I’ve spoken before about conferencing. It, above all, is the most important, most effective thing I do with my kids. It is a time during which I strive to give them 100% of my attention in a world that demands my constant attention,  often dividing me into a million parts over the course of the day.  So, as such, I have to make an intentional effort to be available for each kid, not all kids.  I do that with conferencing.

For the next two days, I will sit down with each kid to check in on his/her progress with our speeches.  I have learned that I can accomplish more in a three-minute conference than I can by writing ten-minutes worth of comments on their papers.  In addition, beyond the academic aspects of the conversation, I get to know each kid better, making connections that help create community and culture in our classroom.  Of course, this approach is not without its challenges, for as I meet with one, I have twenty-nine others in the room who have to be engaged, so I can give my full attention to the moment. This is how I do it.

1. Provide meaningful work, not just busy work. This is one of the reasons why I have us juggling more than one thing at a time.  The kids always have something that they are working on or towards.  Thus, they not only need the time, but they also appreciate the time.
2. Rely on relationships.  At this point in the year, my investment in establishing and maintaining relationships with my kids begins to pay off, soI make some withdrawals on those relationships, requesting rather than demanding their cooperation and consideration during conference time.
3. Use a timer.  I will have my cell phone with me to keep me on track. Really hard to get to thirty students in two periods if I don’t.
4. Push preparedness. I ask the kids to prepare for the conferences by having ready specific, this-is-what-I-would-like-help-with questions. It streamlines the process.  Of course, some kids simply don’t know what to ask or where to enter into the conversation, and that’s okay, too.  It generally takes only a moment for us to find an entry point.

Nothing fancy, but for me it works, and the more we do it, the better it gets.  Love, love, love this part of my job.  Happy St. Patrick’s Day, all.

As adults we always seem to walk a fine line between keeping control of and giving freedom to the young in our lives. And because the line is so fine, we inevitably step across it–many times, stumble–creating imbalance, fueling futility as we strive to help them learn and grow under our care. And, as we know, we often find ourselves in a crap-shoot, crossing our fingers, holding our breath as the die come to rest.  And that is our world. Sometimes we win.  Sometimes we lose. Either way, because we are the adults, we roll the die again, hoping that this time they rest right, that balance is achieved. Recently, I rolled.  Recently, I lost…well, I didn’t win.

So, as some know, we are in the midst of presenting our independent learning projects in 219. This is our third go at it, but this time things were different.  I challenged the kids–and myself–to step out of our comfort zones, tackling a fixed mindset.  Based on the last two successful projects and the growth that the kids demonstrated with their independent endeavors, I expected the trajectory to continue climbing, taking us even higher into the realm of independent success. But as they say, expectation often leads to disappointment, and I feel like the recent projects were a big fat fail.  And, as the broad-shouldered adult in the room, I will bear the burden.

Oh, some projects were incredible, but many were terrible, with kids resorting back to the just-get-it-done, complete-the-transaction mindset that has been instilled in them for years, settling back into the familiar routine, now rut, that they find comfortable. And it’s my fault.  I got lazy, too loose with my approach, thinking that we had arrived at a point where I could let them go, granting freedom, checking control.  Silly Syrie.  You cannot simply turn it all over to the universe because you had some early success. There are forces out there at work, and as the die, they don’t always work or land in your favor. And that is the burden we bear, the dilemma we dread as we seek to find that balance for our kids, either as parents or teachers or both.

We must give them freedom.  But we must guide them as well. I need to rein them in a bit with this next one.  I gave them their heads thinking that they would rush off to even greener pastures, when all they did was stop and eat the same old grass they’ve always eaten, in the same old pasture they’ve always stayed.  I guess this time I will have to show them the gate and shoo them through.  Indeed, to get to that which is greener, one has to get to the other side, or at least poke one’s head through the wire.

Alas, as it goes.  I did.  I reflected. And, now, I will do better.  Thank goodness for next times.  The die will eventually land in our favor, but only if we have the courage to roll them.

Happy Wednesday, all.  Mental health day for me.  Gonna restore with hours of fresh air.

“To have striven, to have made the effort, to have been true to certain ideals – this alone is worth the struggle.”

–William Penn

It’s one of those mornings.  Maybe you’ve had them, the ones where upon rising, something’s not quite right, things don’t fit. A feeling, among others, that spirit and body don’t match, that head and heart are at odds,  a conspicuous conspiracy between our halves not to be ignored.  And while they are not altogether unfamiliar mornings, they are generally kept at bay as we shrug them off, making our way into the day.  Indeed, who has time for such things? But, then, there are those times when the conflict will be heeded, will not be ignored, and we must answer. This morning will not accept my shrug.  That much is clear, but what is not clear is what’s nagging at me.

Maybe it’s my recent decision to step down from my additional, outside-the-classroom duties.  Maybe it’s all the reading and writing I have been doing about grading and my dismay at a system that is broken because we let it be. Maybe it’s because I do have a sense of destiny, and I believe I am supposed to do something.  Maybe it’s because I have begun to discover that there are many like minds out there, and while I find that affirming and reassuring, I also find it daunting and discouraging, for the will is there but not the way.  Maybe it’s my recent court with controversy that has alienated me from some of my colleagues.  Maybe it’s my restless impatience.  Maybe, I’m just whining. Maybe.  Real or imagined, though, it’s there, but it’s out of grasp. Vexing.  For, that which will not be ignored, will not be reached, either, so I am left guessing.

And, at this moment, my best guess leads me to believe that my struggle points to next year, a year that I believe has to be pivotal in my journey to change education,  a belief that my walking has to surpass my talking.  But it can’t just be a simple stroll.  It has to be a walk along the edge, maybe off the edge, an uncertain step from a cliff without bottom, a step requiring courage, courage I may not have.  And maybe that’s it. Maybe I am afraid. But not it–exactly, for I think I have the courage to take the step–it’s not stopped me before, but maybe I am afraid of being alone, being alienated, being ostracized by those who do not see or understand.  But maybe that’s how it has to be. Maybe it’s just simply reconciling within myself that to find it, I have to chase it, even if that means I go it alone. Or, of course, it may very well be that I am afraid that I will fall victim to my own self-made hype and fail to find anything.  And while that is certainly possible, I cannot believe that there remains nothing to be found out there.  There has to be something. Has to be.

Happy Tuesday, all.  Sorry for the recent struggles.  If I may, it helps that I know you are listening–that I know, in truth, I am not alone.

Well, here it is, my step-out-of-my-comfort-zone to challenge-a-fixed-mindset project. And while my newly discovered skill will not feed the family, I am proud of what I accomplished, especially when a month ago, I could not have imagined making public something that I had drawn.

In all, it took me about four hours to get to this point, which I will call done.  Art, like writing, I discovered, is never done, only due, and today it is due, so I called it good. My wife, without whom this would not have been possible, presented the possibility of my returning to it someday, to finish what I had begun, and while I nodded and smiled in response to her well-intentioned urging, I knew then–as I know now–it’ll probably never happen.  But now, unlike before, the door is open, made so with “probably,” for before it would simply been, “never gonna happen.”  So I guess I have grown, which was the point with this approach to independent learning in the first place.  And this is what I hope my kiddos got out of the project, too.

And, so, I am excited today to see what they have created. I imagine I will have some tired stinkers on my hands, as they no doubt waited till the last minute to get done and now, too, are suffering from the effects of the vernal time change–alas, poetic payback for procrastinators.

Happy Monday, all.

Though spring is not officially here, yesterday, spring sprang in 219.  No, no flowers in bloom or trees in bud, just empty seats. In school, we know it’s spring when our kids are gone, away at myriad sports and activities, creating vacancies and–for teachers and students–hardships.

For teachers, it presents a nearly-daily dilemma in the coming, closing weeks of the year as we struggle to juggle our instructional planning amidst absences, trying to select the best days to get to key content so as to reach as many kids as possible. But, in reality, though we do our best, it often becomes mission impossible, and we throw up our hands and out our plans, and we simply roll with the punches. Today, will be one of those days in 219.  And while it bums and stresses me out, I accept it as simply being what it is and don’t project my frustration at anyone, especially the kids. It’s not their fault.

Indeed, for students, it presents a hectic, stressful existence where they seek to satisfy multiple aspects of their lives, not the least of which is class and what they miss when they are gone. Yes, they chose the activity, and yes choice brings responsibility, but they are also being pushed to be involved, to round themselves well, and to grasp that school is not only about academics.  And as they are being pushed, the very people who are doing the pushing should also be doing some giving, cutting the kids some slack.  As an alternate meaning of the word suggests, a spring absorbs movement as it is pushed or pulled, it gives when pressure is applied–in a word, it is flexible. And that is what our kiddos need this time of year. They need us to be understanding and flexible, not rigid and indifferent.

Fortunately, many teachers morph into modes of flexibility this time of year, but sadly not all do, some taking out their irritation on the kids, adopting rigid responses to a season not static.  Spring “moves” whether we like it or not; our best bet for ourselves and our kids is just to move with it.

We’ll be moving a lot in 219, lots of pushing and pulling going on as we together embrace the season, the precursor to the end we all love and need: summer.

Happy Friday, all.  Yet another precursor that puts some spring in our step as we near another end that we all love and need: the weekend.

“Hey, Sy.”

“Yeah?”

“Been thinkin’.  I wanna change my topic.  Is it too late?  I just.  Well, I think it would work better if I…”

Of course, he had me at “Been thinkin’.”  And, after a purposeful pause to marvel in the moment of “thinkin’,” I responded with, “Your speech, Danny.  You know best.”

Weeks ago, we began writing our injustice speeches in 219.  As I have mentioned before, the kids selected an injustice topic, which–above all–mattered deeply to them, a topic that created a burning in their belly.  I told them, too, to be sure of their choice, for they would then spend a lot of time with it. I just didn’t think it would be this much time, and what’s more, it looks like that time will remain indefinite, for I have yet to set a deadline.

Why so long, why so uncertain?  Aren’t there other things to get to?  Always.  Forever other things to get to, and never enough time to do them.  So why the walk?  Shouldn’t you be running?  Yes, on one hand, I frequently fret about not covering enough material, but on the on the other hand, I know that the full-steam-ahead approach can come at a dear cost, threatening that which is paramount: learning.  And as I strive to do different, I have decided to slow down and focus on learning, not covering. A risk? Probably. Regrets? Nope.

Choice is nothing new in education.  We know and have known for some time that student-choice can be a key motivator for our students.  But, unfortunately, though the intent is solid, choice often crumbles, breaking down during the process because we teachers simply dress up business as usual in the guise of student choice thinking it will be the golden ticket for our kids. But, in my experience, it often results in little more than a token exchange as we move kids along the coverage factory line towards a too-soon deadline, a rush to the next product.  Thus, choice, while an initial motivator for students at the beginning, often becomes a soon-forgotten phenomena, a cheap trick in the end.  It’s as if we think that choice alone changes the entire dynamic, but if we don’t give kids time to change their choices, we limit learning.

To be honest, I did not necessarily plan this out.  I think I thought we’d be done by now, for we do have more to get to, but somewhere along the way I stumbled and stopped, taking in that which was going on around the room as I conferenced with kids during the early stages of the process. And what I observed was students wrestling with their learning, motivated no doubt by the fact that they would be delivering these speeches to a real audience, trying to find the best fit, the best approach to get out that which was held within. So, I decided to do different.  No deadline.  No rush to the next, for there was-there is–plenty of learning going on right here, right now. My kids have found something that matters to them, something they want to get right for themselves, not the grade.  And they need time. Time to get it right. And for them, I am willing to take a risk, and give them that which rarely happens in the hurried, harried existence we live.  To be clear, I have not abandoned all the other things that “we have to get to,”  I am simply trying new approaches, juggling multiple things at once, trying to buy time between tosses for that which matters most right now, their speeches.

And while I expect to learn a lot from this when it finally does come to an end, my biggest take away at the moment is that choice matters little without the choice to change, the chance to fail, the chance to learn, and that takes time.  The light bulb didn’t happen overnight or after one try, neither did the mission to the moon, and while what’s going on in 219 is not as grand as either of these, to the kids it may just feel like it. At least, that is what I’d like it to be.

Happy Thursday, all.

Well, I did it.  Good or bad, better or worse, I took the leap.  Worried that I wouldn’t do it later if I didn’t do it now, I turned left down a road less familiar, chasing myself across lands uncharted, looking for a destination unknown. As such, I may not find what I am looking for, but the promise of new pursuits has both liberated and invigorated this aging soul, and I am okay with the uncertainty–indeed, a strange admission for one who seeks certainty and prefers plans. Not yet “unlost” but still more free, I welcome the days ahead as I discover myself among new purposes, discoveries that I will not make alone as I know I will have the support of those around me.  Thank you, all.  And a special thank you to Amarise, Mom, Wendy, Monty, Jenna, and Sher for chiming in yesterday and helping me find the courage to take the first step.  Below is the email that I sent to my colleagues announcing my plans.  And to them, another special thank you for all that they have taught me about teaching, learning, life, and myself.

Sorry for the sappy crap the last two days, all.  We’ll get back to the biz tomorrow.  Rocket 219 has some new boosters and is ready to launch into wondrous new worlds.  Ah, the freedom of space.

Dearest Friends and Colleagues,

By now some of you know that I feel have come to a crossroads in my professional career.  And what started off as a chug-chug and a maybe has turned into a wheels-rollin, engine-steamin’ definite.  After much rumination, fret and worry, I have decided to remove myself from any professional duties that take my attention and energy away from room 219 through next year.  At that time, I will reevaluate any roles that I may once again take on, but for now, I am steadfast in this, and I hope that you can respect my decision in the months to come.  I will finish out my department chair responsibilities for the remainder of this year and help the next DC transition into his/her new role for the next two.

Please know that decision was not made lightly, nor was it made without each of you in mind, as I worried about your disappointment in me.  Truly, I admire, respect, and value each of you, and will no doubt miss the work that we have begun, but it will go on.  It always does.  And it’s taken me too long to realize that. I don’t fully understand my decision or know what it will mean for me, but I will no doubt gain some clarity during this hiatus as I contemplate what the next 20 years hold for me.  If you are interested, I wrestled with my choice this morning in my blog.  Maybe it will shed some light.   http://www.letschangeeducation.com/?p=431

At the end, I am excited to travel forth on this much needed, warmly-welcomed new leg of my journey. Thank you for understanding.  When our proverbial, professional paths cross again, who knows what we may find.  Regardless, we all will have grown.

With deepest regards,
Monte

Who am I?  Generally, I reserve this question for my kids as I push them to discover not only who they are now but also who they wish to be.  And, then, once they progress in their journeys and gain some clarity, I inform them that they know nothing, and they must start again, for the answer to the question is one that we never really fully grasp, the road winds on and  we again chase ourselves, a path without end.  And because I tend to focus on my kids and forget myself, I am always surprised when I remember that I, too, am on the chase, but unfortunately, by the time this registers, I have fallen behind and it’s too late, and I am lost.

Twenty years in, and twenty to go, I find myself in a strange land, the map hard to read.  And whether it’s a sense of destiny or a crisis at mid-career, I am of a mind that something is supposed to happen.  Of course, as with most flights of fancy, it is probably more imagined than real, but of late my wandering leads to me wonder. Please know that it was not my intent to step into the metaphysical muck this morning, but as I feel around and try to find my way, I cannot deny that there are forces conspiring to make me choose a path.  Paths in the end that essentially boil down to that which is neither spectacular nor profound, a choice between what I want to do and what I feel obligated to do. Indeed, nothing sensational.

Obligation.  So for nearly my entire career, going all the way back to Royal Middle School and a Gates’ Foundation grant, I began taking on leadership responsibilities outside my classroom.  It was a path that I never intended to follow, but it was a path on which I could easily navigate and effectively lead.  And, as it goes, way leads to way, and I have stayed on this path taking on even greater tasks and roles, moving forward finding more–truly, opportunities without end.  For some time, it was thrilling, an invigorating addition to my career,  and before I knew it, I was addicted.  I sought out such positions, thinking I was a necessary component, and in my confidence–more aptly, my arrogance–I began to lose myself to my addiction.  For years I denied it, and when the going got tough–leading is no walk in the park–I got tougher, tightened up laces and kept walking. And eventually, the path became inescapable.  And I don’t think it was arrogance alone that put me there.  I believe, or want to believe that is was also out of obligation. I, even now, am tortured by the idea of letting people down, of disappointing those who have come to depend on me.  But now, at this crossroad, I believe I am ready to step from the path.  I’m just not sure I have the courage to chase that which I desire, leaving that which I have been familiar with and faithful to for so long.

Desire. What do I want?  It’s really rather simple.  I just want to teach.  I just want to be teacher Syrie.  I don’t want to be department-chair, committee-member, literacy-leader, the-list-goes-on Syrie.  But even now as I say it and make it real by making it public, I have a knot in my gut, an ethereal doubt in my mind, haunting me, taunting me, telling me I can’t do it.

Alas, I am lost.  Maybe stuck.  And though I thought writing about it this morning would help me, I am afraid that I’ve only made it worse.  Who am I, indeed?

Sorry for the strange post this morning, all.  Have a great Tuesday.

So, the Prince of Procrastination finally sat down to do his latest independent learning project.  This is our third “ILP,” and as some may recall, this time we had to challenge one of our fixed mindsets, mine being drawing–or really, just art. I don’t need to be good at art; I am married to an art teacher; she is good enough for both of us.  But I do need to be a good model for my students.  I can’t just talk the talk.  I also have to walk the walk.  Yesterday, I started walking, the path unfamiliar.

The photo, taken in July of ’72, is of my grandpa’s barn; it represents one of my earliest memories, and though it has long been torn down, I carry a vivid memory of an early, not-yet-light-out morning when my I was with grandpa as he fed the cows.  I was just over two-years old.  The cows were these huge shapes in the early morning light, both fascinating and frightening, but bigger yet was grandpa, my earliest and still biggest hero, though he, like the barn, has long been gone.  So, upon deciding what I would draw for this project, I decided to honor he who has always given me the strength to do the things I thought I could not.

Having the great fortune of living with an art teacher, I sought my wife’s help for this project.  Of course, always willing to engage me in the “art of art,” she jumped at the chance to teach me some of life’s finer things. I had the same mindset when I tried to teach her golf, but for that she either had a more formidable fix to her mindset, or I just wasn’t a very good teacher.  I suspect it’s the latter.  And of course, as all married couples know, teaching our others something–anything— is always a challenge, so I braced for this reality; I prepared myself to fully acknowledge my fixed mindset, let go of all doubts, and let my wife lead the way.  And though–as you can see in the sketch, I have a lot to learn and a long ways to go, I made some progress yesterday, and three small miracles occurred.  My wife taught not an easy student.  I drew.  And, most importantly, I grew.

And that is I why I am doing this, to grow and be a model for my students, especially in arenas outside my comfort zone. As a writer and teacher of writing, I am supremely comfortable and confident, and I can both talk and walk that path without end, but if I am really going to help my kids grow, I need to get them to walk where they won’t, and I have to walk with them.  So far, it is shaping up to be an incredible journey.

Magnificent Monday, all.

I have a confession. Yesterday, I donned an unfamiliar hat, earning a new moniker: Selfish Syrie.  Let me explain.  My son Finn has been sick all week, and because we think he’s old enough and because neither Mrs. Syrie nor I could “afford to be away from school this week because we had too much to do” he stayed home alone.  And while he certainly was fine alone–he is our mature, sensible one–alone becomes lonely, and yesterday, Finn had had enough.  In our family, when enough becomes enough, we sometimes have to implement the “I-just-need-a-good-cry” option.  Faced with the reality of mom and dad not getting home until after 7:00 PM because of parent-teacher conferences, Finn invoked the good-cry option, and for me enough had become enough, and I skipped conferences and came home to be with my son. And though I know I made the right choice, I am bothered by how guilty I felt then and still feel now, wondering if my rationalization for my decision was real or convenient.

Beyond Finns’ need, I convinced myself that my choice was okay because, I didn’t feel well either (sickness tends to make the rounds in a family), I was at the high school the night before until 7:30 for freshmen parent night, and not many parents would probably show up anyway, so I could just email the ones who did. Thus, having won myself over, I taped a note and sign-up sheet to my classroom door and went home.  But as the evening wore on and I looked at the clock wondering how many parents I had missed and how my colleagues were fairing, I began to wonder if I shouldn’t have toughed it out, if I shouldn’t have made Finn tough it out.  And still now I am wondering, but then, as I replay my lazy evening on the couch with Finn watching TV, I am more assured that I was in the right place last night.

But of course this will no doubt ebb when I get to school this morning and confront the list of missed parents.  Ah, the life of a teacher, the act of balancing our professional and personal lives, which I’m not suggesting is completely different from other professions, for all have to find balance. But teaching is perhaps a little unique because our profession is so personal, for if it were not, I am not sure that I would be wrestling with this right now.  Fortunately, I am surrounded by an incredible group of colleagues who help me keep my priorities straight, colleagues who tell me to go home, colleagues who understand  and live the daily dilemma of choosing between our kids and our kids.  Sometimes, we have to be selfish and choose our kids.  I just wish we didn’t have to suffer the guilty side effects.

Happy week’s end, all.