As I have intimated in the past, one of the challenges of the 180 classroom is the absence of power found in grades. In particular, it is challenging because it is a 180 degree departure from what kids are accustomed to. While they may resent the compliance that tradition dictates, they find it familiar. And as it happens, when we are caught between ends, we will generally cling to that which we know. And though I am not certain that their present persistence to resist in the form of “not doing” is really a manifestation of nostalgic pinings for practices past, I find myself discouraged by the number who are still not fully committing to practices present. And so, I do what I can in the absence of power and try to muster some influence. Yesterday, I took a shot at some two-bit wisdom. Here’s how it went down.

As the period began, I turned the kids’ attention to the front board. But before reading the message on the board, I shared with them that I no longer have the power of grades to motivate them. And so, in that absence, I find myself having to resort to influence instead to get them to move–in this case, to get them to eat. And then, I made the attempt at some flimsy philosophy, trying to draw a comparison between eating and growing and doing and learning, and I read the message on the board.

As I read, I paused at “What am I to do” and “What are you to do?” For the first, I shared my real, keeps-me-awake-at-night doubt about 180 and if I have made a mistake by flipping things upside down. For the second, I shared my dismay at their apparent hunger strike in response to their new environment, continuing on with the expression of my sincere worry about their choices, even borderline pontificating about regret and wasted opportunity. I ended with, “Where are your appetites my young friends? Why will you not eat? I have food aplenty, and I will gladly share it, but I cannot, will not force it upon you. The table is set. You are at the table. You have a choice to eat. You have a chance to grow.”

And we got to it. Of course, never one to pass up an opportunity to extend a metaphor, I milked my momentum all period long.

When they started to get off track, talking instead of working.

“Hey, where are your manners? You are talking with your mouths full.”

“Pause. Take note of what you are eating. Is it of nutritional value (working) or are you just consuming empty carbs (talking)? If it’s the latter, you are filling time and space but you are not growing. Eat your veggies.”

Handing practice back.

“Thank you for eating, Abby. You are growing.”

After helping kids with their work.

“Luke, you just grew three inches.”

“Really, Maddie, thirds? Haven’t you eaten enough already. Let’s not overdo it.”

And, as the period went on, the frivolity continued. But so did the work. By the end, there were more empty plates and seemingly sated kids than there has been of late. Of course, their appetites will not last. Guess I’ll just have to keep trying new recipes. Got a few picky eaters in the bunch. Kids.

Happy Wednesday, all.

I have often wondered what those who are on the outside see when looking in. To most, I imagine teaching seems a simple, transactional process. Teacher delivers information. Student learns information. Teacher tests student’s knowledge. Teacher judges student’s knowledge. Repeat. And while that perception is not entirely off-base, it really paints neither a clear nor complete picture of the complexity that is teaching, especially great teaching.

I stumbled upon this graphic in my early morning journey through Twitterland and found it a fair representation of all that goes into our striving to be better teachers, to be great teachers. Importantly, strive is the key word here, for being great is no  easy task, and for me, especially, the task’s only begun, the strive simply started. I have a long way to go. But I am moving, and that’s what matters.

Currently, I find myself focused on numbers 5 and 8 as I crawl, chasing the elusive goal of “great.”

Experiment, experiment, experiment: Teaching is a craft. Play with it. Keep on learning and stay relevant. Beyond the none-too-small experiment of 180, I daily experiment with new approaches to discover ways to better the learning experiences in 211. This past weekend, I came across an intriguing article on feedback. https://medium.com/@hhschiaravalli/explode-these-feedback-myths-and-get-your-life-back-78ee97844511#.r0qir1cdp  As feedback is central to the 180 classroom, I have learned a lot, but I also have a lot to learn. Feedback takes time, too much time, but it is so important that the benefit outweighs the cost, and so, I spend the time, time that I often don’t have. So, I am constantly looking for ways to be more efficient, but not at the cost of less-effective.

Yesterday, at the urging of the author, I resisted giving a judgment score on the practice, only giving move-it-forward feedback. It’s practice. All the kids really need is how-can-I-make-it-better advice. They don’t need a score at this point. They just need some input as they progress. It was faster for me, and I believe it will be just as meaningful for the kids. Plus, as is implied in the article, scores can create false destinations for kids, especially kids who are accustomed to reaching the standard as the “I-have-arrived” signal. In truth, in most cases, the kids–even the “high-achieving” kids–have farther to go. This approach better fosters the journey/process approach to learning versus the destination/product approach to learning.

One other idea that grabbed my attention was the self-feedback approach. Excited for that experiment.

Be concise: When explaining, less is more. Though there has certainly been a learning curve and period of adjustment for me here–I like to talk and talk and talk, I am learning to take a minimalist approach to explaining, giving just enough to get the kids underway. I am finding that this not only impacts how much I deliver but also–maybe more importantly–when I deliver. I am finding that there is wisdom in giving help along the way as the kids ask for it, rather than trying to front load everything imaginable. I think I thought that if I imagined all that would come into play and addressed it at the outset, then I had effectively explained; the kids had all they needed. Of course, they are only going to truly listen for so long and they can only really process so much at a time. Learning now the error in my ways. Silly Syrie.

And so, today, I continue my perpetual pursuit of great. Funny, that every time I think I am getting close, I discover the mirage, and she–for “great” is no doubt a woman–appears on the next horizon, dancing alone in a playful taunt, coy in her mischief, bidding me follow. And I will. I will. For some day, I will have that dance.

Happy Tuesday, all.

Had a hard week last week, and with today promising to be a Monday of all Mondays, I needed some inspiration, some vim for my vigor. I spent too much time worrying about the wrong last week: failed plans, an unimpressed parent, etc. And I spent too little time worrying about the right: successful kids, inspired kids, etc. This week I will put my energy in the positive. For my kids. For myself. We both deserve it.

And so, today, I will turn to one of my guys, Robin Williams. No, he was not officially an educator, but he played one once in a powerful movie. Still sad about his passing. He and his characters are indelibly woven into my spirit.

“You’re only given a little spark of madness. You mustn’t lose it!” –Robin Williams

“No matter what people tell you, words and ideas can change the world.” –Robin Williams

And with that, I will crash headlong into my week, made strong again by another’s words, as I seek to make strong those around me with mine. We can change the world.

Sorry for the short post. Happy Monday, all.

This caught my eye as I drifted through the Twitterverse this morning. Decisions reflect commitment. Directions reflect compliance. In a 180 classroom the former is a cornerstone. In the absence of compliance-creating grades, students in the 180 classroom are daily faced with decisions about their own learning, about their own growth. A 180 classroom, by design, creates an environment where kids have not only the freedom but also the responsibility to make decisions. And that, I am finding is equal parts fascinating and terrifying.

I went to school to learn to give directions. Heck, maybe I even became a teacher to give directions. Well, maybe not that exactly, but I imagine early on–though too long ago now to remember–I believed teaching was mostly about direction giving. That seemed the essence of my education. Teachers gave directions. I followed directions. And then, when I crossed the threshold to the other side of the room, I became the giver of directions. And I believe I was a damn good giver at that. And as the years progressed, I became a master, conducting a symphony of directing and following, an ebb and flow of melodious harmony. In short, by at least that notion, the teaching was great, but the learning was suspect. And as the years passed, I began to act on my suspicions, questioning if teaching was learning. My kids were consummate “compliers,” but I no longer felt certain that meant they were learners. So, I began a gradual shift towards focusing on learning, not teaching, and eventually I landed here.

And here is not easy. It’s scary. And though it is where I desire to be, I frequently find it a world unfamiliar, a realm without comfort. Simply, we find comfort in what we know. I am finding that my letting go has revealed there is much I don’t know. And daily I struggle. On my tougher days, I wonder if I’m on the right path, worrying about my decisions. On my toughest days, I want to abandon the journey altogether, returning to the comfort of familiar. But. There is another side. Always another side. And it keeps me where I am. On my better days, the kids run down the path ahead of me, embracing their freedom. On my best days, the kids find new routes, accepting their responsibility.

And so, once again, I find that when I get lost, all I have to do is look to the kids to get back on track, a track that soon will become the new familiar. I just have to be patient. I made a decision to make better decisions. I made a decision because I had the freedom to do so. I made a decision because I am willing to assume the responsibility of the risk. And ultimately, I made a decision to give my kids the opportunity to make their own.

Happy Thursday, all.

I’ve had some honest conversations with kiddos the last few days. In particular, I have had some heart-to-heart moments with the few who have not assumed the mantle of responsibility as I hoped they might by this point in our journey. Time is moving and they are not. And so, seizing on the opportunity of our face-to-face conference moments, I sought to understand, calling them out on their lack of commitment to their learning in my class. In general, their responses were two-part. First, they apologized–sincerely. Second, they rationalized–predictably.

Their apologies were appreciated but not necessary. I think they mistook my concern for disappointment. And though I’d be disingenuous to suggest that there exists no measure of disappointment on my end, I don’t want my disappointment to be the force at work here. I don’t want them to worry about letting me down; I want them to worry about letting themselves down. In the end, it’s about them. I, as I have stated repeatedly, provide opportunity. They will either make something of the opportunity or they won’t. But along the way, if I recognize that they are not seizing the day, I will nudge them into motion, and if it should be that compunction from my disappointment moves them along, then so be it. But I’d rather it come from them, not me. If they want to save face, they need to move, not apologize.

Their rationales were convenient. Yes, they are often overloaded with school and life. Yes, the 180 approach does reduce the load with its flexibility. Yes, there is some logic behind doing the things first that carry immediate penalties if they are not done. Yes, they are young and are not always going to make the best decisions. But. Regardless the reasons, not doing is not doing. In 211, not doing carries no immediate penalty. But not doing in 211 does carry some long-term consequences. Growing requires two things: practice and feedback. The process of progress begins with doing, and it continues with receiving feedback. Simply put. No practice. No feedback. No growth. And when there is no growth, there will be consequences. And it is here where I attempt to impart some wisdom on my young travelers, telling them that no one looks back and wishes they had done less; in truth, most of us look back at opportunities past, and wish we had done more.

And for these kids in particular, “more”–sadly–is anything, something. And so we bargained. I challenged them to commit to doing half the work. No, I’m not really okay with that, but half is better than nothing. Fortunately, we are talking about a small minority of kids here. But wishing to elevate the bar for all, I challenged those who are doing much of the work to do all of the work, leaning heavily on the fact that there is not a lot, leaning more heavily on the passing of time, and leaning most heavily on the consequence of not reaching growth potential in the coming and quickly passing days ahead. In the end, I just want each moving forward. We don’t all have to move at the same speed, but we do all have to move. Have to.

Happy Wednesday, all.

The water came on unexpectedly, pooling quickly ’round my ankles, rising relentlessly, flooding my hopes, drowning my dreams. And though I bailed water as a man possessed, I had to make the call dreaded by all captains, “Abandon ship!” We were going down.

I thought her seaworthy. I thought her well-planned and built. I thought her invulnerable to danger. I thought wrong, for moments after her christening, the sound of breaking glass still a faint echo on the salty air, trouble set in. We weren’t even out of the harbor before she began listing and then sinking, disappearing into the depths below.  A fail of titanic proportions.

Okay. Here goes. Things did not go as planned with the conferences yesterday. Though I believed I had come up with a solid approach to the midterm progress reports, I quickly discovered that my diligently-detailed plan was not really working out the way I had hoped.

First, it was taking way too long. And while I had certainly anticipated the time factor in the process, we were on pace to be done by the end of the term. Parents would get the midterm by term’s end.  Good plan, Sy. Solid. And what was vexing is that the time sucker was not a drawn-out discussion. I could live with that. The time sucker was the paperwork. In my efforts to create a comprehensive view of the kids’ progress to share with parents, I, in reality, created a convoluted mess, a monster that was sucking the life out of my most-looked-to moments with kids. Despair and doubt had risen, leviathans from the abyss, wrapping their tentacles ’round my spirit, dauntless no more.

Second, most important, the brief conversations that were taking place felt stilted and artificial. I knew it. The kids knew it. And with that, the listing ship, sunk quickly, prompting the call, and I enmeshed in my own mess, prepared to do what all worthy captains do, go down with the ship.

And for a moment, I resigned to the descent, the downward spiral into self-loathing and pity, surrendering to doubt and despair, finally free from the torment of my own tempest. But then, I woke the hell up and started swimming towards the light on the surface with shades of life boats bobbing above, filled with a crew still in need of a captain to see them safely ashore. And so, I rose. Pity party over. Resolve renewed. Ship was gone, but my crew remained. I would not abandon them.

So, I came up with a new plan. I threw the reports in the recycle bin, apologized to the kids for my fail, grabbed some notebook paper, and engaged the kids in real conversations about their learning. And soon, we were under sail again, moving steadily with the breeze of hope.

In the end, I made a mistake. In the end, I learned. I fall victim at times to worrying more about how it will look without than how it will work within. The reports looked impressive, and while they may have won over the doubting critic with their officiousness, they, in the end, were really just false fronts that didn’t fit. I am sorry that I lost sight. Next time, I will make myself walk the plank before compromising the vessel with my shortsighted schemes.

Happy Tuesday, all. Hope to find calmer seas today.

Back to business on this short week. I always call the time between Halloween and winter break the silly season because there are many breaks and interruptions. And while one part of me does like a little extra time off, another part bemoans the lack of consistency and continuity in the classroom. But, in the end, it simply is what it is, and we do our best with what we have. This week our “best” comes in the form of midterm conferences between the kids and me. I get to devote time to each kid, one of my favorite things to do–maybe one of the most important things I do. Of course, the trick is making the time in a world where time’s short, the task lists long.  I do my best, but it’s not always enough.

Here is a look at the week ahead.

1. Progress reports. Last week I offered  my observations on where I believe each kid is situated within the habits/behaviors outlined in the Super-Student Profile, ranging from “hardly ever” to “almost always.” On Friday, along with the preface that my judgment was based on observation/perception alone, I handed the Learning Logs back to the kids, asking them to consider my input and then provide their own in regards to the 15 profile components. Today, we will begin the process of sitting side-by-side and completing the Super-Student Standard form. We are targeting four standards, looking to evidence as indicators of both performance and confidence with the standards. Once complete, each will take it home to share with parents, returning it once signed. The plan is to finish by the end of the period tomorrow, but I have a hunch that it will bleed into next week. We’ll see. Time is less important than the chance to sit and talk with each kid.
2. My Choice. Mondays and Tuesdays have become “My-Choice” days. The kids are currently making progress with their blogs and speeches. Each week I quickly give direction and add elements to each project, and then I relinquish the role of leader and put on my supporter hat. This week, I will not don my supporter hat because I will be engaged with kids as we complete progress reports. I count on this time for that. The kids will have to be self-reliant this week.
3. The Book Thief. We watched the first segment last week and the kids began their team analyses of the segment, looking through the accuracy, perspective, and impact lenses. I will give them some time to complete their analyses before starting the next segment. My hope is that we can complete viewing and analyzing two more segments  this week. But, we’ll see. As with anything, this, too, takes time.

And that’s our week. Gonna go fast. Super excited to sit with kids today and talk with them about their learning. For me, it’s the best part of the journey.

Happy Monday, all.

Only 3 comments from the kiddos this week.  Had a good week in 211. Can’t believe it’s November. Have a great weekend, all.

“Hey, Sy, I love the speech idea because you are giving us guidelines on what we need to include, but you are also giving us freedom to choose what we want to write about, what’s important to us, and what we feel strongly about. This not only allows us to express ourselves and how we feel but also it provides learning opportunities to expand our knowledge and LA skills.” –Anonymous

Anonymous, I am glad that you see the benefit to the approach. I am excited to work with you all on your speeches. One of my favorite projects of the year.

“I think the other people who are complaining about the little tasks in your class need to calm down because this class has the least amount of work. Just because it’s a free A, it doesn’t mean it’s a free ride.” –Anonymous

Anonymous, well, not sure I could say it any better. May well be, it’s better coming from you anyway.

“Hey, Sy. I think that you giving us feedback on our learning habits through the Learning Logs is a great way for us to see what you think. For me at least, it was cool to see your opinion, and it made me realize you see and notice more about my learning style than I do, and that made me feel like you truly are doing your part as a teacher, and I appreciate that a lot! Thanks, Sy.” –Anonymous

Anonymous, I am thankful that my feedback made a difference for you. I am looking forward to finishing up the midterm progress reports with you all this week. Hard to believe we through the first quarter already..

Made a promise. Gonna keep it. But it’s not a “hafta keep;” it’s a “wanna keep.” I have done varied versions of Community Circle in my room for years now, and while some of my colleagues have openly suggested that it’s a waste of time, I have found it to be among the best teacherly decisions of my career. Getting to know our kids and giving them opportunities to know us and each other is not a waste of time. It may be one of the most important things we do. Rita Pierson suggests that kids won’t learn from people they don’t like. But even more, I believe, kids won’t learn from people they don’t know. Kids won’t learn from people who don’t know them.  And ultimately, kids won’t learn from people who don’t care about them. Caring requires knowing. As a teacher, I know to care, so I care to know. And so, I do. A few weeks ago, the kids and I settled on doing Community Circle on the first Friday of each month. I made a promise, a promise I am pleased to keep. But what my current kids don’t know is that I made a similar promise to myself long ago.

I wonder if they know

That I failed Marina.

Too late I learned

She wanted to teach.

Too late. For,

I had already placed her on

The 16-and-pregnant track.

 

I will not tell

That now

We have community circle

Every Friday.

I will never not

Know my kids again.

–from “I Wonder if They Know,” From Seed to Apple, 2013

http://www.k12.wa.us/EducationAwards/pubdocs/SeedtoApple2013.pdf#cover

 

These two stanzas are from a poem that I wrote as a requirement of the Washington State Teacher of the Year competition in 2013. All the competitors had to submit a story to the  From Seed to Apple publication. Unable to dredge up a Chicken-Soup-for-the-Soul story from my classroom, I instead wrote a poem revealing some of my less-flattering experiences, experiences of which I was not proud but were nonetheless some of my most important moments as a teacher.

And this moment with Marina, ranks among the top. She was not a good student. She was dating an older boy. In the classroom, she was a wallflower, and I let her fade into the background. And then, near the end of the year, in a community-circle-type discussion, she revealed–earnestly–that she wanted to be a teacher. Rocked my very foundation. It may have been the first time that she really made eye contact with me all year, the first time that she had said something for months, the first time I realized my monumental mistake. How dare I not know. How dare I script her story based on my perceived notion that 16 and pregnant was the fate in her cards. And it was then that I vowed to never not know my kids again. All my kids.

And while it’s been a promise only partly kept, for we do not do CC every Friday, I have kept the spirit of the promise as I have created other ways to create a “culture of knowing” in my classroom. Presently, we begin every period with a connections activity before we do anything else. It is priority one, and I join the kids in the activity every day. And today, the first Friday, we will have Community Circle. Promise kept. I will never not know my kids again.

Happy Friday, all. Have a fabulous weekend.