Been a big storm, maybe the biggest. Over the years I’ve encountered lots of storms that have taken me off course, that have upset the work, but the latest tempest, COVID and its impact on my work in the classroom, has whipped the ship into waters uncharted ,and it has been a year lost. So much lost.

This week, as we began our hybrid model, I expected the storm to strengthen again and make turbulent our less-uncalm, less-unsettled waters (we had gotten into a routine with distance learning; we had learned the ebb and the flow). So, as the storm gathered on the horizon, I expected a squall (I still didn’t fully understand the schedule going into Monday, despite the detailed–convoluted–charts in our hands). More loss was surely on the way.

Braced for a crash, I steeled myself against the storm, and as the first wave approached, I saw in the distance a light, a beacon, and instead of despair, I found hope. And as the light grew, I spied in the tide, kids. The lasting lights, the beaming beacons that had always led me into safer harbors. In the chaos, I found the calm. Kids. Kids had saved me–saved us all–again.

And the kids have saved our crazy day(s). No, hybrid isn’t great. Frankly, from an instructional stance, it sucks (sorry, my Mom taught me better words, but it seems the right word, here). From a position of connection, I believe–concede–it’s been better for kids. I have seen it in their eyes; I have heard it in their words; I have felt it from their spirits. They are glad to be back, to be together, to be the lights–even if they don’t fully know their glow.

Happy weekend, all. Stay safe and warm.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

One of the primary pursuits with Project 180 has been providing paths for student ownership. In year one I took grades of the table, so kids could take greater responsibility for and ownership of their learning, which has led to our current select-and-support approach to capturing learning, “My Learning, My Story.” Kids are senior partners in that they have a great deal of seniority (say) in naming their learning at the end. Their learning.

But that’s not the only place I try to provide paths. I try to present paths in our work as well, and I have found a great deal of promise in the word, “my.”

Your is a teacher word. My is a student word. “Your” still sounds like it’s mine to give. Your learning. “My” sounds like it’s their own. My Learning. Yes, semantics to the nth, I suppose, but words matter, and so I use them as if they do matter. I believe the transfer of ownership begins with perception (I say transfer because I don’t think kids feel like they own their learning). And so, I believe when kids say the word “my” in connection with their learning, the transfer begins, and if they say it enough, then perception changes, and that transforms how they see their learning. Their learning.

This semester, I am still chasing this necessary better to my kids’ experiences in my classroom. Here are two paths that we are going to explore as we begin our journey.

My writing. My Process. My kids will do this today. I want them to really consider and capture their present process with writing. I have no idea what they will discover or share, but I am deeply interested in what they find as they explore this path. And I don’t think it will be a particularly easy hike. I think they will struggle with this a bit. In truth, I hope they do struggle some. I think this is an important path, and in the necessary struggle they may discover some agency as writers. We will see. I will share some of their discoveries with you, as well as next steps with this approach.

For reading, I have asked kids to select their own paths.

Interestingly, despite my efforts here and in my verbal instruction on the screencast to establish that they indeed had choice, a fair number still emailed me asking permission to read this or that (seeking transfer). I responded with, “Your reading. Your choice.” Which I hope they repeated (even if only subconsciously) as “My reading, My choice.”

Transfer. Translate. Transform. That is my hope. That is the why behind my.

Happy Thursday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

Sy – love reading your thoughts. I have been wrestling with many of these same questions. The biggest one for me is what do you do with a student who turns nothing in? They are very, very rare for me. Zeros are crushing. I will die on that hill. I avoid them until I can’t. Would you really give a student a .7 all marking period even if they turned in nothing? Thanks for helping me with my own journey!

Bill Velto, North Carolina

My friend Bill posted this comment in response to yesterday’s post.

So, would I? Would I really give a student a .7 (a “C”) if they turned in nothing over the course of the marking period?

The short answer, yes. I am still the same guy who gave every kid an A back in year one of Project 180.

And now, the long answer.

It’s a bit of a bet, I suppose. But it’s a gamble I am willing to make in an effort to place learning ahead of grading, which really–as I look back now–is what the whole Project 180 journey has been about, discovering better learning experiences for kids. And, with this most recent exploration, I am still seeking that same end. Better learning.

Okay, but how does giving kids something for nothing result in better learning? I don’t know. Yet. And while on the surface it looks like I am simply giving away grades, I like to think that I am digging at something deeper here, and to get to the roots of it, I had to change the dynamic. And that’s the bet. If can change the dynamic, then maybe I can change the experience, and maybe if the experience is better, then the learning will be better.

And so, here, it’s really about changing the dynamic, about changing the interactions and conversations with my kids.

The Zero

As I shared in yesterdays’ post a zero is an indicator of missing work. Okay, so what’s new about that? On the surface, nothing. But when viewed as a starting point for a conversation (a different conversation, the kids know the tired, old talk about zeros damaging their grades. Bill please know that I view zeros as you), then the zero becomes less harmful and more useful. This is how I imagine the conversation.

Hey, kiddo, I see you are missing some Learning Checks, and our tank’s a bit low. (I just came up with this idea, “our tank.” I began with “your tank” but then I thought it might change the dynamic even more if I used “our.” The idea here being if the learning tank is low, then the teaching tank is low, too. Remember, I don’t believe I have really taught anything until I have responded with feedback, and I don’t believe kids have really learned anything until they have responded to my feedback. So, then, the conversation focuses on our not taking advantage of the opportunity to grow as a learner or as a teacher. I am not growing if I am not teaching. I want to grow, and they can help me grow.) I need you to put some work in the tank, so we can move forward. Please take your first step, so I can take my next step. Okay? Let’s keep moving.

I believe this same dynamic changes the conversation with parents, too. I am coming from a place not of deficit (your child is failing) but from a place of movement and opportunity. I need John to submit so I can support.

That is how imagine the “zero conversation” going. And once kids have submitted, the learning continues (begins), and I have chosen to indicate that first step with a .7.

So, really, Bill, when I said “yes,” this is what I imagined. I have long wondered and worried over the question, “Why won’t kids do work?” And I have long known that the carrot and stick were inadequate and inauthentic answers. So, I have sought better. Will this approach result in fewer zeros? I don’t know, but I do know that I previous practice has not worked. So I am taking a reasoned risk.

The C

The learning’s begun, but it’s not done. As I shared in yesterday’s post, I have guaranteed a “C” by taking “D” and “F” off the table. And so with that, really a .7 is an indicator that learning is on the table. And as I shared yesterday, there is an open invitation to continue the learning by responding to the teaching (my feedback). And with that “C” becomes the center, that place where we come together as learner and teacher, and from there we continue together as we engage in the feedback/response process, through which the goal is to get to a 1, indicating done. And eventually, our journey comes to an end, and we have to name the learning with a grade. And since it is a shared journey, I ask the kids to partner with me by selecting and supporting their final grade with evidence from the learning experience.

The goal for all is an A. But to get there, they have to forage on feedback and grow. And now, when I imagine these future conversations with this brand new approach, I imagine our agreement being even more deeply rooted in the evidence of the learning experience. I imagine the conversation turning to the learning still on the table (.7), and the how the opportunity–the invitation–to grow, is still there. That’s the table I am seeking to set, the better I am trying to build.

I hope this helps, Bill. Thank you for helping me stretch my thinking this morning. Wish I could have shared more, but I am out of time, so I am going to wrap it up here, my friend.

Happy Tuesday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

It’s not the first time I have taken a leap. Back in year one I took a flying leap when I gave each kid an A for the year. And while this leap may not be as big and bold (brash) a jump, it is another significant step away from grading to better learning. But it’s not a reckless rush as much as it is a reasoned response to my continuing reflection on present practice in my search for my next better.

Below is my communication to a brand new group of kids about what to expect from their learning experiences with me as we enter second semester. In it you will find changes that I have made to delve deeper into the feedback/response process, to fade farther away from points and grading, and to come closer to learning.

Feedback

This has been the focus all year. Last semester, I made strides into elevating the feedback/response process as the place where learning happens, where I teach and where kids learn. I contend that I don’t really teach until I engage kids in this process. I facilitate and guide to get things moving, but I don’t really teach anything until I respond to their work, and thus, I, too, believe, they don’t really begin to learn until they respond to my response (feedback). And the process continues.

This semester, I want to front load this idea, and I believe I have arrived at something with the “not done till one” mantra. The goal is to get everyone to a 1. Everyone. If they are not at a 1, then there is still learning on the table, and if there’s still learning, there’s still work. Our work.

Scores

Rather, “numerical indicators” (yes, I hate the name, too, but I wanted something that sounded ostentatious, not for it’s formality but it’s inanity). They are just numbers, just symbols, just indicators–for convenience. I began playing with 1 and .7 last semester for a couple of reasons. One, I got tired of Skyward deciding my kids’ grades and raising alarms for outside eyes (parents). So, I changed it to .7 so the bottom was a “C” for those looking in. For inside eyes (kids), it was an invitation to revise and resubmit. I want that in front of our work this semester. Two, I wanted to give the middle finger to points and scores by reducing them as much as I possibly could (for now) in a way that let me manipulate Skyward to better fit my approach. My wife asked why I don’t just use 10 and 7 or 100 and 70 to keep it simpler for the kids. I told her that’s too close to the traditional view of points and scores. I wanted to reduce them to mean as little as possible. 1 = Done. .7 = Invitation.

Off the Table

This is the biggest step. I had planned on doing this next year, and I have even written about it here recently in the “C to See” post (http://www.letschangeeducation.com/c-to-see-project-180-day-83/). But I decided to take the leap this year, this semester by formally taking “D” and “F” grades off the table. I will no longer offer them as options in my class. The goal is for all to learn, to grow. And so, I don’t want kids worrying about what’s below (Deficit and Failure). I want them worrying about what’s above. I am done with the deficit approach to teaching and learning. Well, I have been for some time now, but this more formally cements my decision.

Will kids then magically do all the work, then? Of course not. But it’s my reasoned belief that where we meet will be a more authentic commitment to each other in our shared experience. And so, I decided to go for it now. I am ready, so I might as well jump. And if it so happens that I don’t land on my feet, I have grown accustomed to 180 cycle, and I will Do, Reflect, and Do Better until I find my feet again.

Happy Monday, all. Wish me luck on my first day of Hybrid.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

Strange day ahead. Strange days behind. Been a strange time.

Today I will say goodbye to my kids for the year. Our distance model fit a year into a semester, so with the end of semester one, my kids are done with LA for the year. And I will begin another “year” next week with a new group of kids, who’ve not had LA yet this year. Strange.

And it won’t get any less-strange with our hybrid model. Kids will be back in the building but we won’t be back “in school.” Not saying that’s good or bad, but I am saying it’s not school. But that new strange comes next week. I still have today’s strange to face: saying goodbye to kids I hardly know.

Should be easy, then, right? Just bid them farewell and move on, they are strangers after all. No, they aren’t. We’ve shared a strange experience, perhaps the strangest of which is the personal connection I have come to feel towards a name on a black Zoom screen.

“Hi, Connor. Good morning. Do you have a Smile or Frown to share with us today?

“Pass.”

“Okay, Connor. Thank you. I am glad you are here.”

I have often felt like Tom Hanks’ character from Castaway talking to Wilson the volleyball. Strange. But they are not strangers.

They are my kids. And I have tried my “best better” during this time to connect with them. And I have. But it’s not the same. I know it. They know it. We all know it, I suppose.

And, I suppose, it will be something we will always know as we look back on this time and these students who lived through it with us. And in that, I guess, we may find our strongest connection. On some level, I find it similar to my very first class, that group that has a distinction like no other. Our first class. We remember them a bit differently from the rest of our groups. And, now, this group, too, will be remembered a bit differently.

And today, I will let them know that as I say goodbye to my screens my kids, as we “power off” for the final time.

Happy Tuesday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

If ya give ’em an inch, they’ll take a mile.

I’ve never cared much for cynical views of students. This one bugs me as much as,

You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make them drink.

I have always been disturbed by the notion that kids (humans who thirst for learning) won’t drink. Maybe it’s not them. Maybe it’s the water. Horses won’t drink bad water.

And if we give them a wide-range, too much room, too much freedom, they won’t return. We have to keep them corralled.

Do we? Do we know that from practice? Or do we simply cling to the notion that we have to exercise our control over kids, because we’ve always thought we had to? And while, of course, there are examples of kids’ “success” with such approaches, there are examples from the other side as well.

“She’s on the verge of quitting school. And I just want to know what she can do to pass.”

This is from a phone conversation with a parent last week. Her daughter has done nothing this quarter.

“Well, first of all. She won’t fail. I won’t fail kids.”

“Well, we can do something. I want her to do something. I want her to learn.”

“Okay. How about having her just focus on the Night work? At this late stage, I think it would be incredibly overwhelming for her to try to do everything.”

And that is generally where the conversation ended. And the work started trickling in. Work, well done, I might add.

And then the flood.

10:45 PM. 11:20 PM. 12:24 AM. 12:49 AM. 1:04 AM. 1:17 AM. 1:42 AM. 1:51 AM. 2:32 AM. 2:52 AM. 2:55 AM. 3:05 AM. 3:13 AM. 3:28 AM. 3:31 AM. 3:41 AM. 3:51 AM. 4:03 AM. 4:25 AM. 4:44 AM. 4:55 AM. 5:06 AM. 5:13 AM. 5:16 AM.

These are the time stamps on her submitted work. She pulled an all-nighter. And I have been getting them “live” since 4:44 AM.

She, apparently, has decided to do it all, despite her knowing that she would pass, despite her knowing that a “C” was on the table if she completed the Night work.

I moved an inch, a small step closer to meeting her somewhere. And she ran a mile. She’s still running. I just got another. 5:23 AM.

Kids can and will do more than we believe. Sometimes, they just need the room–and rein–to show us.

Happy Monday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

Monte – Some of my classes love Pros and Cons and participate great. Others seem to not want to have any human contact inside of a class. The vast majority instantly pass and it is a chore to get through Pros and Cons. Have you ever experienced this kind of dislike for sharing of anything personal?

One of my Twitter connections reached out to me yesterday with this question about Smiles and Frowns, which he calls Pros and Cons.

This was my response.

All the time. It used to really bug me. It was hard not to take personally, but I have a different view of it now. I remind myself of my why. I want the kids to know that every single day, regardless of how they respond, someone wants to know about their lives, that someone wants to say their names, that someone wants to listen. This has really helped me see this opportunity differently, especially with where we are right now. Hope this helps.

It still bugs me a bit, at least in the sense that I miss out on getting to know my kids better. But my new view has really changed how I respond to the “Pass,” which I have always said is key to the success of Smiles and Frowns–that, and doing it every single day, no matter what. And it’s the latter that becomes a bit hard when kids perpetually pass, but I believe we have to see it through and see it for what it really is, which is a daily invitation to connection.

As for the shying away from human contact, I believe the general lack of an emphasis on human connection in school and society is to blame. I started doing Smiles and Frowns in response to this, in response to the reality that we were largely content with being strangers in the room for 180 days. Not okay. I knew we could do better. So, we did. I wanted my kids to see that connections are not only possible but also important. I love introducing Smiles and Frowns to a new group, telling them that by the end of the year we will be strangers no more, that we will be a community. Of course, every year the kids prove me wrong when they correct me, “We’re not just a community; we are a family.”

I know a lot of my readers do their own versions of Smiles and Frowns, and I suspect some have abandoned it for the very reason my friend from Twitter raised, but I would encourage you to go back to it with a new view of the “Pass.”

Happy Friday, all. Have a wonderful weekend.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

Skyward is not my grade book.

Skyward is not my grade book.

Skyward is not my grade book.

This has become a mantra in the 180 classroom. I keep saying it, but for some reason kids–and parents–aren’t hearing it.

Formally and informally, I have shared this statement and the sentiment behind numerous times this year, but for some reason, it keeps getting lost in translation.

Some reason. As if I don’t know.

Trouble is, I do know. It is my grade book. It says so. I click on “My Gradebook” every day.

And so do kids and parents most days. Year after year after year.

It is the condition of their conditioning. School, learning–everything–is the grade book.

And I think I am gonna change that with a mantra?

I do. Some day. I got lots of talk in my mouth and lots of walk in my feet. The journey’s not over. It’s only begun. And I will reach my some day. Some day.

But today is in front of me first, so I will face the day. And for me that always begins early, and in my early I wonder about my betters ahead, and I think I found one this morning.

I wonder if I could get them to view the “book” differently. I already tell them it’s simply a tool for recording and reporting learning, but that still’s not enough to get past the wall of their conditioning. And it’s the damn percentage that creates the block.

I have tried for years now to manipulate it with no-counts, “ghost grades,” fewer points, etc., but it’s still there, and it still sticks. I thought maybe this year’s manipulation might have finally “mastered the mark” with a 1 for done, a .7 for “please revise,” and a 0 for missing, but I’m still not there and the percentage is. So, this, then, will be my next better.

Next semester, I will keep my 1, .7, and 0, but I am going to try to sell Skyward differently. Skyward is a gas tank.

Well, a learning tank. It’s a place we fill with learning experiences. It comes with a gauge, so you can check your learning levels at any time. It also comes with 24 hour service, allowing you to add to the tank at all hours of the day. It also comes with a recommendation of keeping your tank at 70% full for optimum performance (Remember, a .7 means they have gotten feedback–fuel–for the next learning experience–revision.)

Will it work? I don’t know. But I hope they come to see the “point” of the fuel to be the means to manage their learning tanks as they drive towards the end, where they get to select and support their grades, which is really the only time I want the “g-word” to enter the conversation.

I want the conversation to steer towards learning. I want them to think about filling their tanks. I want their parents to ask about their tanks, and I want them to share that it’s at F. Full of feedback.

Happy Thursday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

I expect it. I accept it. It seems as natural as taking attendance every day. It happens every year, every semester–without fail. The rush to get work in. I expect it. I accept it. It’s part of the learning process.

But, once upon a classroom, I didn’t so readily accept it. I expected it (no avoiding it), but I did not always accept it–in word or deed. In deed, I have responded by not accepting it at all to only accepting it with a penalty attached (makes me cringe now). In word, I have shamed with guilt kids who would play the late game for not respecting me or my time (beyond cringe). Ick.

But now, here in this space, I have found “better” in my acceptance of the rush. I have to accept it. No, it’s not convenient. At all. But it is not my convenience that matters. What matters is that there’s movement among my kids–they are finally pursuing their own better, and whether it’s early, on time, or late, I will not block them when they arrive. They are awake. They are moving, flooding my inbox. And while I wish it didn’t always take the end to stir some of my sleepers, I am not going to worry about my wishes. I am going to embrace the rush. It’s here. They are here. I am here. It’s as if it were the plan all along.

Happy Wednesday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.