We will learn a lot of important things in here this year, but of all the things we learn, nothing is more important than the people in here. So, we will learn each other.
Last day of the first semester. And as I think back on the first day–a strange place with strange faces–and I see how far we’ve come, I am proud of the communities we’ve constructed and the cultures we’ve cultivated in each of my classes–no two the same, created and connected by the time shared, the experiences lived, and the lives learned. And we have learned lives. We have learned each other–every day. I spoke the above words to my kids when I introduced Smiles and Frowns ninety days ago. And now, here at the end, I will take my kids back to where our journey began–with the people in the room.
And as the people in the room, today, we will cap our time together with a final Community Circle, our most important final. And, sadly, it is final. Time’s run out. Schedules have shifted. And things will never be the same as we move our moments to memory today.
Happy Friday, all. Have a wonderful weekend. Won’t be back on here until Tuesday. We have a mid-winter break on Monday.
Ninety days in. Ninety days out. And as I stand here between, I am proud of the experiences we have shared in room 206, learning about our world, learning about ourselves. I am proud of the chapters my kids have added to their learning stories thus far, and though I have just begun to sift through the finer details, I am pleased with what they have revealed about their learning. I will share some of those details next week. But for now, with three more classes coming to the table today to capture their learning, I am going to keep it between them and me–us–at this momentous midpoint in our journey: between our ends.
Today and tomorrow, the kids will take the lead. I will hand them the pen and ask them to capture their learning for the semester. I will ask them to look back over the last several weeks, to look inside their evidence portfolios, to look inside themselves as they seek to capture the essence of their experience. They will speak. And I will listen.
My earnest goal is to give them the last word. It is, after all–as I have often said, as the documents and their experiences reflect–their learning, their stories. But, I will also remind them, that I play a role, and I have to see what they see, and in that, we have to agree. If at first I don’t see, I will then seek to better understand what they do, and we will eventually come to a place where we are satisfied with the end we find.
Of course, in my having done this now for three years, I have found that by and large, I see what the kids see in their first telling, so really there are very few “rewrites.” What’s more, in truth, most “rewrites” are my insisting that kids “upgrade” themselves, for their selected grade is lower than what the evidence suggests. And with that in mind, I will tell them that I hold the veto power to upgrade them when they have come up short. And that’s the only real “power play” I make in the process. In the event of having to “downgrade” (a rare occurrence), I approach the matter far more delicately, seeking to balance the power between us.
Am I doing it right? I don’t know. It may just be that I am doing it differently. But, I can tell ya, it doesn’t feel wrong to make kids a part, to give kids a voice. It feels right. I can’t say that was how I felt when I held the power alone, when I felt like I was doing something to kids, rather than with kids. When I felt like I alone knew the truth of their learning, trusting to the story recorded in my grade book.
In the end, I respect kids. And that respect has grown considerably over the course of my career. And I believe one of the most respectful things I have ever done for my kids, for my learners, is to give them a voice in determining their learning. They know. They know what they have learned. They know. So, I let them speak their truth. I have to, or I haven’t given them a voice at all.
Some days I feel as if I am a force. I am making a difference. I am daring different. I am chasing better. I am changing education.
Other days I feel as if I am a fraud, clinging to the ethereal imaginings of a madman who’s at the beginning of his end. Will I fight or flee when they come for me?
Come for you? Well, no, not really. But at some point the roads are going to cross. And it is that crossing that haunts and taunts. It is that crossing that will test my convictions. And though I like to think I’d fight, and believe I certainly would have as a younger teacher, as I have gotten on, I am less-certain of the strength I once possessed. And, I’m not sure if there’s enough fight left in me. And that. That is far more worrisome for me than losing the fight without. I am afraid of losing the fight within. That is the fraud I fear.
To keep him away and at bay, I have always kept my door open. Always. It’s as if to say, “Come, look. See me. I have nothing to hide, nothing to fear. I am a force.” Oh, that is not to say that I haven’t wanted to shut myself in and the world without, that I haven’t wanted to take the path less hard. But I don’t. I can’t. It’s not in my fiber. It’s not in my being. I am a fighter. I have always been a fighter. I will always be a fighter.
Until, I am not. A younger Sy could not fathom such days. “Not” was never a consideration. But now “not” visits my thoughts. And I am afraid.
This past week, to keep the noise out while kids were presenting, my door has been shut. And aside from the mild episodes of claustrophobia, I didn’t hate it. I found comfort in the close, literally and symbolically. I didn’t want to be a part. I wanted to be apart. I wanted to sadly slip into my cave. Want to. But won’t.
My door will be open today. And though I am less than what I once was, I can still feel the force. For now.
Today’s Trail
Along today’s trail we will experience…
…connecting through Smiles and Frowns.
…demonstrating growth with grammar (learning check).
Crazy that this is the last week of the semester. It’s gone by in a blink. And though there never seems to be enough time to go as far as I’d like, I am pleased with our work and growth this term. And it is just that–growth--that I will ask my kids to consider as they come to the “grading table” this week and tell their stories about their learning and what grade best reflects their learning journey. To that end, I provide the template below to help them capture their stories.
In my room, grades don’t exist until the kids and I come together and “give them life” at the end. We record and report learning experiences and house them in a portfolio all along, but we don’t focus on the grade any more than we are required (mid-term). And when we are required to submit a term grade, we do it together. In my room, one of my self-standards is “I want my kids to feel empowered.” This is one of the ways I do it. I can’t capture learning without the learner. They have to be a part of the conversation. It’s their learning, their story.
Morning, all. Short post today. Tired. Lots on my list with end of semester drawing near.
It’s been such a gratifying week for me. So proud of my storytellers AND listeners. Proud of my kids on both sides of the stories. So much respect and empathy between. Of course, I think Smiles and Frowns has played a huge role in creating the necessary connections for such interaction. 86 days ago, many did not even know each other’s names. Now, 86 days later, they not only know the names but the people in them. It’s been a remarkable journey. Lucky I have been able to tag along and be a part of the story.
Okay, I suppose it’s more imagined than real. But sometimes, I like to think of myself as a rebel, sounding my “barbaric yawp” over the rooftops of the world, smiting the institute of education, crusading for my cause.
But then, I come back to reality and realize I am merely making a bit of noise on the grand stage, more of a “wannabe whisper” than a rebel roar. But a guy’s gotta dream, so sometimes I do.
And then, sometimes I do more than dream. I do.
Real or imagined, I rebel. No, not because “what is” is bad, but because “what could be” could be better. That’s my rebel roar.
We started sharing Wisdom Writers Diaries yesterday. We’ve worked on them the majority of the semester, so I was eager for my kids to finally share their wise words. In addition to sharing their stories, we have published a diary in each of my classes, which I will proudly share with my future classes as we make this an annual event. I could not be more proud of my distinguished storytellers in our inaugural year.
Below are some of the “lasting lines” kids selected from their own stories as “teaser lines.” Such a wide range of topics, such a deep understanding of the human experience.
To honor our writers, the audience wrote comment cards and delivered them afterwards. It was gratifying to see the writers’ responses to the kind words of their peers. It was a proud day for me, one of many to come. So honored to be a part of their experiences.
Some people take time for granted, like it’s always going to be there.
“Laughing is all I can do when I think about the pain of the past.”
“Those are just words now.”
“ All it took was for one person, like me, to stand up for what I thought was right.”
“We really don’t realize how much a friend is worth until they’re gone.”
“There was light again. The darkness ended. I was out of a place that only brought bad experiences.”
“Oh no, it’s stuck.”
“If they had just told us… none of this would have happened in the first place.”
“They didn’t help at all. I don’t know what I’m going to do for the next two weeks. I just want to go home.”
“When someone we love dies, we have to move on. If not for us, for them.”
“And you know? It doesn’t feel very good to be cut off by the people you care about for something that you can’t help.”
“It’s bad enough that I lied, but I don’t even know why, and that’s even worse, by far.”
“Only when we understand death can we understand life.”
Final is a funny word in learning. It suggests an end, and though I believe most would concur that it’s time that’s expired at the end, not learning, I am not sure this is what gets reflected in practice.
“Final” conjures up all sorts of things when uttered in the classroom. Stress. Weight. Judgment. Finality. It, of course, is the end–of the unit, the term–but it carries more than time. It purports to be the definitive measure of learning, a point of no return, for returning flies in the face of final. So, largely, final is final. But it doesn’t have to be. It’s possible to go beyond final.
Possible is always possible. And in my room, my practice, I choose possibility. Isn’t that inconvenient? Yes. But I have come to believe that learning is inconvenient. it’s also the prime directive, so we cannot let it be deterred by inconvenience. So, I peddle possible. Here’s the scoring guide I use for “finals.”
No, it’s nothing groundbreaking, but I want kids to know that, even at the end, learning continues, that there’s still an opportunity to improve. So, I create that opportunity. If a kid scores a “2” (BTW, “summatives” are the only time I use numbers. I have to for district data demands) there is learning that can still happen. I provide them with feedback and a next opportunity (and a next if necessary or desired). I will not cast this number on them and send them on their way. Yes, they will eventually have to move on, but when they do, I want them to know possibility and opportunity were always a part of the experience. Always. I find it silly, to stamp a “3” on a minor mistake, so I let kids correct those errors to get to the “4.” But is that really a “4”? What else would it be? They made the necessary corrections to meet the standard. So, I call it a “4.” In the end, I don’t care about the number, I care about the learning, which only ends when we create constructs that get in the way. And so, to keep the way clear, I choose to build bridges, not walls.
That’s the decision I make. That’s the decision I live with. But really, the kids make the final decision. I provide opportunity. They choose how to live their learning. Their “will” determines my “way.” And together we continue learning. That’s our way.
In a bit of a mood this morning. Need to get it out, but I am going to keep it in. No, not healthy, I suppose, but feeling like my airing it publicly won’t be healthy either. So, I will skirt around it by simply saying there are things at the adult-level of this job that make it terribly frustrating at times. In my twenty-four, I have never not wanted to go to work when it comes to kids, but if I am honest (and I will be), the same is not true when it comes to adults.
Of course, I imagine I am “one of those adults” for other adults at times. I imagine–I know–I am not always easy to work with either. So, I will not pretend that I do not contribute to the “difficulty of the adult work in education.” I am not perfect, but I am not a patsy either, and when things strike a dissonant chord for me, I can’t help but hear the music, and I get triggered. One of my many failings I suppose, and though I try to change the tune and avoid such situations, I’m a bit of a fighter at my core. Always have been. Some days it gets the better of me, reminding me how far I still have to go as a human. Thank goodness I have kids to help me find my lighter side when I lose my way.
Today’s Trail
Along today’s trail we will experience…
…connecting through Smiles and Frowns.
…publishing our Wisdom Writers Diaries.
…reflecting in our Journey Journals.
…hearing a Sappy Sy Rhyme.
Happy Friday, all. Sorry for the negative post this morning.
