Just because I love it. Just because it feeds my spirit. Just because I look forward to it every single day, does not mean that it’s easy. It’s rewarding–incredibly so, but it’s also demanding–incredibly so. And though I am generally buoyed by all that is good and all that is great, there are days when the buoy is not enough, and I sink beneath the surface, a hand become periscope seeking succor, asking for aid in a sea vast and lonely. Today, I’ve not the strength to tread. Today, I’ve the mind to give in, to float away, letting the weight pull me under, washing away the worry. But then, I remember. I remember that I promised Riley we would read through her Passion Paper. I remember that I promised several kids they could do retakes during access time today. I remember that we have to do Learning Logs in fourth and fifth period still. I remember. I remember…well, I remember too much. And with a sigh, I begin to swim. I have to. Too much to do. Too many to help.

I should stay home today. But I won’t. I will drink even more coffee. I will overdose on Alka Seltzer Cold Plus. And I will survive. And the kids will help. They always do. Funny how devoted we become to those with whom we, in the end, spend so little time. I am always amazed at the hold they establish over me. And I know I am not alone. And so a shout to all who ride the waves with me every day, caught in the ebb and flow of an existence beautiful and impossible, an existence sustained only by the young lifesavers that right our ships in our greatest moments of need.

Today’s Trail

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…survive. (Promises to keep/Miles to go before I sleep)

…reflect in Journey Journals

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Tuesday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

Tired. Getting sick. Again. But the work continues–though I suspect there won’t be much Super in the Syrie today. Just Simple Syrie. Some days it’s just about survival. Today is about survival.

My tenth-grade team and I recently made some changes to our Learning Log. We felt the former was too teacher-dependent, and so with this one, we sought to make it more learner-dependent. We wanted them to be pushed to dig into their performances to seek to discover and understand the why of their misses. In most cases, this can be determined from the accompanying criteria, but in others it necessitates a conversation with us. Either way, the kids are placed in a position where they have to find some answers, information that will not only help them understand their most recent performance but also will help them better hit the targets in the next one.

Additionally, we added a target-specific growth-goal requirement. The plan here is to get the kids to identify from their “digging” a particular target for which they need to improve their aim. Once identified, we want them to come up with a plan for progress between now and the next Learning Log, for which the “timeline” has changed. Our initial thinking with Learning Logs is that we would complete them every two weeks, but in truth, there just wasn’t enough to log about, so we now have taken a more flexible, responsive approach, completing them when there is sufficient information to do so. For me, that’s looking to be every three-to-four weeks. We will complete one today.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…complete Learning Logs.

…continue description practice.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Monday, all.

Do Reflect. Do Better.

Okay, maybe I should have knocked on wood yesterday after sharing how great things were going in room 211. Should have, but I didn’t, and so I should not have been surprised when things didn’t go as planned, when things didn’t go as imagined. I should have knocked.

“Okay, please go write your “reader reaction” on the board.”

In an effort to get kids to wade deeper into the analysis pool, away from the safer, shallower, summary end, I have begun asking them to first capture their emotional responses. Last week, as writers of their own stories, they had learned from Pixar writer Andrew Stanton that the first commandment in storytelling is to make the audience care–emotionally, intellectually, aesthetically. Here, I was looking for how the author made them care emotionally. So, I asked them to share on the board.

Some made their way to the board, but many were still in their seats, a good number of them rifling through the pages of their literature text. And it suddenly dawned. They didn’t read the story. 

This, of course, is nothing new. Kids don’t do. Kids don’t read. Regardless the teacher. Regardless the grading approach. In the end, kids are kids. What I should say is that people are people. For I have discovered that even in the “real world,” even when your boss asks you to do something, people don’t always do, for there have been many times in staff meetings and professional development sessions that the real-world adults have shown up without having done the homework. And I marvel at the irony, grumble at the hypocrisy, for they are the very same who hammer kids who don’t do their homework.

No hammers in 211. I quit hammering kids a long time ago. I never really found hammers to be particularly effective at motivating kids anyway. And, even though there remain vestiges of my old-get-the-hammer self–I was truly not pleased yesterday–I kept my emotion in check. I don’t need a hammer. Hammers are for nails. My trade puts people–puts kids–in front of me, and people are not nails to be pounded into position. They are to be worked with, challenged, and supported. And so, with no hammer to place in my hand, I tried my seek-to-understand tool, my empathy wrench.

“Okay, stop. Let’s own it. Who didn’t read the story.” Too many hands went up.

“Why?”

“Wi-fi was down.”

“It was in the book and not in a handout.”

“I forgot.”

“I meant to this morning.”

“You didn’t give us a link in Classroom.”

The list went on.

“Okay, fair enough. I will do better. I will–no matter the length–make hard copies for everyone (we only have a classroom set of literature texts that we don’t use very often). I will also, when possible, provide a link in classroom. I will own my part. And I will do better. But, you must, too. I am not saying your excuses are neither fair nor valid, but I am firm believer in if there is a will, there is a way. So find a way. Please. I am not mad, but I am disappointed. Not in you, but for you. You are missing out on an opportunity to learn and grow. There will be more to come, but we can’t get this one back. Fortunately, I still think there will be some benefit as you listen in on the discussion and lesson today. We gotta do better, chicos.”

I am not sure if it’s because the kids talked to their peers in my other classes or if their peers actually read it the night before, but as the day went on, fewer and fewer kids showed up without having the story read. Either way, all was not lost yesterday. And I believe it will get better moving forward. Of course, there will still be days of disappointment. They’re kids. They’re people. And people just do “peoply” things sometimes. And when they do, I will do what I can to turn it into a teachable, reachable moment, but no hammers; my days of hammering are far behind me.

Here’s my Sappy Sy Rhyme that sprouted out of my disappointment yesterday.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

...begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…complete Learning Logs.

…clear some clutter from the trail.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Friday, all. Have a great weekend.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

“It’s pretty heavy.”

“Okay. I can do heavy.”

But I didn’t know the weight, didn’t understand the gravity that would pull me into my chair, sinking my spirit into the depths of the void from which she pulled her story. I will not share it, but I will say that kids live from and through things they never should. And as they share their weight, we come to carry their despair. And it gets heavy. After twenty-two years, I carry much, and I manage, but I wavered beneath the load a bit yesterday, for it was heavy. And for a moment, it was too heavy. But she righted me with her resilience as she lightened the load some, speaking from strength I could not have imagined. Humbled, I re-shouldered what she shared, and stood tall for her, for all my kids past, present, and future. I stood and stand strong for them. I have to. I am a teacher.

“Sy, would you read, my description?”

“Sure, Matt. Lemme take a look.”

But as I began, I became the text. Matt was reading me. I could feel his bespectacled eyes weighing my reaction, searching for hints from my face as I read, looking for affirmation, fearing rejection. I was the open book, and in that moment I was the one who would write the story that mattered. Oh, Matt’s description was great, marvelous actually, but that is not what mattered then. It was my reaction that would make or break the moment. And I delivered. Nodding, smiling, and bumping Matt’s fist, sharing in his triumph, I provided the final satisfying line to our co-authored experience. And as he walked, beaming with pride, back to his desk, I felt another familiar weight on my seasoned shoulders. The weight of my power to build or destroy. Every moment of every day, I am analyzed and scrutinized. I live on a precipice where words and looks can teeter worlds. Worlds. Their worlds. That’s a lot to carry. And here I came into it thinking that I just had to deliver content. Turns out the job’s just a little bigger than that.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…jump into prepositional and appositive phrases.

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Wednesday, all. To all my teacher peeps, thanks for carrying the weight of their worlds. You are all super men and women.

Do. Reflect. Do Better. 

Yes. Yes. And yes. Success should not only be measured by the grade I hand out at the end of a term, for I am human, and I am fallible. Oh I think deeply and work conscientiously to measure each kid fairly, but even so, learning is too complex, the job too big to know with unwavering certainty if the label I place on a kid is one-hundred percent valid and reliable. And so, I cannot claim to-do right by each kid with a mark, for I believe it is impossible to fully measure the essence of learning. I may be right, but I may be wrong. And in a world where labels are believed to measure success, I wield a terrible power that goes beyond the limits of my human capacity. With a stroke of a pen on the page or the tap of a key on the board, I have a power to set a kid’s day, a kid’s year, and in a sense, a kid’s life.

I see it every day. Kids judge their own self-worth by the mark I put on their work, and as a result, we have created a system of false idols and hope. And by the time kids reach me in high school they have been so deeply conditioned to respond to those marks, they can hardly function in an environment where those marks are de-emphasized. Of course, I blame not them. They have been subjected to years of psychological stimuli in the form of grades, and so they cannot help it. And as such, it may well be that I cannot change it now, but I am bold–dumb–enough to try.

Not everybody gets what I am trying to do with Project 180, my journey to flip education on its back. Some think I am crazy. Some think I am ruining kids’ lives. But then there are others who do seem to believe in what I am doing. But is not for them. It is for my kids. It is about transforming their experiences in such a way that I place them at the center of what I am doing. And that takes a different approach, an approach that is foreign in many ways to what they have experienced in the past, for it runs counter to what’s always been done. But I believe that’s all the more reason to do it.

I waste time each day. I spend five minutes at the beginning of each period with Smiles and Frowns. I chant Mindset Mantras with the kids. And I share a Sappy Sy Rhyme at the end of each period, a last chance to let my kids know they matter before they leave me for the day. These all take time. Sometimes, like last Friday, I waste even more time, taking kids through an activity to help them think about and address their stress by “putting down the glass.” They could have used the fifteen minutes to work on their essays. And then there’s the hour a month I waste with Community Circle.  Yep. I waste a lot of time, so much that I hope admin doesn’t catch wind, else they will find me guilty of malpractice, of slowing down the proficiency and output in my corner of the factory.

But they have caught wind. In fact, the superintendent, the assistant superintendent, and the principal happened by during the “put-down-the-glass” activity. They saw me wasting time. They wasted it with me as they joined in, joined in helping me let kids know they matter. And if it takes wasting time to make that happen, then I will be labeled head time-waster, for nothing I teach matters more than those whom I teach. That’s what matters–now and later. And that tops my agenda each day. Kids can’t matter some of the time. They have to matter all of the time.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…finish up and turn in narrative essays.

…reflect in Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Monday, all. Thank you, Amy Fast, for your words. They matter. You matter.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

In their silence I discover worlds. In Kailey’s silence I imagine beautiful inspiration as her fingers click-clack across the keyboard, words materializing on the screen, her life rising out of her, a summit of sentences whose beauty is masked by the black of their tracks, waiting to reveal color beyond bonds. In Elijah’s silence I fear the dark desperation hidden behind the blank illuminated screen that belies his deep empty well, bereft of beauty, absent of color, his words unable to break beyond the barrier of black. And, too, there is the silence of all, unique worlds cloaked in wonder, hidden in worry, and I am left to find sense in their sounds of silence.

But these moments are few in room 211. Silence is a rare commodity in the busy bustle of the 180 classroom, where learning is messy and noisy, both natural by-products of engaged kids. And so, it is the silence that strikes. And when it does, I am both found and lost, for it means all and nothing at once. This week there have been many such moments, moments that lack clarity as I am still learning my kids, and I am left to wonder–and worry–about my Kaileys and Elijahs. And my worry and wonder grow precipitously with each new sentence that reveals the story behind the kids in my seats, the kids who have triumphed, the kids who have failed, their lives now mine as I weigh their words, as I total their tales. And like that, I am transported into worlds where I am both blessed and cursed to carry the beauty of their success and the burden of their failure. This is teaching. It is not simply a fifty-five minute transaction in the static setting of four classroom walls. It is a lifelong connection to worlds across a dynamic divide drawn together by words often found in silence. Their silence. And in their silence, I hear, I learn, I live. And I respond.

This week from their muted mouths, I heard. I heard their stress, and I responded. Because I can. As I have said before, the difference between possible and impossible in the classroom is almost always the choice of the teacher. So I choose possible. The kids need more time on their essays, so I am giving them more time. Their silence as they have worked diligently all week screamed it, and how can I not hear, how can I not listen, how can I not respond? I work really hard to keep stress to a minimum in room 211, even to the point of gently admonishing kids for displaying signs of stress about my class. “No stress,” I tell them. But of course, my power is limited, for I cannot alleviate the stress that they experience outside my walls. But I wish I could. And I would because kids are too stressed, and as an adult who doesn’t always deal with and knows the dangers of his own stress, I am deeply concerned by the amount of stress our kids carry. And so, I do what I can to help. And sometimes, I even try to help beyond my four walls.

This morning, I came across this post in the Twiterverse, and it inspired me to do an activity with my kids.

I am going to head to the store this morning to purchase cups and gallons of water. I am going to give each kid a cup and ask him/her to write his/her name on it. I will then pass the gallon jugs around the room, asking each to pour some water into her/his. I will then share and read the Twitter post. I will finally ask each kid to walk up and place his/her cup on the table that I have put in front of the room. I will leave the cups there all day, so all of my classes can see the power of putting down the glass.

Undoubtedly, some kids will find it corny, but I know that with some it will resonate deeply in discovering that they are not alone and that they can take some control of their stress. It may not help all my kids, but if it helps some speak their silence, then it’s all worth it.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…put the glass down.

…move our writing farther down the path towards “due.”

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Friday, all. Hope you can put the glass down today. You deserve it.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

Nearly ten years ago now I was lucky enough to attend two of Kelly Gallagher’s writing seminars here in Spokane. I even got the opportunity to introduce him at the second one, which was put on by WSASCD–not every day that someone gets the honor of introducing his hero.

I learned a lot from Kelly in those two days, but of all that I learned, two things in particular stick out. One, “everybody improves.” Two, “writing is never done; it’s only due.” And while these did immediately resonate with me and impact my practice as a teacher of writers, it has taken years for me to arrive at a place where I feel like I can truly foster and support these notions, and it is largely due to my de-emphasizing grades.  It has given me the freedom to focus on learning, to focus on writing in a way that puts process over product, a way that emphasizes growth, not grades.

And so it is with this in mind that I have approached writing this year. And with this first essay I am perpetuating the “due-not-done” process in both deed and name. I am no longer going to call final drafts, “final drafts.” I am going to call them “due drafts.” Along with that, I also try to change the mindsets of my young writers by sharing the following.

Our writing is not a home in which we dwell; it is a vehicle in which we move. It is a construct. It is a creation. And as such, it is an investment. And that investment places heavy demands on us, both intellectually and emotionally, giving it a personal quality that transcends much of the work we do in school. But it is only a construct, only a creation in the end. It is only writing, not the writer. Not us. It is a temporary vessel, a skin we shed as we learn and grow from each piece we write–a metamorphosis. We write. We learn. We grow.

In the end, I tell them, that their writing doesn’t matter; they, the writers, matter. And so I seek to prove that in deed. I am asking them to do their best until its due. At which time, I will give them feedback on what they have submitted. They will hit, and they will miss. That’s the nature of learning. But, hit or miss, they will not remain, for they have outgrown their latest shell, and they will move on to their next experience better than they began the last. Of course, it will take some time for the kids to adjust and trust. Despite my reassurances, many still find and feel it to be a final draft deadline, but I hope as the cycle spins, kids come to trust in the process, kids come to look beyond the deadline, kids come to look within to find what really matters. Them. The writers.

Here are my requirements for and my example of a “Due Draft.”

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns

…move our writing down the path.

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Thursday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

Morning, all. No post today. Life got in the way. Sorry. Be back at it tomorrow.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…move our narrative essays down the path.

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Ryhme.

Happy Wednesday.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.