So, though not completely settled on whether these are final, here is my in-the-works list of standards that will be at the core of our academic work next year. I have come to call them “super standards” (as you have probably come to realize, alliteration does it for me), but they are often referred to as “power” or “focus” standards. While these do not reflect all that we will learn or digest, they do reflect the main course upon which my kids will frequently feast. The goal here is competence, not coverage, and that is why there are only ten. They will inform and drive the practice and performance opportunities and experiences in my classroom.

As I mentioned in yesterday’s post, the standards are derived mostly from the Common Core State Standards, but I have also taken into consideration my experience as a classroom teacher, which I hope helps with translating the standards into classroom-and-student-friendly learning targets, their current manifestation. As such, they are both general (I can use effective speaking skills to engage an audience) and specific (I can use parallel structure). The latter seems out of place compared to the rest, but it is almost guaranteed to be on the state assessment–as I painfully discovered this year. It was on the test, but we had not covered it, and while I resist becoming a slave to the test, I am not okay when my students find themselves in situations unprepared. Fortunately, it only represented a teeny fraction of the assessment, so I don’t believe that any ships will sink as a result. But it certainly caught my attention. Of course, I will always face the dilemma of what will be on the test versus what will actually matter in the end, so I will live and learn and adapt as necessary. That, it seems, is simply what I do. Do. Reflect. Do Better.

Super-Student Standards

1. I can determine the theme or central idea of a text.

2. I can analyze a text for speaker, occasion, audience, purpose, subject, and tone (SOAPSTone)

3. I can distinguish between analysis and summary and demonstrate proficiency with both in my responses to text.

4. I can integrate cited text evidence into my writing to support my thinking.

5. I can successfully complete all parts of the writing process.

6. I can construct an effective argument.

7. I can achieve the big-six, real-world writing purposes.

8. I can use effective speaking skills to engage an audience.

9. I can identify, use, and avoid errors with a variety of clauses and phrases.

10. I can use parallel structure.

Happy Tuesday, all. Feedback is ever-welcome. Have a splendid day.

Last week I began the process of drafting a profile of what I want learners to look like in my classroom. This is what I have come up with so far. I tried to imagine the “story of next year,” attempting to write the roles of my learning stars, hoping to develop a script that provides some direction but also allows for some license as each “lives into” his or her character.

This will become a part of their learning logs, which they will complete every two weeks as part of their required self-assessment/reflection. Of course, I will provide descriptions/explanations for each element, so the kids understand the thinking behind the thinking. I am also toying with the idea of creating a “learner’s handbook” for each kid, a guide of sorts for caring for an A–since they will all now be guardians of their bouncing baby letters.

Additionally, I am in the process of selecting my ten “Super-Student Standards” for next year that will represent the core of our learning journey. They, too, are in draft form, and I will share them soon. My goal here is to take a measured, honest look at what kids really need to know–now and later, drawing not only from the Common Core State Standards but also my twenty years experience. Of course these will likely change, as I learn and grow, but I want them to be the learning experiences/outcomes on which we will hang our hats in 210 (new room next year).

Please take a look below. Of course, feedback is always welcome. Happy Monday, all.

A’s like rain

to help them grow?

If I never try,

I’ll never know.

Minds like seeds

seek the sun.

It’s not enough

what’s been done.

So something new,

alas it’s time.

Give them life

each sprout will climb.

Anything’s possible

if we give them room,

they’ll stretch, they’ll grow

and each will bloom.

Please pardon the amateur rhyme, but I was inspired this morning. Yesterday, Ray Picicci, an assistant principal at CHS, sent me a link to Sir Ken Robinson’s TED talk “How to Escape Education’s Death Valley,” and I was deeply moved as well as strongly affirmed in my conviction to help change education, especially by his message at the end of his talk, which I have included below. I love Ken Robinson. He is an inspirational genius, and yesterday his message gave new life, new energy to that which feels a fragile sprout at times in this lonely desert of change. Thank you for the water, Mr. Robinson.

Happy Friday, all. Have a great weekend.

“So I think we have to embrace a different metaphor. We have to recognize that [education is] a human system, and there are conditions under which people thrive, and conditions under which they don’t. We are after all organic creatures, and the culture of the school is absolutely essential. Culture is an organic term, isn’t it?

Not far from where I live is a place called Death Valley. Death Valley is the hottest, driest place in America, and nothing grows there. Nothing grows there because it doesn’t rain. Hence, Death Valley. In the winter of 2004, it rained in Death Valley. Seven inches of rain fell over a very short period. And in the spring of 2005, there was a phenomenon. The whole floor of Death Valley was carpeted in flowers for a while. What it proved is this: that Death Valley isn’t dead. It’s dormant. Right beneath the surface are these seeds of possibility waiting for the right conditions to come about, and with organic systems, if the conditions are right, life is inevitable. It happens all the time. You take an area, a school, a district, you change the conditions, give people a different sense of possibility, a different set of expectations, a broader range of opportunities, you cherish and value the relationships between teachers and learners,you offer people the discretion to be creative and to innovate in what they do, and schools that were once bereft spring to life.

Great leaders know that. The real role of leadership in education — and I think it’s true at the national level, the state level, at the school level — is not and should not be command and control. The real role of leadership is climate control, creating a climate of possibility. And if you do that, people will rise to it and achieve things that you completely did not anticipate and couldn’t have expected.

There’s a wonderful quote from Benjamin Franklin. “There are three sorts of people in the world: Those who are immovable, people who don’t get it, or don’t want to do anything about it; there are people who are movable, people who see the need for change and are prepared to listen to it; and there are people who move, people who make things happen.” And if we can encourage more people, that will be a movement. And if the movement is strong enough, that’s, in the best sense of the word, a revolution. And that’s what we need.”

–Sir Ken Robinson, from “How to Escape Education’s Death Valley”

https://www.ted.com/talks/ken_robinson_how_to_escape_education_s_death_valley?language=en#t-1128361

“I know my children well — as well as any mother could — but I do not know them in the way that their teachers do. I do not see them when they are out in the world, away from me. At school, they are able to stretch their wings, and practice being the person they are to become, in a way that they cannot do under the watchful eye of their father and me. I want to know this person. Who is he? What do his teachers see that I don’t? How is my child changing and growing, struggling and improving?

Tell me about that person, I will want to say. Not the test scores and the reading charts and the spelling tests. Tell me about the little person that is my child, the one who is growing up and out and away from me, as all children do. Tell me about the person that my child is becoming. Tell me about the person that my child is. Because that little person — my child — is the one I love, the one I really want to know.

These are the things that go through my head, the questions I really want to ask. But 20 minutes is short, and my questions get jumbled in my head or caught in my throat.

But sometimes, if I’m really lucky, the teacher will answer these questions without my asking.

And I will sit in a tiny chair at a tiny table in front of my son’s teacher, and I will cry with humility and the most profound gratitude.”

–Christine Organ, from “What I Really Want to Ask at All Those Parent-Teacher Conferences”

http://www.babble.com/parenting/what-i-really-want-to-ask-at-all-those-parent-teacher-conferences/

Parents are as different as our students. They come from different places and perspectives. They want and need different things. But, because it is hard to always know where our students’ parents are coming from, it is difficult to always meet their needs. Of course, in part, it really just boils down to a numbers game. Most of us at the secondary level have 150 kids, which means we have a 150 pairs of parents, too–often times more, in the case of divorced families, where now we may have two pairs of parents per kid. As such, the numbers could be overwhelming. But beyond the numbers, lies another critical factor that makes it even more difficult to know what parents want, a lack of real communication between parents and teachers, especially at the high school level. Oh, I don’t blame parents. Nor do I blame teachers. In fact, I don’t know who to blame, so I won’t. I will just simply state that is unfortunate that better lines of communication don’t exist between parents and teachers. It is odd on some level to think that in my twenty years of teaching–if I had to guess–I have communicated with, much less met, fewer than 5% of my students’ parents. I’m not sure that’s okay, and I wonder if things changed in this area of  education, if we couldn’t make significant strides towards improving everyone’s experience.

I was recently asked how I thought parents would respond to my plan for next year. I supposed and suggested that they would initially balk, but that they would come around eventually, seeing that I had their kids’ best interests in mind. But the truth is, I don’t know. How will they respond? And this leads me to the bigger question. When it comes to their children’s education, what do parents want, really want?

Let’s try to find out. Parents–all parents (young, old, kids in school, kids out of school)–what do you want? What would you really like to ask your kid’s teachers? If your child were in my class next year, what would you want to know at those critical checkpoints–or sooner? Please help us better understand and partner with you in this most important time in your child’s life. Join the conversation. No, really, join the conversation. I will do my best to make sure you are heard. Promise.

Happy Thursday, all.

Last night we had our quarterly teacher panel at CHS for my college students. It is the twelfth one I have held for my kiddos, who always indicate on the course evaluation forms that it is the highlight of their experience with me. Hard to believe that this spring marks my fourth straight year at EWU with twelve consecutive quarters under my belt. In that time I have had the opportunity to work with roughly 600 students who are just entering the education program, and while I am not a full-fledged university professor, I do bring to the table twenty-years teaching experience, and for the course I teach, Secondary Classroom Management, there is value in the fact that I am in the classroom. I am in the trenches if you will. And it is from there that I share my perspective in hopes that from my vast experience and limited wisdom that my students can find themselves.

Of course, my view is one. And I tell my kids over and over that I am never sharing THE answer or way, I am merely sharing a way. What’s cool about the teacher panel is that my students get to hear multiple perspectives as they sit with teachers, whose experiences range from one to thirty-plus years, for an hour of questions and answers, an hour where I fade into the background and watch and listen. For me, too, it is the highlight of the quarter. I am so grateful to have the opportunity to put my hardworking, talented, wise colleagues in front of my students. It is possible they learn more in one hour with them than they learn from me all quarter.

Teacher-panel night also marks another milestone event in the quarter: the discussion on grading practices. I suspect some may wonder how this fits within the realm of classroom management, and I would answer that classroom management is really about classroom culture and one’s grading practices significantly impact the culture in the classroom, and they certainly impact our interface with parents outside the classroom. In a grade-centered environment, one might even suggest that grading practices are at the core of everything–even classroom management.

Last night, this is how the conversation began. I asked the kids to consider and discuss their reactions to the following scenarios.

1. While grading papers at home, you discover a paper with no name.
2. A student turns in an assignment a week late.
3. During parent-teacher conferences, a  parent indicates that she doesn’t think your grading practices are fair.

My students deliver what I anticipate, a mixed bag of responses, ranging from flexibility to rigidity and all points in between. I then ask them to share in their small groups what an “A” will communicate in their class. Again the answers vary, spanning the spectrum from effort to attitude to achievement and so on. And it is at this point that we pause and consider how we have arrived at a place with so many different perspectives and proposed practices. Of course, the answer is always “grading practices stem from each individual teacher.” And then I drop the bomb.

I tell them that no one–NO ONE–will teach them or tell them how to grade, and they, too, will most likely do as every teacher has always done: grade as they were graded. And at this point, sufficiently settled on my soapbox, I tell them they do not have to buy into doing what’s always been done for the simple fact that it’s always been done.  I refer back to the three scenarios above as an example of the type of choices that they alone will make in their own classrooms and that those choices will most certainly affect the culture in their classrooms. It’s more disheartening than surprising how many of my kids think they have to adopt a punitive paradigm for late work, no-names, etc. Many of them believe that “a lesson has to be taught,” and for many they settle on the punishment path. And I don’t think it’s because they really believe kids should be punished; rather, I think it’s familiar; it’s what was done to them. And they still believe in their innocence that somewhere exists the definitive guide to the grading-practice galaxy that their own teachers heeded and followed. And it is here that I damage their innocence, and tell them that no such thing exists, that it’s the biggest, best-kept dirty little secret in public education.

For some this seems liberating but for others it is terrifying, and it should be both. For with our incredible autonomy comes incredible responsibility, a terrible power that we wield that could ruin kids’ lives if we are not careful. And while that may be a bit of melodramatic over-exaggeration, we do have  the power to make or break our kids. And I want my students to understand this power. They will leave me in a month. And they will move along finding their ways, choosing their own paths, creating their own classroom universes. And regardless of where they end up ultimately–for it really is their choice–I hope that the seed I tried to plant last night helps them grow above the canopy of the status quo and they find the sun–for themselves, for their kids.

Happy Wednesday, all. Huge shout out and thank you to my teacher-panel peeps last night. Thank you Jenna Tamura, Shannon Root, Shasta Ruddock, Marin Hatcher, Jay Martin, Jacob Troyer, and Ray Picicci. So proud to call you colleagues and friends.

This morning, I found the following email waiting for me. It was a continuation of a conversation at the end of yesterday where one young lady shared her continuing struggles to find her own “powerful why.” This coupled with the above article provided a perfect storm for me, further galvanizing my own grit, my own longing to make kids’ educational experiences more than a G.P.A.

I am protecting her identity because I did not secure her permission to publish, and even though I asked for her forgiveness in advance–out of fear that she may be upset with me, I hope she understands that her talking about “nothing” told me everything, and that she did for me that which she seeks to do for all–help us through our trials. Deeply moved, I had to share.

Syrie,

Okay, so this whole speech thing is actually crazy stressing me out. (Not the writing the speech, I could do that easy.) I really am dead set on finding something I want to talk about. I don’t want to settle for a topic I kinda care about. After thinking through my life and thinking through things that have really made me mad, I couldn’t find any I thought of as “injustices” so I googled injustices and that didn’t help me either. I know it doesn’t necessarily have to be an injustice, but none of them settled right. I guess I’ve given up caring about things (I know, sad right?) and that thought almost scares me. Maybe part of what’s holding me back is my peers judging me, but no matter the situation I know that’s something I have to get over so when thinking about this I’ve been trying to do my best to keep that out of my head. But this is a real fear I have, I HATE people judging me. But I’m not afraid of conquering my fears, in-fact I’ve spent a lot of this year getting over things that used to scare me. And no, I’m not doing my speech on judgment, that wouldn’t work well. Also I judge people too, don’t want to be hypocritical, and it’s human nature. Then I thought about things I care about just in general, I care about my grades, how I’m going to make money in the future, and that people around me feel comfortable. That last one seems like a great start right? Yeah, well that’s a pretty broad topic and I couldn’t narrow it down to what specifically that meant. Which brings me back in a circle, to me writing an injustice speech about nothing and hoping a few people get something out of it. I like this idea, but because of past conversations, no one would even understand what’s happening. What I care about most is other people, and supporting them through their trials in life. And the worlds biggest injustice is that every single one of us has these trials. That’s what I truly think. I want these trials to be easy to get through and people to just purely enjoy the life that’s set in front of them. The only way to make people realize this though is to set up a piece of writing that can be taken a different way by every individual who reads it. So completely different that one might think, “Apple,” while the other thinks, “Loaf of bread!” But I want people to get that meaning. Therefore, I am doing my speech on nothing, so that I can do everything.

Welp, I think I just answered my question. Just needed to rant it out. Got it from here, Sy.

End-of-the-Year Checklist

Honors LA 10

___ Website Post/Comment (Due May 23)

___ Express and Reflect Submission (Due May 23)

___ Mock Blog Due (May 23)

___ Independent Learning Project (Due May 23)

___ Sentence Final (May 23)

___ Injustice Speech (Due May 31)

___ Speech Self-Assessment (Due day after speech)

Last week, in an effort to both clarify and create a sense of urgency, I provided an end-of-the-year checklist of assignments for the kids, assignments which for the most part all come due on the same day, May 23. Thus, with the promise of class time along with my availability for assistance, the stage for the next three weeks was set, and I expected to students to dig in. Some did, but others struggled with where to begin in the list. Wanting to give them both freedom and responsibility, I asked them to employ the “energy-priority approach,” to make their decision on either the basis of motivation (what they felt like doing) or on the basis of priority (what required the most attention, advising them that, of all, the speech was the most important). With this, the work began. Of course, though, when kids are involved, things rarely go exactly as planned.

Taking the “energy” part of the approach deeply to heart, Ashley and Carissa came to me with a different idea in mind. They, still reeling from their state-assessment marathon with two more to run (math and science), asked if they could set aside the checklist and work on something that mattered most to them, writing a letter about state testing. Intrigued and inspired, I asked them to tell me more.

Essentially, fed up with the whole testing culture, which is especially amplified their sophomore years, they wanted to write a letter expressing their frustration, seeking to change the lunacy that state testing has become. I, of course, could not deny them the opportunity to put their vim and vigor to work and granted them the freedom to pursue their present passion. In fact, seeing an opportunity to be responsively flexible, I told them that this could take the place of their website post/comment requirement. Titled “A Storm is Coming,” the two young ladies drafted a piece that we will send to the newspaper, I will publish on my blog, and we will send off to our congressmen/women and any other relevant policy makers in the state. So proud of these two for discovering a real purpose for writing. They have put more energy into this than any of the academic writing assignments I’ve given them this year. That is not to say that academic writing is not important or doesn’t serve a purpose, it is to say that true motivation is pretty magical when it happens in the classroom, and this was certainly a goal of my Real-World Writing Project. Bravo ladies.

In large part, this is what I want to achieve next year. I want to provide experiences and opportunities for kids to pursue passion, making learning both relevant and meaningful, making it real, where commitment–not compliance–is king. Is that really so crazy?

Happy Monday, all.

A shout out to all the first and best teachers out there. Happy Mother’s Day, moms.   A Special Happy Mother’s Day to my best teacher, Anne Ames.  And another special wish  to my kids’ best teacher, Sherry Syrie. These two gals make my world go round. Love you both.

Went to the inspiration well this morning, and despite lowering the bucket repeatedly into its depths, it came up dry every time. Sorry. Probably won’t be the last time it happens. On the bright side, you won’t have to read a windy post this morning. I’ll be back at it on Monday.

On another note, since it is the final day of Teacher Appreciation Week, I’d like to give a shout out to all my fellow teachers out there, past and present, who have stood and continue to stand by my side, both lifting me and grounding me, sticking with me–even though I am less-than easy at times. I can barely put up with me. Don’t know how you do it, but you do it, and that has meant and will always mean the world to me. Thank you earnestly for helping me grow. Of course next year, I will need you more than ever.

On still another note, I am proud and pleased to announce that Ms. Madeline Alderete, my student teacher from last fall, will be officially joining the CHS LA Dept. next year on a full-time, continuing contract. Yay, you, Maddie.! So proud of you kiddo.

Happy Friday, all. Have a glorious weekend. Sorry for the empty bucket this morning.

–Erik Palmer

Glossophobia. Big word. Big fear. The fear of public speaking, as most will attest, nearly always ranks among the top as one of our greatest fears. We don’t like to speak in front of others. All eyes are on us. We are being judged. It’s an action that creates, for many, unparalleled anxiety. As such, most of us avoid it all costs, which only creates more fear in the end, and so, when the opportunities to speak in front of others arise, we are never comfortable; even more, we are rarely ever really effective because we don’t get enough practice. I was reminded of this in a discussion with my kids earlier this week.

Ramping up for our speeches in June, I introduced Erik Palmer’s PVLEGS approach to the skills that make for effective public speaking/presenting. To begin our discussion, I asked kids to consider and discuss with a neighbor why people fear public speaking as much as they do. Of course, they replied with the reasons that most could anticipate: “All eyes are on us,” “People are judging us,” etc. And then Danica, during fourth period, shed some light, especially when it comes to speaking/presenting in school. “So, you take something that truly frightens us, something that we do once, maybe twice a year, and you grade us on it?” Huh? I thought. She’s right. We take this supremely scary thing, sell it as being an incredibly important life skill, generally tack on a large number of points, and then rarely–if ever–give kids the necessary practice, much less feedback, on something that we suggest is vital to their lives.  We suck. No, truly. It’s no wonder people hate speaking. In the course of their educational careers, we put them in scary situations with little or no support, and we expect them not only to lose their fear but also be great. Who does that? Well, I have. But that has to change, so this time I decided to do different. Here’s the approach in a nutshell.

1. Introduce and use PVLEGS as criteria for assessing growth. Love how simple and straightforward Mr. Palmer’s approach is.
2. Set the stage by acknowledging the fear we feel, and intimating to kids that I don’t expect them to be great. I only expect them to get better.
3. Create growth opportunity. Kids present a one-minute practice speech, during which their peers assess them on PVLEGS using a 5-point scale (5 = great, 1 = unsatisfactory), making one suggestion for improvement.
4. Place kids in the hot seat. Here the kids receive immediate verbal feedback on their performance, getting specific PVLEGS comments from their peers. Of course, I very intentionally and carefully set the stage by discussing with the kids why feedback, though scary, is necessary for growth.
5. After all kids have gone and been assessed by peers, each student will then cut out the “feedback forms” (six to a page) and give them to the owner. In most classes, this then means that each kid will get 29 feedback forms from their peers, complete with input on PVLEGS and a suggestion for improvement.
6. Each kid will then analyze the data, determining a growth goal based on peer/audience feedback. Once they have completed their data analysis and set their goal and progress plan, they turn it in to me. I keep it until after the real performance (speech), during which we repeat the process and the kids complete their final self-assessment/reflection, hopefully demonstrating growth between the two ends.
7. I will give feedback for their performance, but their grades (this year anyway) will be based on their own growth goal and progress. More importantly than giving kids a grade here, I am giving them opportunity to grow, hopefully making less-terrifying the act of public speaking, instilling some confidence. At least that’s what I am telling myself. If not, I’ll do better next time. Do. Reflect. Do Better.

Happy Thursday, all.