perceive writing as a useful, active, and pleasurable experience, and from that fertile soil, their writing skills - nay, their achievement in every area - will improve. (More on how we twisted educators turn our mighty acorns into dwarf bonsai trees later).
What I advised to her, I need to take to heart myself. Especially when it comes to writing, which to me as a middle school teacher, is the ultimate learning tool.
Start easy.
Kids think writing is hard. It shouldn't be so. How did it get to be that way? Do they remember the thrill they had at successfully scribing their names? Or dictating the caption for that wonderful drawing they did in first grade? I'm sure at some point in their early years, they practically bounced back to their seats with those completed sentences of their very own words. Who cared if they didn't actually tool the letters themselves, or even if they needed help coming up with the words? They had a piece of paper with their very thoughts encoded on it! They were filled with amazement and pride.
Then, we killed it.
Of course, they needed to learn how to spell. And there are proper conventions of grammar and punctuation that need to be mastered. Let’s not forget handwriting, editing symbols, paragraphing, note-taking, tests, assessments, reports, worksheets, rewrites and final drafts.
Writing became lost. The pride, thrill, and amazement disappeared underneath everyone else’s demands for those encoded thoughts on paper (or screen). Nobody was asking for their very own thoughts anymore – pure, raw, unadulterated thoughts. Writing in school became a painful means of producing evidence for others, rather than a pleasurable means of processing for one’s self. In fact, few kids these days can recall that original joy of writing, perhaps because they rarely, if ever, had the experience.
So this year, I’m going to start easy. I think that this year, I’ll start out with a picture, and a sentence. I’ll tell them, and show them, and continue to remind them, that writing is about capturing thoughts, so you can share them with others, look at them later, learn from the past, and talk to the future. We’ll put those pictures and captions up on the wall, and I will try to bring back that pure, raw, unadulterated thrill.
I’m not worried. This is isn’t kindergarten. We’re not going to stay there. My intention is that by the end of this year, ALL of my students will perceive writing as a useful, active, and pleasurable experience, and from that fertile soil, their writing skills - nay, their achievement in every area - will improve. (More on how we twisted educators turn our mighty acorns into dwarf bonsai trees later).
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)