Solid day with the kiddos yesterday. Funny how our most solid days seem to be when I let the kids drive.  And while this has not always been a comfortable role for me, as we move deeper into the 180 journey, it is a role that I’ve come to relish more and more. Today we will start our viewing of The Book Thief, the first of three movies that we will watch about the Holocaust before reading Night. But before we begin down that path, there was some stage-setting to be done, and to that end, I gave the kids a QUEST yesterday.

QUEST

1. Using the 7 mini-articles and corresponding puzzle pieces, complete the Jigsaw activity for the history of the Holocaust.
2. Read the letter from the school board, and issue a team response. Write your response on the letter.
3. Review your work from Elie Wiesel’s speech “Hope, Despair and Memory.” Determine the central idea of the text and write it on your poster. Use one of the Statement Starters to begin your statement.
4. Attach all work to the poster.
5. If time allows, add images that represent the Holocaust.
6. As a team, decide when to take your brain break.
7. Posters must be complete by end of period.
8. Go!

The Book Thief

Today, as I mentioned above, the kids will begin watching The Book Thief, but not without some controversy. I am not sure if you can read the letter on the posters, but there has been some concern raised over using movies to teach the Holocaust. The concern stems from the “Hollywoodization” of the Holocaust and whether a not-always-historically-accurate approach to this dark period in history is worthy of the respect and recognition it deserves. Seizing it as an authentic learning opportunity, we will view the movies through the critical lens of determining their value in understanding the historical and modern impact of the Holocaust on the human experience. Ultimately, the kids will get to play a vital role in determining the outcome of this issue. It was rather remarkable to witness the level of engagement upon their reading the letter. Simply, they came to life, the lights on bright as they cussed and discussed the issue, offering their initial responses. It was amazing.

Driving question: Should we use movies to teach the Holocaust?

Critical Lens #1: Historical Accuracy. Here kids will look for “I wonders.” Essentially, they will keep tabs on historical accuracy by using the stem, “I wonder if _____________________ is historically accurate.” Then, later, as teams, they will take on the role of fact-checkers, determining the historical accuracy.

Critical Lens #2: Point-of-View. As the movies will present various points-of-view, the kids will analyze, both formally and informally, the Holocaust and the various angles from which they see it.

Critical Lens #3: Audience Impact. As members of a modern audience, kids will identify and analyze the director’s choices with various scenes, looking for the intended impact on creating understanding and empathy among members of an audience now 70 years removed.

Of course I want the kids to enjoy the movies, but I also want to establish that this most-familiar medium can also be a powerful teaching tool. But I want the kids to discover and make the case on their own. I just wanted to give them a nudge in the right direction, placing them where they belong: in the driver’s seat, making me a privileged passenger.

Happy Thursday, all.

“So far, you have not at all prepared me for the test at the end of the year or the real world.” 

While words may not hurt me, they certainly seem to keep me awake at 1 a.m. Above is a response one of the kids left on the optional, open-ended question at the end of the survey, which prompted them to share anything else they wanted me to know about their experience in 211 so far. Well, I asked for it, and I guess I got it. It stung yesterday morning, and it still stings today. Of course, I should know better than to let it upset me, and I do, but it’s funny how one negative comment can neutralize a host of positives. Funny, too, how such comments can seep so quickly and deeply into the cracks, the doubts of our foundation, rocking our world. Oh, it’s not the first negative I’ve encountered–there have been many over the past two decades, and now, as then, I will bounce back, clinging to the positives that surround me. But for a while longer, I will waver and worry. Can’t help it. It hurt.

Of course my wavering and worrying has made me analyze the comment over and over–yes, even at one o’clock this morning. I think what cuts here is that no quarter was given, no qualification–a kill shot, “not at all prepared.” I have grown accustomed to complaints about the Essay of the Week. It’s part of the teacher and student back and forth. Work is not always fun and it causes the push and pull between us. It’s expected. But this comment seems something else. And I wish I better understood. It seems something darker may be at play here, and it disturbs me. Is he/she angry at me, and this is a projection of that anger? Does he/she really feel that I have done nothing to advance his/her preparation or progress for the test or the world? Hmmm. I want to know. But sadly, I probably never will. I just hope that as we continue with our journey, he/she comes to see me and what I am trying to do in a different light. But I worry, with such a strong sentiment, that it may be too late. And that makes me sad.

But, I cannot linger here. I have too many others who not only depend on but also  seem to genuinely value what I am doing in 211, too many who need my energy and light. After all, we are currently in the mountains, and I have to see them safely through. No time to sulk. And so, I will regard the above comment for what it is. A perception. One’s part of reality. Not the reality of all. And so, instead, I will cling to and celebrate a separate set of words, words that help diminish the sting and shadow, words that usher in the light and delight of what I get to do: make a difference. Wish it were true for all.

“I enjoy my time in this class, it does more for me than you can realize.”

Thank you. Your words do more for me than you can realize. So much more. Thank you.

Happy Tuesday, all.

And then, on the horizon, we beheld mountains.

Heading into unfamiliar territory this week. Time to take a turn along a path with more ups than downs. And while I do hold a map with some roughed-out directions, it inspires little confidence in the possibility of finding an efficient route. So, it is at times like these that I cling to my mantra: Do. Learn. Do Better.

This Friday marks the midway point for the first semester. And beyond the fact that I still can’t believe that much time has passed already, the map I hold indicates that I pledged to provide a progress report at this time, a report created in collaboration with each individual as to his/her progress at this point in the journey, a pledge I aim to honor. The desire to do it is not the problem. In fact, I am excited to venture forth along this path. The problem rests in how to do it. How am I going to collaborate with 89 kids over the next week to capture the essence of their growth, and still move us forward in our journey? We cannot simply pause. Winter is coming, snow has already dusted the higher peaks, and we have to get through the passes, to pause is to perish. With no desire to perish in the mountains, I have a plan to get us through. And while it may very well not be the most efficient route in the end, I will chart our way, hoping to make the trek easier next time. Here is the plan.

1. I have already adapted the learning logs to create a collaborative approach between each kid and me.
2. My initial plan was to meet with each kid, completing the report side-by-side. But I fear that this may not be feasible, taking too much time. So, I will pre-complete, my part of the form this week while the kids are working. I will have them done by the end of day Thursday. Then, on Friday, during class, I will have the kids complete their parts, and I will recollect them when they finish.
3. Then, next week, we will take the “pre-completed” reports and compare our responses, face-to-face.
4. Some responses will likely be left blank by me until I have the opportunity to speak to the kiddo. I know my kids pretty well, but there are some things for which I may have insufficient knowledge (especially the profile items), so I will wait on those items until I have their input.
5. As far as where are responses differ and our perceptions don’t match up, we will seek to find a middle ground, each supporting his or her position. The key here is collaboration. I am not trying to “get” the kids. I am simply sharing what I see, and what I see may be inaccurate, so I welcome points of disagreement as entry points into conversations about progress and perception. This step will take most, if not all, of the second week. even though official midterm grades are due sooner.
6. And it is here that I am fortunate. The “grades” are done. They are in Skyward, and they will be sent home. But the progress/growth reports will still be in the works. They will take time. And with 180, I have the freedom to give myself permission to take the necessary time, time to create that which I hope the kids, parents, and I all find value in at the end.
7. The co-completed reports will then go home for parents to sign and return.

And that’s the plan. Two weeks to get through our first set of mountains. Hope it’s enough. I am eager to get underway with this part of the project. I will no doubt learn a lot from this process, but I love to learn. I will share some anonymous, completed reports at the end so you can see what they look like.

Have a magnificent Monday, all.

I discovered that the survey I shared yesterday could only be opened by Cheney School District employees. So, for those who couldn’t open it but were interested, I copied it directly into this post. Sorry for an inconvenience yesterday.

Morning, all. No official comments from the kiddos this week, so I thought I would share the student survey that I will give to my kids this coming week as part of my midterm check in. I hope the link works. I will share results when I get them. Have a great weekend.

https://docs.google.com/a/cheneysd.org/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLScfvWOP3nbQc81cDgqwnw7VVmSzDAWJ72Df0mL79Y-yFVEFIA/viewform

Hated to do it. Had to do it. What’s done is done. No going back now. Have to own it.

I stole. From my kids. In broad daylight. Witnesses everywhere. Won’t get out of this one. I am guilty. No trial necessary. I submit.

I took a day. I robbed my kids of their read-to-learn day. Today. Friday. I promised that Fridays would be reading days, but yesterday I informed the kids that I would have to go back on that promise, that I would have to use the day for something else. And so, regretfully, I pulled the plug, reading day down the drain. Let me explain.

Time doesn’t wait. And as the first third of the year will soon be behind us, I am beginning to feel the widening gap, as it marches ahead of us, immune to fatigue, steady and unrelenting, the tortoise in the race. So, it stands, then, that the hare, assuredly fast but not always wise, will use a cheap trick to stay in the race. Some day the hare will learn. But today is not that day.

Today, we will leap headlong into our My-Moment-to-Make-a-Difference speeches. In their own ways kids will confront an injustice, using the power of their words and the strength of their ideas to right a wrong. And though I tried to keep them in suspense, they would not have it. They cajoled me into telling them what could possibly be more important than their promised day. So, I let the cat out of the bag, and told them that I needed to introduce their speech projects. As one might imagine, this did little to settle their feelings of betrayal. In fact, it was salt on the wound. Public speaking settles no one.

And to that point, their tummies turned and the groans began. It was nothing new. I’ve heard it all before. I have heard it for years. I heard it last year when I introduced the same project, a project that–if you remember–earned top ranking as producing the most-satisfying moments of my twenty-year career. And while I have the same high hopes again this year, there is a huge difference. There is no grade to dangle. As such, this stands to be the toughest test yet for 180.

Last year it was a required opportunity. This year it is simply a provided opportunity. But that is the essence of the 180 classroom: opportunity, and I will not waver. I can’t. And so, with a great deal of trepidation, I will present that which strikes fear into the majority of the population, a public-speaking opportunity. Opportunity. “Thank you for the opportunity to speak in front of people,” said no one ever. And the kids will not likely thank me today either.  Of course, they don’t really have to do it. I can’t make them. I won’t make them. And I will tell them as much. I provide opportunities. They make choices. And while I am honestly worried about their choices, I am also incredibly eager to see  the outcome of this formidable challenge to the 180 approach. What will they choose?

For those who do choose the opportunity, they choose a path not easy. Public speaking is feared for a reason. It is hard, but hard is not impossible. Hard is a key ingredient to growth. I am pleased to provide such an important growth opportunity. The kids deserve no less.

Happy Friday, all.

There may be times when we are powerless to prevent injustice, but there must never be a time when we fail to protest. –Elie Wiesel, from “Hope, Despair and Memory”

Enter the Holocaust. Our journey in 211 enters a darker realm today. For the next several weeks we will trek through the horror that was, the horror that can be neither easily nor fully imagined, the horror that must, as Elie would suggest, never be forgotten. And while it will be a trip neither pleasant nor easy, we will endure it; we will honor the call; we will remember. But we will also do more. We will learn that we, too, with our own words can make a difference.

Guided by the question, “Confronting Injustice: Can We Make a Difference?” the kids will select and confront an injustice for their Confronting-Injustice-and-Making-a-Difference speeches. Through our discussions, we have generally concluded that while we cannot always prevent injustice, we cannot just ignore it either. We have to take a stand. We have to have to believe that we can make a difference in our world. Perhaps now, more than ever, we need this generation to believe in the power of their potential. I just hope I can help them discover the power they possess. It is not enough that I believe. They must believe.

Yesterday, our first steps began with reading Elie’s Nobel acceptance speech for Night in 1986. Gone now, dying just this past year, Elie’s words are perhaps more powerful than ever, an agelessly relevant reminder that we must remain ever-vigilant against that which threatens our humanity.

None of us is in a position to eliminate war, but we must expose it and denounce it in all its hideousness. War leaves no victors, only victims. Mankind needs to remember this more than ever. Mankind needs peace more than ever,for our entire planet, threatened by nuclear war, is in danger of total destruction. A destruction only man can provoke, only man can prevent. Mankind needs to remember that peace is not God’s gift to his creatures, it is our gift to each other.

This was delivered in ’86 when the Cold War was still hot, a time when I was young and worried–truly worried–about the next big war, maybe literally, “the war to end all wars.” And now, thirty years later, Elie’s words seem no less relevant, the world no less scary. We have to read Night. We have to remember. We have to remember that the morning, to spite the night, can still come. Even if the days are dark ahead, if we remember, we can find the light, discover the day. Darkness must not descend.

Okay, enough of that. Sorry for the melodramatic doom and gloom, but this stuff is important, and lately it’s felt all too real. I worry more than I care to admit about the world we’re leaving our kids. And I suspect that I am not alone. But maybe if we can get them to discover and believe in things greater yet, they can be the difference. I aim to try.

Let’s try to be happy Thursday, all. The sun’s about to rise. Day triumphs again.

Despite a rough start, turns out yesterday wasn’t Monday in disguise after all; it was a Terrific Tuesday–for many reasons. I will offer ten, ten random wonders that brought joy to my day. I truly have so much to be grateful for.

Terrific Ten

1.  My morning commute with my son Finn. He has recently taken up the bass guitar and joined the CMS jazz band. Their practice is before school, so I, the early bird, gets the pleasure of dropping him off each day. It’s only a 7 minute drive, but it’s our time to catch up. Our latest discussions have entered the realm of girls, Finn wondering aloud about the confusion of liking someone with so many things to consider, mostly the weight of looks and personality. Oh, Finny, welcome to awful age of adolescence. Wish I could say it gets easier.

2. Catching up with Kasia. Kids’ lockers are tiny at CHS. So, they drop their bags off in teachers’ classrooms each morning, picking them up at the end of the day. Incidentally, my room has become Kasia’s preferred drop off. A student from last year and a creator of two movies that I shared with you, Kasia often engages me with questions about how the “A thing” is going this year. Yesterday, the “Re-Opp” sign up caught her attention, and she asked about it, and it gave me the opportunity to gush a little about the success of 180 so far. Thanks for always checking in, Kas.

3. No contract in my box. Yesterday, the district distributed the “additional-duty” contracts to teachers who fill a variety of positions from club advisers to department chairs. It is the first time in my 14 years at CHS that I have not taken on additional duties. I made that tough decision last spring when I committed to P-180, and it has been one of my best professional decisions ever. Yes, less money. But, more importantly, way less stress.

4. Windows. There were moments yesterday when I purposefully paused and marveled at the fall beauty. Such a gorgeous day. Having taught in the dungeon for 13 years, it has been nice to have an exterior room with a view and natural light. Improved mood indeed!

5. Lunch crew. Though we love all our little critters dearly, we also need breaks from them, It’s a quick 30 minutes, but I value the adult time I get with my peeps each day at lunch. Thank you Ms. Tamura, Ms. Alderete, Mr. Martin, and Ms. Comi. You all brighten my day.

6. Caring Community. I am proud to live in a community that cares and answers the call when there is a need. Hungry kids daily raid my “pantry,” a service that I could not provide without the help of all who have contributed and continue to contribute to the cause. Thank you a million times. You are making a huge difference for kids. I think of you all each time a kid gets food, which means, I think of you a lot. Thank you.

7. Rides home with Sissy. The other book end. My daughter delights me daily with her stories about her day. Yesterday, she read an actual story to me that she had written in class. As a fellow writer, I smile at her voice and expression in her writing. She wants to be writer. She already is.

8. Jack bounced back. Yesterday, I told the story of Jack flashing me a one, revealing his progress in class the day before. And I also mentioned my mild admonishment to his revelation. Well, yesterday he threw me a two, a legitimate two (I checked). He did not set the world afire with his efforts, but he improved, and I can be happy with that. Thank you, Collin (I mean “Jack”).

9. Necessarily unnecessary. So, I go potty between every period. Consequently, I am a wee bit late each period. But the kids know what to do, so they are usually ready to go as I slip into the room, quietly apologizing for my tardiness. Yesterday was no different, but unbeknownst to me, Mr. Roberts, assistant principal and my new evaluator for the year, was there to do an observation. As I walked in–late, he was sitting among the kids engaging them in conversations about their blogs. Most of them, he told me, had begun working before the bell, and they were all working at the bell. Guess they don’t need me. Pretty motivated for kids who already have A’s.

10. Dinner in the mic. Our weeks are busy, in many respects, too busy, but we manage. Monday and Tuesday are especially busy with my teaching at the college in the evening. Even so, my lovely wife, despite her own crazy schedule, found time to make dinner and leave it for me in the microwave. It was a perfect end to a perfect day. Thanks, Sher. Couldn’t do it without ya.

Pretty lucky guy, me. Happy Wednesday, all. Sorry for the not-so-substantive post this morning. Have a great day.

Morning, all. Feels like it might be Monday again. Slept in till 4:30. Had trouble getting the graphic to post.  Might be in for a long day.

So, I came across another graphic that aptly represents the journey in the 180 classroom. Of course the goal is to get all across the divide, landing each safely in the land of the “Learner-Driven,” but the divide is wide, the ditch deep, the rut resistant to such ambitious whims as that. So, then, what? Well, that depends. Some days the gap gapes wider than the vision of my dreams, allowing doubt to cloud the road ahead. Other days, I stand firmly resolved in achieving that which must be, the goal seeming but a step away, the far edge near, my stride long, my strut secure. Yesterday, was both days.

A cloud on the horizon. So, the kids are working on their blogs for their My-Learning Projects. Aside from some initial direction to begin their day and some assistance along the way, they have both the freedom and responsibility to drive their learning. I intentionally step back. I have to, but it is not easy. I want to be at the center. I want to swoop in and drive them when they are sitting idle, their cars in park. I want to move the stick to D and make them go. Time, after all, is moving, and they aren’t. Opportunity stands not still. And, I do, to some degree, remind them of this, using my “influence” to move them ahead. To be fair, many are cruising along, their learning vehicles  moving full speed ahead. But some aren’t. And that’s not easy to swallow. Even more, some seem okay to idle in neutral.

At the end of each period yesterday, I had kids show on their fingers how productive they were. 3 productive. 2 somewhat. 1 not very. Jack (name changed) flashed me a one. I, disappointed, mildly rebuked him, and he just shrugged and smiled. He was not being insolent. He was just being honest. And that unnerves and unsettles me. And it makes me doubt. Am I screwing up? Would he be better off in a Teacher-Driven environment? Is this Learner-Driven stuff a pipe dream? I don’t know. And so I doubt, and my doubt troubles my days and nights. But with each doubt, I discover hope.

The sun, despite the clouds, is always there. Yesterday, Mikkela, remembering that I had offered an optional Performance Re-Opportunity last Friday as another chance for them to demonstrate proficiency, asked me where she could sign up. Made my entire day. And others followed, driving their own learning, “willing to take risks and go the extra mile.” Thank you for reminding me that the sun never really goes away, even if it’s hidden from our view.

Happy Tuesday, all.