Been feeling a little grumpy lately. Started to take personally kids’ not making the most of their time during independent work time. Didn’t like feeling this way. Monday, it came to a head, and I had to find a “different,” had to find a better. So, yesterday morning I came up with this idea.
Decided to share it on Twitter, for I know I am not alone, and I want others to know that they are not alone either.
It’s a delicate thing, giving kids ownership, for it requires letting go, and that is not always easy, but if we don’t let go, they know, and they then do not trust our words. For me–really, for them–it is not enough to speak the words. My deeds have to match. My walk has to match my talk. When I say, “You are responsible for your learning,” I have to give them responsibility. So, yesterday, I let go. For them. For me. I could not stay in my place of grumpiness, and I had to own, as I mentioned in the Twitter thread above, the culture I have created for my kids. I can’t give them freedom all year long, and then bluster at their taking liberty. I had to level with them, not “level them,” as if it’s their fault.
So, we talked. And as we did, I emphasized, as I have done all year, that I am interested not in their compliance but their commitment, and that I was coming from that place, a place of encouraging commitment. Not sure, I can genuinely come from any other place. I can play–have played–the heavy, but that is not me. As I have remarked in the past, getting kids to comply is no great thing. And though I haven’t worked out all the wrinkles in this commitment cloak I wear, it fits me. It’s who I am. I can’t, I won’t hide from that. And even though it seems a return to the old ways might be the answer in tougher times, I shrug off such thoughts and venture ahead, believing better is out there, which in the end may prove that I was only a wandering fool, chasing the glitter of better.
Today’s Trail
Along today’s trail we will experience…
…connecting through Smiles and Frowns.
…drafting our first “This Is Me” piece.
…incorporating “tricks of the trade” into our writing.
I tried. Really, I did. Still trying. Sitting here staring at the screen hoping something will come across the radar for me to write about this morning. But the screen is just staring back. No blips on the radar.
Doesn’t happen very often. But, when it does, it’s confounding.
I thought about “D’s” response to my question, “What’s been a significant year for you, ‘D’?” (Kids are working on their cross-sections of their “trees,” examining their growth rings.)
“This year, Sy. Got my boots on the ground. Getting things done. Way better than last year.”
“Boots on the ground. Love that, ‘D’.”
Thought about “B” whose eyes came alive yesterday. He rarely does anything, but something about yesterday’s “growth ring” activity brought him to life–maybe more commitment from him yesterday than all year combined. How do I capture that? What was the difference? Wonder if I should ask him? Wonder if he could tell me? Wonder how much of it’s luck v. approach when it comes to student commitment? Wonder if it has to happen this way–in its own time and way?
I thought about “T” not sharing once during Smiles and Frowns this year. Not once. Her “share” is only and ever a quiet, respectful, “pass.” Oh we have talked about it. And I am more than okay with her passing, and she even gave me a lovely card thanking me for respecting her right to pass. Yesterday, I wondered if it might not be better to just skip over her as we go around the room, instead of “making” her say pass every day–because we know she is going to pass every day. But then that closes the door, for every day when it comes to her, I think–just for a moment–today might be the day. Just in case, I want to leave that door open. And I think there’s still value in our recognizing her every day, and allowing–respecting–her right to pass. More, I have committed to saying every kid’s name at least once every day this year, and at the very least, I get to do that.
I thought about all my kids and colleagues at CHS who had to deal with our losing one of our students to a car accident over the weekend as we all have dealt with hard reality of loss, all processing and grieving in our own ways.
I thought about spying “C” walking past my window during 3rd, tapping on my window to get his attention. He’s one I worry and wonder about a lot. And after some clunky sign language, I came to learn he was headed home because he was ill. Was still worried, but was relieved he wasn’t ditching.
Thought about…still thinking about a lot of things, but I haven’t found anything to say. Will do better tomorrow. Always better tomorrow.
Today’s Trail
Along today’s trail we will experience…
…connecting through Smiles and Frowns.
…publishing our “growth rings”
…planning piece one of six for our “This Is Me” writing project.
…reflecting in our Journey Journals.
…hearing a Sappy Sy Rhyme.
Happy Tuesday, all. Sorry for a whole lot of nothing today. Find my muse again tomorrow.
Sometimes I imagine teachers are trees, as we add new growth rings each year. Of course, no year is the same, our “rings” not uniform. I imagine the bigger rings are our tougher years, years we have absorbed more carbon to release more oxygen into our kids’ atmospheres, so they may breathe. Some years we seem to stand alone. Other years we brush branches. Some years we endure drought. Others we drink deeply the rains. Even fires we survive. We survive. We thrive. So our kids may breathe. To all my friends in the forest, I am honored to grow among you.
This began as a tweet. I sent it out into the Twitterverse Saturday morning, hoping it would find my fellow teachers as we all come to add a new ring this year. Fortunately, it found many, and seemingly, it resonated with many, too, as several chimed in, identifying with the metaphor, some calling it “poetry.” So, this morning, I tried to make it look a little more “poetic” in form. And then, just as I am writing this I received notification that one of my followers on Twitter turned it into a poster.
Thank you, Ilja van Weringh. I am flattered and honored.
We live. We learn. We suffer. We thrive. We survive. We climb. We fall. We bend. We break. We grow again. And again. We grow.
And it is this very idea that I will carry into the classroom today as I get the kids to think more deeply about their own trees, their own rings as they search themselves for ideas for our “This Is Me” project. I will ask them to do their own cross-sections today, identifying, examining, and sharing their own “growth rings.”
Trees and humans, not so different we. All enduring, surviving, and growing in the same forest. Wish we could all see that a little better at times. We are the forest.
Today’s Trail
Along today’s trail we will experience…
…reconnecting with Smiles and Frowns.
…revisiting our “This Is Me” project (put on hold for testing)
…considering, identifying, examining, and publishing our growth rings.
Been wrestling with a lot of ideas the past few days as I dream and scheme about the creation of a feedback-only classroom. But, the most formidable opponent I’ve been grappling with is how I will capture the learning.
My thinking to this point has pushed me to consider “story” as my desired end based on the early and emerging rationale for creating this feedback-focused experience for my kiddos in the first place.
What is learning? We learn from experiences. Experiences provide feedback opportunities. Feedback opportunities promote growth. Growth is evidence of learning. Learning is the goal. So, our goal is to provide meaningful growth experiences so each student may learn.
Yesterday, I was able to make some headway with my messy thinking. I started with the end in mind, for in the end, I want kids to capture their learning as stories stemming from “growth moments.” Here is what I roughed out in that regard.
This–or some future, better draft of this–is what I hope will empower my kids to capture and tell their stories as we make our way through the feedback cycle to find their “growth moments.” That is what I want; consequently, that is what I never really found with traditional grades, which purported to tell the story, but they were always a report too short. They never truly told the tale.
Numbers and letters get in the way, often creating ends before the learning has even begun. My belief–and certainly neither mine first nor exclusively–is that feedback is the stuff of learning. It is what compels and propels learners. But it also propels and compels teachers. I will no longer “hide” behind symbols, pretending they are an adequate language to communicate learning. Without them, I will be “exposed.” I will have to be a better “feedbacker,” ever mindful of the fact that I am co-authoring my kids’ learning stories every time I open my mouth, or move my pen. And that is my next match, my next wonder to wrestle: the how of my feedback.
Today’s Trail
Along today’s trail we will experience…
…connecting through Community Circle.
…hearing a Sappy Sy Rhyme.
Happy Friday, all. For the most part, “done” with testing. So glad to to authentically engage my kids today. Been an artificial week. Feel like we get our classroom back today.
Morning, all. Don’t have much today. I am growing weary of whining about testing, and I suspect you’re getting tired of listening to me, so I won’t go there today. I could–lots to whine about it still, but I won’t. Instead, I will look ahead.
Been chewing on some more ideas for next year. Been trying to refine the tenets of the Project 180 Classroom as I look ahead to its next evolution. Still schemin’ and dreamin’, but here is some of what’s bouncing around in my head.
The Project 180 Classroom…
…considers how students feel.
…builds and maintains relationships.
…focuses on feedback.
…believes school should happen at school.
…peddles possibility.
…offers opportunity.
…defines learning as growth.
…prioritizes standards.
…believes in assessment as learning.
…rejects grades and standardized testing.
…recognizes learning happens in different ways and at different times for each student.
…embraces mistakes as necessary steps in the learning process.
…humanizes the educational experience.
…requires reflection.
…seeks commitment, not compliance.
…insists students take ownership of their learning.
…embraces noise.
…believes learning is a story to be captured and told by the learner.
…evolves constantly.
…defines success criteria for learning experiences.
…requires retakes.
…believes students’ needs are more important than the teachers’ wants.
…meets students where they are.
…believes learning conversations (conferences with students) are critical components in learning.
…seeks to inspire other teachers to innovate, not imitate.
Well, that’s what’s rattlin’ round in my head. And though they are not final, and forever in flux, these are the thoughts and ideas that drive me, the thoughts and ideas that I hope are reflected in my word and work, the thoughts and ideas that show on my outside as well as my inside.
Happy Thursday, all. Last “official” day of testing today, but there will be several kids who have to continue tomorrow. And that…
I am not going to whine. I am not going to whine. I am not going to whine.
Dream of an end you’ll never catch and chase it every day of your life.
Better. It’s a word I often float. It’s a path I persistently pursue. And that’s good, right? Well, not always. Better benefits, no doubt. But better costs, too.
Benefit of Better
Better drives me to places both professionally and personally that I’d never reach if I stayed stuck in place. So, I relentlessly pursue “my next,” convinced that’s the key to success: Dream of an end you’ll never catch and chase it every day of your life.
And so, I chase. And whether it is a pioneering spirit or just simply ADD (likely the latter), I am constantly on the move. Never one who’s found much comfort in the way things are, I constantly dream of the way things might be. As such, this, I believe, has made be a better teacher, a better husband, a better father…a better human.
Cost of Better
As awesome as it feels, better has side effects, too. Constant change is exhausting. And whether it’s a look back at all the work that led to the present better–which will now be left behind, or the look ahead at all the work in front of the next better, it is an exhausting existence. It’s also scary.
As one who finds no comfort in the status quo, I am never comfortable, and a measure of comfort is necessary for stability, for sanity, for security. So, then–to varying degrees and at varying moments, I am unstable, insane, and insecure. Did I just say that? Probably not a wise admission if one wants to keep his followers. Kidding–mostly–aside, better is scary. And scary can be lonely.
Most cling to comfort. And I cannot blame them; in fact I often envy them. Many a day, I wish I could stay. Just stay, but I know my envious moment is fleeting as I keep constant vigil on the horizon, wondering what’s ahead, knowing I will not pause, knowing that I will not stay, that I cannot stay. And because there are fewer than more who venture far from their place of comfort, at times, it’s lonely chasing better. Please know I am neither pointing fingers nor suggesting that their staying is bad or that my moving is superior. It’s just the nature of the chase. At least in place, one never really gets lost. Bereft of place, one is frequently lost. And that is self-inflicted loneliness. If I am lonely, it is largely my fault, but I take heart in knowing that even if I am lost and lonely, I am not alone.
Not at all. There are a number of folks I have met on my journey, near and far, who, too, chase better, and I am made less lonely.
Of course, I am off again. The horizon called, and I answered. Yesterday, I gave preview of my new path, http://www.letschangeeducation.com/chasing-better-dreams-of-a-feedback-only-classroom/. I am going to completely revamp my grading approach for next year by trying to create a learning environment fueled only by feedback. It, I believe, will be better. But it will be exhausting, frightening, and lonely–all things I have come to expect and accept from this beautiful, baneful existence of better.
Still Testing…
Today, we enter into “day two” of testing. We are on a block schedule, so though we have been testing for two days, really it’s the kids’ second day of testing, and the silence…well, it screams at me.
Happy Wednesday, all. Thank you for enduring my ADD.
Though I have been gradeless for three years now, in my earnest attempt to emphasize learning by de-emphasizing grading, I am still not satisfied with my approach, for it still relies on numbers which impact how my students “see” their feedback during their learning experiences. It seems, regardless of what I write or say, the number speaks first and most.I want to get away from this. (I know Ruth Butler speaks to and there exists a body of work to support this, but I have yet to read any of her work–I will, but it makes sense to me without her work. I mean that most respectfully.)
Over the past two years, I have used an approach I call “Performance Learning.” Essentially, “performances” are assessments, the only thing I “grade.” I use a 3 point system to mark performance: 3 = Met Standard 2 = Near Miss 1 = Far Miss. With each number I also provide feedback. For 2’s and 1’s, the feedback, indicates why they missed and what they need to do next time. “Next time” is key. With this “assessment-as-learning” approach, retakes are encouraged. Really, they are expected. My kids go into all performances knowing that for most of them it’s a matter of when not if there’s a next time. In general, this approach has been a positive, productive step for me as I have distanced myself from traditional grading. Even so, the approach is lacking. So, this is one of the reasons, I am seeking better.
There are other reasons.
Data, Data, Who’s Got the Data?
I have come to see learning as a story, a complex, idiosyncratic tale that is hard to pen, especially when we try to put it into standard numbers and letters. This is yet another compelling reason for my venturing into the gradeless realm three years ago. A grade never–I repeat never— felt sufficient; in truth, even more, it never really felt accurate. So, unsettled by this, I sought better. Still seeking better. That’s why I am writing this, but at some point betters meet and it then becomes a question of whose better is better.
Things happen differently in the gradeless classroom. They have to. Nearly all teachers I know who’ve gone “gradeless,” are doing it in response to the inadequacy of traditional grading practices. It’s the nature of the journey. We have to do things differently. And while things have changed–for the better most of us believe–within our rooms, the rest of the world remains largely unchanged without. And that interface between worlds presents challenges. Many of us have found ways to overcome these challenges, and we do so willingly because we believe in what we are doing. The extra effort is worth it. From explaining our work to parents to finding clever ways to manipulate our online grade books, we have found ways to make our “different” work–within our walls, but what about outside our walls? What happens when these worlds collide?
As many of you know, I am no fan of standardized testing. I find it a false narrative, at times deeply at odds with the stories we pen in our room all year long. Of late, as I have begun to more publicly and purposefully resist, the chances for these at-odds moments are likely to increase as I shrug the test and embrace instead the experiences in my classroom. I imagine there will be a disconnect, a discrepancy in the data. The outside data and the inside data will tell different tales. Such is the risk of different. Such is the risk that discourages many to do differently in the first place. I have risked much in the past, and I will risk much in the future, but risk is not without preparation. I was “prepared” when I went gradeless three years ago. I will be prepared with this next phase, evolution of Project 180.
A Tale of Two Experiences
The initial genesis of this most recent plan to do differently actually occurred during a recent PLC meeting where my team and I were discussing our findings from a common assessment, an argumentative letter (yes, I’m a sellout. It was test prep). And we arrived at this place where we were wondering about what our data revealed vs. what the SBA data might reveal. What if the two told different tales? And it got me to thinking about the value of qualitative data in telling kids’ learning stories, thinking if the day ever came where we had to reconcile the difference in data, how could we relate, how could the kids relate their learning experiences in a way that could/would stand up to the inquiry? We would have to have our act together. And I, in particular, for I do far differently than they, would really have to have it together. So, I started thinking.
Kids would have to present a compelling tale to stand up the to “truth” of standardized data. My kids already collect a portfolio of evidence all semester long, but I am not sure it is truly compelling, particularly to outside eyes.But that is a secondary, reactionary concern. More to the point, how can I create an experience where we can capture growth moments? That’s the primary, for me. That’s the tale I want my kids to write, that’s the tale I want them to tell. But as I wrestled with how that manifests itself in kids’ learning experiences, I always hit a snag. And then, finally it dawned. It’s the numbers. It’s the damn numbers. They tell the tale too short; they end the tale too soon. I have to get rid of the numbers. I have known for a long time that the sweet spot in learning is the feedback cycle, but I have also known, experienced, bemoaned that feedback gets tainted by numbers. So yesterday, I decided to devise a way to get rid of the numbers. But I am not fully ready to share that yet, for I have a lot of processing to do. This is going to be a BIG different.
I wanted to share this to create some context for my change, to share my why before my what and how. I know holes exist in my thinking, that’s the nature of chasing better–there are always holes, but this is what I have for now. My thinking moving forward is hovering around these questions/ideas.
What is learning?
We learn from experiences.
Experiences provide feedback opportunities.
Feedback opportunities promote growth.
Growth is evidence of learning.
Learning is the goal.
So, our goal is to provide meaningful growth experiences so each student may learn.
What makes a “Growth Experience” meaningful?
Relevance
Choice
Agency
Standards
Criteria
Feedback
Support
Reflection
Self-Assessment
That’s my rough shove of my idea into the world. Any questions or feedback would be welcomed and appreciated.
Silence has a sound. I heard it yesterday. I leaned into listen to its eerie presence in room 206 as my kids sat silently taking the state test in a room where silence is strange.
And in its strangeness, I found the muted voices of my little humans whose silence was not consent, but rather resignation. And it is that resignation that screams at me in its silent compliance, for it is not us. I knew it. The kids knew it. And I think on some level they thought maybe I could save the day, smite the stranger, but alas I was silent, too.
Oh, I tried to rebel a bit. We did Smiles and Frowns on sticky notes, posting them on the front board as I handed out test tickets–“wasting” valuable testing time–but even this was a muted moment, not the rousing rebellion I had imagined in my head.
No just silence. An administrator walking in may have lauded the absence of sound and marveled at the diligence of students. It was an ideal testing environment, but in their perceived assessment, they would have been deaf to the silent screams of “why?” reverberating around the room, deeply etching guilt into my being. For I know not why. Of course, I know the attempts to explain the why of testing; I have heard them all before, but they fall woefully short of reassuring me there is any real purpose or value to standardized testing.
Yet they persist. They talk the talk. And in their talk they make just enough noise to drown out those who would resist. And we are left in silence. But that silence is not empty, that silence is not dead. There is sound in that silence, and once that silence finds its ear, it will be the tree that falls in the forest. But that day is yet to come. For now, the silence lingers; it waits. And while it waits, it grows. It grows in me, waiting for an opening, waiting for a moment. And that moment may be sooner than later, for I am not sure I can bear the guilt of silence much longer as my kids look to me with “why” in their eye.
Happy Tuesday, all. Please bear with me. I swear it’s a near-schizophrenic experience to be a teacher during state testing.
Gonna be a weird week. No Smiles. No Frowns. Desks in rows. Silence. I will frequently wonder if I am in the right room.
We start testing today. My sophomores will take the Smarter Balanced Assessment this week. In Washington, passing the SBA is a graduation requirement. Of course, this has been the reality for some time now: graduation has been tied to state testing for a number of years. And over those years, it has taken different forms with different names, as I indicated in last Friday’s post “Wearing Guilt” http://www.letschangeeducation.com/wearing-guilt-project-180-day-136/ .
This current form claims to be more valid, more reliable, “more smarter,” but so did each new iteration before it. In the end, it’s still just a standardized test, and it’s still a stranger come to claim domain over students’ learning, sorting kids into winners and losers. Here is a Twitter thread from this weekend, which shares my enduring concerns for this enduring reality, by any name.
But despite my resistance and revulsion to this stranger non grata, I will not let my negativity set the tone this week with my kiddos. I will encourage and assure, much as I did in my conversation with “J” on Friday.
And, that is just what we will do today as we find ourselves in a weird world: continue our journey. All we can do.
Happy Monday, all. Sorry for my tone of late. Hard time of year, but this too shall pass. Of course, I have been saying that for years.
I used to wear a cape. I used to paint my face. I used to write and sing songs. I used to assemble a group of kiddos from the previous year to inspire and encourage my current kids before state testing. We called ourselves the WASL (Washington Assessment of Student Learning) Wonders, and then when the test changed to the High School Proficiency Exam, we called ourselves the HSPE heroes.
I used to.
I no longer don a cape and tights. I no longer write and sing songs with my last year’s kids to rah-rah my this year’s kids to and through the state test.
I used to.
See, I thought I had to. I thought I had to be the “hero” to see them through the rough reality of standardized testing, and whether I believed in it or not, it was my job to get the kids there in mind and spirit. And I did this for ten years.
And then one day, I stopped. And not because the test went away. It’s now called the SBA (Smarter Balanced Assessment) and that will change with the next test. Not because the reality is any less real for my kids. They have to pass to graduate. Not because it’s no longer my job to prepare them for the test. I teach tenth-grade English in Washington State. It’s because…
Because I can no longer sell what I myself would not buy. I cannot, will not buy that standardized testing is the measure of my kids. In my stronger moments, I would bravely stand and wear that on a t-shirt for all the world to see, smiting standardization’s nefarious nature. But in my weaker, wonder-and-worry moments (like now, with the testing starting Monday), I fear I have not done my job; I fear I have let my kids down; I fear I have let my profession down, and I want to hide. But that is fear talking. It is not truth. It’s the narrative of nonsense.
I have let no one down. I know this. My kids know this. Come to my room if you want the real story. Let’s talk about learning, let’s talk about humanity. We have much to tell, and we would readily share. After all, it’s our story.
I no longer wear my cape, for I will no longer pretend to fly a false fiction. It was only an old, red sheet anyway. And the paint just washed off. And the songs were never really that good either.
I used to care. Used to. But I no longer do. I will play the pawn no more. So point your fingers. I will wear my guilt out in the open. Guess I already am.
Today’s Trail
Along today’s trail we will experience…
…connecting through Smiles and Frowns.
…responding to feedback and wrapping up essays.
…reflecting in our Journey Journals.
…hearing a Sappy Sy Rhyme.
Happy Friday, all. Sorry for the feisty post this morning. This time of year gets to me. Have a great weekend.
