It has been quite a while since my last post, and I am not sure if that is because of my stress level, or if my stress level is a result of not clearing my mind through a post.
You know, the whole chicken/egg thing.
Projects need to be wrapped up, essays need to be wrapped up, wooden toys and gifts from my woodshop need to be wrapped up. "Grades" need to be wrapped up.
Everything needs to be wrapped up.
We have been focussing on understanding our learning styles for the past six weeks or so, and one of mine is that I work best when I can organize, prioritize, and create plans. I want to make lists, check off boxes, and move on to the next task as efficiently as possible.
Exactly the kind of guy you want at your holiday party, right?
As I accomplish a task, there seem to be two more to take its place. Some of that is the nature of life, some of it is due to my perfectionism. And so my list grows, and grows, until, like that exhausting song about the days of Christmas, it becomes a massive list that is more than I can manage.
How do I cut things? How do I streamline? How do I work efficiently? What's my secret?
I don't, and there isn't one.
I stress. I stew. I analyze. I do but do not enjoy. I worry. I add, but do not delete.
What starts out as a simple list of tasks to accomplish just keeps growing and growing.
And then I snap.
Maybe it's losing patience with my boys. Maybe it's not being able to concentrate to help my students. Maybe it's a sarcastic remark to my wife. Maybe it's all of those.
This time of the year is difficult for so many reasons. I absolutely love making things for people. I log dozens and dozens of hours in my woodshop while my boys are sleeping or resting. I want that new toy I am making them to be perfect. I want the gift for my wife to show how much I care for her. I want my parents to go crazy about the latest thing from my shop.
This time of year, I spend hours trying to figure out how to take all the knowledge I gained about my students during the first trimester and change how I teach to better meet their needs.
I don't want to cut any of it. It's all important.
That's where today finds me. Overwhelmed. Feeling like I can't do it all. Feeling the weight.
***
Then a funny thing happened.
I decided to take a break and write a post. I actually thought it was a bad idea given all that I need to do. But then I wrote that line about everything needing to be wrapped up.
It hit me. Yes, those things need to be completed, but why did I say "wrapped up?" Was I subconsciously thinking about gifts that need wrapping?
When I look at my To-Do list, there are many things on it. They are stressing me out and I want them off as soon as possible. But what if I looked at all of those things as gifts, rather than tasks?
Can I shift my thinking to view the things on my To-Do as opportunities to give of myself to those around me?
As I mentioned, I absolutely love making things and giving things to people. I know it sounds all Hallmarky, but it's true. Can I take this aspect of myself and make it work for me in regards to my stress and all that I need to accomplish?
So my challenge to myself this season is to remember that this is a time of gifts. When I think about the astounding and miraculous gift that is at the center of this season, I am humbled and filled with awe. The very least that I can do is to make sure that my heart is filled with joy as I give my little contributions to those around me. The gift of time. The gift of doing the dishes. The gift of sitting and helping with an essay. The gift of a wooden toy. The gift of a joyful attitude at the end of a long day. The gift of giving feedback for report cards. The gift of playing ninjas. The gift of finding a positive thing to say about a project. The gift of putting both boys to bed.
And so I remember that song. The one with the birds, and the drummers, and the pipers. A big list of stuff that seems to clutter everything up. But a list that is made up of gifts, all attempting to bring joy to those around.
I indeed need to wrap some things up.
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
Thursday, November 21, 2013
That Clicking Sound
My oldest son has recently rekindled the Lego fire that began burning in his life last year. We have spent a lot of time over the past week building stuff together and we are both having a blast. One of the things we started to do was to make our own creations rather than building off of directions from a kit. I would add a piece, then Eli would add a piece, and back and forth it goes. We had very little idea of what the end product would be, but we just concentrated on picking out that next piece.
I watched as his small hands shuffled through the bin of blocks and carefully selected his next piece. I listened as he exclaimed, "this would be a good piece!" and then watched him add it to our slowly developing creation. Aside from his little voice talking to me, one of the most satisfying sounds was the squeak-and-click sound of two Lego blocks fitting perfectly into place. Eli's four year old hands still struggle with getting the pieces to make that sound and I leaned over several times to help him as we both pressed the pieces together. It is a very distinct sound that I remember well from when my small hands would press the pieces together until there were tiny, round indentations in my thumbs. It is the sound of things working. Of things coming together. Of being one step closer to the finished product.
I love that sound.
I heard the squeak-and-click sound in class this week. Instead of the sound of plastic blocks clicking together, it was fingers tapping on iPads as my students completed graphic organizers for their essays. It was the sound of low talking as students read each other's latest blog posts and gave feedback. It was the sound of my students telling me their goals for the day as I conferenced with them individually. It was the sound of the radiator blowing warm air into a nearly silent room as my students worked.
There were many other sounds over the past few weeks. Harsh sounds coming from mouths that once spoke softly. Defeated sounds made by voices once filled with joy. Some from my own mouth, some from my students.
It's been tough.
But the past few days have been worth plowing through the rough patches. We have made it to yet another clearing where there is peace and productivity. Safety and shelter.
Where the sounds of things clicking into place help give a much clearer picture of what this creation is and is turning into.
I love this sound.
I watched as his small hands shuffled through the bin of blocks and carefully selected his next piece. I listened as he exclaimed, "this would be a good piece!" and then watched him add it to our slowly developing creation. Aside from his little voice talking to me, one of the most satisfying sounds was the squeak-and-click sound of two Lego blocks fitting perfectly into place. Eli's four year old hands still struggle with getting the pieces to make that sound and I leaned over several times to help him as we both pressed the pieces together. It is a very distinct sound that I remember well from when my small hands would press the pieces together until there were tiny, round indentations in my thumbs. It is the sound of things working. Of things coming together. Of being one step closer to the finished product.
I love that sound.
I heard the squeak-and-click sound in class this week. Instead of the sound of plastic blocks clicking together, it was fingers tapping on iPads as my students completed graphic organizers for their essays. It was the sound of low talking as students read each other's latest blog posts and gave feedback. It was the sound of my students telling me their goals for the day as I conferenced with them individually. It was the sound of the radiator blowing warm air into a nearly silent room as my students worked.
There were many other sounds over the past few weeks. Harsh sounds coming from mouths that once spoke softly. Defeated sounds made by voices once filled with joy. Some from my own mouth, some from my students.
It's been tough.
But the past few days have been worth plowing through the rough patches. We have made it to yet another clearing where there is peace and productivity. Safety and shelter.
Where the sounds of things clicking into place help give a much clearer picture of what this creation is and is turning into.
I love this sound.
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
Who We Are and What We Do
A roller coaster couple of weeks.
We have experienced great highs as a class, as well as great lows. It has taken awhile for me to both process the events as well as muster the courage to publish these two posts about a particular experience. They are from Wednesday and Thursday:
Yesterday:
We have experienced great highs as a class, as well as great lows. It has taken awhile for me to both process the events as well as muster the courage to publish these two posts about a particular experience. They are from Wednesday and Thursday:
Yesterday:
The past week has been an emotionally draining one.
Last week saw us sharing intensely raw and emotional blog posts together. There was an incredible sense of us coming together as a group and sharing our experiences. I heard student after student beg for more time to write so they could express what was on their hearts.
What they shared was messy, raw, and emotionally charged. It showed their brokenness, their struggles, their burdens.
It was beautiful.
There was an incredible sense of trust and honesty in the room. I felt like we made it to a new level of connectedness.
And then today all the connectedness fell apart.
The details are immaterial, but the impact was intense. A deep division occurred and emotions were at their peak. It was truly one of the most painful things I have ever experienced. The outrage and frustration was aimed at me and I would not be honest if I said I wasn’t deeply hurt. There were multiple students who came to my defense, but I still felt the blows.
But this isn't about pain or hurt or who said what.
This is about grace and moving on.
I am thankful for an opportunity for us to spill our guts to each other, even if it was not done in the most respectful of ways. I am thankful to have an opportunity to demonstrate grace and what a fresh start looks like rather than just tell them about it.
We need to pull ourselves back together. We need to heal. We need to move on.
Fresh starts and clean slates are for us all, whenever they are needed.
Today saw us burned down to ashes.
Tomorrow will see us rise as something better.
Today:
I wrote yesterday's post in the car as I sat by the beach processing the day. I committed to putting my thoughts down and then focussing on being the husband and dad that my family deserves and needs me to be once I got home.
Being a very analytical person, it is often quite difficult for me to not examine previous conversations or events from every conceivable angle, thinking of things I should have done or said. While I did have images of the day flash in my mind, I found myself thinking more about the end of the year when I could high five, fist bump, or shake hands with my eighth grade students as they conclude their time at our school. I kept imagining how significant it will be to shake or slap hands with a deep knowledge of all that we have been through together. The triumphs. The challenges. The wounds. The healing.
Today, that restoration and healing began.
We begin every class with students reading the mastery objectives for the day. I always write them in "I can" language, and the first one on the board was "I can rise from the ashes." I saw so many smiling and eager faces as a student read that. She happened to be the one who articulated the meaning behind OOTA at the beginning of the year and she knocked it out of the park again today: "That's just who we are and what we do."
That is who we are and what we do.
For the majority of class, we moved forward by going outside to examine trees for Winter Moths and will be reporting our findings through Vitalsigns.org.
For a few students, restoration looked like individual conversations where we talked about how to move forward and be the best that we can be. It was incredibly touching to see students ask for forgiveness and a fresh start.
It was wonderful to give a fresh start and see smiles on faces that have recently held frowns.
Today, we rose from the ashes and became something better.
It's who we are and what we do.
Sunday, November 3, 2013
The Dream
This past week was draining in so many ways. I am formulating multiple things to write about, and this post is not about any of them. This is a quickie. My dream for what education could/should be. It hit me tonight as I thought about several of my students who are struggling with particular content areas.
This is not the whole of the dream, but merely one small aspect of what I could do to teach my students to learn and to help change lives. Both theirs, and mine.
I believe in marketing as a key strategy in my classroom. How something is pitched to the students often plays a significant role in how engaged the students are in the content. I would love to capitalize on my students' natural inquisitiveness and pitch to them that we are focussing on how stuff works: Here's how understanding other people's writing works. Here's how expressing our own opinions, ideas, frustrations, thoughts, feelings, points of view works. Here's how governments work. Here's how civilizations work. Here's how money works. Here's how numbers and data works. Here's how life systems work. Here's how our body works. Here's how the creative process works (well, that's a stretch since the creative process often takes what works and pile drives it into something new). Here's how language works, both ours and others'. Here's how communities work.
Instead of segmenting everything up into different blocks both within a schedule and within our minds, we would show that, while they are all separate cogs, here's how it all works together and here's why you are essential to keeping it all going. Here's when you're going to learn how to change things to make them work better.
If I do not impress upon my students that they do indeed have an essential role to play in the beautiful and messy synergy of it all, I will continue to see students staring out of windows or into screens looking for where they belong and why they should care.
This is not the whole of the dream, but merely one small aspect of what I could do to teach my students to learn and to help change lives. Both theirs, and mine.
I believe in marketing as a key strategy in my classroom. How something is pitched to the students often plays a significant role in how engaged the students are in the content. I would love to capitalize on my students' natural inquisitiveness and pitch to them that we are focussing on how stuff works: Here's how understanding other people's writing works. Here's how expressing our own opinions, ideas, frustrations, thoughts, feelings, points of view works. Here's how governments work. Here's how civilizations work. Here's how money works. Here's how numbers and data works. Here's how life systems work. Here's how our body works. Here's how the creative process works (well, that's a stretch since the creative process often takes what works and pile drives it into something new). Here's how language works, both ours and others'. Here's how communities work.
Instead of segmenting everything up into different blocks both within a schedule and within our minds, we would show that, while they are all separate cogs, here's how it all works together and here's why you are essential to keeping it all going. Here's when you're going to learn how to change things to make them work better.
If I do not impress upon my students that they do indeed have an essential role to play in the beautiful and messy synergy of it all, I will continue to see students staring out of windows or into screens looking for where they belong and why they should care.
Monday, October 28, 2013
A Clean Slate
One of my students came into my classroom this week clearly frustrated and struggling with a heavy burden. After a moment or so, she began to share very vague snippets of what was going on. I sat and listened for awhile and then asked her how I could help. I said that I could just listen, I could try to offer some advice, or I could tell a story from my experience. She asked me to tell her a story from my experience. When I asked what it should be about, she said, "People being mean." This is the story I told her:
When I was in sixth grade, there were three guys. Guy One was a really nice kid who happened to have some geek-like qualities. Guy Two had always been a good student and a good kid. Guy Three was an OK student and a generally good kid. The three were also a bullied kid, a bully, and an observer.
Guy One moved down the street from Guy Two's house during the summer and they became friends. They each had a brother and the four of them had a blast making up games on their bikes and chased each other all around their neighborhood.
When school started, things started to change a bit between Guy One and Two. After some time, Guy Two started teasing Guy One a bit for some of his geekiness. Good natured teasing was actually something he did a lot to friends and family, but it started to make other kids laugh. So he did it a bit more. Soon, he was teasing and making fun of Guy One nearly everyday. Things just started to snowball, and without even planning it to happen, a group formed that was all about teasing and making fun of Guy One. Guy Three was a member of that group and he laughed right along with everyone else, though he never did any direct bullying.
Eventually the dad of Guy One found out about the group and took action. He spoke to Guy Two and was quite upset about the way his son was treated. The dad reminded Guy Two how they used to be friends and wondered what happened to change that. Guy Two felt terrible, apologized to the dad and tried to explain that he wasn't even really sure how it had gotten so out of hand. He assured the dad that things would change.
Things did change.
Guy Two stopped teasing and making fun of Guy One. He apologized to Guy One who was gracious enough to offer Guy Two a clean slate. He told the people in the group that it was over. Guy Three also got to the point where he felt terrible for going along with the group and doing something he knew was not right. A few years later Guy One and Guy Two became good friends. They each had some difficult times in high school, and both of them were there for each other despite the rocky road in sixth grade. They kept in touch in college and would see each other on vacations. They even got together along with their wives when they were both living in the same town. Guy Three ended up drifting apart from both of them, though they ran into each other from time to time and caught each other up on what was happening in their lives.
When I finished, I asked her, "Now. Who am I in the story?"
"The guy being bullied."
"No."
"Were you the guy that just watched?"
"No."
She paused and stared at me for a moment.
"You were the bully?"
I silently nodded my head.
"No. I don't believe it."
I assured her that I was serious. I also shared with her that I truly felt terrible for what I did and I never intended things to go so far, they just got way out of control. I explained that while I wish that I had not acted in that way and caused so much pain, even out of that brokenness, my life changed for the better. It was after that experience that I began to seek out the marginalized or the "left-out." As a student in high school and college, as an adult in my personal life, and as a teacher, I tend to naturally gravitate towards the people on the outskirts and try my best to come along side them and let them know that they are not alone. I try to make them laugh, most often by making fun of myself in some way. In fact, even as I write this I am realizing that it was around that time when my self-deprecating sense of humor came about. I would make myself the clown and the brunt of the joke rather than others, though my wife and family can assure you that I still get in my fair share of good-natured teasing.
My students are trying desperately to navigate through a tumultuous time in their life. They are going to make a ton of mistakes, just like I did and do. The absolute least that I can do is to offer them a chance to have a clean slate. I need one as teacher, husband, and father on a daily basis. Why would I ever not extend the same grace to my students?
I reminded another student that in my class he always has a fresh start when he needs one, and he really needed one this week. He responded with, "I don't believe that." I was terribly saddened that he had such a hard time believing that. Whether it is showing them that they have a fresh start, or sharing stories of times when I have needed one, I will do all that I can to make it clear to my students that their past actions do not define who they are. I will do my best to show them that they have a chance each day to reinvent themselves.
My students, many of whom are the marginalized and "Didn't Fits" of the traditional classroom, named themselves OOTA: Out Of The Ashes. When I asked what they meant by that, one of them said, "We all used to really struggle and have a hard time in school and it was like we were burned down and in a pile of ashes. And we want to be something better."
To rise from the ashes as something better, my students need a fresh start and a clean slate, just as I did in sixth grade and today.
When I was in sixth grade, there were three guys. Guy One was a really nice kid who happened to have some geek-like qualities. Guy Two had always been a good student and a good kid. Guy Three was an OK student and a generally good kid. The three were also a bullied kid, a bully, and an observer.
Guy One moved down the street from Guy Two's house during the summer and they became friends. They each had a brother and the four of them had a blast making up games on their bikes and chased each other all around their neighborhood.
When school started, things started to change a bit between Guy One and Two. After some time, Guy Two started teasing Guy One a bit for some of his geekiness. Good natured teasing was actually something he did a lot to friends and family, but it started to make other kids laugh. So he did it a bit more. Soon, he was teasing and making fun of Guy One nearly everyday. Things just started to snowball, and without even planning it to happen, a group formed that was all about teasing and making fun of Guy One. Guy Three was a member of that group and he laughed right along with everyone else, though he never did any direct bullying.
Eventually the dad of Guy One found out about the group and took action. He spoke to Guy Two and was quite upset about the way his son was treated. The dad reminded Guy Two how they used to be friends and wondered what happened to change that. Guy Two felt terrible, apologized to the dad and tried to explain that he wasn't even really sure how it had gotten so out of hand. He assured the dad that things would change.
Things did change.
Guy Two stopped teasing and making fun of Guy One. He apologized to Guy One who was gracious enough to offer Guy Two a clean slate. He told the people in the group that it was over. Guy Three also got to the point where he felt terrible for going along with the group and doing something he knew was not right. A few years later Guy One and Guy Two became good friends. They each had some difficult times in high school, and both of them were there for each other despite the rocky road in sixth grade. They kept in touch in college and would see each other on vacations. They even got together along with their wives when they were both living in the same town. Guy Three ended up drifting apart from both of them, though they ran into each other from time to time and caught each other up on what was happening in their lives.
When I finished, I asked her, "Now. Who am I in the story?"
"The guy being bullied."
"No."
"Were you the guy that just watched?"
"No."
She paused and stared at me for a moment.
"You were the bully?"
I silently nodded my head.
"No. I don't believe it."
I assured her that I was serious. I also shared with her that I truly felt terrible for what I did and I never intended things to go so far, they just got way out of control. I explained that while I wish that I had not acted in that way and caused so much pain, even out of that brokenness, my life changed for the better. It was after that experience that I began to seek out the marginalized or the "left-out." As a student in high school and college, as an adult in my personal life, and as a teacher, I tend to naturally gravitate towards the people on the outskirts and try my best to come along side them and let them know that they are not alone. I try to make them laugh, most often by making fun of myself in some way. In fact, even as I write this I am realizing that it was around that time when my self-deprecating sense of humor came about. I would make myself the clown and the brunt of the joke rather than others, though my wife and family can assure you that I still get in my fair share of good-natured teasing.
My students are trying desperately to navigate through a tumultuous time in their life. They are going to make a ton of mistakes, just like I did and do. The absolute least that I can do is to offer them a chance to have a clean slate. I need one as teacher, husband, and father on a daily basis. Why would I ever not extend the same grace to my students?
I reminded another student that in my class he always has a fresh start when he needs one, and he really needed one this week. He responded with, "I don't believe that." I was terribly saddened that he had such a hard time believing that. Whether it is showing them that they have a fresh start, or sharing stories of times when I have needed one, I will do all that I can to make it clear to my students that their past actions do not define who they are. I will do my best to show them that they have a chance each day to reinvent themselves.
My students, many of whom are the marginalized and "Didn't Fits" of the traditional classroom, named themselves OOTA: Out Of The Ashes. When I asked what they meant by that, one of them said, "We all used to really struggle and have a hard time in school and it was like we were burned down and in a pile of ashes. And we want to be something better."
To rise from the ashes as something better, my students need a fresh start and a clean slate, just as I did in sixth grade and today.
Sunday, October 20, 2013
My Lousy Garden
Should I be at all concerned that multiple posts lately have started with a confession? Well, this one will follow suit.
I paused during a leaf-fight with my boys on Friday and looked at our vegetable beds that resembled something from either Jumanji or Where the Wild Things Are, and I realized something.
I'm a pretty lousy gardener.
I truly love the idea of growing my own vegetables. It is with great excitement that I lay in bed on cold evenings in February, dreaming of what we should try in the garden this year. I shuffle through seed packets at garden stores the way I did with baseball cards when I was ten. I begin tilling the beds. I get down on my knees and plunge my hands into the rich, dark soil, and I breathe in the rich smell of fresh earth.
I plan out where seeds and seedlings will go, place them gingerly into the ground with the help of my oldest son. We talk about the mystery and majesty of tiny seeds just waiting to explode and bring forth new life that can actually sustain our own. Yes, it's a bit heady for my four year old, but he humors me so that he can do one of his all-time favorite activities: digging.
The first few days or perhaps even weeks go fairly well. I water the right amount. I destroy any weed that dares spoil the beautiful black canvas that is a weed-free raised garden bed. The first sign of Cucumber beetles gets me out with my organic spray and I blast them like a gunslinger at high-noon. Okay, I admit that I may even make gun noises at times. I will not, however, comment on whether I ever asked a Cucumber Beetle if it "felt lucky, punk." Those records are sealed.
Then things start to go south. I miss a watering or two. Cucumber beetles invite their friends over for an all-you-can-eat buffet at the Coleman Family Garden. Leaves yellow. Plants droop. Bugs make swiss cheese of the large green leaves. In only the time that it took me to write these past few sentences, the weeds decided that they're taking over everything.
Then it comes time to harvest. Though we always enjoy many gifts from our garden, there is much left to be desired. Peppers look pathetic. Multiple tomatoes have cracks. There is powdery mildew on zucchini. Many of the red potatoes look like marbles. There are zucchinis the size of small babies laying hidden under broad leaves. Beans hang from their poles looking as though they will burst from the pod any second.
So if there was some success, how did things also go so very wrong? It did not happen because I don't enjoy gardening. It did not happen because I have no idea what to do. It did not happen all at once.
I believe the main reason why my garden never lives up to my hopes is because I do not give it the conditions needed for optimum growth. All plants have essential needs to grow. They need water, sunlight, room, nutrients, and freedom from predators.
This is basic stuff, right? So why can't I give my garden what it needs?
The answer is that there are different needs for each plant and it can be overwhelming. While all plants need the same essential elements, where they differ is in the amount of each. They also differ in their tolerance for things like shade, soil temperature, and alkalinity. Where they are planted in relation to other plants as well as the spacing between rows is another factor. All of these things can significantly impact whether a plant dies, merely survives, or thrives. The rhyming stops now, by the way.
So, if I can name all of these conditions that must be met for my garden to thrive, you would think that my actions would reflect it, right? So where do I go wrong.
I go wrong when I see that there are too many different needs of all the plants and I do a one-size-fits-all regimen of watering, feeding, and weeding. I let minor problems develop into larger ones because I am too busy. Despite knowing that there are very different needs of all the different plants, and that I truly desire a variety of vegetables come harvest time, my practice does not reflect diversity, but rather a monoculture approach to gardening.
Ready for the pathetic part? I am actually surprised when I look at the produce and am less than thrilled with the results. I get frustrated with the plants and say that I am never growing that vegetable again. Yes! This really happens! I vowed no more onions and peppers of any kind because they were unwilling to produce what I needed, despite me not creating the conditions that they needed. "They're just too hard to grow, so I won't grow them." Stupid onions. Stupid peppers.
I want variety, but create uniformity. I dream big, but deliver small. I have good intentions, but pathetic practices.
And so...
As I begin a second week of exploring different learning styles with my students, my hope is that I am a better teacher than I am gardener. May I truly listen as they share what they are learning about how they learn best, so that I can help create those conditions that they need. May I realize that a one-size-fits-all approach to teaching will yield the exact same results that I see in my garden. May I realize that the time it takes my students to learn something will be as diverse as are the number of students in my room. May I know when to step in to assist, and when to allow them to grow in the direction that they need.
May I do all that I can to create the conditions for growth for each individual student in my class. May I never take for granted the privilege to witness the mystery and majesty of watching new growth before my eyes.
I paused during a leaf-fight with my boys on Friday and looked at our vegetable beds that resembled something from either Jumanji or Where the Wild Things Are, and I realized something.
I'm a pretty lousy gardener.
I truly love the idea of growing my own vegetables. It is with great excitement that I lay in bed on cold evenings in February, dreaming of what we should try in the garden this year. I shuffle through seed packets at garden stores the way I did with baseball cards when I was ten. I begin tilling the beds. I get down on my knees and plunge my hands into the rich, dark soil, and I breathe in the rich smell of fresh earth.
I plan out where seeds and seedlings will go, place them gingerly into the ground with the help of my oldest son. We talk about the mystery and majesty of tiny seeds just waiting to explode and bring forth new life that can actually sustain our own. Yes, it's a bit heady for my four year old, but he humors me so that he can do one of his all-time favorite activities: digging.
The first few days or perhaps even weeks go fairly well. I water the right amount. I destroy any weed that dares spoil the beautiful black canvas that is a weed-free raised garden bed. The first sign of Cucumber beetles gets me out with my organic spray and I blast them like a gunslinger at high-noon. Okay, I admit that I may even make gun noises at times. I will not, however, comment on whether I ever asked a Cucumber Beetle if it "felt lucky, punk." Those records are sealed.
Then things start to go south. I miss a watering or two. Cucumber beetles invite their friends over for an all-you-can-eat buffet at the Coleman Family Garden. Leaves yellow. Plants droop. Bugs make swiss cheese of the large green leaves. In only the time that it took me to write these past few sentences, the weeds decided that they're taking over everything.
Then it comes time to harvest. Though we always enjoy many gifts from our garden, there is much left to be desired. Peppers look pathetic. Multiple tomatoes have cracks. There is powdery mildew on zucchini. Many of the red potatoes look like marbles. There are zucchinis the size of small babies laying hidden under broad leaves. Beans hang from their poles looking as though they will burst from the pod any second.
So if there was some success, how did things also go so very wrong? It did not happen because I don't enjoy gardening. It did not happen because I have no idea what to do. It did not happen all at once.
I believe the main reason why my garden never lives up to my hopes is because I do not give it the conditions needed for optimum growth. All plants have essential needs to grow. They need water, sunlight, room, nutrients, and freedom from predators.
This is basic stuff, right? So why can't I give my garden what it needs?
The answer is that there are different needs for each plant and it can be overwhelming. While all plants need the same essential elements, where they differ is in the amount of each. They also differ in their tolerance for things like shade, soil temperature, and alkalinity. Where they are planted in relation to other plants as well as the spacing between rows is another factor. All of these things can significantly impact whether a plant dies, merely survives, or thrives. The rhyming stops now, by the way.
So, if I can name all of these conditions that must be met for my garden to thrive, you would think that my actions would reflect it, right? So where do I go wrong.
I go wrong when I see that there are too many different needs of all the plants and I do a one-size-fits-all regimen of watering, feeding, and weeding. I let minor problems develop into larger ones because I am too busy. Despite knowing that there are very different needs of all the different plants, and that I truly desire a variety of vegetables come harvest time, my practice does not reflect diversity, but rather a monoculture approach to gardening.
Ready for the pathetic part? I am actually surprised when I look at the produce and am less than thrilled with the results. I get frustrated with the plants and say that I am never growing that vegetable again. Yes! This really happens! I vowed no more onions and peppers of any kind because they were unwilling to produce what I needed, despite me not creating the conditions that they needed. "They're just too hard to grow, so I won't grow them." Stupid onions. Stupid peppers.
I want variety, but create uniformity. I dream big, but deliver small. I have good intentions, but pathetic practices.
And so...
As I begin a second week of exploring different learning styles with my students, my hope is that I am a better teacher than I am gardener. May I truly listen as they share what they are learning about how they learn best, so that I can help create those conditions that they need. May I realize that a one-size-fits-all approach to teaching will yield the exact same results that I see in my garden. May I realize that the time it takes my students to learn something will be as diverse as are the number of students in my room. May I know when to step in to assist, and when to allow them to grow in the direction that they need.
May I do all that I can to create the conditions for growth for each individual student in my class. May I never take for granted the privilege to witness the mystery and majesty of watching new growth before my eyes.
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
An Open Letter to the Creators of Standardized Tests
Dear Sirs and or Madams,
It was standardized testing week last week at my school and I have become intimately familiar with your work. I read the instructions numerous times. I passed out and collected the testing materials along with all the scrap paper, though I understand you prefer the word "scratch." I lugged the box of materials into a secure location in our building any time I was not in the room. I assisted in locating where student and school names should be written. I answered questions about duration of time and number of questions.
So far, our relationship has been very one-sided. While I am becoming more familiar with your work, you do not yet know me. In fact, there is nothing in the Answer Booklet for my students to share with you who I am, so I am doubtful that you will ever know of my existence. Soon we will be packaging all of these pages of graphite-filled bubbles and constructed responses, and you will begin what I imagine to be the arduous task of scoring said responses.
As you open the neatly packed boxes containing what represents hours of hard work from the students at my school, I wish I could be there with you. If I could, I would point out the students that I have in class and tell you about them. I would say things like, "Man, he struggled on this test. But you should see this guy talk about WWII. He knows way more than me about all the battles and the weapons and the whole nine yards." As you continue to look through test packets I may see another name and mention that that student is living with five people in his house, none of whom are full-blood relatives, and that he shows more maturity when talking about the struggles with his dad than I have ever seen in a thirteen year old. I would mention another student that lights up any time we talk about creating something. I would talk about how another student hardly ever came to school before nine o'clock last year, but this year hasn't missed a second of school. I would tell you the story of the first time one of my students shared a "Brag" at our weekly class meeting and it was to share how proud she was of her writing, despite it being such a challenge for her to get her words on paper.
I would talk about what I have seen these students do when presented with a challenging task. I would talk about the way they have pulled together to help other students who are struggling in my class. I would talk about how they have learned to work together despite all their many differences. I would show pictures of them working with each other to form groups based on interests and abilities as they create a product that will guide their learning. I would tell you stories about how some of them never shared anything in class last year and how this year they are bursting to share what they know. I would show you drawings that they have done that really should be hanging in a museum somewhere. I would talk to you about the hope that I saw in their eyes as they presented their research on Project Based Learning.
I would share with you excerpts from parent emails saying how much of a change they have seen in their son this year and how he's happy and excited to come to school. I would tell you the story of the day that my students begged for more time to write. I would show you a picture of the girl who hated writing so much in the past but has absolutely fallen in love with blogging because there is a real audience to read her excellent writing. I would share with you some of the baggage that they carry that makes it a miracle that they are even present today. I would tell you about the looks on their faces when they get the results of your tests back and they can't help but let the scores determine their self-worth.
I would not do all this to bug you or annoy you. I just didn't see a place on any of the pages to share these things with you.
Most Sincerely Yours,
Matt Coleman
Former Test-Taker
Current Lover of All Things Relevant, Flexible, Engaging, and Authentic
It was standardized testing week last week at my school and I have become intimately familiar with your work. I read the instructions numerous times. I passed out and collected the testing materials along with all the scrap paper, though I understand you prefer the word "scratch." I lugged the box of materials into a secure location in our building any time I was not in the room. I assisted in locating where student and school names should be written. I answered questions about duration of time and number of questions.
So far, our relationship has been very one-sided. While I am becoming more familiar with your work, you do not yet know me. In fact, there is nothing in the Answer Booklet for my students to share with you who I am, so I am doubtful that you will ever know of my existence. Soon we will be packaging all of these pages of graphite-filled bubbles and constructed responses, and you will begin what I imagine to be the arduous task of scoring said responses.
As you open the neatly packed boxes containing what represents hours of hard work from the students at my school, I wish I could be there with you. If I could, I would point out the students that I have in class and tell you about them. I would say things like, "Man, he struggled on this test. But you should see this guy talk about WWII. He knows way more than me about all the battles and the weapons and the whole nine yards." As you continue to look through test packets I may see another name and mention that that student is living with five people in his house, none of whom are full-blood relatives, and that he shows more maturity when talking about the struggles with his dad than I have ever seen in a thirteen year old. I would mention another student that lights up any time we talk about creating something. I would talk about how another student hardly ever came to school before nine o'clock last year, but this year hasn't missed a second of school. I would tell you the story of the first time one of my students shared a "Brag" at our weekly class meeting and it was to share how proud she was of her writing, despite it being such a challenge for her to get her words on paper.
I would talk about what I have seen these students do when presented with a challenging task. I would talk about the way they have pulled together to help other students who are struggling in my class. I would talk about how they have learned to work together despite all their many differences. I would show pictures of them working with each other to form groups based on interests and abilities as they create a product that will guide their learning. I would tell you stories about how some of them never shared anything in class last year and how this year they are bursting to share what they know. I would show you drawings that they have done that really should be hanging in a museum somewhere. I would talk to you about the hope that I saw in their eyes as they presented their research on Project Based Learning.
I would share with you excerpts from parent emails saying how much of a change they have seen in their son this year and how he's happy and excited to come to school. I would tell you the story of the day that my students begged for more time to write. I would show you a picture of the girl who hated writing so much in the past but has absolutely fallen in love with blogging because there is a real audience to read her excellent writing. I would share with you some of the baggage that they carry that makes it a miracle that they are even present today. I would tell you about the looks on their faces when they get the results of your tests back and they can't help but let the scores determine their self-worth.
I would not do all this to bug you or annoy you. I just didn't see a place on any of the pages to share these things with you.
Most Sincerely Yours,
Matt Coleman
Former Test-Taker
Current Lover of All Things Relevant, Flexible, Engaging, and Authentic
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
Baggage
My family and I are leaving in two days to fly to Oklahoma to celebrate my in-laws 50th wedding anniversary. It will be wonderful to help them celebrate and it will be great to see the family.
But it makes me think about the journey there. Flying. With a 4 year old and a 17 month old.
Yikes.
Though I am not proud to admit it, I have done quite a bit of stressing about this and given a lot of thought to how we will make it through with our sanity intact. My wife and I have thought of ideas for activities to do on the plane, how we might help our little guy get out his ever-present antsiness, how we might help our oldest pass the time in a flying climate-controlled tube when he so often longs to be outside in the fresh air.
Then there's the baggage. We need clothes. We need stuff to get us (ok, mainly me and the boys) smelling nice. We need things to keep our boys busy on the plane. We need to think through weather and activity possibilities. How do we carry all of it? To check or not to check? That is indeed the question.
There are needs that my family has. There are multiple ways that we could pack the items needed to meet those needs. There are then several options for how we will carry and store it all. Carry-ons, purses, backpacks, diaper bags, checked suitcases, pockets. There are lots of options.
In the past, I have silently wished for being able to travel with nothing but a book as I feel the weight of my backpack, a diaper bag, and a suitcase all while cradling a screaming baby in the "football carry" position.
The reality is that we have baggage for a reason. Some of those things we carry are to make the destination more comfortable. Some of the baggage will make the journey more comfortable. Some of the baggage is from me trying to be prepared for every scenario leading to significant case of overpacking. Some of the baggage is from learning our lesson the hard way. Some of the baggage is essential, some of it is not. As a result of past trips, or essentials needed for this one, we may not be able to do anything about the number of bags that we carry, but how we distribute that baggage and weight can make all the difference.
I saw the same in my students this week. I saw a lot of the baggage that my students are carrying and it filled me with sorrow and even some frustration. There is baggage that just goes along with being a middle school kid. There is some baggage that no kid should ever have to carry. There is baggage that is placed on the students from events in their personal life. There is baggage placed on the students from their experience in school. There is baggage and it is weighing them down.
While there is sorrow when I see the baggage that my students attempt to carry, I am at the same time filled with hope. My hope is that we can work together to shed some of the weight. While I may not be able to remove some of the baggage, perhaps we can work together to redistribute the weight so they can stand a bit straighter.
Regardless of my frustration with my own baggage for our trip, or the sorrow and frustration of watching my students struggle under the weight of all that they carry, sometimes baggage is inevitable. I have seen in my own life this week that my own attitude and outlook can add (or less often subtract) to that weight. No matter how much I may complain or lament that the baggage is there, it does nothing to help me or my students bear the weight.
Looking ahead to this trip and to this school year, I will focus on baggage management and elimination rather than baggage lamentation. I will do my best to find ways to ease the burden for my wife and our boys, as well as my students. My family and my students deserve to see a husband, dad, and teacher spend more time trying to assist with the weight and less time moaning and groaning about its presence. I have found, but often forget, that helping bear the weight of another's burden will often bring balance and relief to the load that I carry.
Here's to helping each other bear the weight.
But it makes me think about the journey there. Flying. With a 4 year old and a 17 month old.
Yikes.
Though I am not proud to admit it, I have done quite a bit of stressing about this and given a lot of thought to how we will make it through with our sanity intact. My wife and I have thought of ideas for activities to do on the plane, how we might help our little guy get out his ever-present antsiness, how we might help our oldest pass the time in a flying climate-controlled tube when he so often longs to be outside in the fresh air.
Then there's the baggage. We need clothes. We need stuff to get us (ok, mainly me and the boys) smelling nice. We need things to keep our boys busy on the plane. We need to think through weather and activity possibilities. How do we carry all of it? To check or not to check? That is indeed the question.
There are needs that my family has. There are multiple ways that we could pack the items needed to meet those needs. There are then several options for how we will carry and store it all. Carry-ons, purses, backpacks, diaper bags, checked suitcases, pockets. There are lots of options.
In the past, I have silently wished for being able to travel with nothing but a book as I feel the weight of my backpack, a diaper bag, and a suitcase all while cradling a screaming baby in the "football carry" position.
The reality is that we have baggage for a reason. Some of those things we carry are to make the destination more comfortable. Some of the baggage will make the journey more comfortable. Some of the baggage is from me trying to be prepared for every scenario leading to significant case of overpacking. Some of the baggage is from learning our lesson the hard way. Some of the baggage is essential, some of it is not. As a result of past trips, or essentials needed for this one, we may not be able to do anything about the number of bags that we carry, but how we distribute that baggage and weight can make all the difference.
I saw the same in my students this week. I saw a lot of the baggage that my students are carrying and it filled me with sorrow and even some frustration. There is baggage that just goes along with being a middle school kid. There is some baggage that no kid should ever have to carry. There is baggage that is placed on the students from events in their personal life. There is baggage placed on the students from their experience in school. There is baggage and it is weighing them down.
While there is sorrow when I see the baggage that my students attempt to carry, I am at the same time filled with hope. My hope is that we can work together to shed some of the weight. While I may not be able to remove some of the baggage, perhaps we can work together to redistribute the weight so they can stand a bit straighter.
Regardless of my frustration with my own baggage for our trip, or the sorrow and frustration of watching my students struggle under the weight of all that they carry, sometimes baggage is inevitable. I have seen in my own life this week that my own attitude and outlook can add (or less often subtract) to that weight. No matter how much I may complain or lament that the baggage is there, it does nothing to help me or my students bear the weight.
Looking ahead to this trip and to this school year, I will focus on baggage management and elimination rather than baggage lamentation. I will do my best to find ways to ease the burden for my wife and our boys, as well as my students. My family and my students deserve to see a husband, dad, and teacher spend more time trying to assist with the weight and less time moaning and groaning about its presence. I have found, but often forget, that helping bear the weight of another's burden will often bring balance and relief to the load that I carry.
Here's to helping each other bear the weight.
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
The Weight and The Relief
Confession time again. I've been feeling a significant weight on my shoulders and nearly buckled under it this week.
Confession #2: I have struggled with being an overachiever, perfectionist, and professional stresser-outer for nearly all my life. Some days or even seasons of my life are easier than others. Some days or seasons nearly crush me.
I've been feeling the crush this week.
I believe with every cell in my being that the changes that I have made and continue to make to my teaching is absolutely in the best interest of my students. Admittedly, while my intentions may be noble, the execution of some of these plans or ideas of mine do not always go that well. I've been feeling a significant weight this week as multiple fronts combine to create a wall before me.
I do not wish to go on and on about my burdens, but will say that even the things that I believe are best for students can create a significant weight on my shoulders and require an exorbitant amount of time. I was feeling that this week.
I made plans to go to bed early last night, be up and out of the house as soon as possible, and try to get caught up on all that I need to do to meet the needs of my students. Despite being woken up three times last night (once for a truck slamming into and totalling one of our cars and the hour and a half ordeal with the police (who could not have been more helpful, by the way), once when my oldest son had lost his pillow, and another time when my oldest son had a nightmare and wanted me to lay in bed with him), I was still up at 4:15 getting ready to go. I arrived at school and got a significant amount of work done. I was feeling a very miniscule portion of the weight lift, and then my students arrived.
What I witnessed today from these students made me feel as though the burden had been wrenched off my shoulders. The perspective that it gave me allowed me to see through the wall that is before me, and see the wonderful things that are happening to and in my students.
I was so proud of my students yesterday that they were able to complete three sets (of five minutes each) of absolutely silent and focussed writing. For students who view writing as many adults would view root canal surgery, this fifteen minutes was nothing short of a miracle. Afterward, they said how much easier it is to write once you get started. They said how much easier it was to write using an outline. They said how much easier it was to write after I modeled for them what writing looks like. They said how much easier it was to write when they created a custom plan for how they would use class time.
I was on top of the world, and today I realized there are a few more floors to go.
I praised them today for their hard work yesterday. We talked strategies and plans. We checked rubrics and outlines. Then we tried the five minute silent writing again.
They didn't want to stop.
They kept asking to share what they wrote.
They begged for more time writing.
Yes! I am not making this up! They begged for longer than five minutes.
I suggested seven minutes and they laughed at me.
"We want 10."
"Guys, come on. Seriously. Let's try 8."
"Give us 10 minutes. We can do it."
That's when I caved. The fact that they unanimously believed in themselves that they could accomplish this goal was an accomplishment in and of itself.
"Ok. 10 minutes."
They didn't believe it when the timer went off. They thought I cheated and only set it to eight minutes. We debriefed afterwards and talked about what went well and what could have gone better.
They started begging again.
They wanted 15 minutes of silent writing.
I was amazed. We talked about strategies for if they get stuck, or if they finish.
Then they wrote. And wrote. And wrote.
I mentioned to them beforehand that if they could actually pull this off, then I would call the principal on the phone and brag on them for a bit.
When the fifteen minutes was up, and we listened to our writing, they insisted that we bring the principal to the room so they could see his reaction. He was gracious enough to oblige, and the smile on his face as I recounted the events of the day was enormous. He then asked, "How many of you are proud of what you wrote?" Every hand shot up as though he asked "Who likes pizza?"
And the burden is gone.
Yes, I still have a ton to do. Yes, I will probably have to prioritize and let a few things go. But what I saw today in these students was extraordinary, and it deserves nothing less than my full attention.
So you have seen my therapy session for the day. I put aside everything else to write this blog and reflect on the beautiful experience I was able to stand witness to today from students who have been so disenfranchised by school.
They named themselves OOTA, Out Of The Ashes, because "we've always been burned by school and have been covered in ashes, and we want to be something better."
Today, I saw the birth of something better.
Something beautiful.
Confession #2: I have struggled with being an overachiever, perfectionist, and professional stresser-outer for nearly all my life. Some days or even seasons of my life are easier than others. Some days or seasons nearly crush me.
I've been feeling the crush this week.
I believe with every cell in my being that the changes that I have made and continue to make to my teaching is absolutely in the best interest of my students. Admittedly, while my intentions may be noble, the execution of some of these plans or ideas of mine do not always go that well. I've been feeling a significant weight this week as multiple fronts combine to create a wall before me.
I do not wish to go on and on about my burdens, but will say that even the things that I believe are best for students can create a significant weight on my shoulders and require an exorbitant amount of time. I was feeling that this week.
I made plans to go to bed early last night, be up and out of the house as soon as possible, and try to get caught up on all that I need to do to meet the needs of my students. Despite being woken up three times last night (once for a truck slamming into and totalling one of our cars and the hour and a half ordeal with the police (who could not have been more helpful, by the way), once when my oldest son had lost his pillow, and another time when my oldest son had a nightmare and wanted me to lay in bed with him), I was still up at 4:15 getting ready to go. I arrived at school and got a significant amount of work done. I was feeling a very miniscule portion of the weight lift, and then my students arrived.
What I witnessed today from these students made me feel as though the burden had been wrenched off my shoulders. The perspective that it gave me allowed me to see through the wall that is before me, and see the wonderful things that are happening to and in my students.
I was so proud of my students yesterday that they were able to complete three sets (of five minutes each) of absolutely silent and focussed writing. For students who view writing as many adults would view root canal surgery, this fifteen minutes was nothing short of a miracle. Afterward, they said how much easier it is to write once you get started. They said how much easier it was to write using an outline. They said how much easier it was to write after I modeled for them what writing looks like. They said how much easier it was to write when they created a custom plan for how they would use class time.
I was on top of the world, and today I realized there are a few more floors to go.
I praised them today for their hard work yesterday. We talked strategies and plans. We checked rubrics and outlines. Then we tried the five minute silent writing again.
They didn't want to stop.
They kept asking to share what they wrote.
They begged for more time writing.
Yes! I am not making this up! They begged for longer than five minutes.
I suggested seven minutes and they laughed at me.
"We want 10."
"Guys, come on. Seriously. Let's try 8."
"Give us 10 minutes. We can do it."
That's when I caved. The fact that they unanimously believed in themselves that they could accomplish this goal was an accomplishment in and of itself.
"Ok. 10 minutes."
They didn't believe it when the timer went off. They thought I cheated and only set it to eight minutes. We debriefed afterwards and talked about what went well and what could have gone better.
They started begging again.
They wanted 15 minutes of silent writing.
I was amazed. We talked about strategies for if they get stuck, or if they finish.
Then they wrote. And wrote. And wrote.
I mentioned to them beforehand that if they could actually pull this off, then I would call the principal on the phone and brag on them for a bit.
When the fifteen minutes was up, and we listened to our writing, they insisted that we bring the principal to the room so they could see his reaction. He was gracious enough to oblige, and the smile on his face as I recounted the events of the day was enormous. He then asked, "How many of you are proud of what you wrote?" Every hand shot up as though he asked "Who likes pizza?"
And the burden is gone.
Yes, I still have a ton to do. Yes, I will probably have to prioritize and let a few things go. But what I saw today in these students was extraordinary, and it deserves nothing less than my full attention.
So you have seen my therapy session for the day. I put aside everything else to write this blog and reflect on the beautiful experience I was able to stand witness to today from students who have been so disenfranchised by school.
They named themselves OOTA, Out Of The Ashes, because "we've always been burned by school and have been covered in ashes, and we want to be something better."
Today, I saw the birth of something better.
Something beautiful.
Friday, September 27, 2013
There's No Debt...
Confession: I'm an NPR junkie.
I have a rather long commute to and from work each day and I love listening to NPR. My oldest son even enjoys listening to it when I bring him down to spend a day with my parents. I love getting caught up on world and national events, I love learning about "all" the things that they talk about on All Things Considered, I love when I am doing errands on Saturday and can catch snippets of Car Talk and Wait, Wait Don't Tell Me.
My favorite part, however, has to be the three to four minutes a week on Friday morning when they play excerpts from Story Corps. It is a project to record people's stories from around the country and it is incredible. This morning's story hit me hard. It was a dad and his grown son reflecting on an excruciating time in the son's life. It was incredibly touching to hear the two speak with such love and honesty. The line that got to me was toward the end when the son said, "I owe you so much. You saved my life." To which the dad replied, "There's no debt."
There's no debt.
I immediately thought of my two boys. My oldest is four and doing all the things a four year old should: getting dirty outside, jumping off of anything he can climb inside (though we try to discourage this one), asking a million questions before lunch, dressing up as Batman, learning to read, and throwing fits and testing his boundaries. My wife and I are admittedly struggling with how to correct the fits, the tantrums, and the talking back. He has had a particularly difficult week this week and we spoke often with him about him asking for forgiveness for his actions or words towards us, and how we will always forgive him, no matter what. We spoke to him of clean slates and fresh starts. We spoke to each other about how to offer correction and grace at the same time.
There's no debt.
We will not view him today through his poor choices of yesterday. We will always offer a fresh start and do all that we can to help him grow and choose what is best, not what is easy.
Here's the catch. He starts preschool in two weeks. I worry about that for a host of reasons. The big one? I want everyone he encounters to offer him the same fresh start. I want his teachers to extend grace as well as corrective guidance. I want them to do what is best for him, not what is easiest for them. I want his teachers to not hold his mistakes or errors over his head from day to day or year to year.
All this has been on my mind and heart but came to the forefront this morning when I heard the dad and his son talking. All of the thoughts that I have had about my son, and all of the thoughts I have had about my students came together somewhere between home and school. Just as I want what is best for my son from his teacher, someone somewhere wants that from me for their son or daughter.
Each and every one of my students deserves to be "debt free" in my class. Each student has someone worrying about him or her. Someone is hoping and praying that his or her teacher is doing what is best and not what is easy.
So today I make a commitment to my students and to their parents.
There's no debt.
I will not view my students through the lens of all of their past mistakes. I will give fresh starts each day or even each moment if I need to. I will not participate in discussions that come anywhere close to keeping the students in a perpetual state of judgment for past actions.
I will do my best to do what is best for my students and not what is easy for me. I will remember that my students are other people's children and those parents desperately want someone to "get" all the strengths and weaknesses and quirks of their children and support them in every way possible.
I want my sons and my students to know that when they are around me, there's no debt.
I have a rather long commute to and from work each day and I love listening to NPR. My oldest son even enjoys listening to it when I bring him down to spend a day with my parents. I love getting caught up on world and national events, I love learning about "all" the things that they talk about on All Things Considered, I love when I am doing errands on Saturday and can catch snippets of Car Talk and Wait, Wait Don't Tell Me.
My favorite part, however, has to be the three to four minutes a week on Friday morning when they play excerpts from Story Corps. It is a project to record people's stories from around the country and it is incredible. This morning's story hit me hard. It was a dad and his grown son reflecting on an excruciating time in the son's life. It was incredibly touching to hear the two speak with such love and honesty. The line that got to me was toward the end when the son said, "I owe you so much. You saved my life." To which the dad replied, "There's no debt."
There's no debt.
I immediately thought of my two boys. My oldest is four and doing all the things a four year old should: getting dirty outside, jumping off of anything he can climb inside (though we try to discourage this one), asking a million questions before lunch, dressing up as Batman, learning to read, and throwing fits and testing his boundaries. My wife and I are admittedly struggling with how to correct the fits, the tantrums, and the talking back. He has had a particularly difficult week this week and we spoke often with him about him asking for forgiveness for his actions or words towards us, and how we will always forgive him, no matter what. We spoke to him of clean slates and fresh starts. We spoke to each other about how to offer correction and grace at the same time.
There's no debt.
We will not view him today through his poor choices of yesterday. We will always offer a fresh start and do all that we can to help him grow and choose what is best, not what is easy.
Here's the catch. He starts preschool in two weeks. I worry about that for a host of reasons. The big one? I want everyone he encounters to offer him the same fresh start. I want his teachers to extend grace as well as corrective guidance. I want them to do what is best for him, not what is easiest for them. I want his teachers to not hold his mistakes or errors over his head from day to day or year to year.
All this has been on my mind and heart but came to the forefront this morning when I heard the dad and his son talking. All of the thoughts that I have had about my son, and all of the thoughts I have had about my students came together somewhere between home and school. Just as I want what is best for my son from his teacher, someone somewhere wants that from me for their son or daughter.
Each and every one of my students deserves to be "debt free" in my class. Each student has someone worrying about him or her. Someone is hoping and praying that his or her teacher is doing what is best and not what is easy.
So today I make a commitment to my students and to their parents.
There's no debt.
I will not view my students through the lens of all of their past mistakes. I will give fresh starts each day or even each moment if I need to. I will not participate in discussions that come anywhere close to keeping the students in a perpetual state of judgment for past actions.
I will do my best to do what is best for my students and not what is easy for me. I will remember that my students are other people's children and those parents desperately want someone to "get" all the strengths and weaknesses and quirks of their children and support them in every way possible.
I want my sons and my students to know that when they are around me, there's no debt.
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
What a mess...
I had a very different idea of what "messy" meant when I originally thought of the title to this post a few days ago.
In this blog, and in numerous conversations with colleagues and my wife, I have spoken about how amazed I am at what my students have been doing these past few weeks. I have seen things that I hoped would occur by the end of the year, but time and time again these students exceed all expectations I have of them.
It has been wonderful to watch them break out of the confines that normally or traditionally bind them. One of the strategies that I have been using is to remove myself as a resource. We go over the goals for the day, I give them an overview of what my expectations are in regards to any products they need to produce during class, I give them a few minutes to ask me questions, and then I go mute.
This was harder for me than I thought it would be, but is incredibly rewarding. They create plans as a whole class before moving forward. They elect a supervisor through blind voting, they break up into small groups according to student interests and skill sets. The leaders check in with small groups. Representatives from groups travel to other groups updating them on progress. Small group and whole group leaders meet with students without jobs asking them how they would like to contribute to the project. They come together a few minutes before the product is due and make sure that everyone understands the purpose and the final product. They make sure that everyone likes what the individual groups came up with.
They do it all without me suggesting any of it.
We are only in the fourth week of school, yet they act like they've been doing this forever. Each day I do something like this, they streamline the process a bit more. They try strategies that worked for them in the past. When they aren't that effective, they try new things.
But it's messy.
There's a lot of noise. There are miscalculations, things overlooked, plans that don't work.
But this is exactly what learning should be. No obstacle has gotten in their way that they couldn't find a way around. Sometimes there were obstacles there from the beginning that they just didn't see. Sometimes obstacles pop up somewhere in the process. But they move forward.
It is a beautiful mess.
Then "messy" took on a whole new meaning yesterday.
Without going into a lot of details, the "candy coating" is wearing off, and the "honeymoon" appears to be over with OOTA. It has nothing to do with a falling out or any particular incident. I do not even mean to imply that there is anything wrong with transitioning to the next phase. There was just a noticeable change in mood and atmosphere. The burdens that students carry started becoming much more apparent. There were a few absences. We struggled through changing Apple IDs and other tedious activities. It was a mess yesterday.
I went home drained and discouraged. I saw pain in my students' eyes from the weights that they carry. I longed to be able to somehow make their lives better so they could be kids and not deal with the adult-sized burdens that some of them bear. I was frustrated that I allowed myself to become rattled by things of little lasting significance.
I was a mess.
Then the sun rose and it was a new day in more ways than one. Smiles were back. Fantastic progress was made on the projects that they are creating. Students were spilling their guts in their blogs. I felt the fire ignite within my own soul again. I saw students get excited about what they were blogging about moments after initially moaning about having to write anything. I saw students figure out ways to get around obstacles on their own. I saw them write with honesty and openness. I saw spelling mistake after spelling mistake. I saw some students momentarily off task. I saw students help each other. I saw a student return from being absent and not miss a single beat with his project. I saw a student display more independence and willingness to take charge of his learning than he has displayed so far. I saw students laying on tables, but on task. I saw students working collaboratively in the hall. I saw students taking selfies.
It was a mess.
And I loved every moment of it...
In this blog, and in numerous conversations with colleagues and my wife, I have spoken about how amazed I am at what my students have been doing these past few weeks. I have seen things that I hoped would occur by the end of the year, but time and time again these students exceed all expectations I have of them.
It has been wonderful to watch them break out of the confines that normally or traditionally bind them. One of the strategies that I have been using is to remove myself as a resource. We go over the goals for the day, I give them an overview of what my expectations are in regards to any products they need to produce during class, I give them a few minutes to ask me questions, and then I go mute.
This was harder for me than I thought it would be, but is incredibly rewarding. They create plans as a whole class before moving forward. They elect a supervisor through blind voting, they break up into small groups according to student interests and skill sets. The leaders check in with small groups. Representatives from groups travel to other groups updating them on progress. Small group and whole group leaders meet with students without jobs asking them how they would like to contribute to the project. They come together a few minutes before the product is due and make sure that everyone understands the purpose and the final product. They make sure that everyone likes what the individual groups came up with.
They do it all without me suggesting any of it.
We are only in the fourth week of school, yet they act like they've been doing this forever. Each day I do something like this, they streamline the process a bit more. They try strategies that worked for them in the past. When they aren't that effective, they try new things.
But it's messy.
There's a lot of noise. There are miscalculations, things overlooked, plans that don't work.
But this is exactly what learning should be. No obstacle has gotten in their way that they couldn't find a way around. Sometimes there were obstacles there from the beginning that they just didn't see. Sometimes obstacles pop up somewhere in the process. But they move forward.
It is a beautiful mess.
Then "messy" took on a whole new meaning yesterday.
Without going into a lot of details, the "candy coating" is wearing off, and the "honeymoon" appears to be over with OOTA. It has nothing to do with a falling out or any particular incident. I do not even mean to imply that there is anything wrong with transitioning to the next phase. There was just a noticeable change in mood and atmosphere. The burdens that students carry started becoming much more apparent. There were a few absences. We struggled through changing Apple IDs and other tedious activities. It was a mess yesterday.
I went home drained and discouraged. I saw pain in my students' eyes from the weights that they carry. I longed to be able to somehow make their lives better so they could be kids and not deal with the adult-sized burdens that some of them bear. I was frustrated that I allowed myself to become rattled by things of little lasting significance.
I was a mess.
Then the sun rose and it was a new day in more ways than one. Smiles were back. Fantastic progress was made on the projects that they are creating. Students were spilling their guts in their blogs. I felt the fire ignite within my own soul again. I saw students get excited about what they were blogging about moments after initially moaning about having to write anything. I saw students figure out ways to get around obstacles on their own. I saw them write with honesty and openness. I saw spelling mistake after spelling mistake. I saw some students momentarily off task. I saw students help each other. I saw a student return from being absent and not miss a single beat with his project. I saw a student display more independence and willingness to take charge of his learning than he has displayed so far. I saw students laying on tables, but on task. I saw students working collaboratively in the hall. I saw students taking selfies.
It was a mess.
And I loved every moment of it...
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
"You Say You Want a Revolution..."
I spent most of class on Friday and Monday amazed as I watched student presentations that were created to answer the question, "What is Project Based Learning." It was an assignment that was a spur of the moment idea thanks to some honest feedback from a student (an iPad held up for me to read a screenshot that said 'Boring'). There were few guidelines other than to use any resource in the room to create some kind of product to explain Project Based Learning. It was the first opportunity to really let them explore and experiment on their own.
My first reaction was amazement that they could come up with such great presentations using technology that was brand new to them to communicate a teaching method that is also brand new to them. There were special effects in Keynote. There were great movies made with iMovie. There were films using stop motion animation, fantastic character voices, and legos. There was a high level of "razzle dazzle."
And then I really listened.
I will be honest that what I heard made me a bit uncomfortable. I did not ask them to make any judgments or comparisons or to take a particular side, yet student after student spoke with something in between passion and certainty that PBL is a better way for them to learn. They talked about past experiences that did not necessarily meet their needs. They spoke about "better" and "more exciting."
I started to squirm.
I did not squirm because I don't believe or agree with them, but because I do believe them and agree with them with every fiber of my being. I may or may not have joked (your Honor) with several people over the summer about staging an academic revolution. Where students are shown another way to learn and they rise up and demand it. All I kept thinking as I sat through the presentations was, "Holy smokes they're actually doing that!" "Revolution Leader" is not on my resume, but I'm willing to learn.
As I sat and listened and watched, there was excitement in their eyes as they explained that they could work at their own pace, that the learning would be relevant, that the projects themselves would be both how they learned and how they demonstrated their learning. There was smile after smile on students' faces as they talked about what this year is going to involve. Their own pace. No tests. Hands-on projects. Flexible instruction. Authentic assessments. Relevant content Engaging application. What I heard and saw, in a word, was hope.
Then it hit me. They have totally bought into this new endeavor. What kept going through my mind was, "I better deliver." They were all-in and actually excited to be here and to learn in a new way.
The revolution is beginning and there is no turning back.
My hope is that we can stage a revolution that does more building than tearing down. If we need to clear some space and tear down some barriers or old structures, so be it, but only if we can build something better. One of the most beautiful things about this revolution is that I have only a shadow of an idea of what the "something better" looks like.
The only thing I am certain of is that we can and must build it together.
My first reaction was amazement that they could come up with such great presentations using technology that was brand new to them to communicate a teaching method that is also brand new to them. There were special effects in Keynote. There were great movies made with iMovie. There were films using stop motion animation, fantastic character voices, and legos. There was a high level of "razzle dazzle."
And then I really listened.
I will be honest that what I heard made me a bit uncomfortable. I did not ask them to make any judgments or comparisons or to take a particular side, yet student after student spoke with something in between passion and certainty that PBL is a better way for them to learn. They talked about past experiences that did not necessarily meet their needs. They spoke about "better" and "more exciting."
I started to squirm.
I did not squirm because I don't believe or agree with them, but because I do believe them and agree with them with every fiber of my being. I may or may not have joked (your Honor) with several people over the summer about staging an academic revolution. Where students are shown another way to learn and they rise up and demand it. All I kept thinking as I sat through the presentations was, "Holy smokes they're actually doing that!" "Revolution Leader" is not on my resume, but I'm willing to learn.
As I sat and listened and watched, there was excitement in their eyes as they explained that they could work at their own pace, that the learning would be relevant, that the projects themselves would be both how they learned and how they demonstrated their learning. There was smile after smile on students' faces as they talked about what this year is going to involve. Their own pace. No tests. Hands-on projects. Flexible instruction. Authentic assessments. Relevant content Engaging application. What I heard and saw, in a word, was hope.
Then it hit me. They have totally bought into this new endeavor. What kept going through my mind was, "I better deliver." They were all-in and actually excited to be here and to learn in a new way.
The revolution is beginning and there is no turning back.
My hope is that we can stage a revolution that does more building than tearing down. If we need to clear some space and tear down some barriers or old structures, so be it, but only if we can build something better. One of the most beautiful things about this revolution is that I have only a shadow of an idea of what the "something better" looks like.
The only thing I am certain of is that we can and must build it together.
Thursday, September 12, 2013
Lessons From a Bean Field
I found myself in awe today of the fact that I get to teach. I get to dedicate my life to helping young minds grow. I get to help my students along the journey towards becoming the people that they always dreamed they could be.
Part of that journey took place in a Maine bean field.
A colleague of mine, who I hold in the highest regards, organized a trip to a local farm for the entire 7th grade as well as the students in my program. We boarded and rode hot buses on an unseasonably hot and humid day, then filed out into a very organized plan-of-attack at the farm. We all bent down and grabbed handful after handful of fresh, tender green beans, put them in buckets and then into bushel baskets that will soon be served to our students for lunches. He has been doing this for a while and I am amazed at the passion that comes through when he speaks to the students about the Farm to School program, the benefits of eating locally grown crops, and the wonder and amazement that nature can produce such diverse and delicious bounties. It was great to see him teaching to and from the heart today.
In the midst of this great experience were a few events that unsettled me a bit. Actually they rattled me to my core. Rather than going into detail or even giving an overview, I think it is more important to share the lessons I learned from them. With this year and this blog I choose to stay positive and look for ways to help be a part of solutions. Problems arise, I understand, but for me to just vent about them without offering any plan for a solution or how I will use those problems to help me and my students grow would be to go through this life without a sense of joy or eager expectation of how I can help make the world a better place.
Geez. There's that Hallmark moment again. My apologies.
So the lessons from the bean field:
I choose to seek out the positive in students, however hidden it may sometimes be. I choose to pick and choose my battles understanding that my tone of voice or the words that are said can quickly undo any progress that has been made to build a connection with a student. I choose to let go of my expectations if they do not put the needs of my students first. I choose to remember that what is best is not always easy, and what is easy is not always best. Whether that is in regards to my choices and behavior or my students'. My students need as many people modeling for them how to choose what is best over what is easy. I choose to be one of those individuals.
I choose these things, but they are not one-time choices. I must make and remake these choices dozens of times a day. Sometimes I choose poorly. Sometimes I take the path that is easy, rather than the one that is best. Some days are a string of poor choices. But I can also choose to allow those days filled with poor choices and me dropping the ball to become learning experiences for me and those around me.
I choose today to teach to and from the heart.
Now cue the sappy music...
Part of that journey took place in a Maine bean field.
A colleague of mine, who I hold in the highest regards, organized a trip to a local farm for the entire 7th grade as well as the students in my program. We boarded and rode hot buses on an unseasonably hot and humid day, then filed out into a very organized plan-of-attack at the farm. We all bent down and grabbed handful after handful of fresh, tender green beans, put them in buckets and then into bushel baskets that will soon be served to our students for lunches. He has been doing this for a while and I am amazed at the passion that comes through when he speaks to the students about the Farm to School program, the benefits of eating locally grown crops, and the wonder and amazement that nature can produce such diverse and delicious bounties. It was great to see him teaching to and from the heart today.
In the midst of this great experience were a few events that unsettled me a bit. Actually they rattled me to my core. Rather than going into detail or even giving an overview, I think it is more important to share the lessons I learned from them. With this year and this blog I choose to stay positive and look for ways to help be a part of solutions. Problems arise, I understand, but for me to just vent about them without offering any plan for a solution or how I will use those problems to help me and my students grow would be to go through this life without a sense of joy or eager expectation of how I can help make the world a better place.
Geez. There's that Hallmark moment again. My apologies.
So the lessons from the bean field:
I choose to seek out the positive in students, however hidden it may sometimes be. I choose to pick and choose my battles understanding that my tone of voice or the words that are said can quickly undo any progress that has been made to build a connection with a student. I choose to let go of my expectations if they do not put the needs of my students first. I choose to remember that what is best is not always easy, and what is easy is not always best. Whether that is in regards to my choices and behavior or my students'. My students need as many people modeling for them how to choose what is best over what is easy. I choose to be one of those individuals.
I choose these things, but they are not one-time choices. I must make and remake these choices dozens of times a day. Sometimes I choose poorly. Sometimes I take the path that is easy, rather than the one that is best. Some days are a string of poor choices. But I can also choose to allow those days filled with poor choices and me dropping the ball to become learning experiences for me and those around me.
I choose today to teach to and from the heart.
Now cue the sappy music...
Sunday, September 8, 2013
Teaching with and to the heart
I received an email last night from a colleague who has been a huge support and resource for this new endeavor I am undertaking this year. The email contained a link to a blog written about school and educational reform. It was inspiring. It was controversial. It was thought provoking. I loved it. It got me thinking deeper about several experiences from the past week.
Act I
First, a very eye-opening experience from the week before school, as we teachers were opening and setting up classrooms that had been freshly cleaned and ready for a new year of wear and tear. We are a middle school in Maine, which means that we have the incredibly fortunate opportunity to be part of the Maine Learning Technology Initiative and have 1:1 devices for all seventh and eighth graders. This year marked a milestone for several reasons. The first is that it is time to get new devices. The second is that for the first time, those new devices are not laptops. They are iPads.
Please note, this is not a post about brand loyalty or drawing a line in the sand about being a "PC Guy" or "Mac Guy." All I will say about that is that I am very aware of how fortunate we are to be in a state that not only says it values technology and education, but that opens up doors to give our students top-of-the-line technology that will help enhance their learning experience.
Ok. Back to the show.
With this new technology comes a huge learning curve for us as teachers. How do we support students on devices some of us know little about? How do we take advantage of the fact that we can customize an iPad with different apps to meet the individual needs of students, while at the same time not allow that to be abused by anyone? How do we best use this new technology?
These and many more questions have been floating around the building for a while now. Without going into a lot of detail, there has been a significant amount of anxiety and tension around the new technology and how to use and manage it. There are some that are stressed and yet willing to learn something new. There are those who, by appearance, have given up before they have even started because it seems too hard. There are some that want their old laptops back so as to not have to learn the new devices. There are those who are psyched out of their minds and can't wait to see what how we can use this technology to better meet the needs of our students. There are those who may have a bit of a stress-medley and have a little helping of all those outlooks.
After seeing all these different reactions, it hit me that we have an extraordinary opportunity to better understand our students. We, as teachers, are a group who have chosen to dedicate our lives to a profession that is focussed on learning. That's what we are supposed to be all about: how to teach students how to learn. (There is a whole other conversation there on whether we are truly doing that or just teaching how to jump through hoops and regurgitate information, but I'm too tired to tackle all of that in one post.) We have a remarkable teachable moment if we choose to acknowledge it. Here we are, professionals, exhibiting the exact same behaviors and modes of thinking that our students do on a daily basis about reading, writing, math, and science. If we can allow ourselves to pause a moment and recognize how we are responding to this new challenge, and see that it is not that different than our students' responses, we may be able to make some significant progress in the lives of our students. We now know first hand what it is like to be too intimidated to try. We now know exactly what it feels like to be so overwhelmed with what is being asked of us that we refuse to let go of something. We now know what it's like to be scared to show others that we don't really have all the answers.
My hope is that we will remember this feeling when our students are feeling the same way and not necessarily handling it in the best way. Maybe we will be a bit slower to get frustrated when they turn and joke with another student to cover their fear or frustration. Maybe we will be able to extend more grace or compassion when our reading or math assignment causes students to shut down. Maybe we will have a bit more patience and perspective when our students refuse to do the previous night's assignment. I hope so.
Act II
I promise to make this shorter.
I had an extraordinary experience sitting in class at the end of the day on our first day of school. Because of how we scheduled this new endeavor, I get to be in with my students while one of my colleagues teaches science. We will eventually team-teach, or I'll meet with small groups or one-on-one to help meet the students' needs, but for Tuesday, I got to sit with them and participate in the class.
I sat next to a student who I knew needed to make connections with teachers in order to be successful. When that connection is absent, this particular student has historically had a very difficult time. So I believe it was with the best intentions that I found myself wanting to talk to him and joke around when the teacher was talking. Yes, I admit it! I wanted to make him laugh and build some trust between us. It had nothing to do with wanting to sabotage my colleague, for whom I have an enormous amount of respect. It had nothing to do with wanting to sabotage the rest of the class. It had everything to do with wanting to build a connection. Thankfully, I realized all of this before I actually started joking around. I was struck by the fact that it took a significant amount of self-control and self-awareness to stay on task, despite my good intentions. How can we, or how can I, expect my students to exhibit the same level of self-control and self-awareness every moment or every day, when it was so difficult for me, an adult and teacher more than twice their age?
The Finale
Back to reforming schools.
Both of these experiences I have shared, along with many others I have had both as a teacher and student, make me a firm believer in reforming schools. On my particularly passionate days, I may even say that we need to call for a revolution. However, I do not believe it will start or even end with legislators, despite their best intentions. Laws, regulations, policies, and even technology and standards will not really reform education. I believe that it begins and ends with teachers teaching with their heart and to the students' hearts.
You can cue the Hallmark After School Special soundtrack now.
Despite sounding kind of corny, I truly believe that teaching is about hearts as well as minds. I believe that a lot of work needs to be done to improve how we teach from and to both, but too often it is the heart that is left out of the equation. We tend to think a lot about numbers, grades, statistics. We tend to ignore feelings and character, or simply reduce them to values that never quite make it into our curriculum. I would like to commit to focussing on individual hearts and minds that need a tremendous amount of care and guidance. I would like to commit to creating a culture in my classroom that engages the mind and the heart. When we care more about quantifiable data than we do the individual whose "output" is being quantified, we miss the opportunity to help form hearts and minds.
School reform begins when we focus on forming the hearts and minds of our students.
I know I have talked a lot about "we" or "teachers," but I want this to start with me. I want to commit to focussing all my energy on helping to be a part of forming healthy, inquisitive, thoughtful, awe-filled hearts and minds. I want to teach with my heart and my mind. I want to truly embrace the credo that I came up with and wrote on the board my very first day of teaching: "We seek to embrace awe, and wonder, and amazement of the world around us as we strive to become the individuals we always dreamed we could be."
School reform is possible. But it does not begin with the school. It begins with the hearts and minds of teachers engaging, challenging, guiding, and enriching the hearts and minds of their students.
Act I
First, a very eye-opening experience from the week before school, as we teachers were opening and setting up classrooms that had been freshly cleaned and ready for a new year of wear and tear. We are a middle school in Maine, which means that we have the incredibly fortunate opportunity to be part of the Maine Learning Technology Initiative and have 1:1 devices for all seventh and eighth graders. This year marked a milestone for several reasons. The first is that it is time to get new devices. The second is that for the first time, those new devices are not laptops. They are iPads.
Please note, this is not a post about brand loyalty or drawing a line in the sand about being a "PC Guy" or "Mac Guy." All I will say about that is that I am very aware of how fortunate we are to be in a state that not only says it values technology and education, but that opens up doors to give our students top-of-the-line technology that will help enhance their learning experience.
Ok. Back to the show.
With this new technology comes a huge learning curve for us as teachers. How do we support students on devices some of us know little about? How do we take advantage of the fact that we can customize an iPad with different apps to meet the individual needs of students, while at the same time not allow that to be abused by anyone? How do we best use this new technology?
These and many more questions have been floating around the building for a while now. Without going into a lot of detail, there has been a significant amount of anxiety and tension around the new technology and how to use and manage it. There are some that are stressed and yet willing to learn something new. There are those who, by appearance, have given up before they have even started because it seems too hard. There are some that want their old laptops back so as to not have to learn the new devices. There are those who are psyched out of their minds and can't wait to see what how we can use this technology to better meet the needs of our students. There are those who may have a bit of a stress-medley and have a little helping of all those outlooks.
After seeing all these different reactions, it hit me that we have an extraordinary opportunity to better understand our students. We, as teachers, are a group who have chosen to dedicate our lives to a profession that is focussed on learning. That's what we are supposed to be all about: how to teach students how to learn. (There is a whole other conversation there on whether we are truly doing that or just teaching how to jump through hoops and regurgitate information, but I'm too tired to tackle all of that in one post.) We have a remarkable teachable moment if we choose to acknowledge it. Here we are, professionals, exhibiting the exact same behaviors and modes of thinking that our students do on a daily basis about reading, writing, math, and science. If we can allow ourselves to pause a moment and recognize how we are responding to this new challenge, and see that it is not that different than our students' responses, we may be able to make some significant progress in the lives of our students. We now know first hand what it is like to be too intimidated to try. We now know exactly what it feels like to be so overwhelmed with what is being asked of us that we refuse to let go of something. We now know what it's like to be scared to show others that we don't really have all the answers.
My hope is that we will remember this feeling when our students are feeling the same way and not necessarily handling it in the best way. Maybe we will be a bit slower to get frustrated when they turn and joke with another student to cover their fear or frustration. Maybe we will be able to extend more grace or compassion when our reading or math assignment causes students to shut down. Maybe we will have a bit more patience and perspective when our students refuse to do the previous night's assignment. I hope so.
Act II
I promise to make this shorter.
I had an extraordinary experience sitting in class at the end of the day on our first day of school. Because of how we scheduled this new endeavor, I get to be in with my students while one of my colleagues teaches science. We will eventually team-teach, or I'll meet with small groups or one-on-one to help meet the students' needs, but for Tuesday, I got to sit with them and participate in the class.
I sat next to a student who I knew needed to make connections with teachers in order to be successful. When that connection is absent, this particular student has historically had a very difficult time. So I believe it was with the best intentions that I found myself wanting to talk to him and joke around when the teacher was talking. Yes, I admit it! I wanted to make him laugh and build some trust between us. It had nothing to do with wanting to sabotage my colleague, for whom I have an enormous amount of respect. It had nothing to do with wanting to sabotage the rest of the class. It had everything to do with wanting to build a connection. Thankfully, I realized all of this before I actually started joking around. I was struck by the fact that it took a significant amount of self-control and self-awareness to stay on task, despite my good intentions. How can we, or how can I, expect my students to exhibit the same level of self-control and self-awareness every moment or every day, when it was so difficult for me, an adult and teacher more than twice their age?
The Finale
Back to reforming schools.
Both of these experiences I have shared, along with many others I have had both as a teacher and student, make me a firm believer in reforming schools. On my particularly passionate days, I may even say that we need to call for a revolution. However, I do not believe it will start or even end with legislators, despite their best intentions. Laws, regulations, policies, and even technology and standards will not really reform education. I believe that it begins and ends with teachers teaching with their heart and to the students' hearts.
You can cue the Hallmark After School Special soundtrack now.
Despite sounding kind of corny, I truly believe that teaching is about hearts as well as minds. I believe that a lot of work needs to be done to improve how we teach from and to both, but too often it is the heart that is left out of the equation. We tend to think a lot about numbers, grades, statistics. We tend to ignore feelings and character, or simply reduce them to values that never quite make it into our curriculum. I would like to commit to focussing on individual hearts and minds that need a tremendous amount of care and guidance. I would like to commit to creating a culture in my classroom that engages the mind and the heart. When we care more about quantifiable data than we do the individual whose "output" is being quantified, we miss the opportunity to help form hearts and minds.
School reform begins when we focus on forming the hearts and minds of our students.
I know I have talked a lot about "we" or "teachers," but I want this to start with me. I want to commit to focussing all my energy on helping to be a part of forming healthy, inquisitive, thoughtful, awe-filled hearts and minds. I want to teach with my heart and my mind. I want to truly embrace the credo that I came up with and wrote on the board my very first day of teaching: "We seek to embrace awe, and wonder, and amazement of the world around us as we strive to become the individuals we always dreamed we could be."
School reform is possible. But it does not begin with the school. It begins with the hearts and minds of teachers engaging, challenging, guiding, and enriching the hearts and minds of their students.
Friday, September 6, 2013
In Total Awe...
I committed to updating this blog once a week thinking that that would be a stretch given my history with journaling. However, after just four days, I wish that I could find a way to pour all of my observations and thoughts on paper as soon as possible. I'll try to keep this one brief.
Here's a bit of background first:
This "program" was designed to help meet the needs of students who have not been successful, for whatever reason, in a traditional classroom setting. There are as many different reasons why they haven't been successful as there are students in the class. This program will be as rigorous as a traditional classroom, but every effort will be made to meet the individual needs of every single student. I could go on and on about what I want this to be and my role and yadda, yadda, yadda. Two of my students articulated the heart of this program with the phrase, "The freedom to learn in our own way." Boom. (For more info, there is a quick overview on one of the pages of my website A New Path at WJHS
Now to the part that I cannot communicate without getting choked up. We were building off of an activity from yesterday where they were put in charge of coming up with a name for the program. For a bit more detail, read the post from yesterday.
How they applied their learning from yesterday to today was extraordinary. There were small groups meeting to discuss potential names. Leaders arose and went back and forth between students who were not engaged or not participating. The names were focussed on trying to represent who we are and who we want to be. The silly names were a thing of the past. They looked like they had been doing this for months. On day four.
I stopped them at the end of ten minutes and read my observations and we discussed how they felt it went. We all agreed that it was much more productive than yesterday. We then decided to go through and see what we came up with for names.
There were lots of suggstions involving paths, pathways, new beginnings, etc.
Awesome.
Then they hit me with it. The name that they voted for is the acronym OOTA.
It stands for
Out Of The Ashes.
Boom.
I cannot say that or think it without getting tears in my eyes. When I asked what that meant, multiple students communicated the following (I am combining several students' statements), "We have all had a really rough time with school in the past and felt buried in ashes. Now we want to rise from that, kind of like a Phoenix, and become something better."
Yeah.
I'm going to let that speak for itself. I cannot wait to see them again on Monday.
Here's a bit of background first:
This "program" was designed to help meet the needs of students who have not been successful, for whatever reason, in a traditional classroom setting. There are as many different reasons why they haven't been successful as there are students in the class. This program will be as rigorous as a traditional classroom, but every effort will be made to meet the individual needs of every single student. I could go on and on about what I want this to be and my role and yadda, yadda, yadda. Two of my students articulated the heart of this program with the phrase, "The freedom to learn in our own way." Boom. (For more info, there is a quick overview on one of the pages of my website A New Path at WJHS
Now to the part that I cannot communicate without getting choked up. We were building off of an activity from yesterday where they were put in charge of coming up with a name for the program. For a bit more detail, read the post from yesterday.
How they applied their learning from yesterday to today was extraordinary. There were small groups meeting to discuss potential names. Leaders arose and went back and forth between students who were not engaged or not participating. The names were focussed on trying to represent who we are and who we want to be. The silly names were a thing of the past. They looked like they had been doing this for months. On day four.
I stopped them at the end of ten minutes and read my observations and we discussed how they felt it went. We all agreed that it was much more productive than yesterday. We then decided to go through and see what we came up with for names.
There were lots of suggstions involving paths, pathways, new beginnings, etc.
Awesome.
Then they hit me with it. The name that they voted for is the acronym OOTA.
It stands for
Out Of The Ashes.
Boom.
I cannot say that or think it without getting tears in my eyes. When I asked what that meant, multiple students communicated the following (I am combining several students' statements), "We have all had a really rough time with school in the past and felt buried in ashes. Now we want to rise from that, kind of like a Phoenix, and become something better."
Yeah.
I'm going to let that speak for itself. I cannot wait to see them again on Monday.
Thursday, September 5, 2013
Wow.
Students are engaged.
Students are laughing.
Students are learning.
Students are participating.
Students are exploring.
Students are experimenting.
I cannot begin to explain how amazing it is to write those sentences as observations of things in the present, rather than goals for the future. It's messy, there's lots that I need to learn and change, but man is this exciting. I have heard some incredible things from students this week. When we were working on our expectations for each other and me, one student responded to the question, "What do you need from me (the teacher)," with, "The freedom to learn." Another student immediately added, "The freedom to learn in our own way." Wow. In that one phrase, my students articulated what I believe to be at the very core of this new endeavor.
I have received incredibly touching and encouraging emails from parents about the changes they have already seen in their son or daughter. I am humbled and honored to be a part of that change, though it is absolutely a team effort by all those who are working with me behind the scenes.
Today was amazing. We did some creative problem solving/team building activities that were fun for some, and challenging for others. We talked about how one of the activities could be a metaphor for how we want to work and what they need from me to be successful. One of the coolest things happened after I gave them a short 5 minute pitch on what this program is, what my role will be, and where we want students to be able to go. I told them they needed to name the program and that I would not be saying a word for ten minutes. I sat and wrote down what I saw and heard, and it was amazing. It began with a relatively high volume of people shouting out suggestions or critiquing other suggestions. It then became completely chaotic with few individual voices heard and no progress made. Some students just sat there. One was laying on a table. I will admit it was difficult to not step in. But I wanted and still want them to experiment and learn to explore and navigate on their own. At the peak of the chaos, I began hearing some students say things like, "This is NOT working." "We're getting nowhere." "I'm going to leave." Then came the suggestions like, "We need to be quiet." "How about we raise our hand." "We need to focus." Then it began to quiet down. Not silent, mind you, but much more conducive to having a discussion. Then they started working it out on their own.
I stopped them at the end of ten minutes to share what I saw and heard without making any judgments. They thought they had failed. Then I shared with them how amazed I was that in just ten minutes, on the third day of school, they were able to recognize what they were meant to be doing, experiment with how to meet the goal, see what was not working, devise a plan for how to fix the problem, and proceed to execute their plan. All without any input whatsoever from an adult. I thought they were incredible. It was wonderful to see the recognition on their faces that they did something well that they thought they failed at.
I commented to someone today that I feel that if the school year were to end today, I could write at least multiple chapters, if not an entire book, of what I have learned and observed these past few days. It has been incredibly exciting, invigorating, terrifying, and enlightening. It has been incredibly meaningful for me from a personal standpoint as well. For the first time I really feel like I am doing exactly what I was made to do.
Already I love this year. I am growing as a learner and teacher, and my students are as well. We are experimenting and trying new things. We are sharing ideas. We are laughing and smiling in school. We are pushing ourselves as learners. We are reflecting on our learning. Day three complete.
I cannot wait for tomorrow.
Students are laughing.
Students are learning.
Students are participating.
Students are exploring.
Students are experimenting.
I cannot begin to explain how amazing it is to write those sentences as observations of things in the present, rather than goals for the future. It's messy, there's lots that I need to learn and change, but man is this exciting. I have heard some incredible things from students this week. When we were working on our expectations for each other and me, one student responded to the question, "What do you need from me (the teacher)," with, "The freedom to learn." Another student immediately added, "The freedom to learn in our own way." Wow. In that one phrase, my students articulated what I believe to be at the very core of this new endeavor.
I have received incredibly touching and encouraging emails from parents about the changes they have already seen in their son or daughter. I am humbled and honored to be a part of that change, though it is absolutely a team effort by all those who are working with me behind the scenes.
Today was amazing. We did some creative problem solving/team building activities that were fun for some, and challenging for others. We talked about how one of the activities could be a metaphor for how we want to work and what they need from me to be successful. One of the coolest things happened after I gave them a short 5 minute pitch on what this program is, what my role will be, and where we want students to be able to go. I told them they needed to name the program and that I would not be saying a word for ten minutes. I sat and wrote down what I saw and heard, and it was amazing. It began with a relatively high volume of people shouting out suggestions or critiquing other suggestions. It then became completely chaotic with few individual voices heard and no progress made. Some students just sat there. One was laying on a table. I will admit it was difficult to not step in. But I wanted and still want them to experiment and learn to explore and navigate on their own. At the peak of the chaos, I began hearing some students say things like, "This is NOT working." "We're getting nowhere." "I'm going to leave." Then came the suggestions like, "We need to be quiet." "How about we raise our hand." "We need to focus." Then it began to quiet down. Not silent, mind you, but much more conducive to having a discussion. Then they started working it out on their own.
I stopped them at the end of ten minutes to share what I saw and heard without making any judgments. They thought they had failed. Then I shared with them how amazed I was that in just ten minutes, on the third day of school, they were able to recognize what they were meant to be doing, experiment with how to meet the goal, see what was not working, devise a plan for how to fix the problem, and proceed to execute their plan. All without any input whatsoever from an adult. I thought they were incredible. It was wonderful to see the recognition on their faces that they did something well that they thought they failed at.
I commented to someone today that I feel that if the school year were to end today, I could write at least multiple chapters, if not an entire book, of what I have learned and observed these past few days. It has been incredibly exciting, invigorating, terrifying, and enlightening. It has been incredibly meaningful for me from a personal standpoint as well. For the first time I really feel like I am doing exactly what I was made to do.
Already I love this year. I am growing as a learner and teacher, and my students are as well. We are experimenting and trying new things. We are sharing ideas. We are laughing and smiling in school. We are pushing ourselves as learners. We are reflecting on our learning. Day three complete.
I cannot wait for tomorrow.
Monday, September 2, 2013
I'm antsy....
It's 9:34 on September 2. In less than 24 hours, all of the philosophizing, planning, strategizing, reading, discussing, revising, and hoping will all come together as my students walk through the doors for the first time. Commence antsiness...
I am by nature a very analytical person. I was talking about this with my wife yesterday and we both articulated that when I think about something, it consumes me. This is a rather nice way to say that I can become mildly obsessed. I need to think about things from multiple angles. I work and re-work scenarios in my mind. It doesn't matter if I am thinking about a woodworking project, how to help my son with his bedtime routine, what I want to make my wife for Christmas, or teaching.
While the end result is a well-thought out position or plan for the subject of my thoughts, it is, needless to say, an exhausting process. Not only is it exhausting, but it is quite difficult for me to think about multiple things at once. Truth be told, I am terrible at it. I tend to get into "modes" or "zones" and let everything else drift from the center of my focus. Despite being able to still see things in my periphery, it is certainly not with the same amount of clarity with which I see what my current subject of focus.
All that is to say that it has been difficult to have something as monumental as designing a new curriculum, course, and strategy for reaching students going through my mind for six months, while also trying to balance out all of my other interests and responsibilities. I worked each Monday over the course of the summer, and then four days a week for three weeks in August planning this new endeavor. For the sake of my family, I tried very hard to "turn off" when I was home and just focus on having a wonderful summer with my amazing wife and crazy boys. Which we did.
Then came August 28. The first teacher workshop day back.
It's time.
The shift.
The "zone."
Time to finally allow teaching to move closer to the center of my focus where it will remain for the next nine months. There is a whole other blog post to write sometime about being committed to having a healthy balance this year between school and family.
But here I sit. In Panera. The sounds of fancy coffee machines gurgling, large amounts of ice being poured for who-knows-why, patrons jabbering, and a Dylan-esque station coming through the speakers directly above me all compete for my attention. Now that I think about it, it's not a bad metaphor for what I have been writing about. I am focussed on getting this post completed and my thoughts out about all that I am feeling the day before "game day," and yet so many things compete for my attention.
At the end of the day, all I really am sure of right now is that I absolutely cannot wait for those students to walk through the doors to my classroom. I cannot wait to begin this journey together. I know I have so much to learn about this new journey and about them and about myself and my craft. But I cannot wait. To fall flat on my face, to see my students succeed, to end the day with a smile on my face. All of it. Bring it on.
I'm ansty and I just want it to be here. I feel a bit like I did when I swam in high school. Months of prep. Countless decisions each day about how to better prepare my body and mind for States at the end of the season. Now here I am, about to jump in the water, getting my mind into the zone. Who knows how the race will end, but for me, it was never really about the end of the race. I loved the adrenaline as I stepped up onto the block. I loved that everything went quiet and my mind was focussed on only one thing. I loved the feel of my arms through the water. I loved the feeling as I flipped my body and slammed my feet against the wall to change directions. I loved pushing my body as hard as possible. I loved mind and body united, for once, on a single focus. I just loved the race.
I am so excited to jump back in the water...
I am by nature a very analytical person. I was talking about this with my wife yesterday and we both articulated that when I think about something, it consumes me. This is a rather nice way to say that I can become mildly obsessed. I need to think about things from multiple angles. I work and re-work scenarios in my mind. It doesn't matter if I am thinking about a woodworking project, how to help my son with his bedtime routine, what I want to make my wife for Christmas, or teaching.
While the end result is a well-thought out position or plan for the subject of my thoughts, it is, needless to say, an exhausting process. Not only is it exhausting, but it is quite difficult for me to think about multiple things at once. Truth be told, I am terrible at it. I tend to get into "modes" or "zones" and let everything else drift from the center of my focus. Despite being able to still see things in my periphery, it is certainly not with the same amount of clarity with which I see what my current subject of focus.
All that is to say that it has been difficult to have something as monumental as designing a new curriculum, course, and strategy for reaching students going through my mind for six months, while also trying to balance out all of my other interests and responsibilities. I worked each Monday over the course of the summer, and then four days a week for three weeks in August planning this new endeavor. For the sake of my family, I tried very hard to "turn off" when I was home and just focus on having a wonderful summer with my amazing wife and crazy boys. Which we did.
Then came August 28. The first teacher workshop day back.
It's time.
The shift.
The "zone."
Time to finally allow teaching to move closer to the center of my focus where it will remain for the next nine months. There is a whole other blog post to write sometime about being committed to having a healthy balance this year between school and family.
But here I sit. In Panera. The sounds of fancy coffee machines gurgling, large amounts of ice being poured for who-knows-why, patrons jabbering, and a Dylan-esque station coming through the speakers directly above me all compete for my attention. Now that I think about it, it's not a bad metaphor for what I have been writing about. I am focussed on getting this post completed and my thoughts out about all that I am feeling the day before "game day," and yet so many things compete for my attention.
At the end of the day, all I really am sure of right now is that I absolutely cannot wait for those students to walk through the doors to my classroom. I cannot wait to begin this journey together. I know I have so much to learn about this new journey and about them and about myself and my craft. But I cannot wait. To fall flat on my face, to see my students succeed, to end the day with a smile on my face. All of it. Bring it on.
I'm ansty and I just want it to be here. I feel a bit like I did when I swam in high school. Months of prep. Countless decisions each day about how to better prepare my body and mind for States at the end of the season. Now here I am, about to jump in the water, getting my mind into the zone. Who knows how the race will end, but for me, it was never really about the end of the race. I loved the adrenaline as I stepped up onto the block. I loved that everything went quiet and my mind was focussed on only one thing. I loved the feel of my arms through the water. I loved the feeling as I flipped my body and slammed my feet against the wall to change directions. I loved pushing my body as hard as possible. I loved mind and body united, for once, on a single focus. I just loved the race.
I am so excited to jump back in the water...
Wednesday, August 21, 2013
Jekyll and Hyde
Originally posted August 20, 2013
This is the part where, if this blog was a movie, the screen would go dark and say, "Two Months Later..."
I am writing this with two weeks left of summer before the students return and this whole experiment becomes a reality. It has been a great summer of planning, thinking,reading, writing, revising, and hoping. I have poured over spreadsheets as I align lesson plans and units to the Common Core Standards. I have created and then scrapped lesson plans and materials. I have created a variety of different outlines for the major project that we will be doing. I have spent a tremendous amount of time with my family. I have gotten a lot of great woodshop time building toys for my boys and things for our home for my wife.
Things are good.
But there is something that has been nagging at me since I first sat down to do the heavy lifting required to get an endeavor like this off the ground. I continue to struggle with this notion of extremes. I have always struggled with this as an individual, and while I have gained ground in controlling it, there are times when it does indeed get the best of me. I remember being a kid and my parents talking to me about how I was a "black and white thinker." I have spent much of my adult life not only trying to find the gray, but also asking whether there is in fact anything inherently wrong with being a black and white thinker. Without going on too much of a tangent, I have found that there are certainly times when being a black and white thinker creates significant challenges for me. However, there are a few times when it has actually helped. Much like I have overcome my disposition to be a procrastinator, I have found ways to counter my black and white tendencies. Since procrastination and black and white thinking is my nature, I have had to be quite diligent about making planning and "gray-thinking" my habit. After years of being deliberate about forcing myself to address these areas of my thinking, I feel I have come to a place where I am what I would call a "recovering black and white thinker and procrastinator."
This summer has certainly challenged that "recovery" status.
As I have applied all of the theories I have ever read about what makes for great teaching, I have also been questioning myself at the same time. As I dive head first into this thing called Project Based Learning, I have been wrestling with not only how it can or should be best structured in my classroom, I have wrestled with myself and that old tendency toward black and white thinking. I have thought long and hard about the type of environment I want to create for my students. I have constantly kept at the forefront of my mind that I want this year to be different for not only my disenfranchised students, but all of my students as well. I want to harness that natural curiosity and sense of awe that kids have, and just throw heaps and heaps of fuel on the flame that, unfortunately, used to be a roaring fire prior to coming to school. But that's where Jekyll and Hyde show up. One minute I feel that I am significantly over-planning this year and that it will not be any different than past years. I fear that I have planned spontaneity and authenticity right out the window. Then I start to fear that I have not planned enough. It has been a constant struggle trying to get an accurate assessment of the work that I have done and whether I am indeed "ready" for the students to return.
The thing is, much like being a black and white thinker by nature, I also struggle with perfectionism and the need to have all my ducks constantly in a row. That's my nature. I want to have plans for things. My first year teaching I had this grand delusion that to be really ready for the school year, I had to have all my handouts printed and copied. I had to have all the websites we would go to on a neat list somewhere. I needed to know everything about everything.
Yeah. I know.
The majority of that thinking stemmed from fearing going blank while standing in front of the students. I didn't know if I could think on my feet or if I would just be a deer in headlights. In fact, when I was student teaching, my fear of this was so great that I typed out six pages of notes for each math lesson that was part of an already quite scripted program. I need to plan. Not only plan, but plan in advance. I have to know very clearly where we are going, how I want us to get there, all the potential barriers for students and how I will overcome them. But what I have found while I am right there in the trenches, is that I absolutely love to throw out my lesson plans and do what my students need right in that moment. I thrive on spontaneity. I love thinking on my feet. I treasure those times, not when everything went according to my plan, but when we threw the plan out the window and still got to the target destination in a way that was organic and authentic to what my students needed right then and there.
So all that is to say that it has been tough planning. How do you plan to appease that perfectionist -ducks-in-a-row side, as well as leave room for the fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants side. If anyone knows, please let me know because I am still trying to figure it out. What I have tried my best to do is to create what I think is a great safety net. The plans that I have made will get us all to the different checkpoints we need to make it to. It takes into account different learning styles, abilities, personalities, the whole nine yards. There is flexibility built right in to make sure that all of the needs of all of my students are addressed and met. It is not perfect by any means, but I am proud of the work that I have done. But to be honest, I kind of hope I throw the whole thing out. I have given enough thought and done enough work to know the learning targets for my students, and if I need to completely re-route how we get there and when we get there, I know that I will be thrilled to do so. Make no mistake, I am terrified as well. Even though I am proud of the work I have done, I am certain it can be done better. I am certain that there are flaws that I cannot even see right now. Jekyll is feeling good and ready to go. Hyde thinks the plan won't work and this is all going to go up in a blaze of glory. Jekyll thinks I have overplanned, but in a good way. Hyde thinks that everyone will think I haven't planned enough and am just running some kind of camp. They constantly bicker with each other, and I find myself believing whoever it is that is speaking.
Yikes.
At the end of the day, I need to keep going back to finding the middle ground. Even if I don't land there, knowing where the middle ground is has helped me with my black and white thinking. What truly excites me most right now is that with all of this self-doubt and nervousness and perfectionism, I have a great opportunity to model to my students exactly what we will be learning this year: how to learn. I am very open to being very open about my struggles and challenges with this whole endeavor. I want my students to see that learning and creating is a messy, challenging, exhilarating process. I want to be open about the triumphs and the failures as I seek to create this new program. If I can make an impact on my students by being open about my struggles and triumphs with creating this program, then I feel I can put up with the battle of Jekyll and Hyde a bit longer.
The Meeting
Originally posted June 18, 2013
All the philosophizing, all the questioning, all the planning, all the wondering, all the anticipating paused for a moment as I got to meet next year's students for the first time today. It was a bit different than what I had planned: a 2-3 hour get-together consisting of team building activities, food, questions to and from the students, and generally a "get to know ya" time. Because of crazy schedules that span three grade levels, I met with the upcoming 8th graders and upcoming 7th graders separately during the lunch periods instead.
What the meeting lacked in quantity of time it certainly made up for in quality. The incredibly generous food service providers cooked up eight pizzas especially for us from kits that were left over from an 8th grade fundraiser earlier in the year. I printed up business card-sized notes that had the students' name on it and just "6.18.13 11:55 Conference Room" underneath. All black with white print. We handed those out to students this morning and tried to create a sense of both mystery and excitement. I believe it worked.
To see the students sitting around the conference room table, eating pizza and smiling while talking about school felt like it was a major accomplishment in and of itself. I shared a brief version of what next year's program will look like, answered questions, cracked some jokes, asked them what they wanted or needed out of the program, and bonded with students who have been, shall we say "disenfranchised" with, and or by, school.
While I have held the belief that this new program and approach to learning is what is best for "students," it was an amazing situation to have the abstract "student" replaced with my students. With unique names. With unique laughs. With unique personalities. With unique backgrounds, learning styles, quirks, talents. With unique fears. With unique hopes.
I end the day today reflecting on those faces and voices I saw and heard today. While I do not yet know their whole stories or the point at which school became a burden, I know that something must change for them. Whether it was real or simply imagined I cannot truly say, but while we were talking about what school would be for them next year I swear that I saw hope in their eyes. I hope that I do not let them down. I hope that they can truly say that next year is the best year that they have ever had in school. I hope that we can rekindle that fire for learning that was once an inferno in their childhood minds. I hope to teach them to embrace awe, wonder, and amazement of the world around us. I hope that I can be what they need me to be.
I hope...
And So it Begins...
Originally posted June 12, 2013
Well, the title is a bit misleading. This whole project-based journey started multiple years ago when I first heard about inquiry-based learning. I have been dabbling in it and bringing elements of it into my class since my first year teaching. Now, however, begins an entirely new chapter as I build, or attempt to build, a new "program" for my school.
It has only been several months since I first wrote my dream scenario for a new path at my school and met with the administrators to discuss what that path might look like. From the first talks with my assistant principal where we both dreamed aloud about what education could be, to this day in June as I make my first blog post about the journey, I have been filled with a mixture of excitement, anticipation, joy, fear, guilt, and self-doubt. Sometimes all of those things at once. With every article that I read, every video I watch, with every spreadsheet or word document that I create, I keep saying to myself over and over again, "I can't believe I get to do this." I get the opportunity to design a path that will meet the needs of all my students in a way that a traditional classroom cannot.
As I pour over standards, create spreadsheets, research elements for the major project, meet with other teachers, and countless other aspects of building the program, two individuals keep coming to the forefront of my mind. One is a current student for whom the traditional classroom does not work. He is very bright, adds depth to our conversation, but does not complete any work or apply himself. The other individual is my four year old son. He is incredibly inquisitive, loves to look at books, was born to be outdoors, and has a genuine love for learning. I see in my son a deep sense of awe, wonder, and amazement of the world around him. There are no limits to what he is interested in or wants to know. His passion for learning is a roaring fire that engulfs everything in its path. My fear for my son is that once he gets into school, that fire will be extinguished by the push for teaching to the test, meeting standards, or anything else that puts my son's scores rather than his learning at the center of importance. I do not want him to have the same experience as that student of mine. I want to create a path and environment for students that heaps loads of fuel onto that fire for learning. That embraces our collective sense of awe, wonder, and amazement of our world and runs with it. Rather than continuing to complain or ask why my students won't change, I am choosing to change me. My strategies. My methods. My structure. My outlook. I want to provide multiple paths to student success, make content and materials accessible to all learning styles and ability levels, embrace hands-on learning, foster creativity and individuality, and use student questions to navigate learning. I want my students to have my same recurring thought, "I can't believe I get to do this."
That is the goal. My hope is that I can update this blog on a regular basis, though I have never been great at doing this in the past. I suppose that if I am too busy meeting with students or tweaking (or overhauling) my teaching practices, missing entries on this blog will be of little consequence. I hope to look back on this to see the journey as it goes through all the terrain that it will surely traverse. One of the toughest patches right now is moving forward despite the fact that there are those who are less than pleased with either me or this new idea. While I want to be honest about this journey, I do not want this space to be a venue to just vent. Of course, I am in a pretty good mood right now and my position on this matter may change. But there it is. There are many details of the journey so far that I have not recorded, but will perhaps explain in the days to come. There is much to do and I hope to record the efforts here.
That I have this opportunity to teach is a privilege and an awesome responsibility that I do not take lightly. I believe that individuals can change the world and I believe that teachers do and will play a significant role in this change. While not every student is going to change the world as a whole, I believe that teachers can and should empower their students to change their world, however broad or limited the scope. I walk into my classroom everyday with the both the sense of joy and the weight of responsibility that comes with this belief.
And so it begins...
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