“It’s pretty heavy.”

“Okay. I can do heavy.”

But I didn’t know the weight, didn’t understand the gravity that would pull me into my chair, sinking my spirit into the depths of the void from which she pulled her story. I will not share it, but I will say that kids live from and through things they never should. And as they share their weight, we come to carry their despair. And it gets heavy. After twenty-two years, I carry much, and I manage, but I wavered beneath the load a bit yesterday, for it was heavy. And for a moment, it was too heavy. But she righted me with her resilience as she lightened the load some, speaking from strength I could not have imagined. Humbled, I re-shouldered what she shared, and stood tall for her, for all my kids past, present, and future. I stood and stand strong for them. I have to. I am a teacher.

“Sy, would you read, my description?”

“Sure, Matt. Lemme take a look.”

But as I began, I became the text. Matt was reading me. I could feel his bespectacled eyes weighing my reaction, searching for hints from my face as I read, looking for affirmation, fearing rejection. I was the open book, and in that moment I was the one who would write the story that mattered. Oh, Matt’s description was great, marvelous actually, but that is not what mattered then. It was my reaction that would make or break the moment. And I delivered. Nodding, smiling, and bumping Matt’s fist, sharing in his triumph, I provided the final satisfying line to our co-authored experience. And as he walked, beaming with pride, back to his desk, I felt another familiar weight on my seasoned shoulders. The weight of my power to build or destroy. Every moment of every day, I am analyzed and scrutinized. I live on a precipice where words and looks can teeter worlds. Worlds. Their worlds. That’s a lot to carry. And here I came into it thinking that I just had to deliver content. Turns out the job’s just a little bigger than that.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…jump into prepositional and appositive phrases.

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Wednesday, all. To all my teacher peeps, thanks for carrying the weight of their worlds. You are all super men and women.

Do. Reflect. Do Better. 

Yes. Yes. And yes. Success should not only be measured by the grade I hand out at the end of a term, for I am human, and I am fallible. Oh I think deeply and work conscientiously to measure each kid fairly, but even so, learning is too complex, the job too big to know with unwavering certainty if the label I place on a kid is one-hundred percent valid and reliable. And so, I cannot claim to-do right by each kid with a mark, for I believe it is impossible to fully measure the essence of learning. I may be right, but I may be wrong. And in a world where labels are believed to measure success, I wield a terrible power that goes beyond the limits of my human capacity. With a stroke of a pen on the page or the tap of a key on the board, I have a power to set a kid’s day, a kid’s year, and in a sense, a kid’s life.

I see it every day. Kids judge their own self-worth by the mark I put on their work, and as a result, we have created a system of false idols and hope. And by the time kids reach me in high school they have been so deeply conditioned to respond to those marks, they can hardly function in an environment where those marks are de-emphasized. Of course, I blame not them. They have been subjected to years of psychological stimuli in the form of grades, and so they cannot help it. And as such, it may well be that I cannot change it now, but I am bold–dumb–enough to try.

Not everybody gets what I am trying to do with Project 180, my journey to flip education on its back. Some think I am crazy. Some think I am ruining kids’ lives. But then there are others who do seem to believe in what I am doing. But is not for them. It is for my kids. It is about transforming their experiences in such a way that I place them at the center of what I am doing. And that takes a different approach, an approach that is foreign in many ways to what they have experienced in the past, for it runs counter to what’s always been done. But I believe that’s all the more reason to do it.

I waste time each day. I spend five minutes at the beginning of each period with Smiles and Frowns. I chant Mindset Mantras with the kids. And I share a Sappy Sy Rhyme at the end of each period, a last chance to let my kids know they matter before they leave me for the day. These all take time. Sometimes, like last Friday, I waste even more time, taking kids through an activity to help them think about and address their stress by “putting down the glass.” They could have used the fifteen minutes to work on their essays. And then there’s the hour a month I waste with Community Circle.  Yep. I waste a lot of time, so much that I hope admin doesn’t catch wind, else they will find me guilty of malpractice, of slowing down the proficiency and output in my corner of the factory.

But they have caught wind. In fact, the superintendent, the assistant superintendent, and the principal happened by during the “put-down-the-glass” activity. They saw me wasting time. They wasted it with me as they joined in, joined in helping me let kids know they matter. And if it takes wasting time to make that happen, then I will be labeled head time-waster, for nothing I teach matters more than those whom I teach. That’s what matters–now and later. And that tops my agenda each day. Kids can’t matter some of the time. They have to matter all of the time.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…finish up and turn in narrative essays.

…reflect in Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Monday, all. Thank you, Amy Fast, for your words. They matter. You matter.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

In their silence I discover worlds. In Kailey’s silence I imagine beautiful inspiration as her fingers click-clack across the keyboard, words materializing on the screen, her life rising out of her, a summit of sentences whose beauty is masked by the black of their tracks, waiting to reveal color beyond bonds. In Elijah’s silence I fear the dark desperation hidden behind the blank illuminated screen that belies his deep empty well, bereft of beauty, absent of color, his words unable to break beyond the barrier of black. And, too, there is the silence of all, unique worlds cloaked in wonder, hidden in worry, and I am left to find sense in their sounds of silence.

But these moments are few in room 211. Silence is a rare commodity in the busy bustle of the 180 classroom, where learning is messy and noisy, both natural by-products of engaged kids. And so, it is the silence that strikes. And when it does, I am both found and lost, for it means all and nothing at once. This week there have been many such moments, moments that lack clarity as I am still learning my kids, and I am left to wonder–and worry–about my Kaileys and Elijahs. And my worry and wonder grow precipitously with each new sentence that reveals the story behind the kids in my seats, the kids who have triumphed, the kids who have failed, their lives now mine as I weigh their words, as I total their tales. And like that, I am transported into worlds where I am both blessed and cursed to carry the beauty of their success and the burden of their failure. This is teaching. It is not simply a fifty-five minute transaction in the static setting of four classroom walls. It is a lifelong connection to worlds across a dynamic divide drawn together by words often found in silence. Their silence. And in their silence, I hear, I learn, I live. And I respond.

This week from their muted mouths, I heard. I heard their stress, and I responded. Because I can. As I have said before, the difference between possible and impossible in the classroom is almost always the choice of the teacher. So I choose possible. The kids need more time on their essays, so I am giving them more time. Their silence as they have worked diligently all week screamed it, and how can I not hear, how can I not listen, how can I not respond? I work really hard to keep stress to a minimum in room 211, even to the point of gently admonishing kids for displaying signs of stress about my class. “No stress,” I tell them. But of course, my power is limited, for I cannot alleviate the stress that they experience outside my walls. But I wish I could. And I would because kids are too stressed, and as an adult who doesn’t always deal with and knows the dangers of his own stress, I am deeply concerned by the amount of stress our kids carry. And so, I do what I can to help. And sometimes, I even try to help beyond my four walls.

This morning, I came across this post in the Twiterverse, and it inspired me to do an activity with my kids.

I am going to head to the store this morning to purchase cups and gallons of water. I am going to give each kid a cup and ask him/her to write his/her name on it. I will then pass the gallon jugs around the room, asking each to pour some water into her/his. I will then share and read the Twitter post. I will finally ask each kid to walk up and place his/her cup on the table that I have put in front of the room. I will leave the cups there all day, so all of my classes can see the power of putting down the glass.

Undoubtedly, some kids will find it corny, but I know that with some it will resonate deeply in discovering that they are not alone and that they can take some control of their stress. It may not help all my kids, but if it helps some speak their silence, then it’s all worth it.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…put the glass down.

…move our writing farther down the path towards “due.”

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Friday, all. Hope you can put the glass down today. You deserve it.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

Nearly ten years ago now I was lucky enough to attend two of Kelly Gallagher’s writing seminars here in Spokane. I even got the opportunity to introduce him at the second one, which was put on by WSASCD–not every day that someone gets the honor of introducing his hero.

I learned a lot from Kelly in those two days, but of all that I learned, two things in particular stick out. One, “everybody improves.” Two, “writing is never done; it’s only due.” And while these did immediately resonate with me and impact my practice as a teacher of writers, it has taken years for me to arrive at a place where I feel like I can truly foster and support these notions, and it is largely due to my de-emphasizing grades.  It has given me the freedom to focus on learning, to focus on writing in a way that puts process over product, a way that emphasizes growth, not grades.

And so it is with this in mind that I have approached writing this year. And with this first essay I am perpetuating the “due-not-done” process in both deed and name. I am no longer going to call final drafts, “final drafts.” I am going to call them “due drafts.” Along with that, I also try to change the mindsets of my young writers by sharing the following.

Our writing is not a home in which we dwell; it is a vehicle in which we move. It is a construct. It is a creation. And as such, it is an investment. And that investment places heavy demands on us, both intellectually and emotionally, giving it a personal quality that transcends much of the work we do in school. But it is only a construct, only a creation in the end. It is only writing, not the writer. Not us. It is a temporary vessel, a skin we shed as we learn and grow from each piece we write–a metamorphosis. We write. We learn. We grow.

In the end, I tell them, that their writing doesn’t matter; they, the writers, matter. And so I seek to prove that in deed. I am asking them to do their best until its due. At which time, I will give them feedback on what they have submitted. They will hit, and they will miss. That’s the nature of learning. But, hit or miss, they will not remain, for they have outgrown their latest shell, and they will move on to their next experience better than they began the last. Of course, it will take some time for the kids to adjust and trust. Despite my reassurances, many still find and feel it to be a final draft deadline, but I hope as the cycle spins, kids come to trust in the process, kids come to look beyond the deadline, kids come to look within to find what really matters. Them. The writers.

Here are my requirements for and my example of a “Due Draft.”

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns

…move our writing down the path.

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Thursday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

Morning, all. No post today. Life got in the way. Sorry. Be back at it tomorrow.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…move our narrative essays down the path.

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Ryhme.

Happy Wednesday.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

Our writing is not a home in which we dwell; it is a vehicle in which we move. It is a construct. It is a creation. And as such, it is an investment. And that investment places heavy demands on us, both intellectually and emotionally, giving it a personal quality that transcends much of the work we do in school. But it is only a construct, only a creation in the end. It is only writing, not the writer. Not us. It is a temporary vessel, a skin we shed as we learn and grow from each piece we write–a metamorphosis. We write. We learn. We grow.

I am not certain I successfully secured this notion in the minds and hearts of my young writers yesterday. Initially, it was my response to their wide-eyed, stress-induced reactions of learning that I put the narrative essay on the fast track, making it due Monday. I wanted them to understand that I was not looking for a masterpiece. How dare I, were that so? Yet, I think that’s the message, the banner we wave, when we present kids with writing experiences in school. We tend to present the expectation that the only success to be found in the experience is from creating a perfect paper. Perfect. As if. How long does it take to arrive at perfection? How many failed attempts? Is perfect even possible? I write nearly every day. And even in my practiced state, I rarely move toward, much less achieve, the gold standard. Some of my posts are hits. Many are misses. But, hit or miss, I learn and I grow from each and every one. And that’s what I want for my kids, but it is hard for them to see, to understand, to trust. And it is particularly challenging when writing is only 2/5 of our time together. We have to put into perspective what it really takes to become an effective writer and approach it in a way that not only challenges but more importantly supports our young writers. And so, I will continue to work with them, to build trust. In the end, all that I care about is that they grow. All I care about is them. I don’t care about the writing. I care about the writer.

So, today, I will roll up my shirt sleeves and dig into the work with them, helping them grow as writers, getting them ready for the next transport as we move through our year of not simply creating writing, but growing writers.

My writers will consider these questions today as they move forward, questions that stem from our Andrew Stanton TedTalk yesterday.

Am I conveying my message?

Have I made the reader care? (emotionally, intellectually, aesthetically) 

Have I made the reader work for his meal? (Stanton suggests that we should give our audience 2+2 to work with instead of 4.)

Am I providing a compelling narrative frame that connects ideas and creates anticipation?

These are challenging questions for kids who generally write one narrative a year. These are challenging questions for writers like Stanton who have written several blockbuster movies for Pixar. Writing is challenging. And like anything that is, there is fantastic fulfillment when we achieve success. But how measure that success is important. I measure it in terms of progress. Is there really any other way to do it fairly in my context? Writers writing. Writers learning. Writers growing. Writers. I care about nothing else.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…push ourselves as writers.

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Tuesday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

We are bound by words. We are connected by sentences. We live on pages. We exist in stories. In my classroom, from Smiles and Frowns to Community Circle to Mindset Mantras to Journey Journals to Sappy Sy Rhymes, we are woven together by the threads of our words, the fabric of our stories. It is how we connect. And then, too, there are those more formal times when we write to discover ourselves and others through the words we find as we search inward to better understand outward.

To that end, we are in the midst of such discovery as we unearth the truths discovered in our own experiences in our narrative essays.

Prompt: In a narrative essay, reveal a truth that you have discovered about the human experience from one of your own life experiences.

To date, the kids have completed a first draft and have gotten feedback on their introductions. From here, we will now work on the organization and development of their essays. For that, there is a copy of the handout that I will give them below. But before we get there, I will share a TedTalk “The Clues to a Great Story” by Andrew Stanton, Toy Story and Wall-E writer. (The Clues to a Great Story) A word of caution, there is a graphic joke in the first minute that I will not share with the kids, but the rest is great. After that, I will then share and read my next draft of my essay, also below.

My goal here is to get the kids to rethink writing a bit. They are so accustomed to the five-paragraph-essay approach that they have a hard time doing differently. They always ask me how long a paragraph has to be. For years they have been taught that it has to be a certain or minimum number of sentences. I get this to a degree. Kids generally do not write enough to achieve a critical mass, so the minimum-requirement approach can be helpful, but it can also be detrimental as kids worry more about quantity than quality, or they believe, rather, that meeting quantity requirements equals quality achievement. So, I strive to get them to think instead about purpose, encouraging them to set out with the idea of achieving a particular purpose with each paragraph, fretting not about length. For the narrative essay, I am asking them to write in three modes: narration, exposition, and reflection. In my essay below, I have color-coded my paragraphs by mode, so the kids can see a model.

For this essay, though there will be a final product, I am mostly concerned about process, and in the end, I will only assess introductions for purpose/focus and the body for organization and development of purpose paragraphs. Later, they will have an opportunity to take it to the final publishing stage if they want, but for now, it is a vehicle for process.

By some luck, I was able to secure the Chromebooks all week, so I have changed our plans a bit, and the essay will be “due” on Monday. I am eager to move on to our next writing opportunity with description, so we are going to. That said, I will be busy conferring with kids all week as we move their writing. As such, it will be an exhausting but fulfilling week. Can’t wait to walk with my kids through their stories, connecting with them, bonding with them. We live in words.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…work on our narrative essays.

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme

Happy Monday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better. 

“Okay, gang. Here’s some optional sentence practice for tomorrow’s performance. I am encouraging you to write and label fifteen sentences: five simple, five compound, and five complex. But, you need to make a big kid decision as to how many you’re going to do based on your confidence level. If you feel confident with the simple sentences, don’t do them. If you’re not very confident, do them and get some feedback from me. You decide.”

After Smiles and Frowns yesterday, this is how I opened each period. And despite leading early with the word “optional” and ending with the words “you decide,” every period–with no exception–someone raised a hand asking, “So, do we have to write all fifteen?” Kids. Love ’em, but by gosh they drive me crazy sometimes. I have a beautiful voice, so I am always dumbfounded by the fact that there could possibly be anyone out there among them who did not hang on every word of my eloquent explanations. Kidding. Really, it’s just job security. If not for the fact that I have to repeat myself, I may be out of a job. So, I repeat myself, and oh man, who knows how many times I have had the pleasure over the last twenty-two years. Regardless, I repeat. It’s what I do. I am a teacher. But there’s more at work here than kids not listening.

“Option” goes against the grain. It runs counter to years of conditioning in a carrot-and-stick system where few if any options have existed before. They are not accustomed to making decisions. They expect me to do that for them. That’s the nature of their existence, so when faced with the opportunity, it feels foreign to them, and it becomes more a matter of trust than poor listening. They don’t trust me…yet. But they will, and so I do not take it personally. We are out here in uncharted territory. But some day, they will believe, will trust that optional means optional. Of course, I am also weaving a web here, for with choice comes responsibility. Today, on the performance, they will learn if they made a good big kid decision. But I have options for that to: retakes. They always have the option of retakes. Always, another word that’s taking some getting used to.

“Can we use our resources on the performance?” Always. Another word I oft repeat as kids are getting used to me and my odd ways.

“Always. You may always use resources.”

That’s the point. Resources are meant to be used, not tucked away in a binder, out of sight, lest they help kids “cheat” on an assessment. I provide and encourage resources, for I can think of few occasions in the “real world” where we don’t use resources: mechanics use manuals, doctors rely on second opinions, cooks use recipes, cashiers use cheat sheets for produce codes, and the list goes on. So, in room 211, we use resources. Ironically, it is often the teachers who would never allow resources on a test who are also the very same ones who use the “real world” to scare kids and justify their own not-really-of-this-world practices. I am not interested in the learn-it-and-leave-it model, the learn-it-for-test approach. I am interested in learning. And I think there are better approaches than what we have relied on for years. But that is a hard trend to buck, and as such, as with “optional practice,” the kids have a hard time trusting me when I say, “Always.” But I hope at some point I earn that trust, and they come to believe that optional means optional and always means always. Always.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

...begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…take the sentence performance.

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Thursday, all. End of the week for the kids. Tomorrow I get to sit in meetings with adults all day. I will miss the kids.

Just another day on the 180 trail. No attempts to be inspirational. Nothing to share that’s practical. Just an otherwise ho-hum October day. Many kids will be taking the PSAT this morning. Those who aren’t will complete a sentence review for a performance tomorrow. In addition, they will have a chance to clear their trails of some clutter, getting late assignments completed, etc. I will use the time to continue my efforts to get less behind. Never ahead. Just less behind.

Hard to believe that we have already reached the 1/6 mark in our journey. So proud of where I have gotten so far with my kids. They are adjusting to my grading practices, and they are becoming more comfortable with the practice-feedback-performance cycle. They are also settling into having greater ownership and responsibility over their learning. Yesterday, after spending ample time thinking about, planning, and then beginning his epic poem, Dylan informed me that he made a decision, actually three, but I only vaguely remember all that he said, for he had me at, “I made a decision.” He kept talking, and I remember bits, but admittedly I was lost, transfixed in euphoric excitement over his taking control of the direction of his Passion Paper, sharing with me that he was ditching his epic poem for something steam punk related (I was only half listening, remember). Regardless, he changed his Passion Paper. His Passion Paper. Not mine. Decision on, Dylan. Decision on.

And so, we will continue down our path, one day at a time, one decision at a time. And, as we do, it is my earnest hope that others make the same discovery as Dylan, the discovery that they, not only I, have the freedom, have the power to decide. Of course, I believe it helps when we can create a culture where kids truly can make that discovery. Where kids are not afraid to do. Where kids are inclined to reflect. Where kids are determined to do better.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…review for the sentence performance.

…clear some clutter from our paths.

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Wednesday, all. Hope to make it all day today. Went home sick yesterday. Feel less awful today.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.