Today we will pause to perform. The kids will have an opportunity to demonstrate where they are in their learning. We have practiced, now it’s time to perform.

As a reminder, I call tests or assessments performances, which are our primary source of evidence for judging growth and proficiency with our grade-level priority standards.

I use a three-point scale to judge their work. 3 = hit the target. 2 = near miss. 1 = far miss. From there the kids have opportunities to learn from their performances. A “2” allows correction. A “1” requires a retake. Both require a conversation before they put pen to paper again. It is my goal, from an underlying belief that learning stems from redo’s, that kids come to understand that learning is a process generated by a performance-feedback-performance cycle. Some kids will need to make the turn a few times before they get “there,” but I believe this process better ensures the opportunity for all kids to get there. An opportunity that I do not believe exists in the the traditional “test-and-move-on” approach.

The Performance

Emerging from our two essential questions, which are guiding our work, today’s performance asks the kids to identify, state, and support a universal theme from one of the three texts below.

1. How does the human experience connect and divide us?
2. What universal themes shape the human experience?

We’ll see where we are. Hard to know where we have to go if we first don’t know where we are. Eighteen days in, it’s time to take stock.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns (even on performance days)

…say our Mindset Mantra in 1st person.

…perform.

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Monday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better. 

We be not wizards

Only muggles

Left to our

Own self-struggles

Morning, all. Short post today. Had myself a rare sleep-in this morning. Sorry.

Talked with my kiddos about struggle yesterday. But first the day before, last period of the day.

“What would you do at home if you were struggling with the poem’s meaning?” I asked.

“Google it.” Nodding heads around the table.

“So, google it.” Questioning glances from around the table.

I repeated, “Google it.” And continued, “I figure one of two things is gonna happen when you hit the land of struggle: give up or google it. I’d rather you google it than give up on it. Of course, I would prefer you kept walking through the struggle on your own, but if all else fails, and you’re tempted to quit, use a resource.”

And then I went home and reflected. And I panicked. Did I just give them an easy route around the struggle?

So yesterday, I had the very same conversation with all my classes, but this time I dealt even more reality as I sought to level with my kiddos.

“Here’s the deal, chicos. Though I do allow resources on performances (tests), I do not allow you to use the internet. So while Google is available to you in “practice situations,” it will not be there for the ‘”game.” So, I worry that if you don’t first struggle, you will be ill-prepared come the performance, so only use Google after the struggle, as a means to fill in the gaps, not as a cheap shortcut.”

Will my earnest advice fall on some deaf ears? Likely. Who doesn’t like a shortcut? But I choose to level with my kids about such things. I cannot control what they do outside my class, nor do I want to. My only hope is that I reach them on some level that gets them to internalize and consider their ownership of their learning. Why not avoid the whole Google thing?  Why even suggest it in the first place? Why not, instead, warn them of the grave consequences of taking shortcuts? I don’t know. Maybe it’s my desire to be real. Maybe the consequences aren’t all that grave. Maybe.

We ended our day in our Journey Journals by writing a recipe for a “struggle cake.” Kids had to consider the factors of struggle, present them as ingredients in specified amounts, and then provide a procedure for mixing and baking the cake. They were funny. They were sad. They were insightful. I think my kids will be okay. Google won’t ruin their lives.

Here’s the Sappy Sy that ended our day.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…hear our Mindset Mantra.

…continue the struggle (and maybe the Google) with the texts for the performance on Monday.

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Friday, muggles.

Do. Reflect. Do Better. 

600. This is my 600th post to my blog. Never imagined that I’d still be at it when I set out nearly three years ago, but here I am still writing, still scheming, still dreaming that we might change education. Now, I cannot imagine that I will ever stop.

Not sure of my impact outside my room, but my room is transformed daily as I seek to get better with each do-reflect-do-better spin of the wheel. Some days I fail. Some days I succeed. Every day I reflect. And as I now reflect on my journey of 600 posts, I am pleased with how far I’ve come, especially in the realm of placing learning at the center of our experience and pushing grading to the far edges. It has completely transformed my room. It started with gifting every kid an A and it has evolved into forging a relationship, a partnership with each kid as we seek to capture their learning: together. Together.

For the first time in my career, I feel like I have arrived at a place where both the kids and I feel comfortable and confident with the journey. I work hard to push away any pretense. I work hard to make things real. I work hard to learn how to help them learn, even–maybe especially–if that means bucking convention. I don’t have the answers, but I do have the courage to do differently. And so far, that “different” has helped create a space where there is…well, joy. I’m gonna call it joy. I think the kids and I truly find joy in the experience we share. And though some of my critics think this joy is achieved by my warm-and-fuzzy, Kumbaya culture, where we only do Smiles and Frowns and Sappy Sy’s, they’re not wrong, but they’re not right, either.

Yes, how kids feel matters a great deal to me, for that’s where it all starts and ends, but whether kids are learning matters as much. Are kids learning in 206? I dare the doubters to spend a week with me. And though I am loathe to play this card, for I put little stock in such things–but my doubters may–I have the highest standardized test scores in the building. Year after year. And, I ignore the test, until we are forced to take it. I don’t care about the test. I care about kids. And that seems to matter most. So, dear doubters, come on in. Door’s always open. Always.

And for my faithful followers, thank you for your support over the past three years. I know some of you have read each of the 600, and it’s my sincere hope that you have found something of value in at least one of them. Thank you. Door’s open for you, too. Always.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…hear our Mindset Mantra.

…prepare for tomorrow’s theme performance.

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Do. Reflect. Do Better. 

Happy Thursday, all.

It’s my curse. I’m flexible to a fault. I know this. I own this. I am this. I give my kids too much freedom. And though I believe such flexibility is necessary to create situations that promote responsibility, it sometimes bites me in the butt. One sizable chunk from my derriere comes in the form of kids’ doing work from other classes in my class. And while I have grudgingly turned a blind eye in the past, it has never really sit well with me, and this summer I vowed to come up with a plan to address this issue. I presented the idea in one of my Reflection’s Reality posts this summer, A Matter of Priority.

Basically, I decided to marry my flexibility to my priority. I still want to give kids room, freedom, grace, but I want them to understand the responsibility that comes with the flexibility I grant. I want them to understand that we both have priorities and sometimes those priorities don’t match, and things get out of balance. That’s going to happen. So, when it happens, I have come up with a system that will eventually set things right again, allowing for flexibility, priority, and responsibility to work in concert. Yesterday, I introduced the plan to my kiddos.

The Lifeline

Sometimes life gets in the way. Sometimes we all need some grace. Sometimes we need a lifeline.

My class is not my kids’ lives. It is but a small part of their lives. And sometimes the other parts of their lives get in the way of their lives in my fifty-five-minute world. They have priorities. We all have priorities. And sometimes we live at the whim of those priorities, and such whimsy is not always easy for others to understand. I try to understand such whimsicality–another curse.

Yesterday, I gave each kid two lifeline tickets for those times when their whimsy visits and they need a break. Here’s the basic premise.

1. Kids may use their lifelines to attend to the other parts of their lives they bring with them. This could be the monster math test they have the next period or the bad day that just won’t let go. They may use them on any day. No restrictions.
2. They only get two per semester. If they do not use them, they may carry them over to the next semester.
3. A lifeline does not excuse or exempt them from the work in the class. It just buys them some flexibility.
4. Two lifelines may not be enough for some to make it through the semester. Life doesn’t come in standardized models (despite what we perpetuate in school). So, in addition, I offer another lifeline of sorts: time for time. If John needs to spend fifteen minutes on his math assignment that’s due the next period, then he owes me fifteen minutes of his time. This is an honor system that lives or dies with kids’ honoring their commitment. One no-show by John, then he loses access to this particular lifeline. Why not just tell kids no? I could. But I believe their minds will likely be elsewhere anyway, and I don’t want them stressing out. I just want them to own it by working with me in these situations, not trying to sneak and do their work from other classes.

Crazy? Maybe. Better fixed by a stronger hand? Not convinced. Different than other teachers? Intentionally. Better requires change. Change necessitates different. So, I do different. Better? Only until I find my next better. Always chasing better.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…hear our Mindset Mantra.

…engage in our first Discovery Day: two poems and picture. Looking for themes.

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Wednesday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better. 

“Give me what you can. All I ask, kiddo.”

Yesterday, as I set the stage for our first personal-reading day, I took a moment to check in on my kids’ reading dispositions. Of course, generally speaking, I could have guessed the response. It’s the same story every year. Some love reading. Many are indifferent without the right book. And a good number hate it. I used the “h” word yesterday, and for some kids it is more imagined than real; it’s cool to hate reading, but for others the enmity runs deep. Too deep.

A last-minute decision, as I was torn between time and opportunity, found me walking with the kiddos down to the library for a quick chance to check out a book. I have a small classroom library, but it’s insufficient, especially as I strive to motivate my non-readers to dig into text, so we went to the library–have to support what I expect, so it was an easy decision.

Had been following the same schedule and routine all day as I walked and talked to kids about books and reading when a conversation with one of my kiddos grabbed me. As we turned the last corner, he had finally caught up to me. I heard him before I saw him, and as he came up on my shoulder, he shared these words.

“It was fifth grade for me, Sy. That’s why I hate reading. Teacher told me I was dumb and I would always be dumb if I didn’t start reading. He made me feel stupid. I was always in the low-reading group because my eyes got blurry when I read. I haven’t really read since.”

He rarely talks in class, and he has asked–begged— me to not make him speak in front of the class. He always passes in Smiles and Frowns. He’s a shadow most days, but yesterday, light found him a bit as he chanced a step away from his past. I’m glad I was there when he did. I patted him on the shoulder, told him I was sorry, and just asked him to give me what he could. All I ask.

I will get what I can out of my kids this year. And I am not alone. Many teachers approach reading with the reader in mind, honoring them in whatever ways they can to make them less-reluctant, less-resentful. Yesterday, one of my tweeps, Garreth Heidt sent me this link to a post by kateywrites. I particularly like the “The Rights of the Reader” poster. Worth a read. Thank you, Garreth and Katey.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…hear our Mindset Mantra.

…set our QUEST for the week, diving into writing and supporting theme statements.

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Tuesday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

Today, we read. Just that: read. And kids may read what they like: book, magazine, comic book, newspaper, etc. I just want them to read. So, I will support what I want buy providing the time, the opportunity to do just that. Read.

Of course, even though I have visions of kids’ devouring their desired print, the reality will be less wondrous. For some, it will be a veritable feast as they dig hungrily into their dishes, but for others it will be a near hunger strike as they pick at their plates, reluctant to take even one bite. The idea of the “reluctant reader” is not new to ed; it is a common phenomenon, and while I know well the struggle of encouraging the reluctant reader, I also know–sadly–the struggle of the “resentful reader,” kids who not only won’t read but also who harbor deep resentment for the act itself.

As a reader, this is not always easy for me to understand. I love reading. I always have. And I think that’s largely due to my having positive experiences, and while there are too many factors to point to, I imagine for my other lovers of reading, that this, too, was the case for many of them. But, then,  that must work the other way also. My kids who hate–not too strong a word (trust me)–reading likely had and continued to have negative experiences with it at school. At school. Home bears some weight, but by and large we carry the bulk of creating the resentment that many feel for reading. And not just the “low kids.”  “High kids,” driven to madness by our obsession with Lexile scores and AR points, are not immune to the “schooling” of reading. Its impact is far-reaching and destructive.

I can’t change what’s been done. I control not the past, but I have some leverage on the present, and so I seek to take the “schooling” out of the reading experience. I won’t undo the past or save them all, but if I can help some return to the joy or maybe even lead some to first discover the pleasure of reading, then I will sit comfortably and confidently in my resolve to just let them read. Let ’em read.

Too simple a solution? Maybe. But I am not sure that we ever had to make it so complicated in the first place.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…hear our Mindset Mantra (hoping the “We are readers” sinks in.).

…read. Mondays are reading days.

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Monday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better. 

“It’s just a piece of paper. I don’t care about the paper. I care about the conversation. So, as you set to work today, concern yourselves less with completing the paper and concern yourselves more with digging into the discussion. That’s what matters.”

This is what I shared with my kiddos two days ago as they worked together to find themes in the movie Freedom Writers. In the 180 classroom this, the idea of digging into discussion and capitalizing on collaboration, is particularly important for there will be no extrinsic reward for completing the paper. I use paper–as a tool, as a guide for driving and recording thinking, but I don’t use it as currency. That is, I don’t give points for completing a paper, which I believe cannot possibly catch all and therefore not be the definitive measure of the learning experience. Oh, I am not suggesting that it cannot catch any of the learning, but I am suggesting that when it only becomes about the paper–as it often does, the learning it captures is somewhat suspect as the event becomes a transaction with the content rather than a connection to the content, a connection to the other learners in the room. I don’t want kids to do to get done–a consequence of transactional learning; I want kids to do to advance their learning. I want them to think, “I experienced what you wanted me to experience,” instead of, “I got done what you wanted me to get done.”

Think of it like this. I don’t want kids building a bunch of little houses over the course of the year, scattered about as a development. I want them building an edifice, a soaring tower of floor upon floor connected by stairs and elevators so they may go up and down, hallways of rooms so they may go in and out and back and forth, with fire escapes so they may find outlets on those riskier days, with a helipad so they may go even higher if they too soon find the top, with windows everywhere so they may see in and out at once, themselves and the world. That is what I want. Paper is an efficient, temporary tool. But it is an insufficient material for such dreams. So, we live not in paper houses in room 206; no, we dwell in the tower of our experience. And though we are only twelve days in, this tower, this monument, this spire is casting its shadow, it’s breaking the horizon as kids climb what they build, one experience at a time.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…hear our Mindset Mantra.

…present our Bridges and Barriers projects.

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Friday, all. Have a great weekend.

Do. Reflect. Do Better. 

There’s a buzz. More than a noise. Not music, exactly. But not exactly not music. It’s somewhere in between.

It’s got lift, maybe lilt. It moves in and among, out and forth. It’s as heavy as feet, and it’s as light as wings. It’s certainly uncertain. It’s indistinctly distinct. You can hear it all at once or not at all.

But it’s there. You know when it comes, but you cannot make it so by will; you can only invite it. It comes on its own, in its own way. But when it comes, it resonates, reverberates, and captivates. It is the sound of students engaged. It’s beautiful. It’s inspiring. It’s magic.

Well, not magic exactly, but magic-like for it catches, it transfixes, it enchants. But it you cannot catch. It is the catcher.

Yesterday, I found myself caught so. I was held by the buzz of my kids as they collaborated: sharing, seeking, questioning, wondering.

And where it was, there in those moments, I was made part of something bigger than I, and now as I try to catch it for you, my attempts, sadly, will not do.

I guess you, too, have been caught by such moments, indelibly etched but impossibly elusive–moments that can never be bigger than what they were, that can never be shared in the way they were lived. But we try, don’t we? We try in pictures. We try in words–as I do now, but it’s not the same, never the same.

There where it is, I try to be part of the sound; I try to touch the rainbow’s end; I try to capture the faerie folk in my midst, but my tries only make them vanish, and the magic becomes more magic, for it I can never truly touch. But still I try, quietly perched, purposefully poised, hand outstretched tempted in vain to be part of what I cannot, for I am at last an outsider and if I get too close, or chance a grab, it vanishes.

So I listen. I live in the buzz. I marvel in the moment, sure this time I will capture the magic to share with the world, as I try now. But as I try, I fail. I already have. Silly Sy, those tricks are for kids.

Obviously, I was given to fancy this morning. My kids knocked my socks off yesterday with their work. Work with no grade. We have not a single point in the book–and won’t for some time. The work my kids did yesterday was prompted not by compliance to points but by commitment to their learning, by commitment to each other. It was magic. But as with all magic, there’s no magic if one does not believe. I believe in the magic of kids. Maybe there’s a certain magic in that, too. I tried to capture it for you this morning the way that it captured me. But we know that’s impossible. Still, Silly Sy will try. Again and again.

Today’s Trail…

Along today’s trail we will…

...begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…hear our Mindset Mantra.

…finish and present our Bridges and Barriers project.

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Thursday, all. Sorry for the odd post. Thank you for humoring me.

Do. Reflect. Do Better. 

I often share the big things from the Project 180 classroom, but I don’t always share the little things, the daily operations. So, I thought this morning I’d share a few.

Seating Arrangement?

Changes all the time. Depends on what we’re doing. I make the room fit the learning.

My favorite? Big square (pictured above).

My never-do? Rows. Hate rows.

Seating chart? Nope. Kids may sit where they like.

Tardies?

Kids are rarely tardy to my class. I like to think that they are eager to get to my class. If they are tardy, I just ask them to apologize to the class and take their seat. Habitual tardiness warrants a conversation and intervention.

Phones?

I don’t have phone issues.

Food?

Kids may eat and drink in my classroom as long as they clean up after themselves. Never understood the no-food-or-drink policy, especially the not-even-water policy.

Bathroom?

Kids may go when they need to. We just have to observe school policy: pass in hand, not in the first or last 10 minutes, and one at a time.

Attention?

I use the verbal signal “time.” I say, “time,” and the kids know to stop talking and find me with their eyes. This year, unexpectedly, there’s also been an added a raised-hand component. It kinda just happened. I say time and raise my hand; kids raise their hands; it’s a visual cue that helps when kids don’t hear me. Importantly, I communicate to kids that I do this not as a matter of power but efficiency. I have to work to be consistent. I get lazy and forget to say time. Doing better with it this year.

Listening?

I don’t get too picky about much, but listening is huge in my class, in life. So, I am picky about this one. In my class, listening standards include not talking while others are sharing and making visual contact with the speaker. I stay on top of this.

In the grand scheme, these things aren’t terribly important, but they are a part of our daily experiences in room 206. They work for me. They may not work for others, but their policies probably wouldn’t work for me either. We all have find our own little ways of doing things.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…hear Mindset Mantra.

…continue/complete theme activities for Freedom Writers.

…reflect in our Journey Journals. 

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Wednesday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

Eight days in and the dust has finally settled. Schedules are finally adjusted, and it looks like I will be walking the long road with 140 little humans this year. Sadly, during the shuffle, I lost some due to scheduling conflicts, but I picked up some new ones, and I recruited enough kids from my “regular classes” to completely fill my three honors classes. I’d give them all space in that room if I could, but things get in the way, especially this idea of who’s an honors kid.

Largely a school construct reinforced by other school constructs (grades and test scores), the “Honors Class”, a separation perpetuated by educators and parents (even kids), establishes who can and who cannot, and by the time they reach me, kids believe it. Those who can are honors kids. They are the smart ones. Those who cannot are regular kids. They are not the smart ones. This is the mindset that separates. But I wonder sometimes if the separation is more imagined than real.

Relatively new to the “honors game” (only my fourth year, after nineteen with the “regs), I am not convinced the separation is as cut and dried as we believe. And while I have some thoughts on this, I will save that post for another day. For now, I will simply share that I want to close the–what I believe largely imagined–gap by essentially using my honors curriculum in my two regular LA courses. I have not told the kids yet, and I won’t for some time, but I will eventually. I will let them know that they have been doing honors work. The impact? I’m not sure. But I cannot imagine it will bring any harm. In fact, it may very well be of significant benefit to these kids who have been too often led to believe that they are not quite up to snuff. We’ll see. But I believe in belief.

And it is this same belief that drives me to use my mindset mantra with all my kids. I want them to believe in themselves as readers, as writers, as learners–as people. So I am intentional about establishing that belief. We started down that path yesterday.

After doing Smiles and Frowns and setting the stage for the day, I say the following to my kids.

In two weeks, we will change “you” to “I.”

After those two weeks, we will permanently change “I” to “we.” And we will say it together every day after that.

Cheesy? A bit. Awkward? At first. Effective? I believe so.

I do. I believe in my kids. I believe in belief. So I try to help them believe in themselves. People can do amazing things when they believe. I believe that. I sell that. Every day.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…hear Mindset Mantra.

…begin/continue “Bridges and Barriers” and “Theme Search.”

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.