“Best two words, ever, Sy. ‘Let’s talk.'”

Smile on his face, earnestness in his eyes as Mark (name changed) responded to my comment and his score of “1,” an indication of a “far miss” on a performance in my classroom.

I like two things about this. One, he was not deflated by the judgment. Two, he sees the value in our having a conversation about his learning.

Though I am trying to get better at writing fewer comments for the sake of efficiency, I still find myself not only wanting to explain my position on my kids’ performances but also wanting to set their minds at ease. Of course, this time of year, in these early, pivotal moments, I find myself working overtime to undo what’s largely been done to them over last decade (and still continues) in their school experience: the stressful reality of “assessment of learning,” which is generally a one-stop, one-shot judgment in a race through the content onto a “permanent mark” on their record. As such, a large part of that undo is framing the purpose of assessment differently, with a word swap: of for as. I want my kiddos to regard our performances, our assessments as learning. Assessment as learning. It’s not just what happened on the assessment, but importantly it’s what happens after the assessment: the feedback, the discussion, the intervention, and the opportunity to redo. And of all, I believe it’s in that discussion where the learning happens. And so, I seek to create opportunities for that to happen. Sometimes, when the learning is big, I simply respond with a “let’s talk.” It, I think is the most respectful, powerful thing I can do for my kids. For my kids. I serve them.

Yesterday, I served Tom (name changed) as he worked his way through a messy redo. But with each talk and back-to-the-drawing-board opportunity, we got closer. Closer to the target. But also closer to the truth: learning is not a product; learning is a process. As well, we got closer to each other. Kids are reluctant to trust my approach. And why wouldn’t they be reluctant? It’s not what they’ve been conditioned to expect in their transactions with other teachers. But I seek not transaction here; I seek connection. And I believe with each conversation we build a connection, and when we are connected, we can trust. Kids will do great things when they trust. Sadly, in building that trust, for many, I am not starting at zero; I am starting from a trust deficit, which has accumulated over the years. Still, I have hope, so that my kids may have hope. So I work to build each day.

Yesterday, I shared my unease at this juncture of trust building. I know some of the kids were disappointed with their results, and I implored them not to get discouraged, that we would get through this together.

As Rosa (name changed) left yesterday, she paused, “Sy, I don’t think we should be sad. It’s just a chance to get better.”

Yes, Rosa. Thank you for the music, kiddo.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…say our Mindset Mantra.

…have an opportunity to redo our latest performance.

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Friday, all. Have a great weekend.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

What are you learning?

Seems a fair question. Seems maybe the only question.

But what’s the answer?  Is it as simple as a teacher-generated learning target that is posted in the front of the room? If a student is able to recite the target, is that evidence that she is learning in that room? If a student can hold up a number on her fingers at the end of the lesson, indicating where she is situated in the learning target, is that evidence that she is learning in that room? Or…

Or is it more complicated than the ritual routine that plays out in so many classrooms, where outsiders drop in and attempt to put a finger on what is and what is not learning?

But what is learning? Is it the score on the end-of-the-unit test? Is it the standardized-test score at the end of the year? Is it the percentage in the grade book? Maybe it’s grander. Maybe it’s an arrival,  a moment of clarity, an epiphany that screams, “I have learned.”

I think of my own learning as a teacher. And I try to put in targets.

I can meet the needs of all the students in my classroom.

I can motivate all the students in my classroom.

I can get all the students to grade-level achievement in my classroom ( with all 86 standards).

Or

By the end of (insert time marker), the Teacher Will Be Able To (TWBAT)…

…meet the needs of all the students in my classroom.

…motivate all the students in my classroom.

…get all the students to grade-level achievement in my classroom ( with all 86 standards).

First, I neither “can,” nor will I “be able to,” regardless the time marker: lesson, unit, day, year, decade, career.

Second, it seems absurd, artificial, contrived…well, silly.

Third, I am reminded every lesson, every unit, every day, every year, every decade, and–I imagine–in my one career that there will be no arrival. I will never stand atop the mount and declare, “I have arrived. I have learned.”

No, I won’t. But I will declare after every lesson, every unit, every day, every year, and I imagine at the end of my career, “I am learning.” I entered my career learning. I live my career learning. I will leave my career learning. I am learning. I am experiencing.

Experiencing.

Maybe that’s it. Maybe the question is “What are you experiencing?” Semantics? Maybe. But there may be more to it, too.

Ever wonder why we have to “reteach” things? Things that kids “learned” the year before. Things they learned earlier in the same year? Maybe they didn’t learn it as an end. Maybe they learned it as a step. Maybe all we’re doing is adding to kids’ experiences as they make their ways through our classrooms. They enter our rooms somewhere along their learning; they dwell with us in their learning; and they leave us in their learning. Their learning. 

In the end, I don’t know. My learning suggests that there is no simple answer to “what are you learning?” And I certainly have not found that it resides in the rote routine of a target. That is not to say that targets are bad, but it is to say that they are not enough. In my room they are not enough to drive me or my students deeper into the realm of our experience, making sense of ourselves, making sense of our worlds.

And so, one will not find a learning target in my room. But if one looks, if one stays, they may find learning in the daily experiences that I create for my kids as we make our ways to our own mounts on the horizon where we will some day declare, “I am learning.”

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…say our Mindset Mantra.

…finish our viewing of the Holocaust documentary.

…discuss discovered themes and share six-word sentiments.

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Thursday, all.

Gotta find my wind. Some days this old clock runs a bit slow, and today…well, I may need an extra turn or two to stay in motion.

This has been my first week back to teaching at the university: Monday and Tuesday nights from 5:00 – 8:00. I find it as exhilarating as teaching my high school kids, but exhilaration eventually leads to exhaustion, and that’s where I am this morning. But only for a moment or two as I wind up for my day with my kiddos. So glad I have them to keep me wound, like 142 portable chargers.

Okay, starting to mix metaphors so it’s time to get to the point. No post today. Sorry. Back at full steam tomorrow (oops, another one). Ya know, when I get find my sea legs (I’ll stop).

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will,

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…say our Mindset Mantra.

…engage in a Table Talk activity in which the kids discover and discuss significant world events that shaped the human experience between 1930 and 1950.

…view a documentary about the Holocaust.

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Wednesday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

This is only a test. This is only a test. This is only a test.

There is no emergency. There is no cause for alarm.

Wish it were that simple. But, despite the fact that I don’t even call them tests, despite the fact that I try–and try again–to put their minds at ease. Tests equal stress.

We took our first performance yesterday, and while I am only a class and a half into scoring them, I have learned–to no surprise–that we have work to do. Identifying, stating, and supporting themes is no easy task. It takes practice; it takes support; it takes time. I know this. But my kids haven’t really internalized this notion, for they have come to believe–for that’s how they’ve been conditioned–that the test tells all. It knows all. It means all. But it doesn’t. Not really. It’s simply a snapshot, a peek into where kids are in the moment. At least in my class. But I suppose I put the least in least, for in most of their classes, it does tell, know, and mean all. Seems, then, I am fighting a losing battle. Hard to instill in kids a different view when they’ve only had one window to look through over the entirety of their experience. Still, it’s a fight I am willing to shoulder, as I seek to change my kiddos’ mindsets about the role that assessment plays in their learning.

But that is not going to happen over night. It’ll take time, and it’ll take some urging to get them to think about their experiences differently. So, I try–big and small–to turn their heads to other windows.

Here are a few “windows” that I presented yesterday before the performance.

And, at the end, I tried again before I asked them to reflect on the experience in their Journey Journals.

Performances in hand.

“This is just a pile of papers. They will go away. They are not you. You can view them as a grade, or you can view them as an opportunity to learn and grow. I wish the latter on you. That is what I want for you. That is what I want from you. It’s just a test, folks. Just a test.”

And then we ended our day with a Sappy Sy.

Windows, not doors. And though some kids will be disappointed, maybe even hurt–old wounds resurface–by their results, I hope eventually they come to see what I am about.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail…

…we will begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…say our Mindset Mantra.

…enjoy our Personal Reading day.

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Tuesday, all. Glad you are here. Thank you.

Do. Reflect. Do Better. 

Today we will pause to perform. The kids will have an opportunity to demonstrate where they are in their learning. We have practiced, now it’s time to perform.

As a reminder, I call tests or assessments performances, which are our primary source of evidence for judging growth and proficiency with our grade-level priority standards.

I use a three-point scale to judge their work. 3 = hit the target. 2 = near miss. 1 = far miss. From there the kids have opportunities to learn from their performances. A “2” allows correction. A “1” requires a retake. Both require a conversation before they put pen to paper again. It is my goal, from an underlying belief that learning stems from redo’s, that kids come to understand that learning is a process generated by a performance-feedback-performance cycle. Some kids will need to make the turn a few times before they get “there,” but I believe this process better ensures the opportunity for all kids to get there. An opportunity that I do not believe exists in the the traditional “test-and-move-on” approach.

The Performance

Emerging from our two essential questions, which are guiding our work, today’s performance asks the kids to identify, state, and support a universal theme from one of the three texts below.

1. How does the human experience connect and divide us?
2. What universal themes shape the human experience?

We’ll see where we are. Hard to know where we have to go if we first don’t know where we are. Eighteen days in, it’s time to take stock.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns (even on performance days)

…say our Mindset Mantra in 1st person.

…perform.

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Monday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better. 

We be not wizards

Only muggles

Left to our

Own self-struggles

Morning, all. Short post today. Had myself a rare sleep-in this morning. Sorry.

Talked with my kiddos about struggle yesterday. But first the day before, last period of the day.

“What would you do at home if you were struggling with the poem’s meaning?” I asked.

“Google it.” Nodding heads around the table.

“So, google it.” Questioning glances from around the table.

I repeated, “Google it.” And continued, “I figure one of two things is gonna happen when you hit the land of struggle: give up or google it. I’d rather you google it than give up on it. Of course, I would prefer you kept walking through the struggle on your own, but if all else fails, and you’re tempted to quit, use a resource.”

And then I went home and reflected. And I panicked. Did I just give them an easy route around the struggle?

So yesterday, I had the very same conversation with all my classes, but this time I dealt even more reality as I sought to level with my kiddos.

“Here’s the deal, chicos. Though I do allow resources on performances (tests), I do not allow you to use the internet. So while Google is available to you in “practice situations,” it will not be there for the ‘”game.” So, I worry that if you don’t first struggle, you will be ill-prepared come the performance, so only use Google after the struggle, as a means to fill in the gaps, not as a cheap shortcut.”

Will my earnest advice fall on some deaf ears? Likely. Who doesn’t like a shortcut? But I choose to level with my kids about such things. I cannot control what they do outside my class, nor do I want to. My only hope is that I reach them on some level that gets them to internalize and consider their ownership of their learning. Why not avoid the whole Google thing?  Why even suggest it in the first place? Why not, instead, warn them of the grave consequences of taking shortcuts? I don’t know. Maybe it’s my desire to be real. Maybe the consequences aren’t all that grave. Maybe.

We ended our day in our Journey Journals by writing a recipe for a “struggle cake.” Kids had to consider the factors of struggle, present them as ingredients in specified amounts, and then provide a procedure for mixing and baking the cake. They were funny. They were sad. They were insightful. I think my kids will be okay. Google won’t ruin their lives.

Here’s the Sappy Sy that ended our day.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…hear our Mindset Mantra.

…continue the struggle (and maybe the Google) with the texts for the performance on Monday.

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Friday, muggles.

Do. Reflect. Do Better. 

600. This is my 600th post to my blog. Never imagined that I’d still be at it when I set out nearly three years ago, but here I am still writing, still scheming, still dreaming that we might change education. Now, I cannot imagine that I will ever stop.

Not sure of my impact outside my room, but my room is transformed daily as I seek to get better with each do-reflect-do-better spin of the wheel. Some days I fail. Some days I succeed. Every day I reflect. And as I now reflect on my journey of 600 posts, I am pleased with how far I’ve come, especially in the realm of placing learning at the center of our experience and pushing grading to the far edges. It has completely transformed my room. It started with gifting every kid an A and it has evolved into forging a relationship, a partnership with each kid as we seek to capture their learning: together. Together.

For the first time in my career, I feel like I have arrived at a place where both the kids and I feel comfortable and confident with the journey. I work hard to push away any pretense. I work hard to make things real. I work hard to learn how to help them learn, even–maybe especially–if that means bucking convention. I don’t have the answers, but I do have the courage to do differently. And so far, that “different” has helped create a space where there is…well, joy. I’m gonna call it joy. I think the kids and I truly find joy in the experience we share. And though some of my critics think this joy is achieved by my warm-and-fuzzy, Kumbaya culture, where we only do Smiles and Frowns and Sappy Sy’s, they’re not wrong, but they’re not right, either.

Yes, how kids feel matters a great deal to me, for that’s where it all starts and ends, but whether kids are learning matters as much. Are kids learning in 206? I dare the doubters to spend a week with me. And though I am loathe to play this card, for I put little stock in such things–but my doubters may–I have the highest standardized test scores in the building. Year after year. And, I ignore the test, until we are forced to take it. I don’t care about the test. I care about kids. And that seems to matter most. So, dear doubters, come on in. Door’s always open. Always.

And for my faithful followers, thank you for your support over the past three years. I know some of you have read each of the 600, and it’s my sincere hope that you have found something of value in at least one of them. Thank you. Door’s open for you, too. Always.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…hear our Mindset Mantra.

…prepare for tomorrow’s theme performance.

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Do. Reflect. Do Better. 

Happy Thursday, all.

It’s my curse. I’m flexible to a fault. I know this. I own this. I am this. I give my kids too much freedom. And though I believe such flexibility is necessary to create situations that promote responsibility, it sometimes bites me in the butt. One sizable chunk from my derriere comes in the form of kids’ doing work from other classes in my class. And while I have grudgingly turned a blind eye in the past, it has never really sit well with me, and this summer I vowed to come up with a plan to address this issue. I presented the idea in one of my Reflection’s Reality posts this summer, A Matter of Priority.

Basically, I decided to marry my flexibility to my priority. I still want to give kids room, freedom, grace, but I want them to understand the responsibility that comes with the flexibility I grant. I want them to understand that we both have priorities and sometimes those priorities don’t match, and things get out of balance. That’s going to happen. So, when it happens, I have come up with a system that will eventually set things right again, allowing for flexibility, priority, and responsibility to work in concert. Yesterday, I introduced the plan to my kiddos.

The Lifeline

Sometimes life gets in the way. Sometimes we all need some grace. Sometimes we need a lifeline.

My class is not my kids’ lives. It is but a small part of their lives. And sometimes the other parts of their lives get in the way of their lives in my fifty-five-minute world. They have priorities. We all have priorities. And sometimes we live at the whim of those priorities, and such whimsy is not always easy for others to understand. I try to understand such whimsicality–another curse.

Yesterday, I gave each kid two lifeline tickets for those times when their whimsy visits and they need a break. Here’s the basic premise.

1. Kids may use their lifelines to attend to the other parts of their lives they bring with them. This could be the monster math test they have the next period or the bad day that just won’t let go. They may use them on any day. No restrictions.
2. They only get two per semester. If they do not use them, they may carry them over to the next semester.
3. A lifeline does not excuse or exempt them from the work in the class. It just buys them some flexibility.
4. Two lifelines may not be enough for some to make it through the semester. Life doesn’t come in standardized models (despite what we perpetuate in school). So, in addition, I offer another lifeline of sorts: time for time. If John needs to spend fifteen minutes on his math assignment that’s due the next period, then he owes me fifteen minutes of his time. This is an honor system that lives or dies with kids’ honoring their commitment. One no-show by John, then he loses access to this particular lifeline. Why not just tell kids no? I could. But I believe their minds will likely be elsewhere anyway, and I don’t want them stressing out. I just want them to own it by working with me in these situations, not trying to sneak and do their work from other classes.

Crazy? Maybe. Better fixed by a stronger hand? Not convinced. Different than other teachers? Intentionally. Better requires change. Change necessitates different. So, I do different. Better? Only until I find my next better. Always chasing better.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…hear our Mindset Mantra.

…engage in our first Discovery Day: two poems and picture. Looking for themes.

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Wednesday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better. 

“Give me what you can. All I ask, kiddo.”

Yesterday, as I set the stage for our first personal-reading day, I took a moment to check in on my kids’ reading dispositions. Of course, generally speaking, I could have guessed the response. It’s the same story every year. Some love reading. Many are indifferent without the right book. And a good number hate it. I used the “h” word yesterday, and for some kids it is more imagined than real; it’s cool to hate reading, but for others the enmity runs deep. Too deep.

A last-minute decision, as I was torn between time and opportunity, found me walking with the kiddos down to the library for a quick chance to check out a book. I have a small classroom library, but it’s insufficient, especially as I strive to motivate my non-readers to dig into text, so we went to the library–have to support what I expect, so it was an easy decision.

Had been following the same schedule and routine all day as I walked and talked to kids about books and reading when a conversation with one of my kiddos grabbed me. As we turned the last corner, he had finally caught up to me. I heard him before I saw him, and as he came up on my shoulder, he shared these words.

“It was fifth grade for me, Sy. That’s why I hate reading. Teacher told me I was dumb and I would always be dumb if I didn’t start reading. He made me feel stupid. I was always in the low-reading group because my eyes got blurry when I read. I haven’t really read since.”

He rarely talks in class, and he has asked–begged— me to not make him speak in front of the class. He always passes in Smiles and Frowns. He’s a shadow most days, but yesterday, light found him a bit as he chanced a step away from his past. I’m glad I was there when he did. I patted him on the shoulder, told him I was sorry, and just asked him to give me what he could. All I ask.

I will get what I can out of my kids this year. And I am not alone. Many teachers approach reading with the reader in mind, honoring them in whatever ways they can to make them less-reluctant, less-resentful. Yesterday, one of my tweeps, Garreth Heidt sent me this link to a post by kateywrites. I particularly like the “The Rights of the Reader” poster. Worth a read. Thank you, Garreth and Katey.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…hear our Mindset Mantra.

…set our QUEST for the week, diving into writing and supporting theme statements.

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Tuesday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.