Sometimes it takes longer. Usually–okay, always–my fault. Can’t help it. I want to know more. Each kid is a story I want to read, to know.

And yesterday, I wanted to know more. So, I asked. Of course, there was more method to my madness, but I didn’t let the kids in on it. I just asked questions, lots of questions. And of all, I asked “why.”

Smiles and Frowns took roughly twenty minutes yesterday, about four times longer than usual. Kids would share a smile, frown or both, and I would ask probing or clarifying questions. For those who passed, I asked them questions, got them to talking to.

Though most kids had already discovered and suggested “something was up,” at the end, I asked them to share their observations from our go around.

“You asked a lot of questions.”

“You pressed us for more.”

“You didn’t let anyone off the hook today.”

“We learned things we did not know. Everyone shared something.”

“There was more empathy than usual.”

“You made us elaborate.”

Yes, I made them elaborate. That was the plan all along. One thing I have come to learn about young writers is that they rarely write too much and they generally don’t write enough. So, I want to help them write more. And yesterday’s extended Smiles and Frowns was a warm-up for one of our first elaboration practice sessions of the year. Here is what we did.

Elaboration is the process of adding more information to existing, relatively simple information.  It involves developing an idea by incorporating details to expand/extend our thinking to a point where there is certainty that it is clear to the reader.

Methods of Elaboration with Practice

• Anecdote – brief amusing or interesting personal story with a point
  It was one of the most important lessons I have ever learned.
• Definition – defines the main topic
  What is love?
• Facts/Statistics – verifiable statements that are interesting and provide support, the more surprising and/or interesting the more compelling. Teachers don’t understand how busy kids’ lives are.
• Example / Explanation / Illustration – an objective, general explanation of the situation
  She hated walking in the halls at CHS.
• Sensory Images – using sensory details (sight, sound, taste, touch, smell) to describe settings, people, situations. The forest was quiet.
• Clarification – explaining again or in greater detail to make clear or easier to understand, free of confusion or uncertainty. Make a statement about school and then clarify.
• Apposition – a grammatical construction in which a noun is followed by another (appositive) that “renames” it.  “My student John is funny.” Write ten sentences using 10 people, places, and/or things with an appositive.

The kids had to take the starter sentences and practice each method. It’s a small start, but as we move deeper into writing, I want this to be an anchor for us to revisit when they inevitably find themselves in situations where elaboration is necessary. Tools and practice.

We had a chance for the kids to share aloud some of their work. Fourth period we were short on time, and only a few got to share, but I didn’t know that was the reason Jade stayed after.

“Sy, I was disappointed that you didn’t call on me for the forest scene.”

“Oh, I’m sorry chica. You should have raised your hand. How ’bout tomorrow?”

“Okay.”

Disappointed because she didn’t get to share. I can work and live with that. Kids wanting to share their writing. Not a bad problem to have.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will experience…

…connecting through Smiles and Frowns.

…writing and sharing two-sentence scary stories.

…diving into our Truth Projects.

…reflecting in our Journey Journals.

…hearing a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Halloween, all. May you have BOOtiful day.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

143 students. Each a story I am lucky enough to read each day. Some days I read right. Some days I read wrong. But I always read.

5 minutes. Between classes. Five minutes to run to the bathroom spouting rapid-fire hellos as I pass kids new and old. I barely make it back on time.

72,536 views. On my blog. I don’t know if that’s a lot. Seems like a lot. Cannot believe my morning musings have reached so many.

1 share. One of my kids 5th period shared during Smiles and Frowns for the first time this year. Her peers clapped and cheered. Clapped and cheered for a peer sharing. Love that. Love it.

47 years. Well, next month. When did I get old? Kids helps us forget, don’t they?

50 Cup Noodles. On average. Project Feed Forward feeds out 50 cups of kindness every day. Can’t keep up. Gotten to be bigger than I can sustain.

137 days. Left to make a difference. Never seems enough.

0. The cost of a smile.

12 points. In the grade book. Soon to be 15 when I get the latest performance scored. Not convinced that more points equals more learning.

7 days. Left to vote. Please vote.

No number. To how many times kids can retake performances in my class. Does learning ever stop?

263 words. In this post.

22 years and 43 days. Living the dream. Love my job. Even on the hard days.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will experience…

…connecting through Smiles and Frowns.

…starting our “Truth” project.

…reflecting in our Journey Journals.

…hearing a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Tuesday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

Found myself in my feelings this weekend. Found myself taking stock of my life. And in doing so, I found myself lucky.

I am. For twenty-three years I have been blessed to be among kids, and as I look ahead to my next seventeen or so, I am energized by the promise and hope that will fill my days as I work for them, as I learn from them.

I wonder if all teachers feel this way. I wonder if they find the joy that I have day in and day out. As I look back over my roughly four-thousand days spent with kids, I cannot think of a time, a day when I was not eager to be in the classroom. I love it. I live it. I never want to leave it.

And it’s all because of the kids. All. I have worked with and still work with some fantastic adults, but it is not they who sustain me. I have loved and still love teaching English, but it is not it that drives me. It’s kids. They alone compel me to be a better teacher, a better human. Great models, they. I am blessed truly. And as I sit here three cups of coffee and two-hundred-four words into Monday, I am keenly conscious of how lucky I am.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail, we will experience…

…connecting through Smiles and Frowns.

…either completing last week’s Performance or Personal Reading.

…reflecting in our Journey Journals.

…hearing a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Monday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better. 

Kids had a challenging performance yesterday. And in the 180 classroom, challenge necessitates support. Heck, in any classroom, it should necessitate support. We should not expect what we cannot–in some cases, will not–support.

But doesn’t every teacher support what they expect? I’d like to think this true, but my ears tell me differently as I listen to kid after kid share stories of being tested on things that were never covered in class, things that come as a complete surprise. Mystery. Gotcha.

Of course, my prejudice towards this approach is neither warm nor quiet. It’s BS. And I tell the kids it is. And I wish–I wish–they and their parents would call teachers out on it. Kids should know, always know, what to expect on an assessment. I’ll even go one further, they should know, too, how they are going to perform. Shouldn’t they? In many “gotcha” classrooms there is often a disconnect between the homework and the test. Sold as if it’s pertinent practice, “homework” too often fills the grade book with points rather than the kids with confidence. Shouldn’t practice lead to confidence? And if it doesn’t, what’s the point?

Don’t get me wrong, “doing” has its place, serves its purpose, but “doing to do,” rarely if ever produces the necessary confidence, much less growth, in our kids’ learning experiences. Doing is necessary. Can’t give kids feedback until they do, but if there’s no feedback that follows, no “this is why you missed the target,” joined with “this is how you need to do it next time,” then there’s likely no learning occurring. And if there’s no learning occurring…

Please know that I am not coming from a place of “having it all figured out.” I have not “cornered” learning in the 180 classroom, but I am chasing it. And while I dream of a day that I do finally corner and catch it, I know it’s a goose chase, for every kid learns differently, and just as I catch it with one, it will have escaped with another. And so, the chase continues–eternally.

So what’s my point? Just this. Let’s come at it as if we don’t know definitively what learning is for all kids. Let’s concede that, and then let’s approach it from how can we best serve each in her own struggle to grow. Serve them. Challenge them (gosh yes, we have to). But support them. Serve them. No gotcha. No mystery. Give them time. Give them resources. Give them redo opportunities (there are redos in the real world btw). Give them feedback. And then give them more feedback.

I told my kids yesterday, and I am going to begin telling them more frequently, “I am here for you. You are not here for me. I am here for you. I serve you. What do you need?”

That’s what I am about. Yesterday, sixth period, Martin likened me to a mom, poking a bit of fun at my ardent pleas to let me know what else I could do for them. Mom? Okay. I can live with that. Everyone knows moms are the best. Thanks, Martin.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will experience…

…listening to our guest speaker Mr. Tamura share his family’s experiences from the Japanese internment camps.

Happy Friday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better. 

“I see their ugly and their beauty … I wonder how the same thing can be both.” — Death from The Book Thief, Marcus Zusak

Our continued exploration of the human experience (How does the human experience connect and divide us?) takes us away from the Holocaust and lands us in 1941 America where we will seek to understand the impact of the Japanese internment camps.

In preparation for our honored guest speaker Rod Tamura (my colleague Jenna Tamura’s father), whose family experienced the camps, we watched a brief documentary about this time from our nation’s history to give our kids some context. Sadly, many of our kids had no idea about our use of the camps during WWII.  In addition to the historical context, I asked the kids to consider the timeless context of the human experience by discussing the following statements.

It is easy for people to do the right thing

A greater injustice excuses a lesser injustice.

Security is more important than freedom.

Remaining neutral is wise during conflicts that arise from oppression.

Humans learn from their mistakes.

Hate is learned.

Humanity is greater than individuality.

Fear is a powerful manipulator.

People are too smart to be manipulated by propaganda.

Eventually, society will reach a point where racism is no longer an issue.

The kids had to agree or disagree and explain in their small groups of five. I simply moved from group to group and listened in on their discussions. I just listened. And as I listened, I learned from the wise words of those who have yet to fully experience or understand how we can be both–ugly and beautiful. And while I wish I could only show the beauty, there is an ugly that I cannot hide. And it is my earnest hope that from our journey this year, the kids discover that we can choose beauty, that we can fight the ugly, that we can have hope, that they can be the hope. They can.

And we–the adults–can learn from them. We need to learn from them. I will not wade into the political here, never have never will, but I will wade into humanity here. We can do better. All of us. We can choose beauty. We can fight ugly. But we have to understand that the fight begins within. Gotta settle it their first. And maybe, just maybe, if we did that, then the fight without would take care of itself, and our connection would overshadow our division. Seems we need some connection right now. Desperately.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will experience…

…connecting through Smiles and Frowns.

…identifying, stating, and supporting theme statements from key passages in Night (performance). 

…reflecting in our Journey Journals.

…hearing a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Thursday, all. May you find and be beauty today. We need beauty.

Do. Reflect. Do Better. 

What’s the point? In the 180 classroom, it’s not a number. It’s not a percentage. It’s not a token transaction to take up space in the grade book. It’s not a pursuit of points, but it is a pursuit of purpose.

Through my evolutionary experiences in the 180 classroom, I have come to avoid the giving of assignments and instead have come to seek the providing of experiences. For it is through experience, I believe, that we learn, that we remember. I don’t want my kids to do to earn points. I want my kids to do to learn. That is not to suggest that the pursuit of points delivers no learning, but it is to suggest that when points are involved that generally becomes the goal and learning takes a back seat.

One of the things that I have recently begun to play with is tweaking my learning-target language. Not entirely convinced “student-will-be-able-to” or “I-can” tags can be anything short of artificial, I have come to use something that more naturally fits my experiential approach.

“Today you will experience…”

Student will be able to write and support a theme statement.

I can write and support a theme statement.

Today you will experience writing and supporting a theme statement.

This approach stems from what I believe is found in the difference between “learned” and “learning.” I have written about this before (What Ya Learning?), and I still hold that my kids are learning, and that is why I am drawn to the latter and shy from the two former, for they suggest a “done” that I find false. They suggest a list to be checked. Learning is a continuum. My kids are experiencing through the “do-feedback-do” cycle in my room. And in that cycle, they learn, they experience the value of mistakes, feedback, and success. It is something that stays with them, not something they ditch for the next lesson, test, unit.

And so, beyond the minimal markers of 3, 2, 1 on performances to help them situate their learning in their learning, there are no points. But there is a point. Learning. Experiencing.

My kids recently created storyboards of sorts to demonstrate their understanding of Night. Not one number will be exchanged between us. We are seeking a different point, and judging from what I have found in their creations, they got the point.

Of course, it’s not perfect approach. But I believe it’s closer to authentic than many of the artificial ways we ask kids to prove their learning. But I alone am not the judge. No, they are the judges, too. They will complete a self-reflection that I hope gets to the point more than I ever could by awarding a point. After all, it’s their learning.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will experience…

…connecting through Smiles and Frowns.

…reflecting on our learning in our Storyboards.

…discovering reality of Japanese internment camps in America.

…presenting a personal impact statement from our study of Night.

…reflecting in our Journey Journals.

…hearing a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Wednesday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

“Sy, I finished the book.”

It was his longest sentence of the year.

He has not shared once during Smiles and Frowns. He barely mumbles, “pass,” as it comes to him.

When he comes to school, he hides in his hood, head down, reluctantly–grudgingly–putting his device away when I ask him.

I have had “him” every year of my twenty three. He is none of them but all of them at once. He loves neither school nor me. He doesn’t get “it.” And it doesn’t get him. But I want to get him. And I try every year, and while I am not going to suggest that I get far with everyone of him, I always get less-far by year’s end. But thirty-three days in, I was beginning to fear that I would not even get less-far this year. And a little over a week ago, I thought I had ruined my chances for good.

In my “regular” (hate that name, but it’s functional) LA 10 classes, we tried something different with Night this year. We took kind of a glorified jigsaw approach, breaking the book into six parts, splitting the class into six teams, assigning a part to each team, and hoping to put it all back together again with our storyboard project.

Into six teams. That was my first mistake. He had to join a different group, sit in a different part of the room–he had to get out of his less -uncomfortable zone. And in a pivotal moment, I wasn’t sure he was going to move. We played quiet game of chicken, and at the last minute he swerved to his new desk.

Got worse from there. Didn’t/wouldn’t look at his teammates. Didn’t even say pass during Smiles and Frowns; he just shook his head. And then he was gone for a few days. Wondered, earnestly, if I might not see him again. I had messed up. Didn’t mean to, but I did.

A few days later, after his peers had moved from reading to making their storyboards, he showed up. He didn’t engage his team, but he did grab a copy of the book off the table, and he went back to his group, sat down and opened the book. I thought he was seeking to disappear, to hide in the book. I didn’t suspect he was reading it. Fearing I had already pushed too far, I left him alone. But he was turning pages.

The next day, he did the same thing. And I started to believe that he was actually reading. I had not seen his device out for two days, and he was advancing in the book. He was still ignoring his team, but he was reading. He was reading. I asked him about.

“You reading the book, Shane (name changed)?”

“Mmm.”

“You know you don’t have to read the whole book.”

“Mmm hmm.”

“Okay.”

Monday, at the end of class, I noticed he was nearly done.

“You’re gonna finish.”

“Yep. Page 96.” Maybe a hint of a satisfied smile.

“Awesome.” I smiled back.

Yesterday, ten minutes into the work, he finished.

He took off his hood (no kidding) and shared aloud,
“Sy, I finished the book.”

I don’t know what surprised me more.

He finished the book. Didn’t have to.

He took off his hood. Never had.

He said my name. He said my name.

That likely sounds silly, but it was a visceral moment for me. I didn’t just hear it. I felt it. Not sure I can explain it.

The surprises continued, as he sat back down and started contributing to his team’s work. It was a beautiful moment. It really was. My best moment of the year so far, a moment that happened not because of the control that I exerted upon it, but rather the control that I let go. He certainly was NOT doing what he was supposed to be doing. He was being passively rude to his team. And while I wanted to “correct” the situation (and a younger Syrie would have), I let it go. I trusted my instincts. Not the first time. Won’t be the last. But more often than not–though they are not infallible–they point the way. And, in this particular instance, they brought him less-far away.

In the end, he is still farther away than I’d like, but I feel that we finally made a connection. And now I will do what I can for my “him” this year. All I can do.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…wrap up our storyboard projects.

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Wednesday, all. Gonna be out the next few days. Heading to Tennessee for a wedding. Won’t post again until next Tuesday. Thank you for all your support. Always. Couldn’t do it without you.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

“How many opportunities should students have to retake a summative  assessment?”

This was my question to my college kids last night. This was the first response.

“In an ideal world, we could give them many opportunities, but…”

I stopped him there.

“Why can’t it be an ideal world? It’s your world. It will be as ideal as you make it.”

As ideal as we make it.

I let my college kids in on a little secret last night. Grading is fiction, with different stories playing out in tens of thousands of classrooms across the nation. Some stories are fantastic. Some stories are horrific. And most fall somewhere in between. But each story is penned by the teacher. With some margin of exception, it is the teacher alone who narrates and thus dictates the grading story. He establishes the setting, sets the mood, creates the conflict, develops the characters, advances the plot, reveals the climax, and determines the final outcome. And no story is the same, each an original work. We are the masters of this domain. We pen each kid’s story, each kid’s life.

True. We do.

With a stroke of my pen, I can vanquish a kid’s dream with a late-work-policy, or I can fuel her hopes with a retake opportunity. I can make her feel like she’s on top of the world, or I can make her feel like she’s trapped in a dungeon. I can give her the courage to face the dragon, or I can send her into the lair with no sword or shield. I can. I do.

I do.

We do.

We write thousands of stories every day. Every day. We hold the pen. But we also hold the kid. Real, live kids with stories and destinies beyond our pages, but our pens are mighty and far-reaching, and one page, one sentence, one word can carry grave consequences for our young ones. But.

But on a different page, in a different sentence, from a different word they can carry wondrous consequences. We write. We choose.

And whether we succumb to and project the realities of the world without, or we champion the ideals and dreams of a world within, we tell the tale.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…continue or Story Map work.

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Tuesday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.