Slept in a bit this morning. Decided to share some of the “thought bubbles” that perpetually spin ’round my head. Blessed that some of you can see them, that you can see me. Thank you for your support. Special shout out to my best friend Josh Kleven who sent me the image below this morning. He’s always seen me.
Have a great weekend, all. Stay warm.
Tears. Finished “reading” a film today. Ran out of tissues. As with our other Holocaust films, The Book Thief and The Boy in the Striped Pajamas, Life is Beautiful exacted an emotional cost from its young viewers. But unlike the other two, the entire film was in Italian, so we read the subtitles; we read the film. And now, the real work begins.
I use the films to create context. If kids are going to develop empathy and remember, they have to have some context first. But the content of that context requires a critical view. These films are Hollywoodized versions of the Holocaust, and their use in the classroom is being questioned. So, I am now going to ask the kids to be critical evaluators of using the films as a means to learn about the Holocaust. Hattie, author of the book I shared yesterday, suggests that critical evaluation should be a central purpose in education. We should desire a citizenry of critical evaluators. To that end, I have created a situation that takes kids beyond enjoying a series of films in class to evaluating and judging whether they should even be watching them in the first place. When we return from break, they will work through this very question in their fall semester performance task.
The films have taken time. But it has not been empty or wasted time. We did not watch the films for the simple sake of “enjoying a movie.” The kids knew from the beginning that they would ultimately have to take a critical look at the use of the films. And along the way, the kids have had an opportunity to develop their analytical skills, looking at the films through the lenses of historical accuracy, point-of-view, and audience impact. And importantly, it has given me an opportunity to give them feedback (0.75) and help them grow in area that is difficult for most: analysis. Hard to think of it as a waste of time when I see growth in this challenging area occurring before my very eyes.
Icebergs. Time for another page in the kids’ learning stories. Learning Log time, and also time for the kids to check in on the health of their A’s (1.44). Earlier, as we were working through growth mindset, I had the kids consider the “success is an iceberg” metaphor, considering all that is not visible of one’s personal struggle towards success. I now want to revisit that metaphor using the above graphic that my lovely wife, the art teacher, created for me last night. I will ask the kids to write the current chapter of their learning stories in the space of the A-berg. Excited to see what’s beneath.
No hands. Inspired by an idea from one of my college kids this past quarter (thank you, Sarah), I am going to do an experiment with the kids today during our class discussion (0.82) on the first third of Night. We are not going to raise our hands as a signal of wanting to speak. In the “real world” adults don’t raise their hands. In my professional, collaborative meetings, we don’t raise our hands when we wish to contribute to the conversation; we find polite entry points into the discussion. Want to try this with the kids today. I’ll let you know how it goes. It’ll either be brilliant or disastrous. Only find out if I give it a shot. I’ve never been one to shy away from a chance to challenge convention. And today, I dare challenge the sanctity of the raised hand! Gonna get my rebel on.
Happy Thursday, all.
I did not start the 180 journey because I had the answers. I started down this road because I wanted answers. I wanted more and better out of education. I wanted more and better out of my students. And I wanted more and better out of myself. So, I set out to make some discoveries in the hopes that when I returned I would arrive more knowledgeable and better suited to give more and better to my profession and my kids. I’m a long way from home. And while some days, I fear I’m lost out here on this lonesome road, I find hope in knowing that when I return, despite the challenges both faced and yet to come, I will return, and I will have learned.
And so, I walk. I march forth, seeking to learn from my mistakes and my successes, looking for ways to learn and grow. A few days ago, I had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of John Hattie’s work around influences on student achievement. It caught my attention as I was scrolling through the Twitterverse, and I paused to take a look. Essentially his years of work is a super-mega meta-analyses of the research literature, which presents the effect size of practices that influence student achievement. Intrigued, I looked a little further and followed a link to his site, Visible Learning, which presented the top-ten influences (by effect size) on student achievement.
Student self-reported grades
Piagetian programs
Response to intervention
Teacher Credibility
Providing formative evaluation
Micro-teaching
Classroom discussion
Comprehensive interventions for learning disabled students
Teacher clarity
Feedback
At the bottom of the page, was a link to buy the book. So, duly intrigued, I clicked, and the book arrived Monday. Last night, I cracked it open. And while it certainly reads like a textbook–as the reviews indicated–and is sufficiently stat heavy, it presents a comprehensive look at statistically significant practices that influence student achievement. And this morning my head is buzzing with the fresh dissonance of newly discovered information. Noise. But necessary noise, for I know when it settles, I will have learned. I will have made progress. I will have gained more to be better.
Importantly, Hattie doesn’t offer the book as a prescription or program; he offers it as means to develop a frame of mind, a way of thinking about practice and how it influences that which matters most: student achievement. And I am all in. And I am learning. And that is what 180 is about in the end. Not to arrive. I’ll never arrive. But to journey. To boldly go. To learn. To grow. That’s my journey.
But, I am not alone. Lonely, yes. But never alone. I have my supporters, and I have my critics, and I couldn’t do it without either. To my supporters, thank you for seeing me and believing in me. You give me heart. To my critics, I am sorry that you can’t see me. And I think it is not that I hide. Truly, I put myself out there every day. I am not hiding in the woods. I am walking down the middle of road. I want you to see me. I need you to see me. You feed me. Fire away. I grow stronger every time you do. Thank you.
Happy Wednesday, all.
Yes, we read Night to know. Of course, we read Night to empathize. But most of all, we read Night to remember. In the end that is what I want from and for my kids; I want to give them the opportunity to honor memory–Elie’s memory, every memory from the Holocaust. And for that, I want their commitment. For this, especially, I do not want their compliance. Sadly, it was not always so. For even as recently as last year, I sought their commitment through compliance, giving a difficult final to reward the compliant and punish the non. Alas, I own the sins of my past. But this year is different. Vastly. No test. No compliance. No grade. Only commitment.
Last week we began our experience with Night by focusing on the above passage from the preface. I asked the kids to be witnesses to memory, to honor the gift of Elie’s testimony. Yesterday, I presented the “Memory Pledge” as a means to influence my kids’ motivation to read the book. In the preface, Elie speaks, too, of responsibility, sharing that he was often asked about the response to Auschwitz. He said that he did not know. But what he did know is that “response” is in responsibility. And, as a witness, it was his responsibility to testify, to share his memory, so we would not forget. And so, now, we too have a responsibility. To read. To remember. We read Night to remember.
And it is for that, first and foremost, that I ask for my kids’ commitment. But I ask for more, too. I have asked them to keep dialectical journals as they read, journals that we will use to generate our discussion after each third of the book. I will also ask them to write an essay at the end of the unit. And I have asked them to begin thinking of a Memory Project idea that they will complete as a team to honor the victims of the Holocaust. They have their work cut out for them, but I hope they see beyond the chore. I hope they embrace the responsibility.
Happy Tuesday, all.
Had a chance meeting with a parent this weekend. As I was walking out of the Holiday Bazaar at the high school on Saturday with two wreaths from the CHS choir, a lady jumped out of her van asked me if there were more wreaths available inside. I told her yes, and as we moved to go our separate ways, we both realized we had met before. Open house. I have her son John (name changed) in class. And with that, we both momentarily suspended our separate ways and paused to talk.
We only talked for a moment. I began by thanking her for her signature and comments on the recently returned portfolio. And she continued by sharing a discussion from earlier in the day with John regarding school and the role of choices and character. Unhappy with his present performance, she shared her parental frustrations with me, hoping that I would see a turn around with his commitment to his learning. Seeking to reassure her and ease her feelings of frustration, I intimated that I believed he would find his way. Truly. And with that, we shook hands, thanked each other, and resumed our days.
It’s funny how when I engage parents–formally and informally–about their kids it rarely has anything to do with matters of curriculum. More often than not, our discussions focus on matters of character, on matters beyond the scope of my language arts curriculum. We generally talk about the qualities of character that their teen is developing as he/she grows, matures into adulthood.
Now, that is not to say that this is true for all parents. To be sure, some strongly believe that my job is to teach LA and only LA, that character is out of bounds, beyond my purview as a teacher. And I get it, and I agree–to a point. My job is not to teach the qualities in the graphic above. I am not sure they can or should be taught in the traditional sense. No test over that at the end of the semester. But there will be a “test” eventually. For each.
And so, as I prepare my kids for school tests, I also prepare them for life tests, trials that will that call into action the various traits on numerous occasions over the course of their lives. But the “preparation” I provide is not didactic; I do not “teach” them resilience. I provide them with opportunities to discover and develop that part of their character. I suppose on some level that happens in all classrooms, even traditional, learn-from-the-grade classrooms. But, I think the 180 difference brings into clear focus that which should be at the center: the kid. Yes, I want them to learn LA and I will work hard to that end (that’s part of being a dedicated teacher), but I also want them to learn and to discover themselves. And so I give them opportunity to find and foster those qualities. For down the road, I believe that is what will truly matter.
Happy Monday, all.
Funny how 180 has worked out in so many different ways. Initially, it was about turning education upside down: 180 degrees. Then, conveniently, it also related to the school year: 180 days. Now, accidentally, if not coincidentally, as I am working through discovering a formula for the shared commitment in a 180 classroom, I stumbled upon a memory from my geometry class long ago: the angles of a triangle always add up to 180. So, the idea of the triad of shared commitment and the 60 degrees of responsibility for each participant led me to create a metaphor for the ideal conditions of an educational environment: the equilateral triangle. That is the ideal condition, the condition we should strive to create for each kid. But the real is not always the ideal, so it gives us something to chase.
Education is a triangle. And while every triangle adds up to 180, not all triangles are ideal. And for each situation–each kid–the triangle varies. Some kids dwell in the space of the scalene, while other kids live in the realm of the obtuse, and some reside in the right. And for a slim few, the stars align and they exist in the equilateral. With 180, I want to turn that upside down by creating the necessary conditions for the ideal environment, putting each kid in the equilateral. Truly, something to chase.
Control. Each stakeholder has a corner of control. I can only truly control one thing: my dedication. Kids control their motivation. Parents control their involvement. Separately, each conducts a symphony. Collectively, all try to find harmony. And, I believe that harmony is achieved through influence.
Influence. I cannot control things outside my corner, but I am connected to the other corners and they to me. And through that connection, we find influence. Yesterday, I shared the above graphic with my kiddos in an attempt to hit home the idea of the shared commitment. But I also used it to address the dissonance in our space, an off-key chord disrupting our harmony: a lack of motivation. Fearing that my bag of inspirational tricks is not working with enough kids, I have taken to a new tactic: using my influence with parents.
So, I shared my concerns about a lack of real communication between students and parents, revealing my suspicions of some less-than-authentic-looking signatures on the midterm portfolios. But more than that, I shared that I had to find new ways to influence their motivation because not enough work is being done. So, I gave the kids fair warning of “Operation Email.” Attempting to assure them that it was professional and not personal, I alerted them to the fact that I will be using email extensively in the coming weeks to influence parental involvement, which, in turn, I hope influences student motivation. I told them, frankly, that my hoping they would have put on their big-boy and big-girl pants by now has not happened for enough of them, so I am playing the parent card. In the end, really it is part of my responsibility as a dedicated teacher. Nothing personal. And while it will probably create some further discord in our shared space for a while, discord always happens along the path to harmony. Fortunately, it’s already working. Amazing how many kids were asking for handouts. Amazing, too, how many parents have already responded, expressing their desire to be involved.
Happy Friday, all. Have a great weekend.
Morning, all. Headed to the doc today. Arm’s still giving me troubles, and the name “Chicken Wing” has begun to stick as a result of my carrying it tucked closely to my side. Oh, kids are lovely little critters. So, before Super Syrie gives way to Chicken Wing, I am taking the day off to literally get things straightened out. That said, this morning’s post will be a mix of miscellaneous musings.
Happy Wednesday, all. Sorry for the mixed bag this morning. Have a great day.
Though I have not fully processed all that I learned from the recent midterm conferences, I have reached a humbling conclusion. My dedication is not enough. Despite my commitment to lead and support my kids along their journey, in the end, if that’s all it is, then it is simply not enough. If kids aren’t motivated and if parents aren’t involved, then all that I do is not enough. Oh, it alone might nudge kids along from time to time, but a push here and a pull there won’t get kids to the top of this year’s summit. A sad, simple fact. But I deign to dwell in apathy because in the struggle, I found success. But I did not do it alone.
Recently, as I shared, I had a tough conference–maybe the toughest of my career. And while it certainly threw me for a loop that has not quite come to rest, yesterday the swirl slowed, and I saw the unfortunate situation in a new light. Unexpectedly, I had a newly motivated student on my hands, one who was diving into the work with a diligence yet seen. On top of that, this student turned in an exemplary essay that I will seek to use as a model in the future.
Of course, I don’t really know what the new motivation means. I certainly don’t see it as affirmation or acceptance of my approach, but the motivation is undoubtedly there. And that is all that matters. Teachers have to be dedicated. Students have to be motivated. Parents have to be involved. And that is what happened. No, I did not enjoy my at-odds moments with this particular parent, and it will bother me for some time, but in the end, if it has motivated her child, then that is what really matters. I want to believe that even if the divide between our perspectives is miles wide, ultimately we want the same thing: success for the child.
Another conference. A different situation. Another success. Two days before conferences, Sally (name changed) came to me after the bell. She came to apologize. Caught off guard, I continued to listen as she shared with me that she had taken to heart my recent comments about the necessity of practice for growth, that if they weren’t doing, they weren’t growing. She had spoken to her parents about it, and they instructed her to come and talk to me. She had also been instructed to let me know that they would be at conferences. Touched by both her courage and honesty, I let her know how much I appreciated her coming to me and that I looked forward to meeting with her parents.
“We are here to be cheerleaders. We aren’t here to punish Sally. We are here to encourage and help.” I have had this on replay in my head ever since. Sally’s dad, looking to Sally to mom to me, shared this during the conference, and it lifted my spirit. Of course, that spirit would soon be crushed. But that’s another story. Anyway, Sally up to the point of the conference, had done little to no work. But with her new cheer squad in tow, she made a public pronouncement that evening, rededicating herself to her learning. And for the few days before Thanksgiving break, she, too, was a newly motivated student.
But yesterday, I feared it only a mirage as she came to me and told me that she could not print her essay. This, folks, is not a new one for English teachers. To be sure, it’s the equivalent of “my dog ate my homework” of old. Seeking to assure her that it would be fine to get it to me the next day, I tried to hide my doubt and disappointment, but she, rejecting any potentially patronizing reassurance, insisted that it was in her Google Docs. I told her that she could email it to me then. And before I could walk back to my desk, it was in my inbox. Abashed by my doubt and disappointment, I praised her for getting it in. No mirage. Made my day. I emailed her parents last night with “Sally Rocks!” in the subject line.
Another success. But only because of a shared commitment. I cannot do it alone. Sally cannot do it alone. Parents cannot do it alone. We all play equal parts. And that is humbling. But it is also liberating. I can only control my part of the triad. I cannot control a student’s motivation. I cannot control a parent’s involvement. But I can control my dedication. And so, I will. It’s all I can do–even if it’s not enough.
Happy Tuesday, all. Sorry about the no-post yesterday. Won’t burden you with the details. Just glad to be back at it.
Sorry no post. Long Story. Back with you tomorrow.
In teaching as in life, the battle is constant; the struggle is real. Head and heart locked in conflict, as divided as together, as different as the same, as trusting as suspicious. And we get caught in the middle, torn between the two halves of our being, forced to find peace for our two ends.
On my “headier” days, I find the emotional objectivity that I need to be the high-expectation-wielding, realtor-of-rigor figure that my position requires. I boast outwardly, slinging sayings, “You’ll learn or you won’t,” “Sink or swim,” “There are choices and there are consequences,” and so on. I am large and in charge, armed with perhaps a neutral indifference, refusing to take personally or give into the, at times, maddening reality of wasted youth. I am Syrie. Hear me roar.
But, on my “heartier” days, I drown in empathy, immersed emotionally in my kids and their needs. I shed my shield of objectivity; I shrug my quiver of platitudes from my shoulder; and I let fall my sword of severity. I reflect inwardly, wondering worriedly, “Am I doing enough?” “How else can I motivate them?” “Do they trust me?” I am no longer so large, and I feel no longer in charge as I yield to the compassion I feel for the trial that is youth. I am Syrie. Let me help.
And so, lion and lamb. He who roars. And he who bleats. At once neither but always both. I have learned a lot about myself this year. I have learned I know nothing. For twenty years, when I looked in the teaching mirror, a solid, familiar me looked back; even with long spans between looks, I always found a familiar comfort in my image. And then there is this year, a year with daily deep dives into my identity, a year of every-early-morning looks into my soul with each 180 post. And each day a shimmer of an image, nothing solid, at times a face unknown, a stranger looking back. Me, torn between the halves. My head telling me to go back, “We’ve not come too far.” But in answer, my heart pulling me forth, drawing me ever deeper, “We’ve too much at stake. We’ve come too far. Do not lose faith.” And I follow. I heed my heart. But I do not leave my head. I need it, too. The halves made whole.
Last week, friend and colleague Nicole Nanny sent me the image below with the message “Have heart!” I have. Too much, maybe.
Happy Tuesday, all. Back here Monday after break. Hope everyone has a terrific turkey day. May you find thanks and joy in your family and friends. Sorry for the odd post this morning. Feeling a little existential on my 45th this morning.