“What is the difference between a teacher and an educator?”
-Nell Bielecki, MS Science Teacher, Michigan
Hmmm. Great question, Nell, about what–at times–might be a tricky, sticky topic.
On the surface, it’s simple. A teacher is in the classroom. An educator is in the profession (or anywhere not in the classroom).
But in my experience with this distinction, there is often more at play than what’s on the surface. There is a “versus,” a need to make a distinction of what is a teacher and why that matters.
Teachers matter. Much suggests they matter most–both empirically and anecdotally. Teachers matter. But they don’t matter alone. Enter the educator, the supporting cast without whom teachers could not fully function. From administrators to counselors to paras to subs (to the list goes on), they all serve and support kids. Kids: our common ground. Each makes an impact. Each matters. So, why, then, the distinction? Aren’t we all teachers? No, we’re not. We’re all educators. But we are not all teachers. There is a distinction.
Proximity. Teachers are those closest to kids. We have an opportunity unlike any. Connection. That’s the distinction that matters. Teachers are connected to kids.
And so, it seems a noble goal. Why would we want any less from ourselves for our students?
If we aren’t making masters, then what are we making?
Well, first, we ain’t making anything.
And second, “masters.” What does that even mean?
No, seriously.
Mastery. Do we really mean kids have mastered something? Forever? They’ve arrived, and they now have at their immediate disposal the necessary (blackbelt) knowledge and skills to kick academic ass?
To wit, the kid who got an A on the test on Friday (demonstrating mastery of targeted standards) but cannot produce the same results on Monday. Mastery? Or mystery?
How does this (and it does) happen? Maybe it’s more mystery than mastery.
Maybe mastery’s a myth.
When does one master teaching? One doesn’t.
So how do we get kids to master (way) too many standards?
“Why don’t more questions get asked about the practice of teaching? Such as: is there a better way? Such as: does it work/is it effective/does it transfer to learning?”
-Brendan Gill, Teacher, California
Thank you for posing this important question, Brendan.
Yes, there should be more questions about our practice. And I think the first question should be, “What is Teaching?”
Is it talking?
Is it assigning?
Is it grading?
Is it managing?
Yes. Yes. Yes. And yes.
But also, no.
No, that’s not enough…for learning.
For learning, there is more. There has to be more. We know this. But we, for various reasons (many of which are not ours alone), avoid this. ‘Cause there where we’d find it is messy: the inbetween, the messy middle where we meet kids–really where we meet ourselves, where we, I believe, define teaching.
Learning defines teaching. So, learners define teachers. And that happens in a place we don’t get to often enough in our practice: the feedback-response process (FRP).
Teaching is responding. Yes, we have to talk. Yes, we have to assign. Yes, we have to grade. Yes, we have to manage. But bigger YES, we have to respond. I tell my kids that I have not taught until I’ve responded to their work with feedback.
“Mandated curriculum and state standards aside, what content area knowledge is most valuable in a high school ELA classroom?“
-Anonymous
Most.
I don’t love superlatives. It’s why I choose better to best. I prefer ways over ends, and words like most and best seem to suggest ends. So, I avoid them. But, here we are, and since you asked, I will do my best better to respond.
To be fair, it’s a question worth asking, and I suppose it gets asked a lot, for we–at all levels of education–seem to want to have some clarity on such things. So we ask. And ask. And ask. And while an ask wants an answer, I am not sure we’ve found or will ever fully find the answer, for who decides definitively? And when we throw the words “most valuable” in the mix, a well-intended ask becomes a veritably impossible task.
And it becomes more messy when we confront the question, “Content or skills?” In my experience, the conversation often turns to content, and if we, as we are here, take the “state” out of it, then it becomes what do we read?
“As a math teacher, I am responsible for making placement recommendations for my students’ next math classes. I struggle between knowing that these placements can cause math anxiety and feelings of being “not smart enough,” but I also know that certain students are ready for these classes that offer more depth and challenges. I guess my question is: how do we make sure all students are getting what they need academically while also making sure other students aren’t feeling “othered” or left behind? Of course, if all teaching programs included courses on differentiation, this would be less of a struggle.”
“It is not my job to create win-lose situations in the classroom. That’s an unintended consequence of a system that lost sight–I believe–of its original noble goal: educate our youth.” –from better: A Teacher’s Journey (p. 343)
Next, an honest–but vexing–admission to your important question: We don’t.
We don’t avoid such things, as long…
As long as we continue our obligatory obedience to the institutional insistence that we rank, sort, and label kids.
I know that’s not the answer you wanted. Trust me, it’s not the answer I wanted to give, especially given my “saber-rattling” response in the opening.
So, is it just bluster, then?
Not necessarily, for I am speaking of something beyond the job. I am speaking of a sacred charge to help humans. And for that, we may, indeed, need to dare different and brave better.
Maybe instead of taking math to take more math, kids should take math to experience math for the sake of learning math.
Someday, maybe, we’ll see that learning (any content) is an experience.
What’s one interesting way you’ve seen a teacher use ChatGPT to support students?
-Andy Smith, Computer Science Teacher, Vermont
Well, damn, Andy. You just had to call me out, didn’t ya? First Daily 180! question, and I have no idea how to answer it. Well, that’s not exactly true, but it’s true enough insofar that of AI I am inexcusably ignorant. So, now that I have been exposed, in truth, I have not seen–at least firsthand–an interesting way a teacher has used ChatGPT to support students…yet (I will employ a growth mindset).
My ignorance is inexcusable. AI is everywhere, and ChatGPT’s been buzzing of late in the eduverse, but I haven’t stopped long enough to listen and learn. So, such a position requires action, else one’s ignorance goes beyond inexcusable.
My first action? A visit to my friends at Codebreaker to check out Byte.
In literal seconds, it had created an argumentative essay rubric and plot chart. And, just like that, I have been bitten by the buzz to be better, as I’ve begun to imagine ways my students and I might use this.
Thank you for the nudge with this very first question, Andy.
Welcome to the Daily 180! With Project 180 literally in the book(s), I am itching for something new to do, so I have created a new project for myself and my old friends 180 and better.
The Daily 180 will be a daily Q and A post where readers pose questions and I respond in exactly 180 words, creating a conversation of sorts for others to read on the daily.
Experimenting. Again. Well, ever. Ever experimenting with learning in the 180 classroom.
My latest experiment is an effort to better capture the interactions–the engagements–from the feedback/response process with my kiddos. I have made efforts here before, and I have reached “better” here before, but better never settles, never sits still. There’s always a better around the bend. Here’s my latest chase.
ASsessment
Assessment AS learning. This is a constant chase for me. As I have evolved over the years from OF to FOR and now to AS, I continue to learn and seek to better this desired learning reality in my classroom. But this, I have found, ain’t easy, for it–I believe-requires different thinking, different framing. So, as I think, I try to find the frame that fits me and my kids to better put into focus what we are trying to do. And with this latest experiment, I feel like I have edged ever closer.
Met. Not Yet. This was already in the frame. I already use the numerical indicators 1 and .7 for this purpose. A 1, as my kids know, is “done.” They met the standard(s). A .7 is an indication that learning is still on the table that there is feedback waiting for them to help them improve. My kids know that a .7 is an invitation–to keep learning. And while this has been a fine frame for our work, I wanted more–I wanted better.
Engagements
The goal all along has been to create a system built on initiating the feedback/response process with my kids. It’s where learning and teaching live. As I have said before, I most feel like a teacher when I am giving my kids feedback. So, I want to feel like a teacher all the time, and that is what drives how I seek to shape the learning–and teaching–experiences in my classroom. The interactions, the engagements (as I will now call them) are the key ingredient. It’s here where I meet kids in their learning; it’s here where I begin teaching; it’s here where growth happens. And, in my room, it’s all about growth.
Not Yet
AS learning goes, “Not Yet” is a step, not a stamp. In the “OF-learning” model, it is generally the latter, coming too late in the process, and too often it does not carry any “learn-forward” feedback. It’s a stamp. A distinction in labeling and sorting, not learning. Here, I expect to find nearly all of my kids AS “not yet” there. And that is where I meet them to help them because they are not yet where we are headed with the Learning Check (my name for assessments).
As I mention in the document, it is possible that some may not quite get there, so “not yet” is more real than ideal. In 26 years, I have never gotten all kids “there.” Not even close. So, I don’t overplay “there.” I “upplay” growth. That’s the goal. So, though not yet may still be a reality for some by the end, it doesn’t mean that they haven’t progressed, that the haven’t gotten closer, that they haven’t grown. They have. And now we will more intentionally capture that growth with the Response Record.
Factor of Five
I have informally practiced this for some time. In my work, I acknowledge and accept that we all have limits to our endurance. And within the feedback/response process fatigue is a factor–for both student and teacher. There are points of exhaustion, and as such, there are points of diminishing returns, so I set the limit at 5. Five engagements. We will engage up to five times with this Learning Check (more if kids choose). And growth will happen. It has to. I will hang my hat on that. The feedback/response process creates learning, fosters growth. That it guarantees. But it does not guarantee that all will meet the “desired end.” And that’s okay. It is. I no longer enter streets with dead ends. I look for paths where each will grow AS a matter of course.
Interventions
Yes, a feedback focus is a lot of work. But I think it is the work. It is the frame for learning. So, I have to find manageable frames for the interventions I provide during our engagements. Here’s my latest frame.
There is much I can anticipate about where I will likely meet my kids in their learning. So, I create a bank of anticipated interventions, which I am able to copy and paste, and this is a huge time saver. I keep them on a Google Doc that I make for that particular Learning Check. We expected this.
There is also much I can expect to generate, for I am always meeting my kids in places I did not expect, so as I meet them and come across common needs, I add my responses to the generated interventions list on the same Google Doc. We discovered this.
And then of course is the “each” I will meet, those who require a particular focus that fits them, and from here I build human, focused feedback when the general application doesn’t fit. This kid needed this.
Perfect? We have not yet met. Better? For now. Always better ahead. Thought I’d share my latest experiment. Out of time this morning. Hope you are all well.
My kids didn’t actually say this. They didn’t have to. I have learned to anticipate how they might respond to the work I put in front of them. So, as I was posting yet another “Analyzing Rhetorical Appeals in Advertising” practice tASK in Google Classroom, I imagined their voices, which prompted my going to the board to sort it out–for them, for me, for us.
I often find myself thinking on my board, trying to find the frame of things. Here, I wanted to frame–once again–the distinction between practice and performance in my room. I needed to first find it for myself, so I could frame it for my kids. Oh, it’s certainly not the first time I have done this; better is always about framing new findings from the Do-Reflect-Do Better cycle that is Project 180. My hope in such a cycle is to always find a better way to clarify our experience. So, this was the latest go.
Practice with Purpose
The purpose of practice in my room is to give the kids opportunity. It is here where I start them, give them direction, ask them to wade into the learning. At this point, unless they ask for support, it is a solo expedition. I never look at their practice. The agreement is completion from commitment, not compliance. So, it is never worth points. I trust they have committed. I have to. Otherwise, it’s compliance in disguise. I have to let them own it. And I tell them as much. And I have to remind them as much (they’ve had years of compliance conditioning before they get to me), so I remind them with discussions like this and the #MyRoomMessages and #DailyDiscssions I post each day.
Perform with Purpose
The purpose of performance in my room is support. This is where I formally and purposefully join my kids by responding to their work, giving them feedback for growth. It where the work becomes ours. It’s where I wade into teaching so we can swim around in the learning. The practice progresses into performance. It’s where the daily tASKs become learning checks (my name for assessments). And as the name suggests, we check their learning to activate my teaching. It is here where I become teacher. It is here in the feedback/response process where I feel I am performing my purpose as a teacher: supporting growth. And I tell my kids this. And I remind them of this. I am forever framing the experience.
Frames
Frames matter, especially for those of us who are braving better and daring different. It’s requisite. I discovered this as I began my own journey to better, which began with how I wanted to frame learning in my room, which led me to grappling with grading. And that is where Project 180 began: taking grades off the table, leaving only learning. I had to find a frame. And as I have moved through the years of Project 180, I find I am forever framing my work in and out of my room. And I am never more aware of this when I post on Twitter, and I realize how much depends on the frame, on the context.
I posted this yesterday morning as I was making my way through Year Four of the book, and I was reminded of a “cheating” aha I’d had that year. And, understandably, folks needed a frame, needed some context. So, I tried to frame what I meant by cheating, which took me to finding that framing is everything.
And I do think it’s all in how we frame it. But I also think it’s about discovering that we are always framing our work. We are forever framing. That’s the journey.
Happy Sunday, all. Sorry I have been MIA. Putting all my time and energy into finishing the book. Hope everyone is well. Happy New Year.
My kids and I sing this song every day. Fashioned after my hero Mr. Rogers’ famous song, we start our daily ritual of Smiles and Frowns with this tune. Even when I am gone, the kids sing the song and do Smiles and Frowns.
It is our no-matter-what ritual. It’s how we connect. There’s nothing more important in our day.
I have often gushed about Smiles and Frowns here and elsewhere, claiming it is the best decision I have ever made as a teacher, sharing the magic we’ve found in our moments together.
Earlier this week, we had such a moment during 3rd period.
I have had the honor of experiencing many such moments when kiddos share for the first time. If you were there, you’d think that maybe someone had won a grand prize, for there is truly an eruption–a moment of joy.
This particular young lady never even talks in class. She doesn’t even say, “pass,” during Smiles and Frowns. She just shakes her head, “no.” And I expected just that as we made our way around the room that day. In fact, I almost cut her off as I went to call on the next kiddo, when we heard loudly and clearly, “We got a new house.” And after a second of stunned silence, we made clear our excitement with a raucous cheer.
And then, we continued on as normal, not wanting to call too much attention to her as she blushed red from our over-the-top enthusiasm. Magic moments don’t need to play out for long; they just need to play out, and here, all that mattered was the moment, which will endure long in our memory. That’s the magic.
It was beautiful day for her. It was beautiful day for us. For the rest of the week, she passed with the shake of her head, and that’s okay. There’s a certain beauty in that, too, a certain comfort in the routine of our daily ritual.
