Morning, all. Wanted to share that I will have the honor of speaking at this year’s Code Breaker Inc. Power Summit. I am humbled by this opportunity to join so many awesome voices in education. The conference information is below. Only $20 for an entire weekend.
I will be discussing the power and promise of “breaking better” by daring our differents and braving our beliefs in better. Please join us on April 24-25.
Happy Tuesday, all.
Do. Reflect. Do Better.
It’s just an experience. I have come to the place where I see our work as an experience. And while that may sound overly obvious, I am not sure we all see or sell it simply as this. But here, in the 180 classroom, that’s what it’s become. It’s just an experience.
In the 180 classroom, we have a daily Learning tASK, and when the time is right, we will have a Learning Check. And though each serve a particular purpose, tASK or Check, they are still experiences from which we have an opportunity to grow. The former, the Learning tASK, is simply our daily practice. My hope here is that kids find meaning and value as we work our way through our curriculum towards the latter, the Learning Checks, which are more formal opportunities for me to engage with kids in the feedback/response process for our priority standards. And from there, by design, I tell the kids that the worst that can happen is better. And shouldn’t that be the point of all experience? Better. What else would/should there be? If kids don’t have a chance to get better, what’s the point? And that is my design decision in all that we do. How will this help kids grow?
Each experience is an opportunity towards better. And if it’s not, then we don’t do it. More, because I cannot possibly account for each kid in each experience, I give them room to decide for themselves. And that’s why I do not make our daily Learning tASKs worth points. They are asks to which they are invited to respond, but they get the freedom to find value and relevance in the ask. So, do they do the work, do they answer the ASK? Yes, they do. Not all. Of course, not all. I have not discovered some utopian universe, but a great many do the work–choose the work, and that is all I can ASK. The answer is up to them.
Happy Monday, all.
Do. Reflect. Do Better.
Thank you. That you are reading this right now matters to me. It matters to me every day that we meet here. Some of you I know. Many of you I don’t, and I probably never will. Some of you I will get to meet when by chance or circumstance our paths converge in the “real world.” All that said, here we are today, and for that and you, I am grateful. Many a morning you’ve helped me down the trail. Thank you.
Have a great weekend. I will meet you back here on Monday.
Do. Reflect. Do Better.
I have to. I have to trust kids to accept the responsibility of their learning. I can’t talk about commitment and not walk commitment. So, I give them room in their responsibility, believing that responsibility–true responsibility–isn’t something someone else delivers but something that we discover–on our own. I am not a teacher of responsibility. Life has that handled. I offer opportunity. I provide possibility. I serve support. This is at the heart of the 180 experience. This is the room I create for kids as I seek to engage with them in authentic learning.
How did we get here, indeed? An oft cited concern to giving kids “room” is that if we don’t hold them accountable with penalties and rewards (basically grades), then they won’t do; they won’t learn. And that has just not been my experience. Kids will. No, they don’t do everything, but they didn’t before either. And everything they do or don’t for us doesn’t always matter as much as we’d like to believe. And that’s why I have made our daily tASKs (daily practice) choices. Kids choose to do it. Or they choose not to do it. It’s in their hands. I have offered them an opportunity. I have provided a possibility. And I am at the ready with support. That’s the room. And now that they are in that room, next is up to them. And I just have to trust their steps.
Trust I must. And so I do. Folly? I don’t think so. Not in the end, their end. And they will know best when they get there.
Happy Thursday, all.
Do. Reflect. Do Better.
Morning, all. Been struggling a bit of late. Don’t know if it’s the time of year or just the year itself, but I have been experiencing a bit of an idea drought, and posts aren’t coming to me as easily as they normally do. And this morning’s no exception.
Sorry. Supposed to rain today. Maybe that will help. See ya tomorrow.
Do. Reflect. Do Better.
“Your approach to learning is intuitive and allows for much freedom.”
I am pleased with this response from one of my kiddo’s recent “Check-In Chapters.” Please know that I am not sharing it to pat myself on the back. I am sharing it because it’s reflective of the work I have been doing to change–to better–the learning experience for my kids in the 180 Classroom. It’s finally making sense. They are finally beginning to see what I am trying to do, and that matters a great deal to me. Of course, not all are there. I still have kiddos, despite my considerable efforts, who default to worrying about their grades, clinging to experiences past to make sense of their experience. So, as such, my work remains and continues. But some are certainly there where I ‘d like them to be with their learning.
And maybe that “where” comes with a cost. Can a kid have too much freedom? Should a kid have any freedom? I don’t know. Traditional approaches seem to balk at such freedom, depending on the control of carrot-and-stick compliance to get kids to “learn.” But I believed there was a better to build around commitment, and that required a foundation of freedom. So, I have worked to create that experience for my kids, so they can find themselves in their learning. And for that to happen, they have to have some freedom.
Do I go too far? I don’t know. How far is far? How far did this young lady have to go to discover what she did? She had to go as far as she needed to. I just wanted to make sure she had the opportunity to to build her own bridge to reach her other side.
Happy Tuesday, all.
Do. Reflect. Do Better.
“Teachers don’t understand.”
We were talking about whether or not schools should allow retakes on Friday as part of our work with argumentation. One of the reasons that held the conversation for some time was this notion that teachers don’t understand kids’ situations. They talked. I listened. And as I listened, I learned.
Oh, it wasn’t an entirely new idea (kids have claimed this for eternity, I suppose), but it was an important idea. Because whether it’s true or not, kids feel this way. And beyond the idea of this particular topic, it got me to thinking about how small kids’ voices really are in their own experiences. They don’t get to speak often enough. And when they do, it’s not for very long, for we have more important things to get to. And that, gives me pause. What’s more important? The content is important, but is it more important? And while I am not suggesting it’s less important, I am wondering if it’s at least not equally important. But we only have so much instructional time. Yes, we only have so much time. We only ever have so much time. But maybe there’s more to the work than getting kids to understand. Maybe it’s about our understanding, too.
Yes, we believe we already know, for we were kids once. And, yes, we can already anticipate and therefore assume what they will say (we work with kids), and so, we don’t need to devote the time. But maybe in our place of “knowing,” we could know more. Maybe we don’t know as much as we believe. Maybe there are things that we can learn from them. And maybe there is just simply something to letting them speak. Maybe there’s something to their feeling like they are being heard. Maybe there’s something to our just listening. So, maybe we need to make time to listen. Seems there may be something to that.
Happy Monday, all.
Do. Reflect. Do Better.
Morning, all. Feeling tired and uninspired this morning, and the coffee’s just not winding me up, so I am not going to force it.
Sorry. Will be back Monday morning. Have a great weekend.
Do. Reflect. Do Better.
“How does school make you feel?”
“How should school make kids feel?”
I asked my kids these two questions last week. Of course, there were a number of different responses. This did not surprise me. And among the responses there seemed to be one common denominator, which they frequently expressed as, “It depends on the teacher.”
This did not surprise me either.
So much. So much that it seems unfair sometimes. It’s a lot to carry. Everything we do–or don’t–impacts our kids’ days. It’s unavoidable. And as such, when kids regard their experiences, it’s inevitable that their feelings lead them to us.
But fair or not, it’s our lot. I call it our “Beautiful Burden.”
We can carry it on our backs.
And we often do.
We feel the weight of the world as outside forces impact our work with our kids.
From state tests, to poverty, to system shortcomings, to global pandemics, we often feel overwhelmed and powerless.
And sometimes how kids feel is beyond our control.
And then when someone reminds us that they will never forget how they felt with us, it weighs on us, and it becomes the burden we carry on our backs.
Or we can carry it in our hands.
We can come to realize that while there is much outside our rooms that we cannot control, there is a great deal inside our rooms that we can.
Our work is human work.
And in that there is power, there is beauty, for we can impact people, young people in ways that will last a lifetime.
There’s truth in that.
No less than there’s truth in the fact that culture in the classroom happens with or without us.
Without us, it is left to chance and chaos as if someone else is in front of the room.
But we are in front of the room.
And when we assume that responsibility, we become creators of culture.
And culture is a human construct.
And because we are nothing if not emotional beings, then culture begins and ends with how we feel.
And how kids feel begins the moment they enter our rooms, and in that we have an opportunity in our hands.
Whether you carry it on your back today or you have it hand, thank you. I know–we know–the weight you carry. We know the beautiful burden, and we want you to know that you are not alone. We get it. And that’s why we are proud to stand at the front of the room with you. Thank you for being a teacher.
The kids depend on you.
Happy Thursday, all. May you carry it in your hands today.
Do. Reflect. Do Better.
We often talk about risk taking and mistake making. But I wonder what we really mean when we say such things.
I just recently uttered such words during parent-teacher conferences. But, because of my approach to grading, I was able to frame it a bit differently.
“I suspect John has always gotten A’s. I suspect he has all A’s right now. I suspect (know) he will have an A in here at the end. And I suspect that he will continue to get A’s from here on. So, he will get an A, and now that that’s outta of the way, let’s just take some risks; let’s stretch ourselves; let’s make mistakes. The worst that can happen is better.”
Let’s. Let us. I chose these words very intentionally. John’s risk is my risk. His stretch is my stretch. His mistakes are my mistakes. Better here is a shared responsibility. How is it my risk? I might fail to support him. Learning and teaching are messy affairs. And if I am going to ask better of him, then I have to ask better of myself. And in that, I risk making some mistakes. Better isn’t good. Better is a commitment. Better expects mistakes. But better also requires reflection. And from there, better continues.
Let us risk better together.
Happy Wednesday, all.
Do. Reflect. Do Better.
