“I see their ugly and their beauty … I wonder how the same thing can be both.” — Death from The Book Thief, Marcus Zusak

Our continued exploration of the human experience (How does the human experience connect and divide us?) takes us away from the Holocaust and lands us in 1941 America where we will seek to understand the impact of the Japanese internment camps.

In preparation for our honored guest speaker Rod Tamura (my colleague Jenna Tamura’s father), whose family experienced the camps, we watched a brief documentary about this time from our nation’s history to give our kids some context. Sadly, many of our kids had no idea about our use of the camps during WWII.  In addition to the historical context, I asked the kids to consider the timeless context of the human experience by discussing the following statements.

It is easy for people to do the right thing

A greater injustice excuses a lesser injustice.

Security is more important than freedom.

Remaining neutral is wise during conflicts that arise from oppression.

Humans learn from their mistakes.

Hate is learned.

Humanity is greater than individuality.

Fear is a powerful manipulator.

People are too smart to be manipulated by propaganda.

Eventually, society will reach a point where racism is no longer an issue.

The kids had to agree or disagree and explain in their small groups of five. I simply moved from group to group and listened in on their discussions. I just listened. And as I listened, I learned from the wise words of those who have yet to fully experience or understand how we can be both–ugly and beautiful. And while I wish I could only show the beauty, there is an ugly that I cannot hide. And it is my earnest hope that from our journey this year, the kids discover that we can choose beauty, that we can fight the ugly, that we can have hope, that they can be the hope. They can.

And we–the adults–can learn from them. We need to learn from them. I will not wade into the political here, never have never will, but I will wade into humanity here. We can do better. All of us. We can choose beauty. We can fight ugly. But we have to understand that the fight begins within. Gotta settle it their first. And maybe, just maybe, if we did that, then the fight without would take care of itself, and our connection would overshadow our division. Seems we need some connection right now. Desperately.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will experience…

…connecting through Smiles and Frowns.

…identifying, stating, and supporting theme statements from key passages in Night (performance). 

…reflecting in our Journey Journals.

…hearing a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Thursday, all. May you find and be beauty today. We need beauty.

Do. Reflect. Do Better. 

What’s the point? In the 180 classroom, it’s not a number. It’s not a percentage. It’s not a token transaction to take up space in the grade book. It’s not a pursuit of points, but it is a pursuit of purpose.

Through my evolutionary experiences in the 180 classroom, I have come to avoid the giving of assignments and instead have come to seek the providing of experiences. For it is through experience, I believe, that we learn, that we remember. I don’t want my kids to do to earn points. I want my kids to do to learn. That is not to suggest that the pursuit of points delivers no learning, but it is to suggest that when points are involved that generally becomes the goal and learning takes a back seat.

One of the things that I have recently begun to play with is tweaking my learning-target language. Not entirely convinced “student-will-be-able-to” or “I-can” tags can be anything short of artificial, I have come to use something that more naturally fits my experiential approach.

“Today you will experience…”

Student will be able to write and support a theme statement.

I can write and support a theme statement.

Today you will experience writing and supporting a theme statement.

This approach stems from what I believe is found in the difference between “learned” and “learning.” I have written about this before (What Ya Learning?), and I still hold that my kids are learning, and that is why I am drawn to the latter and shy from the two former, for they suggest a “done” that I find false. They suggest a list to be checked. Learning is a continuum. My kids are experiencing through the “do-feedback-do” cycle in my room. And in that cycle, they learn, they experience the value of mistakes, feedback, and success. It is something that stays with them, not something they ditch for the next lesson, test, unit.

And so, beyond the minimal markers of 3, 2, 1 on performances to help them situate their learning in their learning, there are no points. But there is a point. Learning. Experiencing.

My kids recently created storyboards of sorts to demonstrate their understanding of Night. Not one number will be exchanged between us. We are seeking a different point, and judging from what I have found in their creations, they got the point.

Of course, it’s not perfect approach. But I believe it’s closer to authentic than many of the artificial ways we ask kids to prove their learning. But I alone am not the judge. No, they are the judges, too. They will complete a self-reflection that I hope gets to the point more than I ever could by awarding a point. After all, it’s their learning.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will experience…

…connecting through Smiles and Frowns.

…reflecting on our learning in our Storyboards.

…discovering reality of Japanese internment camps in America.

…presenting a personal impact statement from our study of Night.

…reflecting in our Journey Journals.

…hearing a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Wednesday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

“Sy, I finished the book.”

It was his longest sentence of the year.

He has not shared once during Smiles and Frowns. He barely mumbles, “pass,” as it comes to him.

When he comes to school, he hides in his hood, head down, reluctantly–grudgingly–putting his device away when I ask him.

I have had “him” every year of my twenty three. He is none of them but all of them at once. He loves neither school nor me. He doesn’t get “it.” And it doesn’t get him. But I want to get him. And I try every year, and while I am not going to suggest that I get far with everyone of him, I always get less-far by year’s end. But thirty-three days in, I was beginning to fear that I would not even get less-far this year. And a little over a week ago, I thought I had ruined my chances for good.

In my “regular” (hate that name, but it’s functional) LA 10 classes, we tried something different with Night this year. We took kind of a glorified jigsaw approach, breaking the book into six parts, splitting the class into six teams, assigning a part to each team, and hoping to put it all back together again with our storyboard project.

Into six teams. That was my first mistake. He had to join a different group, sit in a different part of the room–he had to get out of his less -uncomfortable zone. And in a pivotal moment, I wasn’t sure he was going to move. We played quiet game of chicken, and at the last minute he swerved to his new desk.

Got worse from there. Didn’t/wouldn’t look at his teammates. Didn’t even say pass during Smiles and Frowns; he just shook his head. And then he was gone for a few days. Wondered, earnestly, if I might not see him again. I had messed up. Didn’t mean to, but I did.

A few days later, after his peers had moved from reading to making their storyboards, he showed up. He didn’t engage his team, but he did grab a copy of the book off the table, and he went back to his group, sat down and opened the book. I thought he was seeking to disappear, to hide in the book. I didn’t suspect he was reading it. Fearing I had already pushed too far, I left him alone. But he was turning pages.

The next day, he did the same thing. And I started to believe that he was actually reading. I had not seen his device out for two days, and he was advancing in the book. He was still ignoring his team, but he was reading. He was reading. I asked him about.

“You reading the book, Shane (name changed)?”

“Mmm.”

“You know you don’t have to read the whole book.”

“Mmm hmm.”

“Okay.”

Monday, at the end of class, I noticed he was nearly done.

“You’re gonna finish.”

“Yep. Page 96.” Maybe a hint of a satisfied smile.

“Awesome.” I smiled back.

Yesterday, ten minutes into the work, he finished.

He took off his hood (no kidding) and shared aloud,
“Sy, I finished the book.”

I don’t know what surprised me more.

He finished the book. Didn’t have to.

He took off his hood. Never had.

He said my name. He said my name.

That likely sounds silly, but it was a visceral moment for me. I didn’t just hear it. I felt it. Not sure I can explain it.

The surprises continued, as he sat back down and started contributing to his team’s work. It was a beautiful moment. It really was. My best moment of the year so far, a moment that happened not because of the control that I exerted upon it, but rather the control that I let go. He certainly was NOT doing what he was supposed to be doing. He was being passively rude to his team. And while I wanted to “correct” the situation (and a younger Syrie would have), I let it go. I trusted my instincts. Not the first time. Won’t be the last. But more often than not–though they are not infallible–they point the way. And, in this particular instance, they brought him less-far away.

In the end, he is still farther away than I’d like, but I feel that we finally made a connection. And now I will do what I can for my “him” this year. All I can do.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…wrap up our storyboard projects.

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Wednesday, all. Gonna be out the next few days. Heading to Tennessee for a wedding. Won’t post again until next Tuesday. Thank you for all your support. Always. Couldn’t do it without you.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

“How many opportunities should students have to retake a summative  assessment?”

This was my question to my college kids last night. This was the first response.

“In an ideal world, we could give them many opportunities, but…”

I stopped him there.

“Why can’t it be an ideal world? It’s your world. It will be as ideal as you make it.”

As ideal as we make it.

I let my college kids in on a little secret last night. Grading is fiction, with different stories playing out in tens of thousands of classrooms across the nation. Some stories are fantastic. Some stories are horrific. And most fall somewhere in between. But each story is penned by the teacher. With some margin of exception, it is the teacher alone who narrates and thus dictates the grading story. He establishes the setting, sets the mood, creates the conflict, develops the characters, advances the plot, reveals the climax, and determines the final outcome. And no story is the same, each an original work. We are the masters of this domain. We pen each kid’s story, each kid’s life.

True. We do.

With a stroke of my pen, I can vanquish a kid’s dream with a late-work-policy, or I can fuel her hopes with a retake opportunity. I can make her feel like she’s on top of the world, or I can make her feel like she’s trapped in a dungeon. I can give her the courage to face the dragon, or I can send her into the lair with no sword or shield. I can. I do.

I do.

We do.

We write thousands of stories every day. Every day. We hold the pen. But we also hold the kid. Real, live kids with stories and destinies beyond our pages, but our pens are mighty and far-reaching, and one page, one sentence, one word can carry grave consequences for our young ones. But.

But on a different page, in a different sentence, from a different word they can carry wondrous consequences. We write. We choose.

And whether we succumb to and project the realities of the world without, or we champion the ideals and dreams of a world within, we tell the tale.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…continue or Story Map work.

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Tuesday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better. 

58 made it. 58 finished in the 72-hour window that I presented. They chose to read Night. No carrot. No stick. Just a challenge to read one of the most important books of our time, of any time. And those who didn’t quite make it will likely have finished it over the weekend. Because they chose to.

Importantly, I seek commitment, not compliance. I want my kids’ “do’s” to be real (see The Dilemma of Do). They either read it or they didn’t. Will, then, there be some who didn’t? Yep. They missed an opportunity to explore and to–try to–understand the human experience through the lens of Elie’s memoir.

Today, I will seek more commitment. They will engage in a three-day project to create and present a “storyboard” of Elie’s work with their peers. That’s their accountability–their accountability to one another. Further, individually, I will have them write and publish a personal impact statement from their reading of Night.

“As a human, Elie’s story matters to me because…

I will remember.”

In the end, regardless the text, regardless the experience, I just want them to grow. Academically. Socially. Emotionally. Personally. But I cannot force that. I only provide opportunity and support. So, I do. The rest is up to them.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…consider and write our impact statements.

…begin our Storyboard Project.

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Monday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better. 

Kids have the day off. Teachers have a Professional Learning Day. Of course, I think every day in the classroom is a learning day. And while I value my time with colleagues, I far prefer my time with my kids.

Happy Friday, all. Back here Monday.

Do. Reflect. Do Better. 

Almost 72 hours ago, I presented a challenge to my kids: read Night in 72 hours. Today, I will recognize those who made it with a certificate. I will also offer an apology. Not for the challenge. That was the easy part. I will apologize that they have to now hold the memories, that they have to know and try to understand that we are capable of such things. That’s the hard part.

But hard is necessary. Sadly. Better lies on the other side of difficult. And in their difficulty, I seek hope, for I think they can be better than we were, better than we are. Kids. It’s the only hope we have.

Today’s Trail 

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…say our Mindset Mantra.

…honor those who completed the challenge.

…take a Performance on Elie’s acceptance speech.

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Thursday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

Tired and uninspired this morning. And maybe a bit grumpy. But Ma always told me that if I don’t have anything nice to say…

So I won’t say. But I want to. I want to say. A lot.

I want to lash out at those whose grading practices are unhealthy for kids, even–especially–my own child. But there’s a fine line to be walked with one’s colleagues, so I won’t. But I want to.

I want to tell the kids and the parents to call BS, that the practices and policies are grounded in nothing more than whim. I want to tell them that their teachers are choosing to create an unhealthy learning experience . There is no sacred rule that we must punish kids for late work or test them on things that we never taught in class. I want to tell them that “curving” a test is not a gift; it is a cover for crappy teaching. I want to tell them to ask why–again and again and again. But “why” is messy, so I won’t. But I want to.

I want to yell from a rooftop,

WE CLING TO THE STATUS QUO FOR ITS COMFORT, NOT ITS WISDOM!

But we need our comfort, and no one likes yelling, so I won’t. But I want to.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

…say our Mindset Mantra.

…hit our last leg of the 72-hour challenge. 24 to go. Kids are gonna make it.

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Sorry, all, for the crappy ‘tude and mood this morning. I’ll be better tomorrow.

Do. Reflect. Do Better. 

Something gratifying about kids’ digging into work without a grade to motivate them. Of course this has been a common phenomenon in the 180 classroom for some time now. Tracing the roots all the way back to year one, where I gave all an A for the year to take grades off the table, our little sprout has grown considerably, and this year, as we add a new growth ring, we climb ever higher through the canopy, chasing the light of a new day, a new way.

As I shared in yesterday’s post, I decided to approach our reading of Night a little differently this year. Resolved that different needs to be different, I am always seeking to shake things up a bit, for without grades to create compliance, I have to find new ways to motivate my kids. So, I presented a challenge.

I gave my kids 72 hours to read the book. Ever mindful of their stress levels, I took note of some wide-eyed, stress-eyed responses, especially Morgan (name changed) who was already on the verge of tears, worrying about her AP World History test the next hour. So, I offered some perspective in an effort to provide some relief.

“It’s a challenge. Just that. If it weren’t challenging, it wouldn’t be a challenge. If you make it, awesome. If you don’t, it’s not a big deal. You will have more time. Please don’t stress.”

Beyond the challenge, I also attempted to appeal to their sense of humanity as a reason to read Elie’s story, telling them that I didn’t want them to read it because of the test at the end–there is no test. I want them to read it because they are members of the human race. We will do many things with the text afterwards as we continue to seek answers to the question, “How does the human experience connect and divide us?” One of those things will be an impact statement.

“As a human, Elie’s story matters to me because…. I will remember.”

I shared my impact statement yesterday.

And then…the kids dug into the text, and for the next forty minutes they chased the challenge, but not all the kids.

As my regular readers know, I offer lifelines. As I already mentioned above, Morgan and many of her peers were super stressed about a test, and so, some of them inquired about using their lifelines. The answer was, “Of course, they are yours to use when you like, but I’ll make you a deal. If you want to use my class time to study for your test today and you still meet the challenge deadline, then it will not cost you a lifeline. If you don’t, then you owe me a lifeline. It’s up to you.”

Consequently, many used the time to address the stress in their lives and studied for the test. Will they finish the book by Thursday? Yes, I think they will. How will I know? I trust them. Naive? Maybe. But it’s real. No pretense. No compliance. Just commitment. Their branches will never find the sun by faking it. And that’s on them. All I can do is point the way. They have to grow.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…say our Mindset Mantra.

…chase our challenge (48 hours to go).

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Tuesday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.