It’s still a little odd for me to be on the edge, but I find myself there more and more these days. Used to not be. I was always center. Thought I had to be. So I was. And from there I  talked. A lot. I like to talk. I got used to it, so I stayed there, convinced the more and better I talked, the more my kids would benefit. What a gift I was giving them.

That was then. Now I find myself pushed to the edge, away from center, with a new role: listener. And as I listen, I learn, but as I listen I want. I want to be a part. And I am, I guess. In truth, I work hard to be a part. I want to be, I work to be connected to my kids. However, all the want and work in the world will not fully fill the gap, and I will remain apart, and as such, I will only ever be a part.

And that puts me on the edge, removed. And that’s okay, for when I am away, they can be themselves. And it is then when I fully embrace the edge as I quietly, intently listen. I hear their hearts, their hopes, their wonders, their woes, their weirdness, their world. Their world from which I am apart and only a part. But what a gift. What a gift they are giving me.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will experience…

…connecting through Smiles and Frowns.

…conferencing about progress with Truth Projects.

…reflecting in our Journey Journals.

…hearing a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Thursday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better. 

“Can’t avoid it any longer, Mr. Sy.”

“No, ‘spose not, kiddo.”

She had turned it in blank. Well, she never even started. I knew–we knew–there was no point. Her anxiety had come to haunt, so I just told her we could do it another day, maybe during the next day’s Access Time we could sit down and work through it together. But that day came and went (the ghosts still lingered) and so did three other Access Time opportunities. But yesterday, will intact, she decided we needed to get Performance #4 done. So we did.

We cleared off the corner of my desk; she pulled up a chair; we gathered our materials, and we set to work.

We set to work. But I didn’t walk for her, I walked with her. She needs me to. She is plenty able but her needs are a little different, so I meet her at her needs. She gets easily and confused and frustrated; her anxiety creeps along, settles in, and she shuts down. So we walk at her pace.

“Okay, kiddo, let’s go to the passage. Read it and look for the universal theme(s) that Elie is addressing.”

“Loss of Faith.”

“Great. Now, what is Elie saying about the loss of faith.”

“Um, well, in dark times, people question their faith, and…”

“Okay, let’s write that down.”

And she did, or she tried, and then she stopped. Wringing her hands, she began to recite “d,” “b” making symbols with her fingers.

“Dyslexia, I asked.”

“Yeah, she sighed. Elementary was awful. Teachers yelled at me all the time.”

Yelled. All the time.

“But you seem to be dealing.”

“Yeah, I just gotta slow down and focus. My fingers help. My dad taught me that.”

And so, we made our way, my giving little nudges here and there, her working with her hands to find her focus and avoid her anxiety. And many minutes later, her Performance was done. And done well.

With help. And, of course this brings questions. Is it learning? Did she do the work? Did I do the work? If we did the work, is it then invalid? Can she earn a 3 on the Performance since I helped her? Is it fair to the other kids? Will this prepare her for the future when she may not get help? Is teaching helping or is teaching testing?

Teaching has to be helping, right? If helping is not teaching, then why does it feel right? Testing has never felt right. Never. It’s always felt that it was something I was doing to the kids. Not with the kids.

Yesterday, I walked with her. I helped her. I taught her. And I think that is the essence of my job. Help.

Sadly, I cannot help all my kids in all the ways they need help all the time. But I will try. It’s all I can do. As for the other questions and criticisms that may come with my giving such “help,” I don’t care.

I. Don’t. Care. Not anymore. It’s my room, and I will help kids. That is my purpose. That is my why. And as the outside world puffs and proffers under the pretense of what is and isn’t “good teaching,” I will be here helping kids. I think it’s that simple.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will experience…

…connecting through Smiles and Frowns.

…exploring media for our Truth Projects.

…reflecting in our Journey Journals.

…hearing a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Wednesday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better. 

“Though you never gave us homework, this was one of the only classes I took home every night.”

143 kids selected their midterm grades yesterday. And, today, the world has not come to an end. The gears are spinning. The wheels are rolling. And in a short few hours, I expect the sun to peek out over the horizon.

Did they all choose A’s? Nope.

Did some select higher than the evidence might suggest at this point? Yep.

Did some select lower than the evidence might suggest at this point? Yep.

Did they all have a chance to put a finger on, to shed some light on their learning? Yep.

And did they put a finger, did they shed light? I don’t know.

But here are two light-shedding efforts that resonated with me.

Were all the reflections as gratifying as these? Nope.

Some were downright disappointing. But what should I expect from kids who have never had a chance to articulate their learning? How does one explain a “B?” I mean really explain. Could a roomful of teachers come up with a compelling confirmation of what one really represents? And percentages are neither compelling nor trustworthy. “It’s an 84” fails to tell a compelling tale. And the various distinctions between and among the “80’s” are more arbitrary than nuanced, so little trust can be placed in such “exactitude.”

143. 143 kids had a chance to speak yesterday. I gave them voice. I gave them choice. In their learning. Big risk? Nah. It’s midterm. Grades don’t really count at this checkpoint. But a risk? Maybe.

But I–we–can’t change without. I was not convinced that traditional grading methods  supported learning, so I changed. I set out to find better. Am I there yet? Can one ever stop getting better? I aim to find out.

At term, the standard will be higher, as the kids and I will come to the table around their compiled evidence, seeking to come to an agreement on what grade most fairly represents their learning. And we will keep at it until we find that place on the horizon where together we find the light on their learning.

“I’ve done my best, and I’m learning from my mistakes and am improving.”

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will experience…

…connecting through Smiles and Frowns.

…writing to elaborate.

…reflecting in our Journey Journals.

…hearing a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Tuesday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

Midterm.

First “official” checkpoint of the year.

Grades are going home.

Let the interpretation begin.

And isn’t that what it is? An interpretation. What does “A” really mean? Is the “A” in period 2 the same as the “A” in period 5? What about that “C” in period 3? How was the letter determined? Was it an average? Was it based on tests only? How heavily did homework count? How did the teacher’s late work policy figure in? Can my child improve her grade? Is she learning?

Seems a little letter can mean much. Or maybe not. Maybe parents don’t really ask these questions. Maybe they trust that the little letter we assign means everything we mean it to mean, for surely we all mean the same thing for each letter. But that’s a lot of trust for a little letter that in the end may in fact mean nothing.

Well, okay, not nothing. But is the something we send the same something that is received? I am not convinced. And while I think that parents do likely wonder these things about the little letters we send, they rarely voice them, for I think they think we have this letter system down pat, we have an exact science. If only this were true.

We don’t. And we know it, and I think on some level we thank our lucky stars at these checkpoints that parents don’t push, that students don’t squawk–at least not too loudly or so much that we can’t silence them with teacher talk.

“The percentage in Skyward is…”

“They have to study more.”

“In the real world they have to…”

“The state testing requirements…”

“It is not fair to the rest of the students.”

But what if we didn’t “silence” them? What if instead we gave them a voice? What if we let, in particular the students, add their two cents to the story? What if we asked them, “Are you learning? How do you know?”

And then let’s come to an agreement on what letter (only because it’s required) best represents your learning for this grading period.

This is exactly what I intend to do today. I will ask kids to select and support a letter. I will ask them to contribute to their story. They are the source of what’s really going on. I wrote about this back in July, Go to the Source. I think we can work with kids to capture that which we don’t have down pat, that for which we do not have an exact science. Learning.

Letters tell a tale. Is my way the best way? Don’t know. But I am trying to find a better way, and I believe that lies down the path of working with kids, allowing them to participate in and take ownership of their learning.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will experience…

…connecting through Smiles and Frowns.

…selecting and supporting grades.

…freedom and joy of personal reading.

…reflecting in our Journey Journals.

…hearing a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Monday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

It’s been sitting there for some time.

No one else can see it or hear it.

But it’s there, perched on your shoulder, whispering, urging.

Do it.

You want to.

You need to.

And some days you almost do, but resolve gives way to doubt, and you leave it. And for a moment, for awhile it sits silent, dejected, disappointed, but soon again, it finds its call.

Do it.

And you vow, you promise, tomorrow will be the day.

It’s tomorrow. It’s there on your shoulder. It’s calling.

So, do it.

Take that crazy classroom dream of yours that defies convention, smites the status quo, serves your students, and do it.

You have to start somewhere. No, it won’t go perfectly. Yes, you will make mistakes. But, you will learn. And as you learn, it will grow. And soon your dream becomes your reality, giving way and room to the next dream on your shoulder, urging “do” again, waiting for you to breathe life into your aspirations.

One dream at a time. Do it.

Today.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will experience…

…connecting through Smiles and Frowns.

…exploring a sea of media.

…reflecting in our Journey Journals.

…hearing a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Friday, all. Sorry for the different post this morning. Was just hoping to give a nudge to my fellow change champions out there. If I can help, let me know.

Do. Reflect. Do Better. 

“I’m so excited. I want to start right now. Can I start right now?”

“Yes, Jess. You can start right now.”

I said yes even though I knew she was getting the cart before the horse just a bit. She wanted to start on the end before she even began the front. But she was energized, eager, motivated, and  I am not going to stand in the way of an inspired kid. It’ll work itself out in the end; the back and front will come together. For now, I will enjoy the eager energy of my kids as we begin our latest project, a project that an hour earlier did not even exist. Well, in a sense.

I was supposed to introduce our human experience project from WWII, giving kids an option to explore either the European or Pacific theater through multiple media lenses, but the closer we got to the start date, the less certain I was feeling about the project’s ability to sustain students’ interest for the remainder of the semester. We had already done a fair amount with both theaters, most notably reading Night and listening to our guest speaker Mr. Tamura speak of his family’s experiences in the Japanese Internment camps. The kids were certainly engaged and interested in both, but I worried about the long haul.

In addition, I had introduced a different human experience project to my honors kids the day before, and I knew it had both starting and staying power based on the kids’ reception. And by then, what was a minor concern quickly turned to full-fledged doubt, doubt that I could not hide from my grade-level partner Jenna Tamura.

“Not feeling it, T.” I told her yesterday morning.

Not feeling it is a dangerous place for me, for I can’t fake it, and I knew if I didn’t find the feeling, it would be a quiet disaster for me and the kids. And though I had sat down to talk out with her, I had already made up my mind. I was ditching the WWII project.

Not surprised (she knows I change as often as the weather) and a little disappointed, she accepted my wayward wanderings, and set to her own introspective search to determine her course with her kids.

What’s good is that the standards and the skill sets are basically the same for each project, so it doesn’t really get in the way of our common assessments. That much is intact. But what’s bad is a lot of work went into creating the WWII project, and now I was abandoning it. And I was sorry, not sorry.

I have to trust my gut, and my gut was talking, so I listened.

It said, “there’s not enough choice.”

It said, “You are going to milk too much of a good thing by sticking to WWII, the kids have reached a saturation point.”

It said, “You are not excited about teaching it.”

It said, “Your honors kids are getting a better deal, and you promised to give your regulars the same experiences this year. You promised.”

It said.

So, I changed. I always change–yes, as the weather. And while it no doubt drives my colleagues crazy, it drives me to better. I can’t help it. It’s who I am.

And after Jessie’s response to the project yesterday morning, I knew I was right to listen; I knew I was right to change, especially when at the end of the day, she bounced into my room, wanting to share the introduction to her documentary, “What is Love?” She already had a a few minutes or raw footage from her asking peers, teachers, and administrators the simply confounding question, “What is love.” It’s going to be fantastic.

Here are the bare bones of the project. I’ve never done it before, and so, as I told the kids, we will have to make adjustments along the way as we learn more, but for now we are on our way, and I am as excited as they.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will experience…

…connecting through Smiles and Frowns.

…exploring media to find “truths.”

…reflecting in our Journey Journals.

…hearing a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Thursday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better. 

Sometimes it takes longer. Usually–okay, always–my fault. Can’t help it. I want to know more. Each kid is a story I want to read, to know.

And yesterday, I wanted to know more. So, I asked. Of course, there was more method to my madness, but I didn’t let the kids in on it. I just asked questions, lots of questions. And of all, I asked “why.”

Smiles and Frowns took roughly twenty minutes yesterday, about four times longer than usual. Kids would share a smile, frown or both, and I would ask probing or clarifying questions. For those who passed, I asked them questions, got them to talking to.

Though most kids had already discovered and suggested “something was up,” at the end, I asked them to share their observations from our go around.

“You asked a lot of questions.”

“You pressed us for more.”

“You didn’t let anyone off the hook today.”

“We learned things we did not know. Everyone shared something.”

“There was more empathy than usual.”

“You made us elaborate.”

Yes, I made them elaborate. That was the plan all along. One thing I have come to learn about young writers is that they rarely write too much and they generally don’t write enough. So, I want to help them write more. And yesterday’s extended Smiles and Frowns was a warm-up for one of our first elaboration practice sessions of the year. Here is what we did.

Elaboration is the process of adding more information to existing, relatively simple information.  It involves developing an idea by incorporating details to expand/extend our thinking to a point where there is certainty that it is clear to the reader.

Methods of Elaboration with Practice

• Anecdote – brief amusing or interesting personal story with a point
  It was one of the most important lessons I have ever learned.
• Definition – defines the main topic
  What is love?
• Facts/Statistics – verifiable statements that are interesting and provide support, the more surprising and/or interesting the more compelling. Teachers don’t understand how busy kids’ lives are.
• Example / Explanation / Illustration – an objective, general explanation of the situation
  She hated walking in the halls at CHS.
• Sensory Images – using sensory details (sight, sound, taste, touch, smell) to describe settings, people, situations. The forest was quiet.
• Clarification – explaining again or in greater detail to make clear or easier to understand, free of confusion or uncertainty. Make a statement about school and then clarify.
• Apposition – a grammatical construction in which a noun is followed by another (appositive) that “renames” it.  “My student John is funny.” Write ten sentences using 10 people, places, and/or things with an appositive.

The kids had to take the starter sentences and practice each method. It’s a small start, but as we move deeper into writing, I want this to be an anchor for us to revisit when they inevitably find themselves in situations where elaboration is necessary. Tools and practice.

We had a chance for the kids to share aloud some of their work. Fourth period we were short on time, and only a few got to share, but I didn’t know that was the reason Jade stayed after.

“Sy, I was disappointed that you didn’t call on me for the forest scene.”

“Oh, I’m sorry chica. You should have raised your hand. How ’bout tomorrow?”

“Okay.”

Disappointed because she didn’t get to share. I can work and live with that. Kids wanting to share their writing. Not a bad problem to have.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will experience…

…connecting through Smiles and Frowns.

…writing and sharing two-sentence scary stories.

…diving into our Truth Projects.

…reflecting in our Journey Journals.

…hearing a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Halloween, all. May you have BOOtiful day.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

143 students. Each a story I am lucky enough to read each day. Some days I read right. Some days I read wrong. But I always read.

5 minutes. Between classes. Five minutes to run to the bathroom spouting rapid-fire hellos as I pass kids new and old. I barely make it back on time.

72,536 views. On my blog. I don’t know if that’s a lot. Seems like a lot. Cannot believe my morning musings have reached so many.

1 share. One of my kids 5th period shared during Smiles and Frowns for the first time this year. Her peers clapped and cheered. Clapped and cheered for a peer sharing. Love that. Love it.

47 years. Well, next month. When did I get old? Kids helps us forget, don’t they?

50 Cup Noodles. On average. Project Feed Forward feeds out 50 cups of kindness every day. Can’t keep up. Gotten to be bigger than I can sustain.

137 days. Left to make a difference. Never seems enough.

0. The cost of a smile.

12 points. In the grade book. Soon to be 15 when I get the latest performance scored. Not convinced that more points equals more learning.

7 days. Left to vote. Please vote.

No number. To how many times kids can retake performances in my class. Does learning ever stop?

263 words. In this post.

22 years and 43 days. Living the dream. Love my job. Even on the hard days.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will experience…

…connecting through Smiles and Frowns.

…starting our “Truth” project.

…reflecting in our Journey Journals.

…hearing a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Tuesday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

Found myself in my feelings this weekend. Found myself taking stock of my life. And in doing so, I found myself lucky.

I am. For twenty-three years I have been blessed to be among kids, and as I look ahead to my next seventeen or so, I am energized by the promise and hope that will fill my days as I work for them, as I learn from them.

I wonder if all teachers feel this way. I wonder if they find the joy that I have day in and day out. As I look back over my roughly four-thousand days spent with kids, I cannot think of a time, a day when I was not eager to be in the classroom. I love it. I live it. I never want to leave it.

And it’s all because of the kids. All. I have worked with and still work with some fantastic adults, but it is not they who sustain me. I have loved and still love teaching English, but it is not it that drives me. It’s kids. They alone compel me to be a better teacher, a better human. Great models, they. I am blessed truly. And as I sit here three cups of coffee and two-hundred-four words into Monday, I am keenly conscious of how lucky I am.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail, we will experience…

…connecting through Smiles and Frowns.

…either completing last week’s Performance or Personal Reading.

…reflecting in our Journey Journals.

…hearing a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Monday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better. 

Kids had a challenging performance yesterday. And in the 180 classroom, challenge necessitates support. Heck, in any classroom, it should necessitate support. We should not expect what we cannot–in some cases, will not–support.

But doesn’t every teacher support what they expect? I’d like to think this true, but my ears tell me differently as I listen to kid after kid share stories of being tested on things that were never covered in class, things that come as a complete surprise. Mystery. Gotcha.

Of course, my prejudice towards this approach is neither warm nor quiet. It’s BS. And I tell the kids it is. And I wish–I wish–they and their parents would call teachers out on it. Kids should know, always know, what to expect on an assessment. I’ll even go one further, they should know, too, how they are going to perform. Shouldn’t they? In many “gotcha” classrooms there is often a disconnect between the homework and the test. Sold as if it’s pertinent practice, “homework” too often fills the grade book with points rather than the kids with confidence. Shouldn’t practice lead to confidence? And if it doesn’t, what’s the point?

Don’t get me wrong, “doing” has its place, serves its purpose, but “doing to do,” rarely if ever produces the necessary confidence, much less growth, in our kids’ learning experiences. Doing is necessary. Can’t give kids feedback until they do, but if there’s no feedback that follows, no “this is why you missed the target,” joined with “this is how you need to do it next time,” then there’s likely no learning occurring. And if there’s no learning occurring…

Please know that I am not coming from a place of “having it all figured out.” I have not “cornered” learning in the 180 classroom, but I am chasing it. And while I dream of a day that I do finally corner and catch it, I know it’s a goose chase, for every kid learns differently, and just as I catch it with one, it will have escaped with another. And so, the chase continues–eternally.

So what’s my point? Just this. Let’s come at it as if we don’t know definitively what learning is for all kids. Let’s concede that, and then let’s approach it from how can we best serve each in her own struggle to grow. Serve them. Challenge them (gosh yes, we have to). But support them. Serve them. No gotcha. No mystery. Give them time. Give them resources. Give them redo opportunities (there are redos in the real world btw). Give them feedback. And then give them more feedback.

I told my kids yesterday, and I am going to begin telling them more frequently, “I am here for you. You are not here for me. I am here for you. I serve you. What do you need?”

That’s what I am about. Yesterday, sixth period, Martin likened me to a mom, poking a bit of fun at my ardent pleas to let me know what else I could do for them. Mom? Okay. I can live with that. Everyone knows moms are the best. Thanks, Martin.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will experience…

…listening to our guest speaker Mr. Tamura share his family’s experiences from the Japanese internment camps.

Happy Friday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.