“Sy, I’m gonna make an executive decision.”

“Yes!” I exclaimed, jumping up from my desk, pumping my fist, reveling in Jaden’s words.” Truly, music to my ears, a testament to his ownership of his learning.

“I have to get this science paper done.”

“Oh,” I exhaled, quickly turning my disappointment inward, pausing long enough from my moments-ago exaltation to look at–to really see–Jaden. And, as I did, I saw the young man I have gotten to know these past few months in a state of stress, hand compulsively combing through his hair, eyes darting back and forth from his computer to my eyes taking measure of both, weighing his decision.

“Okay, Jade,” I smiled reassuringly. “You gotta do what you gotta do.” And I left him to his decision.

We had just set to work on our final day of writing and self-assessing descriptions when Jaden informed me of his choice. Of course my initial response was joy. I thought he had decided to scrap one of his descriptions and start over or something of that nature, so I was pleased to hear that he was embracing the creative process, which often necessitates starting over. But that was not it at all. It wasn’t even about my class. But it was about Jaden. And I care about Jaden more than I care about the content of my class. And when I found myself in my moment with him yesterday, I, too, had a choice, a choice that made me face myself as much as I had to face Jaden.

I often write about walking and talking, and so I felt I was in a place where I had a chance to walk my talk. I claim to care about kids. I claim to teach kids, not content. I claim to give kids ownership and responsibility over their learning. Yesterday, I believe I made good on those claims. And as with all decisions, there are consequences, there are costs. Yes, I am responsible for teaching English in room 211. No, Jaden didn’t get his descriptions done. Yes, he spent the hour working to get his science paper, not his LA paper, finished. Yes, other kids were witness to the exchange and may now expect the same response from me. And the list goes on. But regardless the cost or consequence, I will own it.

Here’s the deal. A kid needed something. He exercised his ownership. He leveled with me, eye to eye. It was something that I could give, and so I did. That simple. I trust Jaden. He is a committed learner in my room. He will get his descriptions done. It just didn’t happen yesterday. But what did happen yesterday is beyond any assignment–science or LA. Jaden and I–and those who were witness–shared a moment, an experience of mutual trust and respect. And I want to believe that in the end that will pay greater dividends than getting an assignment done.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…have a sentence performance opportunity.

…engage in a team think about injustice (I will write more about this tomorrow).

…reflect in Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Wednesday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

Morning, all. Fell back asleep in my chair this morning, so this will be a short, practical post. I have been experimenting a bit with writing. Well, really, I have been experimenting a bit with “writers.” I talk some about teaching writers v. teaching writing, and so to keep myself in check, I have been walking some, too. In an effort to give them some agency over their learning, over their growth as writers, I created an independent opportunity with writing description, one of eight modes of discourse that I am emphasizing this year. I chose description for this independent opportunity because I believe (don’t crucify me here) it is the least risky of the eight for me to turn over to the kids. To be sure, turning something over to kids, even for someone who’s comfortable doing it, creates some discomfort, some anxiety, so I took a smaller risk; I chose description.

Here is what turning it over looked like.

1. I provided guidelines.
2. Kids chose topics/focus.
3. I provided class time for writing (6 uninterrupted days).
4. I provided an analysis opportunity (see below).
5. I posed questions for them to consider along with their analyses.
6. Kids made decisions about revision based on analysis.
7. I created an authentic audience. We are publishing classroom books.
8. I created a self-assessment opportunity (see below).
9. I served as a consultant only.
10. I will not grade their writing.
11. I will not read their descriptions until we have our publishing party.

Nothing terribly fancy, and since it’s my first shot, it most likely is not my best shot, but I turned it over. And I think that’s an important first step in providing ownership opportunities. They have to find their way, which means I have to let go some. And so, I will. I will learn. The kids will learn. We will learn. And we will all get better.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…complete self-assessments of descriptions. 

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Tuesday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better. 

128. 128 students. 128 people. Each different. Each strong. Each fragile. I will try. I will succeed. I will fail.

I will fail. I will enter room 211 today eager to reunite with my kids. I will let them know I have missed them, and I will hope they have missed me. I will seek to know each better through our daily ritual of Smiles and Frowns. I will further push them to discover themselves as writers. I will continue to create ownership opportunities through a gradual release of responsibility with guided self-assessments and reflections. I will push them to think and reflect in our Journey Journals. I will feed the hungry through Project Feed Forward. I will ask them to recite our Mindset Mantra. I will write and deliver a Sappy Sy Rhyme. I will wish them well until I see them next. And I will fail. For as much as I will try to do and be all for my 128, it won’t be enough. I will fail some, maybe many.

And that is a hard pill to swallow. But it is the pill caught in my throat this morning as I reflect on last night’s #tg2chat about equity in the classroom. And no matter how many cups of coffee I drink or how much I rationalize my own perceived noble efforts towards creating an equitable classroom, the pill won’t go down, a stark contrast from the high I was riding from the positive, productive parent-teacher conferences before break. I was on top of the world. Things were coming together. We, students, parents, and I, were converging on a point of trust. I needed to pinch myself. Things were too good. Turns out they were, for I am no longer on high. I am reeling from the realization that it–that I--may not be enough. And I sit here in not-so-quiet desperation, trying to calm the dissonance that reverberates through my being before I reconnect with my kids in a few hours. I did not expect to be at this place this morning. But I am. And that’s okay.

No, I am not comfortable. No, I am not without doubt. But doubt and discomfort are not unfamiliar. In fact they are old friends, come to visit to remind me that I cannot rest, that I must journey forth, that I must seek better. I will fail today. And I will fail tomorrow. I will never win. Never. As if teaching weren’t hard enough, we who seek to create equitable environments also have to carry this heavy truth. But we do carry it. We carry it because we have to. We carry it because we are teachers. Some days the weight is heavier than others. Today is a heavy day. But I will get my legs beneath me again. And in the future, I promise to fail less. That future starts today, two hours from now. I will fail less starting today. Promise.

Thank you Marian Dingle, Peter Anderson, Christie Nold, Benjamin Doxtdator, Arthur Chiaravalli, Aaron Blackwelder, and all the other #tg2chat folks for pushing my thinking and helping me grow.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…continue descriptions and begin self-assessments.

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Monday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better. 

Next week we have parent conferences. The kids are actually out of school on Monday and Tuesday, but teachers have to be there, have to be available for conferences. Available for conferences. And we will be “available,” but few–very few–will attend. That’s how it is. That’s how it’s been. And that’s how it will be, until we find a way to better make parents partners in public education. At present, especially at the high school level, we have no such way, and while I want to point fingers and place blame, I will resist the urge, for I worry that it will open a door too wide, and I have neither the strength nor the time at this particular trail head, so I will mark it on my GPS, and visit another day. Until then, I will use what time, energy, and control I have to bring parents closer to their kids’ experiences in my classroom. And to do that, I will use our shared connection, our link. Their children.

Today, my kids are going to write letters to their parents about their learning experiences thus far in my class (see below). Importantly, I have taken their talking about grades off the table. One, grades are simply background decoration in the larger setting of learning in my classroom. Two, the parents already know their “grades.” They have access to our online grading system, and they have the midterm report cards in their hands. They know the grade, but they don’t know the story. I want them to know the story. I want them to understand what their kids are experiencing, what their kids are learning, how their kids are learning. And I want kids to tell the story. It is their story. Selfishly, I want to read this chapter, too. I want to hear their stories in greater detail. I talk to my kids a lot. I give them a voice, but I don’t always get the full story. I hope this fills that gap.

Next week, for those parents who actually show up, I will begin the conference by reading the letter to the parent. From there, we will then dig into their child’s portfolio, and I will share my own two cents, but the real story is best left told by she who is living it. No one can explain the learning better than the learner. And as I sit here and write this with the image below, I now wish I had titled this “Learner Letter” instead of “Learning Letter.” Indeed, do, reflect, do better. At least I can make that verbal change with the kids (I’ve already made copies).

In addition to sharing about their learning, I have also presented the kids with an opportunity to apply what we have been learning with writing. And my hope is that the application is even more authentic with a real audience. The kids, though I will ask them to regard this as a positive, will not love this task at the outset today, but my hope is that by the end they will be both surprised by and proud of the yarn they have spun. I am eager to read their stories, and I will share some of them with you all next week.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…write our Learner Letters.

…reflect in our Journey Journals (in observance of Thanksgiving, we have identified and discussed one thing we are thankful for each day as our entry).

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Friday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

Yesterday, I set four goals for myself with the Sentence Scramble game.

Goal. Provide a novel practice opportunity with clauses and phrases. Goal. Provide opportunity for kids to collaborate. Goal. Minimize my role in the learning process. Goal. Provide a fun learning experience for kids.

Today, I am pleased to announce that I achieved all four. The game was a hit, and I could not be more proud of my kiddos for diving into practicing, collaborating, and having fun–without me. Mission accomplished. It was a noisy, busy affair, but the kids were perhaps the most engaged I have seen them all year. In fact, they were so engaged that they didn’t have time to explain to Mrs. Campbell, one of our assistant principals, what they were doing. It was, indeed, a scramble, in which literally every second counted. So, since I had nothing to do, I explained what we were doing. Pretty cool feeling to have kids so engaged in the learning that they cannot be bothered to talk about their learning. And in truth, it was no less a cool feeling to simply be a member in the audience, an onlooker, a witness to the experience, a witness to teamwork, to learning, to fun.

Today, we will score the game. Each group will have an opportunity to score the others’ boards. My goal here is to provide even more practice with clauses and phrases, but this time it will be in the form of a critique. And of course, the kids believe that there has to be a winner, so we will crown a champ in each period. Nothing wrong with a little healthy competition.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…score Sentence Scramble boards.

…write Conference Letters (I will talk about this tomorrow).

…reflect in Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Thursday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

Goal. Provide a novel practice opportunity with clauses and phrases. Goal. Provide opportunity for kids to collaborate. Goal. Minimize my role in the learning process. Goal. Provide a fun learning experience for kids.

Wednesdays are grammar days in 211. We are currently venturing into the realm of phrases (prep and and appositive), and I wanted to come up with an engaging way for kids to review clauses and practice phrases, so I invented Sentence Scramble (guidelines below). We have already had a number of practice and performance opportunities with simple, compound, and complex sentences, and we have just begun working with phrases. Last week I introduced prepositional phrases, and today I will briefly (5 minute mini-lesson) introduce appositive phrases. And then we will get our game on with Sentence Scramble.

I have begun using color as a means a to make distinctions among parts of a sentence. My hope is that it creates a more memorable anchor for kids when they are asked to perform. I still use worksheets for practice, but I also seek novel ways to create experiences. I believe kids better remember experiences, not worksheets, so I pursue those experiential moments.

For this edition of the game, I have only made distinct the things that we have covered. As time gets on and we add elements, I will include those in future editions. In the example above, there are two infinitive phrases, but we have not covered them, so I just “lumped them” into the clause category. For now, I am only concerned with having the kids practice what I have put in front of them. I am introducing appositive phrases for the first time today, so my expectations are realistic in that regard. I placed them at a higher point value to encourage risk taking. The kids may use whatever resources they choose (notes, handbook, internet, etc.), but I am not available for the twenty minutes of game play.

We will not have time to score and determine winners today, so we will do that tomorrow. My plan here is to have teams exchange and score each other’s stories. What I like about this is that the kids will have additional opportunities with sentences and phrases through different lenses; they will critique their peers’ work. Again, I look to create experiences, anchors.

As with all things in 211, we will see how it goes. Just another opportunity to do, reflect, and do better. On another note, I have a parent who has taken me up on my open invitation to attend class. However, in having to reach a compromise with her son, it will not be during his class. I tried to sway Nic, but he wasn’t having it. Maybe next time.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…play Sentence Scramble.

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Wednesday, all. Oops. Post-publish update. I just realized that I should have put the prep phrases in the the two appositive phrases in purple. I will point out my error to kids, and I will also tell them that I missed out on 2 points from my error. Dang. Gotta do better.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

Morning, all. Slept in a bit, which is a rare occasion for me. Teaching college classes on Monday and Tuesday nights kicks my butt a bit, and today I’m feeling it, so there won’t be much of a post this morning. Thank you for understanding.

So, instead, here are some thoughts that are frequent flyers in my mind as I try to make sense of the educational experience.

1. Prepositions matter. Assessment for Learning v. Assessment of Learning. Two tiny words that make a huge difference. I embrace “for.”
2. Another prepositional perspective. A student’s view: Education is something that is done with me v. Education is something that is done to me. I hang my hat on the former.
3. I can’t get rid of grades, but I can change how I use them. Of course, I mentally add “yet” every time I write the former. For the latter, I make changes every day. And while that may simply seem convenient or vacillatory, I like to think it’s responsive. And for all the critics out there, let’s remember in the absence of certainty–there is no ONE answer to grading–there must be persistence towards and pursuance of an answer. I don’t have the answers. I am just trying to find one. I suspect, then, I have thus found my purpose for the next twenty years. Chasing answers. Chasing better.
4. Learning is a circle, not a line. I believe that as we cycle through life, things eventually click. And I don’t think we can force the click. That is, just because we covered it, and just because the student responded favorably on a test, does not necessarily mean she learned it. I don’t think it’s that simple. I think it’s better to say “she is learning it.” I think we have our time to do our best with our kids, and if we are lucky they may find their clicks when they are with us. And if they don’t, they eventually will, and we still will have made an impact, made a contribution to their progression. I don’t have it all sorted out, but I don’t believe that learning is immediate. I think it’s gradual, eventual. And I think that carries implications in our practice. I toss this one around all the time.
5. Kids are more likely to carry the experience than the content. When I hear teacher-impact stories, it is rare, if ever, that kids speak to the effect of the content that was delivered. More often, they speak of the experience that was lived. That is what they carry. And if that’s true, I seek to give them a heavy load in that regard.

Anyway, that is my attempt at Sleepy Sy sense-making this morning. Thanks for humoring me. Back on track tomorrow.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…conduct a self-analysis of our descriptions.

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Ryhme.

Happy Tuesday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

“I raise my flags, don my clothes
It’s a revolution, I suppose
We’ll paint it red to fit right in
Whoa…

…All systems go, the sun hasn’t died
Deep in my bones, straight from inside

I’m waking up, I feel it in my bones
Enough to make my systems blow
Welcome to the new age, to the new age
Welcome to the new age, to the new age
Whoa, oh, oh, oh, oh, whoa, oh, oh, oh, I’m radioactive, radioactive
Whoa, oh, oh, oh, oh, whoa, oh, oh, oh, I’m radioactive, radioactive”

–“Radioactive,” Imagine Dragons

Yesterday, three-hundred sophomores at Cheney High School selected and supported their mid-term ELA grades. The sky did not fall. The world did not stop spinning. And the sun did not die.

But. Three-hundred kids put a stamp on their learning. Their learning. They exercised their freedom and owned their responsibility, which we granted them forty-seven days earlier when they crossed the threshold of our classrooms. And in their first opportunity to exercise the agency we gave them, they made their first step forward into official ownership, discovering that we were true to our promise that they held the keys, that they were drivers. And though I can only speak directly to the one-hundred-twenty-eight drivers in room 211, they owned it responsibly, making solid, evidence-based cases for their self-selected grades. There was not once upon my entering the grades into the system that I felt a kid had made any gross inaccuracies or unfair assessments of his or her learning. I was both confident and comfortable with their choices. They did not take advantage of my trust. They took advantage of their opportunity to own it.

And next Monday, when the midterm report cards arrive home in the mail, there will be at least one mark on the sheet that they fully understand, that they can fully explain. But I am not sure that can be said with certainty for the five other marks on the page. For “my marks,” I want them to feel that it was something that was done with them. I fear for too many of the other marks that they will feel like it was something that was done to them. There’s a difference. I want my kids to feel we are engaged in a partnership with their learning, a shared experience, a shared responsibility. And I believe that feeling of engagement is achieved through ownership. Conversely, I think a lack of ownership, a feeling of “this is something that is being done to me,” a feeling of “I have no control over situation,” leads to disengaged, disenfranchised kids.

And I think we can change that. I “feel it in my bones, enough to make my systems blow.” But it takes courage. We have to believe that there are different ways, there are better ways. There were roughly seventy-eight-hundred grades entered into the system at CHS yesterday. Seventy-eight-hundred stories told. Stories. Stories about learning. And stories have power. But there is a tenuous line that divides the power to harm and the power to help. As the thirteen-hundred kids at CHS look ahead to the next nine weeks, I wonder how they read their stories; I wonder how they imagine their next chapters. Hard to know. But I have to imagine that there are three-hundred kids who feel like they may have some say in how those stories will end, for they hold the pen. And a day later, it seems that all is still well in the world. The sun hasn’t died.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…take a theme performance.

…reflect in Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Thursday, all. Have a great three-day weekend.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

“But will it work with ‘regular kids’?”

“I don’t know. I’d like to think so. Next year, I will found out.”

That was a common conversation among colleagues last year. They acknowledged that I was experiencing some success with my honors kids with my gradeless approach, but they always wondered if it would work with “regular kids.” Their “wonder” seemed to suggest that it wouldn’t. And though I had nothing to offer up as “proof” otherwise, in earnest, I believed it would. In fact, I believed it might even work better. My choice not to use it with my “regular” kids last year stemmed from the fact that I was one of four LA 12 teachers, and I thought it neither fair to my colleagues nor the other senior students to offer it only in my classes. So, I used the approach in my Honors LA 10 courses, for which I was the only teacher. This year that changed. I was no longer teaching LA 12. I was back to teaching one section of LA 10, and with my LA 10 peeps jumping into the gradeless arena with me this year, we would use the approach with all sophomore LA classes, regular and honors.

Of course, this year is markedly different, as I am not offering all kids an A for the year. But we are still staying true to our gradeless beliefs with our select-and-support approach. And so this year, with all kids–not just the honors–on a gradeless journey, we are making a lot of discoveries about the impact of de-emphasizing traditional grades and emphasizing feedback as the key ingredient to student motivation and success. Yesterday, as I made my way through the latest performance in my regular LA 10 class, I found myself fist-pumping the air as one 3 (meeting proficiency) after another materialized. For Kelly’s I even uttered, “Yes!” aloud with a giant smile, writing a “YAY!” and “I AM SO PROUD OF YOU!” in all caps on the top of her paper next to the 3. And it just kept going as Bing, Katie, Courtney, and others filled my heart with their successes on their performances. And though all my kids did not score a 3, many–most–improved, and that was worth celebrating, too. They’re just not there…yet, but they will be, and I believe that. And my believing that is as important as anything that I do.

Sadly, the “regular kids” are often unwittingly held to lower expectations, and I have certainly been guilty of this dangerous inequity over the course of my career. I suspect we all have. But I have discovered that with grades off the table and with the promise of feedback at each placemat, the distinction between regular and honors is obviated, and the singular title of learner fills the place card. In the strictest sense of the idea, my “regular” kids are not great students. But they are learners, and all learners regardless of age, gender, ethnicity, and ability, respond to feedback, learn from feedback. And it is that–feedback–which led to Kelly’s latest success. It was an intentional string of moments which led her to the 3. I am not patting myself on the back. I simply did my job. I responded to her efforts in a way that would help her take better aim and hit nearer the target with each attempt. In her latest, she hit the target. And I could not be more proud of her. I can hardly wait to share the news with her, today. So proud of you, Kelly.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…begin a new descriptive writing activity.

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Tuesday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.