Yesterday, I posted Part One . Today, I will pick up where I left off, sharing the changes that we have made to our grading approach at the mid-year point.

Performance as Practice

Hear me out. First, our “completion” approach last semester was folly. Our intentions were good, and we do think there is some value in “doing to learn,” but since there was rarely, if ever, any feedback with the practice (simply a not-enough-time issue), it played only a minor role in our kids’ growth. Second, it still perpetuated a bit of a carrot/stick stigma that we have been seeking to avoid. Because it was entered into Skyward and because it showed up as not done and/or it lowered the “approximate grade” if incomplete, it seemed to take us back to the compliance-based days of old, not the commitment-based days we were seeking to create in our classrooms. So, we sought change; we sought our next better.

Convinced that our best learning opportunities were coming from our Performances, we began to wonder and think aloud about how the implications of that truth could impact our approach moving forward. With reporting practice completion now off the table and recognizing the impact of Performances on learning, we knew we would have to find a way to get more Performances in front of our kids, but we also knew that it would have to be different from our previous approach.

Last semester our basic approach involved our putting practice in front of the kids to prepare them for Performances. It made sense. In life, we practice to prepare. Beyond the real-world logic of it, we were also trying to be mindful of our kids’ potential performance anxiety. No coach throws her players into a game, expecting them to perform without sufficient practice. So we planned out our practice, doing our best to ensure that kids had enough practice before we asked them to perform. Again, we believe our intentions here were good, but because we did not provide sufficient, if any, feedback (time issue), good intentions were not creating the results we were hoping for, and in the meantime, Skyward was filling up with lots of numbers, but those numbers meant little, and they were resulting in misleading representations of grades. Something had to change. And it started with my “What if…”

“What if we approached it from a performance-as-practice angle?” I proposed to my gradeless colleagues.

“What do you mean?” they asked?

“Well, here is what we know…”

• We know we that our practice approach is not producing the results we are looking for, and reporting completion is skewing our kids’ learning stories.
• We know that there is value in our Performances. This is where the learning is happening.
• We know that we want there to be more Performances this next semester.
• We know that those Performances create a valuable feedback loop.
• We know that our Performances write and provide the details of each student’s learning story in our classrooms. We just listened to and learned from those stories in our grading conferences.
• We know that our approach consistently puts kids in front of similar Performances, allowing them to apply what they have learned from our feedback.
• We know that our kids’ performance anxiety is being addressed through our retake and correction policies.
• We know that practice is necessary, but we also know that we need to find a better way to use it.

“So, then, what if…”

• we present our approach to our kids as, “In our classes, you will learn by performing. We will use Performances as the means to learn. You will perform. You will get feedback. You will perform. Repeat. In our classes, we DO; we REFLECT; we DO BETTER”?
• we commit to one Performance per week, maybe even have a designated Performance day?
• we continue to acknowledge and address anxiety by even more earnestly encouraging retakes?
• we, instead of front loading practice,  just jump straight to Performances? Of course, we will make sure kids know how to take the Performances, and there will still be some introductory activities, guidance, and practice, but let’s consider practice on the back end. What I mean is, what if we created a system where kids made choices about practice, based on feedback? What if we had a system in place where a kid could access specific types of practice that target where he needs help based on what he has learned from his Performance?
• we basically did away with the notion of summative assessments? I mean, we already have on some level, but if we just simply framed everything around the notion that all Performances are formative. And they are, aren’t they? And what’s cool, and what can and will exist is our belief that learning happens at a different pace for each kid and learning never ends. We can create that for our kids. The only thing in our way is time, but we know we can monkey with that a bit, too–as we have. Nothing is final. Learning does not end.

What if? Many what if’s to discover and discuss as our journey conversations continue. We have not found the way, but we are ever chasing to better our way. Of course, it is entirely possible that I will be calling this a folly in some future post, but for now it is how we will seek to optimize learning in our classrooms.

For now, A “2” will still be a “D” in Skyward (going back to yesterday’s post). We have already had that conversation with our kids, explaining that our marks are communication, not grades. And we will continue to have that conversation, asking them to let go of the past, to embrace their present, and to trust that we are doing our best to do better for their futures. One better at a time.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…wrap up our conversation about fictionalizing the Holocaust and using movies to teach content in the ELA classroom.

…begin viewing The Book Thief.

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

...end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Wednesday, all. Sorry for the long post.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

“But it’s a ‘D.’ On Skyward, it’s a ‘D.'”

During our recent grading conferences, I gave kids a chance to offer recommendations/suggestions to our grading approach. Most shared that they liked it just the way it was. Many made no suggestions. Some suggested that we change the 3, 2, 1 scale because on Skyward, our online grade book, a 2 registers as a D. Some even went on to offer alternatives ranging from 5-point to 10-point scales. In fact, a few offered rather detailed plans with corresponding rationales. I was impressed, and I listened, but I respectfully declined their offers, thanking them for their input. Here’s why.

To be fair, they are not wrong. It does show up as a D on Skyward. I, too, find this bothersome and unfortunate. If a parent is not adequately familiar with our approach, then this could be problematic, especially if their child is unable to sufficiently explain the approach. Of course, this is not necessarily the result of our not trying on our end to be communicative with parents about our approach, but we do acknowledge that what we send home does not always get home, so when the situation arises, our hope would be that a parent contact us, so we have an opportunity to explain. Still, one’s knowledge of our approach does not change the bump in the road that Skyward is. It’s a problem. Can’t deny that, for it is neither readily nor conveniently adaptable to our approach. So, we have had to make do as best we can. And that making do, if you will, is about educating parents and students to think differently about grades. No, small task.

My gradeless colleagues, Jenna Tamura and Madeline Alderete, and I have been in and out and around this issue. We know the glitches that exist and persist as we bring our approach and Skyward together. And we have tried to make it work as best we can, but we concede that it will never be a perfect marriage, so we just keep tweaking, trying to honor not only our approach but also our kids and parents.

With this in mind, here are some tweaks that we have made to our approach for second semester.

We will no longer report practice on Skyward. We made this change for a couple of reasons. First, some background. Going back to earlier in the year, we discovered that if we did not enter a “counted” score, then our grade book would not show up on the student or family end. So, we decided, for better or worse, to go ahead and enter both practice and performance as “count” scores (both 3-point scales). This was not ideal, but it would give parents a sense, albeit only an approximate sense, of progress. And though it never really created too many issues with parents, we were worried that it might create false positives–or negatives, especially with the addition of practice scores.

For instance, a kid who had only done marginally well on performances but had diligently completed all practice, might have a percentage that communicated a “higher grade” than what the performances (the only evidence kids could use to support their selected grades in the end) reflected. Conversely, a kid who had scored 3’s on all performances but did not complete all practice, may have a percentage that communicated a “lower grade” than what the performances reflected. And in the end, it is–and was–about the performances. Practice did not come into play during our grading conferences. So, with that in mind, we have decided to no longer include practice in Skyward. But there is more to it than Skyward.

Practice is important. Our approach to learning relies on it. In the end we are asking kids to perform, and to support that, we have to give them practice. But we have decided to approach practice differently. As we reflected on the learning from semester one, we came to recognize that the most powerful learning moments for our kids came from their performances. It was here that they were growing, and it’s no wonder, for it was here that they were getting the necessary nutrients to grow. They were getting feedback. Even more, they were given, through additional required and redo performances, the opportunity to apply what they had learned from the feedback. And as we made our way through our grading conferences it became apparent as kids pointed to their evidence that the performances were key to kids’ growth. So, I had a thought. Performance as practice…

To be continued… Tomorrow, in Part 2, I will explain. But I’m out of time this morning. Sorry.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…continue our Holocaust/Injustice unit. We are going to watch the Book Thief. We are going to explore among other questions whether it’s an appropriate representation of the Holocaust and if movies have a place in the ELA classroom. 

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Tuesday, all. Sorry for the uninspiring, incomplete post this morning. I guess that’s what happens when one sits down with no idea of what he’s going to write about.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

Hate endings. Love beginnings. As a sentimental and sappy soul, I need both. Maybe that’s why I love teaching so much, for it is full of goodbyes and hellos. And though I am sad that semester one has come to an end, I am eager to dive into semester two, excited to begin this next leg of our journey.

In the space between, I have spent some time reflecting, seeking my next better. And though my head is still buzzing with too many ideas, here are some glimpses into a few of my next “do better’s.”

A Better Mantra

Last semester, our daily mantra was our Mindset Mantra.

This semester, needing not only to mix it up a bit but also to change our focus, I have come up with our “Chasing-Better Chant.” I have been looking for a way to make “Do. Reflect. Do Better.” a more intentional focus in 211. It serves as the foundation for my learning, and I want it to be the same foundational element in my students’ learning. So, we will chant this each day, three successive times, each time getting faster. Yes, the kids will perhaps find it awkward at first, but they found the Mindset Mantra the same in the beginning, too. And it became a powerful, daily part of experience together. Of course, it will go beyond the chant. It will also become our approach for reflection. What did you DO? REFLECT on what you learned. How will you DO BETTER next time?

Better Standards

Well, a different type of standard, anyway. We have our Focus Standards, our learning standards. And they will continue to be at the center of our work, our learning. But there is another set of standards that may be just as important. Until now they have lived in my head, quiet, private guides to how I interact with my kids, but I am now going to make them public, for I believe that when things are public, there is a degree of accountability. By making them public (posting them around the room) and asking my kids to hold me accountable, I believe I am setting the stage for attending to the standards that will not only make me a better teacher but also create a better experience for my kids.

I also created feedback cards for the kids. I want them to let me know how I am doing. I especially want to know if I am not delivering on my offer. I really do want them to feel this way. And the only way I will know is if they tell me.

A Better Approach to Discovering the Power of Voice

It is not always easy to find ways to make things relevant or meaningful for kids. I have succeeded. I have failed. And though I will no doubt continue to do both as I learn, here is a possible “better” for helping my kids find the power of their own voices. As I shared recently, here is one of my sincere hopes that I shared with my kids in my letter to them at the beginning of the year.

I hope you discover the unique power of your voice. Language is power, a power available to all. It is not reserved for a select few. You have language, which means you have power. I will help you find your way, but it begins with your believing that you have power. I so hope you make this important discovery this year.

On a long bike ride yesterday (some of my very best thinking time), I discovered an idea. For our work with argument and persuasion, I came up with “Project Be A Voice.” I will share more specifics about this in the days and weeks to come, but for now I simply wanted to come up with a poster to create some anticipation and maybe generate some enthusiasm among the kids. The poster below is on my door and on my front board. I want my kids to be voices. In truth, I believe they already are. Now they just have to believe it.

Lots a betters around the bend. So excited to get moving with my kiddos. It’s a perfect time to chase better, to do better.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…discuss my new “betters”

…reflect on Passion Paper experience as our first chance to apply our Do-Reflect-Do Better approach to learning.

…make some individual decisions about this semester’s Passion Paper

…do our Chant.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Monday, all. Note on *Day 90. I did not realize that our conference days back in November counted as 2 of our 180 school days, so my count was off. Will happen again in March.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

Seems I wasn’t the only one with a Final Act  in mind yesterday. It was on Juliane’s (pronounced Julie–en) mind, too. It seems a lot was on his mind. It seems a lot has been on his mind. Yesterday, he shared some of that “lot” with us, and I’m not sure we who were there will ever not carry his words with us.

He’s a quiet kid. He’s a studious kid. He’s a kind kid. He’s a funny kid. He’s a bright kid. The list goes on.

And he is not a big kid. His stature is small–quite. That mixed with his quiet demeanor makes at him at times blend into the background and go unnoticed. But there are times when he peaks out above his glasses and makes known his presence by the brilliance of his words, and he is small no more. Yesterday, was one of those days. Yesterday, Juliane was too big for the background. Yesterday, Juliane was a giant.

When I posted his promotional poster on the front board, reading quietly his title and “teaser,” I suspected he may have something special in store, for I had felt the weight of his words before. And as I looked at the boy he had drawn on his poster I was struck by the likeness it bore to the young man I had gotten to know over the past weeks. Secured with tape, it faded into the background of the more conspicuous, colorful posters of his peers. And the quiet boy in the poster, like the quiet boy in the room settled into his quiet place.

“Sy, can I go last?”

Not thinking much of his request at the time, I asked the rest of the writers in the room if they were okay with it. They were. I consented. Juliane nodded. And we moved on, moving through many fantastic pieces of writing. And though all were great in their own right, none were quite as powerful, quite as stunning as Juliane’s. His turn at last, he took a deep breath, exhaled deliberately, and the small quiet boy became a giant. He grabbed us. And he did not let go.

Juliane is writing a journal. He shared entry fifteen with us yesterday. It is an entry full of light and darkness. It is at once disturbing and inspiring. It is a testament to the wisdom, the fear, the hope of youth. It is the voice of a little boy in a big world, lost and found, and yesterday that little voice reminded us all of our humanity, of our responsibility to each other. We sat in stunned silence, many near tears as Juliane transformed once more from giant to quiet, little boy in his quiet place. But he will no longer be able to hide, to fade into the background. He found the stage. He shared his voice. And we will never be able to unhear his words.

Of course, at this point, as the English teacher, I feel compelled to acknowledge the writing. No, there are no paragraphs. Yes, there are errors. Yes, there are some awkward constructions. And no, not all his transitions were smooth. And yes, he should have proofread more carefully. And if I were to place it on the scoring scale, the score would reflect these concerns, but that score would fail to weigh the impact of his words, the power of his voice. The point of the Passion Paper is not the writing. As I have said in earlier posts, I did not design this opportunity to judge the writing. I designed it to elevate the young writers in the room. And though I had not conceived of the Passion Paper when I wrote my kids the letter below in August, I think it was on my mind.

I hope you discover the unique power of your voice. Language is power, a power available to all. It is not reserved for a select few. You have language, which means you have power. I will help you find your way, but it begins with your believing that you have power. I so hope you make this important discovery this year.

I will not set Juliane’s writing on a scale. I do not have to. I cannot deny the weight his words already carry. I cannot deny the unique power of his voice. He has found it. He has shared it. And I, and his peers–and now, maybe even you–are better for it. So proud of this young man, this giant.

Today, we will finish publishing our Passion Papers. So glad I have a front row seat to the awesome show it’s been. Excited to find more giants today.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…publish Passion Papers.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Thursday, all. No school tomorrow. Mid-winter break day, so I won’t post.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

See it. Hear it. Say it. Believe it. 

Well, at least that’s the hope. Yesterday, in an attempt to add a bit of novelty to our Passion Paper publishing party, I made name placards for my kids. I simply placed the word “writer” where it would sit beneath their names, signifying their role for the day, signifying a role I have asked them to play since first we came into contact back at the beginning of our journey in August. At that time, it was just an idea; it was just words. They did not know me. I did not know them, but I knew what I wanted from them, for them. As such, I presented the “roles” (see below) that I expected them to play via my “Roles, Routines, Rights, and Responsibilities” document that I handed out with my syllabus. Of course, at the time, it was merely teacher talk to them–just another teacher talking about his class. Wonk, wonk, wonk. But I wasn’t just talking; I was setting the stage, the stage on which we would rehearse our roles in the weeks to come. In particular, one important role occupied much of our rehearsal time. Beyond the work of the role, the writing, we also practiced getting into character with our daily Mindset Mantra.

We are valued members of this community.

We are readers.

We are writers.

We are learners.

We are awesome.

We ended each period, each day with this. It began with “You” (hear it). For the first two weeks I said to them, “You are valued….” Then, it was “I” (say it). For the next two weeks, they said, “I am valued….” Finally, for the rest of the semester, it became “We” (say it). “We are valued….” They saw it, they heard it, they said it, and I hope they now believe it.

Today is the second to the last day of our first semester. We are on two-hour blocks for finals. Today, periods 1, 3, and 5 will meet. Tomorrow, 2, 4, and 6 will meet. And while the kids will be taking final exams in their other classes over the next days, in room 211 they will be performing their final acts, living into the roles in which they were cast, roles in which they have rehearsed, roles in which they have shined. Yesterday, ten performers delivered their final acts. As an audience, we laughed, we cried, we shrieked, we marveled, we admired, we squirmed, we learned, we cheered, we applauded. And we lived–together, in a moment. A final beautiful act. Today, more will perform, more will deliver. And today we will live again, roused to life by the words of writers. And as the curtain closes, we will remember. We will speak one last time as we take our bows.

We are valued members of this community.

We are readers.

We are writers.

We are learners.

We are awesome.

Roles

Here are the various roles that I will need you to play over the course of the year. Sometimes, our day’s path will require you play one specific role; most times, our path will require that you play many simultaneously. Either way, I promise I will not ask you to stretch yourself beyond your limits. You got this.

Role #1: Yourself. This is your most important role. I need you to be who you are. I realize that the setting in which we find ourselves sometimes impacts our ability to be ourselves, but my hope is that the classroom community and culture we create during our time together will give each of us the comfort and confidence to be who we are. This is the role that matters most to me as I join you in your journey this year. I am excited to know YOU.

Role #2: Valued Community Member. This is your second most important role. At present, many of us are not well-acquainted, but we are in this together either way. And as we will spend a lot of time together both struggling and celebrating over the days to come, my hope is that we establish a community that is rich in relationships and in excess of empathy. We are a community.

Role #3: Reader. This will be one of your worker roles. Lots to read as we explore various texts along numerous paths, discovering the power in others’ words. I need you to be a reader. I need you to believe you are a reader. We are readers.

Role #4: Writer. This is also a worker role. My hope is that you write more this year than you have in all your other years combined. I believe this is perhaps one of the most important skills you can develop for life now and later. I need you to be a writer. I want you to believe you are a writer. We are writers.

Role #5: Mistake Maker. Another worker role. By now, you know there are no penalties for mistakes in our room. In fact, mistakes are enthusiastically encouraged as they are launching points into learning. Mistakes lead to learning. We will travel down many mistake paths this year, which means we’ll find lots of learning. We are mistake makers.

Role #6: Reflector. Last role but no less an important one. By now you also know that I will expect you to add to your learning story each day in your Journey Journal. Each day we will end our time together, reflecting on and sharing from our day’s experiences. Reflection is such an important part of learning. I really need you to become reflectors.

Many roles. Many rehearsals. Many successes.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…Finish the Final Act.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Wednesday, all. I will have a bit of heavy heart today as the curtain closes. But I am so damn proud of my kids. I hear rumor of a sequel coming out next semester.

Do. Reflect. Do Better. 

“Can I redo my poster? I didn’t know it was going up in front of the room. And mine sucks.”

“Okay, Sy. So, I completely started over and wrote something different.”

“Is this MLA format?”

“Can I write instead of type?”

“Sy, I am not feeling it with my paper. Can I start over?”

“I’m having a hard time picking out the passage I am going to share.”

“My story is kinda gory. Is that okay?”

“Sy, my Passion Paper is good. Really good.”

“I’m nervous about tomorrow, Sy.”

“Anything? We can write about anything?”

“I’m so excited to share my Passion Paper.”

“I get to share my Passion Paper tomorrow.”

 

“Yes, Amelia, you get to share, you don’t have to share. Love that. And I get to listen to you share tomorrow.” This was my response to Amelia’s smile during Smiles and Frowns yesterday. As well, above are some of the myriad questions and comments that landed on me yesterday as kids were making final preparations for their Passion Paper publishing opportunities today. And I am beyond excited–giddy in fact–to witness kids in their moments as they share their creations with the world. I live for kids’ moments. For the rest of the week I will ride high on these moments, buoyed by their brilliance, dazzled by their dedication. Here are the kids’ promotional posters.

No stranger to “doing different,” I certainly sought different with the Passion Paper. Fueled by my desire to change their attitudes about writing and learning, I presented the Passion Paper to my kids as an opportunity to step away from traditional, school-writing experiences. They have had, are still having, and will continue to have those experiences, experiences which I believe have contributed to their negative and fixed mindsets towards writing. So, in designing the Passion Paper experience, I wanted to set loose parameters that invited freedom, choice, ownership, responsibility, creativity, and accountability. Here’s the link to a post explaining the Passion Paper  .

“Loose” equals accountability? There is no grade. There is no rubric. There is no “completion” expectation. There is no prescribed process. And yet you claim there is accountability? Yes. Yes, I do. If there were no accountability, would kids redo? Would kids start over? Would kids pore over their work, looking for the “perfect” passage to share? I think accountability, true accountability lies in ownership, rests in commitment, not compliance. So I, then, have to create the context of ownership. I have to give the kids freedom. And in that, there’s risk. Well, at least it feels risky, for it runs counter to convention. It’s different. By design.

Look, my kids will have plenty of conventional writing experiences with me this year, though I will try to make those “different,” too. Their writing will be measured against standards; I will prescribe processes; I will set and hold them to completion expectations; I will give them loads of feedback; I will give them scores that become evidence for grades. All this and more will fill their writing experiences in 211 this year. But they will also have the freedom to be writers, thinkers, creators, owners.

Will they learn, though? Will the Passion Paper contribute to their growth? How will you measure it? How will you know? I think I already do. No, I will neither objectively nor numerically judge and sort their writing, but I will be sitting in the audience. I will be witness to their work. I never intended to judge their writing here. I wasn’t considering their writing at all. I was considering them. I was considering the writer when I designed the Passion Paper. And so in the end–in truth–I do not care about the writing. I care about the writer. And I believe that through this experience my writers will grow. This I believe. This I know.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns (always and forever, even when we are pressed for time).

…begin publishing our Passion Papers.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Tuesday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

We should wrap up our grading conversations today. I gave a number of kids “to-be-continued passes” last week. Where and when we came to places that one or both of us did not feel completely comfortable or confident in the proposed grading mark, we agreed to a deal where he or she could take advantage of opportunities to demonstrate his or her learning through optional Performances. Learning does not end. Time just runs out. I had a bit more time to give (still do), so I gave kids more opportunities to secure evidence of learning.

For many, the extra opportunity produced the necessary, additional evidence to create the desired degree of confidence I sought. For some, it did not. For none, did it have a negative impact. That is, I told the kids that the scores could only help, not hurt. That said, I mean not to suggest that this is an exact science; one additional performance does not definitively determine everything (one way or the other), but I like to think that my giving kids paths of possibility means much as we seek to arrive at a place of shared agreement, a place of mutual respect. As such, it is likely that some conversations will remain unfinished, some grades will remain undetermined today. In reality there is still time, so I will grant it, especially if it perpetuates possibility. Too flexible? Maybe. But in an existence with too much inflexibility and “impossibility” (by a teachers’ choices), my kids could use some flexibility, some possibility. That’s my choice.

Overall, the conferences have gone very well. As I shared last week, there is a certain feeling of doing the right thing, a certain sense of nobility from meeting kids where they are, from honoring kids as the “best knowers” of their learning experiences, from making meaning together. In the coming days, I will share more specific details as I reflect on my first go at “select-and-support” grading. But for now, I will simply intimate that in my twenty-two years in the classroom, never have I felt so good about end-of-term grading. Never. And though it’s not perfect, for now, it’s really not a bad “better.” Not too bad at all. We are better together.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…finish conferences (hopefully).

…complete final preparations for tomorrow’s round of our Passion Paper Publishing Party.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Monday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better. 

“Broken hearts are necessary life experiences.” Over the years, this token wisdom has generally made it into my conversations with my kiddos when they have had the misfortune of experiencing the sting of “a thing over.” Of course, as they say, wisdom comes from experience, and so I come to the table with no small amount wisdom, remembering the sting and subsequent, enduring pain of a relationship that has come to an end. And, so it is with earnest empathy that I attempt to comfort my “wisdom earners” whose are eyes are filled with tears and whose are hearts are heavy with empty. I try to tell them that it will be okay. I try to tell them that it will get better. I try to tell them it will someday serve as a moment of strength as they reflect back on these formative years and how it helped them discover themselves. I try.

A thing over. In our lives we encounter many things that end, things that become “over.” And while for most of us that will involve the end of a romantic relationship, there are many other events that will break our hearts as well. I have experienced and continue to experience many such overs in my adult life. It started with high school graduation. I was sad it was over. School was my haven, my happy place (maybe that’s why I never really left). It happened when I had to move back home in college, realizing I could not live with my best friend. I sat on my bed, crying as I shared the news. He comforted me, accepting my lame reason, but we both knew that we had learned an unspoken truth: life is not the same after high school. It still stings. It happened when I quit racing mountain bikes. We become our hobbies, and I left a dear, old friend when I had to hang it up. I was lost for sometime after that (I have since reconnected. I am racing again, but I know we will have to say goodbye once more as the days get on). It has happened and continues to happen as my own kids make their ways through the various stages of growing up. Old pictures of times past are the worst. There is one picture in particular of my son Finn making a wish on his fourth birthday that just kills me. Kills me. Anyway, “it” has happened. A lot. Many ends. Many overs. And “it” is happening again.

There’s an end around the bend, an over that’s starting to fill my heart with heavy. The semester is coming to an end. What is, will no longer be, and that is hard for me. And the fact that my kids are feeling it, too, makes it no easier. In fact, it makes it all the harder. And it’s my fault. As my regular readers know, relationships are my first priority. They occupy my “talk.” And they occupy my “walk.” From Smiles and Frowns to Community Circle to Sappy Sy Rhymes, I work intentionally to create a classroom community built on the strength of the relationships amongs those in the room. Relationships matter. Every day. And they will certainly matter next Friday, when the semester ends and we say goodbye.

Oh, I will still have all my kids next semester, but in the shuffle, five families are being split up. Over the past few weeks during Smiles and Frowns, All five periods have begun to remark that they don’t want it to end, that they want it to stay the same, that they are a community, that they are a family. And it breaks my heart because I think on some level it breaks theirs, too. Oh, in the grand scheme and on the heartbreak scale of life, it will not register too high among the more significant ends in their lives, but the fact that it matters to them matters to me. And though no doubt it will be a heavy moment for me next Friday, it will also be a proud moment, proud not because I broke their hearts–never. No. Proud because I was able to put something there that mattered, something I hope they remember. I certainly won’t soon forget what they have put in mine. Ends. Bitter. Sweet. Necessary.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…(hopefully) wrap up conferences.

…prepare for our Passion Paper publishing party.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Friday, all. Sorry for the different post this morning. Hope it wasn’t too personal.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

With two days behind and two days ahead, I find myself both exhilarated and exhausted. The conferences have been supremely satisfying, but they have also been decidedly demanding. Conferences are not without cost. Attention must be paid, and attention is…well, exhausting. I am not complaining. It’s a price I willingly pay. But just because one is willing, it does not mean that the effort does not take its toll. And each carries a different cost. No two conferences are the same despite the fact that all kids have prepared in exactly the same way.

Some are short. Some are long. Some are serious. Some are funny. Some cut straight to the point. Some wander and meander along, venturing here, pausing there. Some are awkward and anxious. Some are familiar and comfortable. But all, despite the variances among them, fit each kid, and that requires that I adapt. And while I am readily willing and generally able, adapting to each situation, each kid is no easy task. That, in addition to keeping twenty-some other kids engaged and moving along, leaves me wiped out by day’s end. It leaves me tired, but it’s a good tired.

And so, today we continue. We will continue to come together in an effort to put a mark on learning, a task far from perfect, for learning is hard to definitively put a finger on, but it is a task that, above all, honors the learners inasmuch as they are holding the pen. No one knows better their stories. They just need a chance to tell them. I can do that. I can give them that chance. And so I do, for if I didn’t, I would miss out on much, for their stories are lovely, imperfect, unique, beautiful, real. All I have to do is listen.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…continue conferences.

…have an opportunity to take Sentence Performance (some needed/wanted another chance).

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Thursday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

There’s something deeply satisfying, something eternally rewarding about looking kids in the eyes and sharing moments of truth. And that is what yesterday’s select-and-support grading conferences felt like to me. Moments of truth.

We sat across from each other, desk to desk, out in the hall so we could have a “private” conversation (high school hallways are rarely private, but it’s the best I could do). I was perched purposefully where I could keep my right eye and ear on the twenty-some other souls in the classroom as they worked, but I was soon blind and deaf, transfixed by the voice and face in front of me, watching closely and listening intently as I was carried away into each kid’s moment, each kid’s truth. And as I watched and listened, I measured, looking for signs, listening for sounds of authenticity as we merged into the moment, doing our best to capture the essence of the experience we call learning. I shared in twenty-two moments of truth yesterday, each different, each profound in its own sense, in its own right. I have never felt more noble in my profession. Well, noble may not be the precise word, but it is as close as anything I can manage at this early hour.

Of course, I believe that this feeling of nobility exceeds my approach to grading. It, in the end, is simply a mechanism, a tool we use to arrive at a mark. And while that mark will carry the weight of our institution as I place it on the kids’ transcripts, it is merely the cover. It is not the story. Only two people know the true story of each mark. And that truth exists in the moments we shared yesterday, moments during which I believe my kids felt empowered, challenged, connected, supported, valued, respected, and safe. Therein, I believe, lies the story, lies the truth. And that makes me feel proud, that makes me feel noble–if I am allowed such feelings, feelings which I hope are not perceived as arrogance. You see, I, too, was measured yesterday; my “truth” was considered and weighed by each of my kids as they were no doubt anxious to discover if I was going to uphold my end of the deal, if my deeds would match my words, if my walk would match my talk. I met them where and how I said I would; I walked along the path I had been describing all along. I passed the test. And I am proud of that.

Today, I will share in more moments, hear more stories, learn more truths. I can’t wait. Lucky man, I.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…start with Smiles and Frowns.

…continue grading conferences.

…have an opportunity to take an optional theme performance for the end of Night or “Catch the Moon.” Some wanted/needed another opportunity to demonstrate proficiency.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Wednesday, all. Man, I love kids.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.