There’s a place between. Sometimes it’s easy to find. Sometimes–the saddest times–it’s never found. Most times it’s in the middle. Other times it’s closer to one edge than the other. But there, somewhere between, we come together. We have to, else our work’s for naught. Teaching becomes teaching when learning becomes learning, each side gives meaning to the other there in the between, where comes to life learning, a symbiotic organism mutually dependent on the sides which meet. There, between.

Two questions hold me. What is teaching? What is learning? I mean, really, what are they? Yes, I know there are plenty of answers out there. But it’s that there are plenty of answers–some of them even for sale–which gives me pause. And while some claim the corner, I am wary of corners, leery of ends, for those places are distant, insular. They are too far removed from the between. So, I tend to the center of the room where things are not so isolated, not so certain. And there where I stand in the middle, I find my kids in as many spots as there are individuals, each place a different truth, a circle with no corners, a place with no ends, only meeting points. There, between.

Today, I will seek the between with my young writers as I try to meet them in middle as we talk about their writing. And, I will have company. I have my first formal observation of the year, roughly my fiftieth time in my twenty-four years to “prove” I can teach. As I considered my observation this year and what I would do to prove, I found myself considering the between, for it is the only time I really feel like I am teaching. I don’t feel like it when I am talking (used to–oh boy! did I used to think that talking was teaching, and so I talked and talked and talked). And I don’t feel like it when the kids are silently working. Those are ends in their own ways, broadening the between. I feel like I am teaching when I am sitting with kids, talking with kids, giving feedback to kids. So, that is what I will do today. The kids determine if I am teaching, for teaching–to me, at least–is responding. So in essence, I wait for them to bring me to life. There, between.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will experience…

…connecting through Smiles and Frowns.

…growing with grammar.

…getting feedback on our writing.

…reflecting in our Journey Journals.

…hearing a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Thursday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

I knew. They knew. We knew. They hadn’t read the story in preparation for yesterday’s activity. Of course, this is not a new phenomenon in the ELA classroom, even before “technology,” kids didn’t read. Yes, many do, but many don’t as well. It’s a longstanding tradition. And as such, at least in my experience, it puts an elephant in the room, and we can either fight it, ignore it, or accept it.

For years, I fought it with threats of grades, but now that grades are no longer a weapon or a tool, I have lost my “fight,” which has been reduced to sometimes more impassioned than impactful pep talks about the importance of reading, as I “wah, wah, wah” to my kids.

For a time–too long, in truth–I ignored it. I met apathy with apathy. And though it did not sit comfortably on my English teacher shoulder, my fight was gone. I wasn’t even sure I believed my “wah, wah” anymore.

At last–right or wrong (see “Somewhere Between” from yesterday http://www.letschangeeducation.com/somewhere-between-project-180-day-33/)–I have come to accept the reality that no matter what I do, some kids won’t read–even “good kids.” In fact, many “good kids” are really just “good” at the game, and “reading it” really means (from their mouths) “I started the book, but I ran out of time and I read the Cliff’s or Sparknotes, so I wouldn’t fail the test.”

Do I want the kids to read everything I put in front of them? Of course I do. Do I try to pick things that are relevant? Of course I do. Do I try to inspire them to dig into the marrow of life that they’ll find in literature? Of course I do. Do they then all read? Of course they don’t.

Yesterday, for the first–and not the last–time this year, I addressed the elephant in the room. I let kids know that I knew. I knew some had not read. I knew some had not finished. I let them know I knew, and I also let them know I was mildly disappointed, but more, I let them know that I had no desire to make believe with them. Some didn’t read. Some will never read. It’s what it is. It’s what it’s been. It’s what it will be. Pretending doesn’t make it so. So I asked them not to pretend. I asked them to own it.

Here’s how it played out. The planned activity was a “silent discussion” on Amy Tan’s short story, “Two Kinds.” The room was arranged into seven table groups. At each table there was a sheet of butcher paper with a question in the middle. The kids had a minute-and-a-half to silently write a response before rotating around the room, getting to each table before returning to their own.

Wondering and worrying what they would look like for my kids who did not read or finish and not wanting them to fake it, I provided an alternate set of questions, so they could participate and contribute. Of course, we couldn’t perfectly match question for question, but my student teacher came up with five general questions in the context of the story which dealt with parent-child relationships. So, for example, instead of asking how Jing-mei and her mother were similar and different, we asked kids how they were similar and different to their own parents. Again, not the perfect match but an opportunity. I offered a window, instead of a door. We asked the kids who did not read or finish to code their responses DNR (did not read) or DNF (did not finish). And we also asked them to sign their names, just as the “readers” did. We asked them to own it. And they did.

At the end, wondering how they felt about my accepting the elephant, I asked them if I was a fool for my approach. Most said, no and that they appreciated the “grace” and my being “real.” A few, however, suggested that I was maybe a little foolish in letting the DNR’s and the DNF’s know that it was okay, that I had just invited them to not read in the future. Not to read in the future. And while there is wisdom in the honesty of my little humans, and I may indeed have perpetuated what they claimed, I think it’s a little less-simple than that. For who created the DNR’s in the past? And how did they do it? Fighting it, ignoring it? More, who created my present reality with DNR’s? Were all my kids faithful readers when they walked in my door this fall? Or were the DNR’s already DNR’s? Seems a complicated set of questions to a simple reality: kids aren’t reading.

At present, my response to this reality is to accept and work with the elephant. He’s there. Always has been. I can no longer fight or ignore him, so I accept him. Just being honest.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will experience…

…connecting through Smiles and Frowns.

…growing with grammar.

…wrapping up intros and beginning the bodies of our personal narratives.

…reflecting in our Journey Journals.

…hearing a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Wednesday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

Sometimes I worry, if there is such a place, and the ed fundamentalists have their way, I am probably going to Teacher Hell. And while my sins have added up over the years (especially lately), they’ve always been from a place of good intentions.

And I had those same good intentions in mind yesterday as I sat down to begin brokering a deal with the devil between two of my students and me. But something had to give–even if it means eternal damnation.

They aren’t doing the work. They haven’t done the work (likely for years). They won’t do the work. Oh, they’re pleasant enough about it, but they’re only pushing the work around their plates, taking cautionary, only-when-Sy-is-looking bites–and even then, they are nibbles at best. And changing the menu doesn’t seem to matter. Something had to be done. Can’t have kids starving at the table. So, I asked them to bring their own meals to the table.

“Okay, guys, this isn’t working. I know it. You know it.

Sheepish shrugs from them.

“So, I think we need to find a middle, somewhere that will work for both of us. I won’t bullshit you and tell this stuff is essential to your futures. It is unlikely you will sit around reading literature looking for themes when you leave school. I won’t do that. But I will shoot you straight and tell you that your ability to access and deliver information will have some impact on future opportunities. So, let’s find somewhere in between. At this point, I don’t really care what you read or write as long as you are growing as readers and writers. Please go home tonight and think about where we can find a suitable medium.”

They nodded. I collected their stared-at, pushed-around, basically-untouched Learning Checks. And the period ended.

Just make ’em do it. Sorry, can’t. Quit the compliance model some time ago. Might have been the first step in my descent to the nether. I am interested only in their commitment, not their compliance.

What about the other kids? You mean the other kids who are doing and benefiting from the work for their own future opportunities? I am talking about these two kids who are doing nothing. Pretty sure the other kids don’t really care. And if I needed to, I would meet them somewhere in between, too.

But they’re not getting the same education as all the other kids. No, they aren’t–with or without my deal. Maybe the notion that they all have to have the same education, in the same way, at the same time is the problem. Maybe the common, just-give-them-more-of-the-same response in ed is what has failed kids who need something beyond our pat response to deficiency. Some, here, might even suggest they need another language arts class to get them caught up. Not buying it.

So, today, as my feet feel, but not fear, the fire from below, I will touch base with these two as we work to find somewhere between. And if that’s damnable, then I will accept my fate. I already have.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will experience…

…connecting through Smiles and Frowns.

…growing with grammar.

…engaging in a silent-discussion activity with “Two Kinds”

…reflecting in our Journey Journals.

…hearing a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Tuesday, all. Sorry if my post was a little feisty this morning. Sometimes, to change things, we have to get a little edgy.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

Not much on my mind this Monday morning . Eager to be back with my kids after my absence on Friday. It was nice to have a three-day weekend. Feel much more rested and ready to go than I do after a two-day weekend. Wish we could make the three-day happen more for all of us. It makes Monday much more manageable.

But, I’m gonna keep it short this morning. I have lots of prep for our days ahead. Really excited to begin Part Two of our Wisdom Writers Project this week. The kids will start writing the “diary section” of their narratives. Can’t wait to see how it all comes together on this inaugural edition.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will experience…

…reconnecting through Smiles and Frowns.

…checking our learning (Learning Check #5, “By Any Other Name”)

…reflecting in our Journey Journals.

…hearing a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Monday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

“Sy, what do I have to do to get on to your blog?”

“Well, Simone, it looks like you just have to wear a Minecraft costume.”

It’s spirit week at CHS for Homecoming. Yesterday, Simone wore her awesome Minecraft outfit. But even “awesomer” is her typing in the position you see her in the photo for the entire period. She couldn’t see well enough through her mask, so she had to hold her Chromebook as you see it and type with one finger. Of course, we all encouraged her to “just take off your mask.” But she stubbornly resisted and entertained us with her spirited antics. And it is that very spirit, which she brings to class every day, that makes us love her so. Thank you, Simone, for your spirit. We dig it.

Day away for me. I have an appointment, so I won’t be at school. Have a great weekend, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

As I have written before, little satisfies me more than working with my writers. And as I have written before, nothing stretches me more than working with my writers. It is the most gratifying but demanding thing I do.

Of course, the work is more than getting kids to put pen to paper. It also involves getting kids to think about writing differently. It’s hard for them to learn and hard for me to teach that which they find little value in. And when they find little value in something so hard, it creates dispositions that get in the way of our work. So, I address those dispositions.

Oh, not all my kids hate writing. In fact, some love it. More like it. Some are neutral. Many hate it. Too many. And like a lot of things in school, they learned their dispositions from us. Well, mostly from us. We can’t shoulder all the blame, I suppose. But we have to own our share, for it is here in the hallowed halls of our institution where we have created largely artificial, transactional experiences for kids, and when they experience such inauthenticity year after year, they wisen to the game, and many simply learn to game the game, or they just won’t play it anymore.

So, with this reality in my face each year, I try to find ways to get kids to think about and experience writing differently. Yesterday, I made an effort to get kids to see it in its simplest form, and to check their most important asset–their attitude. They do or do not by their belief.

I suppose some see it as a cheap, cheesy sell, and I imagine some of my kids saw it as such, but I believe in belief; I believe in them. And if I continue to talk and walk that, maybe–just maybe–they will buy what I am selling. I haven’t always believed in the things I have sold over the years, and I am sorry now that I even tried, but I do believe in this. I just hope my kids come to believe it, too.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will experience…

…connecting through Smiles and Frowns.

…writing as an art, writing as way of being.

…reflecting in our Journey Journals.

…hearing a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Thursday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

Are you Magic School Bus kids?

“YES!” resonated ’round the room. They loved the Ms. Frizzle and the Magic School Bus when they were kids.

And why wouldn’t they? Ms. Frizzle and the gang did some pretty out-of-this-world things together. And though I could never give my kids what Ms. Frizzle did, I want to. I want to.

Yesterday, that desire welled up and found its way out. And I tweeted this from the Starbuck’s parking lot.

Some day maybe we will break beyond the mundane existence of the institution of education, and we’ll find a bigger better–we’ll find the missing magic of what could be, of what should be.

Some day.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will experience…

…connecting through Smiles and Frowns.

…making first impressions in our writing as we begin our introductions.

…reflecting in our Journey Journals.

…hearing a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Wednesday, all. Hope you find some magic beyond today.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

As I venture further into the year with my feedback-only approach, I am trying to find and refine better ways to deliver feedback to my kids. Having recently written feedback on my kids’ latest Learning Checks, which focused on identifying, stating, and supporting theme, I decided to give them a “key” to help explain some of my common comments.

Of course, I believe the ideal approach is always a conversation, but the “real” of the situation is that there’s just simply not enough time. So, until I can get around to them, I want them to know a bit more about what my comments mean as they attempt to complete their Response to Feedback (RTF) forms, completing the Learning Check (LC) process. Here’s the RTF we used for our latest LC.

I recognize that I could simplify and make more efficient the process with codes, etc. But part of me believes feedback has to have a bit of a human feel to it. Maybe I am being old-fashioned, but I feel the need to consider and speak to my audience (each kid) on the other side of my comments, which inevitably makes the process slower. But does it make it better? I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not? Part of the deal is I am not only helping them meet the standards but I am also helping them write their chapters for their Learning Stories, so I feel like I have to give them more “material” than codes to help them capture their journeys. I feel like codes are kind of a fast-food meal, and I want to give my kids some home-cooking every once in a while.

I imagine, as with most things, there’s a middle ground to be found between the efficient and the human, so I will keep seeking that sweet spot as I feed my hungry little humans along our journey this year.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will experience…

…connecting through Smiles and Frowns.

…considering the “what, so what, now what” of our latest text.

…sharing our name histories.

…reflecting in our Journey Journals.

…hearing a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Tuesday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

Long list. Short post. Too much left to do on a Monday morning. Despite trying to catch up this weekend, I only managed to get a little less-behind. So, I am going to neglect my duties here a bit so I can get a few loose ends tied up before school. Sorry.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will experience…

…reconnecting through Smiles and Frowns.

…growing with grammar.

…responding to feedback from the latest Learning Check.

…discussing last week’s Text of the Week.

…reflecting in our Journey Journals.

…hearing a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Sorry for the lame post, all. Happy Monday.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

We often see it before they say it. And more often, they never say it, so what we see is enough. Kids face things they shouldn’t have to, things they did not choose, things they cannot escape. And even though we’d like to live in a world where every kid shows up ready–academically, socially, emotionally–that’s not the world we live in, and just because they walk through our doors, it doesn’t mean they can leave their world behind. Their world follows them, wherever they go.

Yesterday, she entered with her world on her shoulders. I saw. She shared some of it during Smiles and Frowns. I heard. And so, when she hid away in one of her drawings for the rest of the period, I understood. There where she hid, I did not know how to help her. I think we both knew this, so we agreed tacitly that she knew best what she needed in the moment. And in our shared understanding, we each made our way. Sometimes, even in the classroom, that’s all we can do for each other. Sometimes, we just have to acknowledge the weight of the world we all carry, and in that, we may all find that we are not alone. That others see. That others hear. That others understand.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will experience…

…connecting through Smiles and Frowns.

…growing with grammar.

…struggling (productively) with our ideas for our narrative essays.

…reflecting in our Journey Journals.

…hearing a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Friday, all. May the weight of your world be less heavy today. Have a great weekend.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.