Today, we read. Just that: read. And kids may read what they like: book, magazine, comic book, newspaper, etc. I just want them to read. So, I will support what I want buy providing the time, the opportunity to do just that. Read.

Of course, even though I have visions of kids’ devouring their desired print, the reality will be less wondrous. For some, it will be a veritable feast as they dig hungrily into their dishes, but for others it will be a near hunger strike as they pick at their plates, reluctant to take even one bite. The idea of the “reluctant reader” is not new to ed; it is a common phenomenon, and while I know well the struggle of encouraging the reluctant reader, I also know–sadly–the struggle of the “resentful reader,” kids who not only won’t read but also who harbor deep resentment for the act itself.

As a reader, this is not always easy for me to understand. I love reading. I always have. And I think that’s largely due to my having positive experiences, and while there are too many factors to point to, I imagine for my other lovers of reading, that this, too, was the case for many of them. But, then,  that must work the other way also. My kids who hate–not too strong a word (trust me)–reading likely had and continued to have negative experiences with it at school. At school. Home bears some weight, but by and large we carry the bulk of creating the resentment that many feel for reading. And not just the “low kids.”  “High kids,” driven to madness by our obsession with Lexile scores and AR points, are not immune to the “schooling” of reading. Its impact is far-reaching and destructive.

I can’t change what’s been done. I control not the past, but I have some leverage on the present, and so I seek to take the “schooling” out of the reading experience. I won’t undo the past or save them all, but if I can help some return to the joy or maybe even lead some to first discover the pleasure of reading, then I will sit comfortably and confidently in my resolve to just let them read. Let ’em read.

Too simple a solution? Maybe. But I am not sure that we ever had to make it so complicated in the first place.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…hear our Mindset Mantra (hoping the “We are readers” sinks in.).

…read. Mondays are reading days.

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Monday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better. 

“It’s just a piece of paper. I don’t care about the paper. I care about the conversation. So, as you set to work today, concern yourselves less with completing the paper and concern yourselves more with digging into the discussion. That’s what matters.”

This is what I shared with my kiddos two days ago as they worked together to find themes in the movie Freedom Writers. In the 180 classroom this, the idea of digging into discussion and capitalizing on collaboration, is particularly important for there will be no extrinsic reward for completing the paper. I use paper–as a tool, as a guide for driving and recording thinking, but I don’t use it as currency. That is, I don’t give points for completing a paper, which I believe cannot possibly catch all and therefore not be the definitive measure of the learning experience. Oh, I am not suggesting that it cannot catch any of the learning, but I am suggesting that when it only becomes about the paper–as it often does, the learning it captures is somewhat suspect as the event becomes a transaction with the content rather than a connection to the content, a connection to the other learners in the room. I don’t want kids to do to get done–a consequence of transactional learning; I want kids to do to advance their learning. I want them to think, “I experienced what you wanted me to experience,” instead of, “I got done what you wanted me to get done.”

Think of it like this. I don’t want kids building a bunch of little houses over the course of the year, scattered about as a development. I want them building an edifice, a soaring tower of floor upon floor connected by stairs and elevators so they may go up and down, hallways of rooms so they may go in and out and back and forth, with fire escapes so they may find outlets on those riskier days, with a helipad so they may go even higher if they too soon find the top, with windows everywhere so they may see in and out at once, themselves and the world. That is what I want. Paper is an efficient, temporary tool. But it is an insufficient material for such dreams. So, we live not in paper houses in room 206; no, we dwell in the tower of our experience. And though we are only twelve days in, this tower, this monument, this spire is casting its shadow, it’s breaking the horizon as kids climb what they build, one experience at a time.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…hear our Mindset Mantra.

…present our Bridges and Barriers projects.

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Friday, all. Have a great weekend.

Do. Reflect. Do Better. 

There’s a buzz. More than a noise. Not music, exactly. But not exactly not music. It’s somewhere in between.

It’s got lift, maybe lilt. It moves in and among, out and forth. It’s as heavy as feet, and it’s as light as wings. It’s certainly uncertain. It’s indistinctly distinct. You can hear it all at once or not at all.

But it’s there. You know when it comes, but you cannot make it so by will; you can only invite it. It comes on its own, in its own way. But when it comes, it resonates, reverberates, and captivates. It is the sound of students engaged. It’s beautiful. It’s inspiring. It’s magic.

Well, not magic exactly, but magic-like for it catches, it transfixes, it enchants. But it you cannot catch. It is the catcher.

Yesterday, I found myself caught so. I was held by the buzz of my kids as they collaborated: sharing, seeking, questioning, wondering.

And where it was, there in those moments, I was made part of something bigger than I, and now as I try to catch it for you, my attempts, sadly, will not do.

I guess you, too, have been caught by such moments, indelibly etched but impossibly elusive–moments that can never be bigger than what they were, that can never be shared in the way they were lived. But we try, don’t we? We try in pictures. We try in words–as I do now, but it’s not the same, never the same.

There where it is, I try to be part of the sound; I try to touch the rainbow’s end; I try to capture the faerie folk in my midst, but my tries only make them vanish, and the magic becomes more magic, for it I can never truly touch. But still I try, quietly perched, purposefully poised, hand outstretched tempted in vain to be part of what I cannot, for I am at last an outsider and if I get too close, or chance a grab, it vanishes.

So I listen. I live in the buzz. I marvel in the moment, sure this time I will capture the magic to share with the world, as I try now. But as I try, I fail. I already have. Silly Sy, those tricks are for kids.

Obviously, I was given to fancy this morning. My kids knocked my socks off yesterday with their work. Work with no grade. We have not a single point in the book–and won’t for some time. The work my kids did yesterday was prompted not by compliance to points but by commitment to their learning, by commitment to each other. It was magic. But as with all magic, there’s no magic if one does not believe. I believe in the magic of kids. Maybe there’s a certain magic in that, too. I tried to capture it for you this morning the way that it captured me. But we know that’s impossible. Still, Silly Sy will try. Again and again.

Today’s Trail…

Along today’s trail we will…

...begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…hear our Mindset Mantra.

…finish and present our Bridges and Barriers project.

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Thursday, all. Sorry for the odd post. Thank you for humoring me.

Do. Reflect. Do Better. 

I often share the big things from the Project 180 classroom, but I don’t always share the little things, the daily operations. So, I thought this morning I’d share a few.

Seating Arrangement?

Changes all the time. Depends on what we’re doing. I make the room fit the learning.

My favorite? Big square (pictured above).

My never-do? Rows. Hate rows.

Seating chart? Nope. Kids may sit where they like.

Tardies?

Kids are rarely tardy to my class. I like to think that they are eager to get to my class. If they are tardy, I just ask them to apologize to the class and take their seat. Habitual tardiness warrants a conversation and intervention.

Phones?

I don’t have phone issues.

Food?

Kids may eat and drink in my classroom as long as they clean up after themselves. Never understood the no-food-or-drink policy, especially the not-even-water policy.

Bathroom?

Kids may go when they need to. We just have to observe school policy: pass in hand, not in the first or last 10 minutes, and one at a time.

Attention?

I use the verbal signal “time.” I say, “time,” and the kids know to stop talking and find me with their eyes. This year, unexpectedly, there’s also been an added a raised-hand component. It kinda just happened. I say time and raise my hand; kids raise their hands; it’s a visual cue that helps when kids don’t hear me. Importantly, I communicate to kids that I do this not as a matter of power but efficiency. I have to work to be consistent. I get lazy and forget to say time. Doing better with it this year.

Listening?

I don’t get too picky about much, but listening is huge in my class, in life. So, I am picky about this one. In my class, listening standards include not talking while others are sharing and making visual contact with the speaker. I stay on top of this.

In the grand scheme, these things aren’t terribly important, but they are a part of our daily experiences in room 206. They work for me. They may not work for others, but their policies probably wouldn’t work for me either. We all have find our own little ways of doing things.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…hear Mindset Mantra.

…continue/complete theme activities for Freedom Writers.

…reflect in our Journey Journals. 

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Wednesday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

Eight days in and the dust has finally settled. Schedules are finally adjusted, and it looks like I will be walking the long road with 140 little humans this year. Sadly, during the shuffle, I lost some due to scheduling conflicts, but I picked up some new ones, and I recruited enough kids from my “regular classes” to completely fill my three honors classes. I’d give them all space in that room if I could, but things get in the way, especially this idea of who’s an honors kid.

Largely a school construct reinforced by other school constructs (grades and test scores), the “Honors Class”, a separation perpetuated by educators and parents (even kids), establishes who can and who cannot, and by the time they reach me, kids believe it. Those who can are honors kids. They are the smart ones. Those who cannot are regular kids. They are not the smart ones. This is the mindset that separates. But I wonder sometimes if the separation is more imagined than real.

Relatively new to the “honors game” (only my fourth year, after nineteen with the “regs), I am not convinced the separation is as cut and dried as we believe. And while I have some thoughts on this, I will save that post for another day. For now, I will simply share that I want to close the–what I believe largely imagined–gap by essentially using my honors curriculum in my two regular LA courses. I have not told the kids yet, and I won’t for some time, but I will eventually. I will let them know that they have been doing honors work. The impact? I’m not sure. But I cannot imagine it will bring any harm. In fact, it may very well be of significant benefit to these kids who have been too often led to believe that they are not quite up to snuff. We’ll see. But I believe in belief.

And it is this same belief that drives me to use my mindset mantra with all my kids. I want them to believe in themselves as readers, as writers, as learners–as people. So I am intentional about establishing that belief. We started down that path yesterday.

After doing Smiles and Frowns and setting the stage for the day, I say the following to my kids.

In two weeks, we will change “you” to “I.”

After those two weeks, we will permanently change “I” to “we.” And we will say it together every day after that.

Cheesy? A bit. Awkward? At first. Effective? I believe so.

I do. I believe in my kids. I believe in belief. So I try to help them believe in themselves. People can do amazing things when they believe. I believe that. I sell that. Every day.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…hear Mindset Mantra.

…begin/continue “Bridges and Barriers” and “Theme Search.”

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Do. Reflect. Do Better. 

Most schools across the nation are underway. Icebreakers are done. Schedules are adjusted; syllabi are signed; textbooks are distributed; assignments are entered.  First-few-days distractions are done. Things are routine. Time to get down to the business end of school. So it goes. That’s the story.

It’s the some old narrative year after year. And while on some level it is a necessary narrative–we have to get to the work, it’s also a story that largely fails to truly compel and inspire kids to love learning and find joy in the journey, especially by the time they reach high school. They’re numb to the saga that invariably begins and ends the same way, every year.

“Let’s start with an icebreaker activity.”

Groans.

Groans? But why groans? These activities are generally fun, lighthearted, and better than starting with the content. So why would kids groan? Because, for the most part, they know. They know it’s usually a contrived, kumbaya moment that barely lingers before fading fast and the people in the room give way to the content in the room. They know. They barely bite, passively playing along, for they know it’s simply a going-through-the-motions moment. It won’t last. It never does.

For most of us, our intentions are good as we seek to learn our kids and make fun our classes. It’s a good way to start, so we do. Nearly all of us. I wonder how many teachers googled “icebreaker activities” this fall. We want to get off on the right foot. But why don’t we stay on the right foot? Why do so many of us find it necessary to send the message that our kids and their energy are an important part of our classroom, only to neglect it, letting the ice form again, as we skate through our days, covering our content?

I am not suggesting that content is not important. But I am suggesting that it’s less important than the kids in our rooms. Oh, I don’t think there are many if any of us who would argue, but I wonder how many of us make intentional our walk with this particular talk. I wonder how many of our kids would say that they feel important. And not just the first few days. The entire year.

By now, many have likely guessed that I am going to insert a plug for Smiles and Frowns here. Guilty as charged. It is the most important work I do. It keeps the pond open and free of ice. It connects. Last week, one of my students from last year delivered a gift, and it confirmed my beliefs in the power of sustained connections in the classroom.

It is not enough to just break the ice. We have to vigilantly keep it bay, for a frozen pond will not ripple. No ripples. No connections. Connections matter. We have to create and sustain connections. Smiles and Frowns can help.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

...begin with Smiles and Frowns.

… hear mindset mantra.

…use a “bridges and barriers” activity to identify connection and division in Freedom Writers.

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Monday.

Do. Reflect. Do Better. 

Skyward. Most schools across the country use an online-grading system. Our district uses Skyward, as do most school districts in the State of Washington. It allows teachers to post grades so students and their parents can “see” how they are doing in class.

See. They see numbers, which are generally averaged to represent a grade, which is generally accepted as indication of learning. High percentage equals learning. Low percentage equals no learning. So the story goes. But I wonder if there’s more to the story. I wonder if students and parents wonder if there’s more to the story. I wonder if teachers would reveal that there’s more to the story. There’s more to the story. 

Earlier this week, I had an opportunity to sit down with parents at our annual Open House. I got to introduce myself. I got to put faces to names. I got to let parents know a bit of my philosophy/approach. I got to “read” the preface to the learning story that will take shape over the course of the year in room 206.

I shared my “select-and-support” approach to grading.

I shared my “assessment-for-learning” beliefs.

I shared my “students-own-their-learning” convictions.

I shared my “this-is-a-culture-of-possibility” paradigm.

I shared my “it-doesn’t-need-to-be-complicated” three-point scale.

I shared my “practice-is-not-for-putting-scores-in-the-gradebook” spiel.

And then…

And then I shared that we had a problem. I shared that Skyward would be the bugaboo that’d get in our way. I shared that I was tethered to a system that could not simply average the stories that the kids and I would write about their learning this year.

Having already shared that a “2” on an assessment was a “near miss” for meeting the standard, I now had to share that Skyward could not translate such language and would speak a falsehood as it presented this achievement as 66%, a D. And the old tale would be spun, as parents and students conditioned to see and accept the numbers before them as the Word.

In short, we have problem. But problems love solutions. Simplest solution would be to take Skyward out of the equation, but I cannot break that chain. The best solution, at least until I find better–always chasing better–is to go to the source. There are two people in the room who know best the story. And of the two, I am but a consultant. The other holds the pen. She writes the story. It is her learning. So I ask her to pen that paper every day in her Journey Journal. I also ask that she send an explanatory email to her parents every two weeks to share the details and nuances of her personal (shouldn’t learning be personal?) and complex (is it really as simple as an average?) story.

Perfect? Not even close. Different? Purposefully. Easier? Come on. Respectful? Ask her. Better? Has to be.

At worst, it invites a conversation between parents and me about learning. At best, it creates an opportunity for kids to take some authentic ownership of their learning. If either is a problem, then they are problems I can live with. Have to. Can’t turn back now. Won’t turn back now.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…continue viewing Freedom Writers.

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Friday, all. Have a great weekend.

Do. Reflect. Do Better. 

Yesterday, I asked my kids to take home a letter to their parents. In the letter I highlighted the things that I want them to know about me and my classroom as I accept responsibility for their children’s journey in 206 this year. I shared the letter in yesterday’s post. Today, I will share the highlighted sentiments from the letter.

What I want you to know.

I want you to know that I care about your child.

I want you to know that in my room I want your child to feel connected, empowered, valued, respected, challenged, and supported.

I want you to know that communication between us is important.

I want you to know that I believe that your child owns her/his learning.

I want you to know that I value learning over grading.

I want you to know that I understand the strain that homework can place on you and your child.

I want you to know my approach to life and teaching: Do. Reflect. Do Better.

Tonight, at our Open House, I will ask parents to share what they want me to know. As they enter my room, I will hand them an index card, asking them to write down what they want me to know, to understand about their child. And as I am giving my ten-minute spiel on my class, I hope in earnest they share with me some valuable information about the most important thing in their lives. I hope they see our relationship as a partnership in helping their youngster navigate adolescent life. I hope they sense that I above all care deeply about their child’s well-being in my classroom.

Of course, my unorthodox methods are not always readily received by some parents–they too have been conditioned to expect and accept more conventional approaches, so they harbor some skepticism at the outset, but I hope with some time and effort, they come around to seeing what I am trying to do for their kids. On the other hand, many warmly welcome my approach, especially the freedom of flexibility and the promise of possibility. Either way, either group of parents, I have my work cut out for me to earn and keep their trust. And that’s why I am here every day, publishing my classroom, learning my way, chasing my better.

It’s work I welcome.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…finish up Anticipation Guide for Freedom Writers

…view the first segment of Freedom Writers, looking for examples of division and connection,

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Wednesday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.