Though many of my students have expressed their appreciation for less stress in the P-180 classroom, it is not an environment without pressure. It’s just different pressure. In a traditional classroom setting, pressure generally exists in the form of compliance, often manifesting itself in the form of consequences for non-compliance, which frequently, then, becomes the basis for a grade, thus the ensuing stress. I see it in my class everyday in both overt and covert expressions of stress.

Overtly, the kids tell me directly or I overhear their out-loud stories of stress. Covertly, they–against my better wishes and policies–try to sneakily get their homework from other classes done during mine. One young man attempts this every day. Every day, despite our near-daily disputes over it, he attempts to do his math homework. I don’t believe that he is doing it out of  spite or disrespect; he is doing it out of necessity. He has to get it done, so he tries, even at the risk of creating conflict in my class. I try not to take it personally; my class just happens to come the period  before his math class. I get it. I don’t like it, but I get it. Stress makes us do crazy things. Even cheat. Copying is another covert operation that kids try to get away with. Of course copying is nothing new. It’s a practice as old as the tradition of a compliance-based classroom. I, too, under pressure back in the day, on occasion, borrowed someone’s homework. It was survival.

And so, it makes me wonder, then. Is that what the traditional approach perpetuates? Survive? Is that what it’s about? Can’t we have a more noble goal for our kids?  Is a perpetual state of stress really best for them in the short or the long term? Are we really creating environments where kids can grow? If they only strive to survive, will they ever thrive? The bet in the traditional classroom seems to suggest that we teach them to survive now so they can thrive later. I wonder if it really plays out like that? This is a wonder I have had for a long time, so I placed my own bet, challenged conventional wisdom, and attempted to create a culture where thriving, not surviving, was the goal. And though the odds are certainly against me, I went all in–no folding or filching now.

As I mentioned above, there is no lack of pressure in the 180 classroom. It just presents itself differently. At the center of the 180 classroom are freedom, ownership, and responsibility. But these ideals come at a cost. They require commitment. To oneself. In truth, it may be that compliance and commitment are only separated by a thin line, and maybe in the end, it’s only semantics that separate the two. But I believe there is a difference, even if it is subtle. Compliance in the classroom is students doing for the teacher. Commitment in the classroom is students doing for themselves. And that I believe is the necessary, albeit hard to achieve, difference in the 180 classroom, the difference that creates a do-to-thrive instead of a do-to-survive environment. But this does not happen overnight. It is, as the image above suggests, a climb. It does not come easily and it does not come cheaply. It is no easy climb. But it is a climb worth making. And this is a lot of pressure to put on kids. But is it any less pressure than that created in a traditional classroom?  I don’t know, but my heart tells me the kids can make the climb.

I said I would spare the details from last week’s contentious conference, and for the most part I will, but one comment in particular stuck with me, and I have been turning it over for days. Among a litany of complaints, I was accused of putting too much pressure on 15 year-olds by making them take responsibility and ownership of their learning, and as such I was setting them up for failure. And that if I cared about kids, I would return to a traditional approach because that is how kids learn. They are not mature enough to take on such responsibilities. I don’t believe that. In my heart, I don’t believe that. I think there is wisdom to be found at the top of the ladder. I think there is benefit for our society when our citizenry reaches the top rung. I think it is shared wisdom among adults who finally find their purpose and passion in life. But why does that have to happen late? Why cannot it not happen early? I believe it can. I do not want my kids to simply get along with life. I want them to engage life. I want them to find the flow. But they have to commit. I can only show them the river. They have to find the courage to make the jump. Yes, that’s pressure, but I believe they can swim. They just have to believe it.

Happy Monday, all.

Only two comments this week. Sure to have fewer this next week with only 2 half days. Come on break!

“So far this class seems chaotic, and I wonder if it’s gonna settle down. Right now we’re supposed to focus on our blogs, the speeches, the films, and seemingly random work. The homework is fine (not that I am one to complain,since I haven’t done much lately), but it’s kinda hard to focus on them all, especially the blog and the speech. I am seeing this as a problem because I have been neglecting  my blog for the speech, and I was wondering if this was the more important of the two. Sorry if this wasn’t clear.” –Anonymous

Anonymous, first no apology necessary. Second, it was very clear. Third, I am sorry that you are struggling with all that we are trying to juggle in class right now. P-180 or not, it is how I do things. With a skills-based approach, process takes precedent over product. Most of your other classes probably follow the textbook approach to learning, a more linear approach where learning happens in a series of episodes, repeating with each new chapter. My concern with this approach is that the learning seems to lead to the test at the end of the chapter, after which the learning is left behind for the new content, in the new chapter, for a new test. This approach is certainly more consistent and more efficient, but I am not convinced it is a more effective way to learn. And… I know, blah, blah, blah. Right? Sorry.

Anyway, learning is messy, learning, like life, is a little chaotic, and–most of all–learning takes time. That said, things will start to come together kiddo. We have a lot to do, and I opt to put much of that into play at one time, as you are–unfortunately–frustratingly aware. I need you to have the time and opportunity to progress with feedback. As for what’s most important, I will continue to give you my recommendations along the way, as I have with the recent suggestion to focus on your speech. I think what is different about this class is that you have freedom. I wonder if that is contributing to the chaos that you feel. I am sorry that you are frustrated. Hang in there. As I said above, things will settle–somewhat.

“I really enjoy and appreciate watching movies like The Book Thief and The Boy in the Striped Pajamas because they really open our not-always-seeing eyes to the cruel realities of the world and its history.” –Anonymous

Anonymous, I am pleased that you are finding value in the movies we are viewing for the Holocaust. I also enjoy them and find them powerful representations of a time that we can never forget.

This is part of a note from a parent who was unable to attend conferences last night. Wanted to share. Brightened my day. Thanks to all who have offered your support today. Your words help me better hear what’s in my heart, despite  what’s sometimes in my head. Thank you.

It’s too bad that one’s peace cannot be ruled by a simple majority. It’s too bad that one’s brain conspires against the very thing it needs most. It’s too bad that one can neither remember the positive nor forget the negative. It’s too bad.

Dear Brain,

I beseech you, I beg you. Let majority rule. When our day’s experiences tend to the positive, let that dictate our night’s rest. And, in return, I promise when it tends to the negative, I will grant your incessant gallop across the synapses of the arena, a ruminative rodeo replaying the day. I promise. But you have to promise, too. Deal?

Sincerely,

Me

I should have slept like a baby last night. I had a super majority of positives from last night’s conferences, parents thanking me for the care, work, and faith that I am putting into their children. I should have. I didn’t. Not sure I slept a wink. The rodeo was in full force as the stock ran roughshod, stuck on replay, running over and over again the one negative of the evening.  Another night lost, victim to a tyrannical brain. But why does it conspire so?

The people who love and support me tell me to forget. I tell myself to forget. But my brain won’t listen. It will not remember. I will not forget. But enough is enough. We have to strike a deal. Doubt will not do. There is too much at stake. I have worked too hard. I demand a deal. Brain, are you listening?

In the end, I guess I knew it would happen. I knew it when I wrote yesterday’s post. I knew it when they walked in the door. And, it happened. I thought I was prepared. I thought it might go differently. I thought wrong. I’ll spare the details, but I will share that I have never been so insulted professionally, and I have rarely been so wounded personally. It was not easy to be subjugated to the implication that I do not understand or care about kids for twenty minutes. Hard to sleep on that.

But today is a new day. The stock are back in their pens. Rodeo is over. I seem to better remember the positive with the sun on the horizon. I just wish my memory were better when it went down. Brain, let’s work on that. Please.

Happy Friday, all.

Test today. I will do the taking. Parents will do the scoring. And while it would be disingenuous of me to suggest that I am not experiencing a little test anxiety as I look ahead to my long day, I am, above all, more excited than worried about this milestone moment for P-180. In this first round of parent-teacher conferences this year, I will have a chance to sit down with parents and talk about they who matter most–our kids.

Okay, so I concede that they are not my kids; to be sure, I will be attending my own kids’ conferences at some point in the next days, sitting on the other side of the table, learning about their learning, yearning to see, understand what their teachers experience with them every day–out of my sight. As a parent, I want to know–really know–who my kids are, especially away from home, which, as they get older, is sadly becoming the new norm. And thus it follows that I have to imagine that my students’ parents are seeking the same as they sit down with me tonight. And so, I will share what I see. I will share what I have learned in the first 54 days, when, for an hour a day, they are my kids; they have to be. I care too much for them not to be, and it is that, exactly that, that I hope parents find in me as I visit with them about their kids. I care. Deeply.

But, even then, I know, despite the depth of my dedication, some will still not be comforted by my concern for their kids. It will not be enough. And that makes me sad. In particular, I have gotten pushback from one parent who remains unimpressed and dissatisfied with me and my approach. We have scheduled an appointment for this evening to discuss her concerns. And I will listen. But I will also speak. I believe in what I am doing, and on that I will not compromise. But that does not mean that I will not be flexible in the best interests of her child. I have already offered a personalized, return-to-convention-and-tradition option for her child. Sincerely.

In the end, even if it runs counter to my deepest convictions, I can look past those and do my best to deliver what will work best for each kid. Even in a 180 classroom, one size does not fit all. But I am finding that it is fitting many, so I will stay the course. If nothing else, I hope our conversation reveals that, at the end of the day, we both–in our own way–just care about the kid. I look forward to the meeting. I do not resent the pushback. I ‘d rather have a “pushy” parent than a passive parent. Any day.

Happy Thursday, all.

As I have intimated in the past, one of the challenges of the 180 classroom is the absence of power found in grades. In particular, it is challenging because it is a 180 degree departure from what kids are accustomed to. While they may resent the compliance that tradition dictates, they find it familiar. And as it happens, when we are caught between ends, we will generally cling to that which we know. And though I am not certain that their present persistence to resist in the form of “not doing” is really a manifestation of nostalgic pinings for practices past, I find myself discouraged by the number who are still not fully committing to practices present. And so, I do what I can in the absence of power and try to muster some influence. Yesterday, I took a shot at some two-bit wisdom. Here’s how it went down.

As the period began, I turned the kids’ attention to the front board. But before reading the message on the board, I shared with them that I no longer have the power of grades to motivate them. And so, in that absence, I find myself having to resort to influence instead to get them to move–in this case, to get them to eat. And then, I made the attempt at some flimsy philosophy, trying to draw a comparison between eating and growing and doing and learning, and I read the message on the board.

As I read, I paused at “What am I to do” and “What are you to do?” For the first, I shared my real, keeps-me-awake-at-night doubt about 180 and if I have made a mistake by flipping things upside down. For the second, I shared my dismay at their apparent hunger strike in response to their new environment, continuing on with the expression of my sincere worry about their choices, even borderline pontificating about regret and wasted opportunity. I ended with, “Where are your appetites my young friends? Why will you not eat? I have food aplenty, and I will gladly share it, but I cannot, will not force it upon you. The table is set. You are at the table. You have a choice to eat. You have a chance to grow.”

And we got to it. Of course, never one to pass up an opportunity to extend a metaphor, I milked my momentum all period long.

When they started to get off track, talking instead of working.

“Hey, where are your manners? You are talking with your mouths full.”

“Pause. Take note of what you are eating. Is it of nutritional value (working) or are you just consuming empty carbs (talking)? If it’s the latter, you are filling time and space but you are not growing. Eat your veggies.”

Handing practice back.

“Thank you for eating, Abby. You are growing.”

After helping kids with their work.

“Luke, you just grew three inches.”

“Really, Maddie, thirds? Haven’t you eaten enough already. Let’s not overdo it.”

And, as the period went on, the frivolity continued. But so did the work. By the end, there were more empty plates and seemingly sated kids than there has been of late. Of course, their appetites will not last. Guess I’ll just have to keep trying new recipes. Got a few picky eaters in the bunch. Kids.

Happy Wednesday, all.

I have often wondered what those who are on the outside see when looking in. To most, I imagine teaching seems a simple, transactional process. Teacher delivers information. Student learns information. Teacher tests student’s knowledge. Teacher judges student’s knowledge. Repeat. And while that perception is not entirely off-base, it really paints neither a clear nor complete picture of the complexity that is teaching, especially great teaching.

I stumbled upon this graphic in my early morning journey through Twitterland and found it a fair representation of all that goes into our striving to be better teachers, to be great teachers. Importantly, strive is the key word here, for being great is no  easy task, and for me, especially, the task’s only begun, the strive simply started. I have a long way to go. But I am moving, and that’s what matters.

Currently, I find myself focused on numbers 5 and 8 as I crawl, chasing the elusive goal of “great.”

Experiment, experiment, experiment: Teaching is a craft. Play with it. Keep on learning and stay relevant. Beyond the none-too-small experiment of 180, I daily experiment with new approaches to discover ways to better the learning experiences in 211. This past weekend, I came across an intriguing article on feedback. https://medium.com/@hhschiaravalli/explode-these-feedback-myths-and-get-your-life-back-78ee97844511#.r0qir1cdp  As feedback is central to the 180 classroom, I have learned a lot, but I also have a lot to learn. Feedback takes time, too much time, but it is so important that the benefit outweighs the cost, and so, I spend the time, time that I often don’t have. So, I am constantly looking for ways to be more efficient, but not at the cost of less-effective.

Yesterday, at the urging of the author, I resisted giving a judgment score on the practice, only giving move-it-forward feedback. It’s practice. All the kids really need is how-can-I-make-it-better advice. They don’t need a score at this point. They just need some input as they progress. It was faster for me, and I believe it will be just as meaningful for the kids. Plus, as is implied in the article, scores can create false destinations for kids, especially kids who are accustomed to reaching the standard as the “I-have-arrived” signal. In truth, in most cases, the kids–even the “high-achieving” kids–have farther to go. This approach better fosters the journey/process approach to learning versus the destination/product approach to learning.

One other idea that grabbed my attention was the self-feedback approach. Excited for that experiment.

Be concise: When explaining, less is more. Though there has certainly been a learning curve and period of adjustment for me here–I like to talk and talk and talk, I am learning to take a minimalist approach to explaining, giving just enough to get the kids underway. I am finding that this not only impacts how much I deliver but also–maybe more importantly–when I deliver. I am finding that there is wisdom in giving help along the way as the kids ask for it, rather than trying to front load everything imaginable. I think I thought that if I imagined all that would come into play and addressed it at the outset, then I had effectively explained; the kids had all they needed. Of course, they are only going to truly listen for so long and they can only really process so much at a time. Learning now the error in my ways. Silly Syrie.

And so, today, I continue my perpetual pursuit of great. Funny, that every time I think I am getting close, I discover the mirage, and she–for “great” is no doubt a woman–appears on the next horizon, dancing alone in a playful taunt, coy in her mischief, bidding me follow. And I will. I will. For some day, I will have that dance.

Happy Tuesday, all.

Had a hard week last week, and with today promising to be a Monday of all Mondays, I needed some inspiration, some vim for my vigor. I spent too much time worrying about the wrong last week: failed plans, an unimpressed parent, etc. And I spent too little time worrying about the right: successful kids, inspired kids, etc. This week I will put my energy in the positive. For my kids. For myself. We both deserve it.

And so, today, I will turn to one of my guys, Robin Williams. No, he was not officially an educator, but he played one once in a powerful movie. Still sad about his passing. He and his characters are indelibly woven into my spirit.

“You’re only given a little spark of madness. You mustn’t lose it!” –Robin Williams

“No matter what people tell you, words and ideas can change the world.” –Robin Williams

And with that, I will crash headlong into my week, made strong again by another’s words, as I seek to make strong those around me with mine. We can change the world.

Sorry for the short post. Happy Monday, all.

This caught my eye as I drifted through the Twitterverse this morning. Decisions reflect commitment. Directions reflect compliance. In a 180 classroom the former is a cornerstone. In the absence of compliance-creating grades, students in the 180 classroom are daily faced with decisions about their own learning, about their own growth. A 180 classroom, by design, creates an environment where kids have not only the freedom but also the responsibility to make decisions. And that, I am finding is equal parts fascinating and terrifying.

I went to school to learn to give directions. Heck, maybe I even became a teacher to give directions. Well, maybe not that exactly, but I imagine early on–though too long ago now to remember–I believed teaching was mostly about direction giving. That seemed the essence of my education. Teachers gave directions. I followed directions. And then, when I crossed the threshold to the other side of the room, I became the giver of directions. And I believe I was a damn good giver at that. And as the years progressed, I became a master, conducting a symphony of directing and following, an ebb and flow of melodious harmony. In short, by at least that notion, the teaching was great, but the learning was suspect. And as the years passed, I began to act on my suspicions, questioning if teaching was learning. My kids were consummate “compliers,” but I no longer felt certain that meant they were learners. So, I began a gradual shift towards focusing on learning, not teaching, and eventually I landed here.

And here is not easy. It’s scary. And though it is where I desire to be, I frequently find it a world unfamiliar, a realm without comfort. Simply, we find comfort in what we know. I am finding that my letting go has revealed there is much I don’t know. And daily I struggle. On my tougher days, I wonder if I’m on the right path, worrying about my decisions. On my toughest days, I want to abandon the journey altogether, returning to the comfort of familiar. But. There is another side. Always another side. And it keeps me where I am. On my better days, the kids run down the path ahead of me, embracing their freedom. On my best days, the kids find new routes, accepting their responsibility.

And so, once again, I find that when I get lost, all I have to do is look to the kids to get back on track, a track that soon will become the new familiar. I just have to be patient. I made a decision to make better decisions. I made a decision because I had the freedom to do so. I made a decision because I am willing to assume the responsibility of the risk. And ultimately, I made a decision to give my kids the opportunity to make their own.

Happy Thursday, all.

I’ve had some honest conversations with kiddos the last few days. In particular, I have had some heart-to-heart moments with the few who have not assumed the mantle of responsibility as I hoped they might by this point in our journey. Time is moving and they are not. And so, seizing on the opportunity of our face-to-face conference moments, I sought to understand, calling them out on their lack of commitment to their learning in my class. In general, their responses were two-part. First, they apologized–sincerely. Second, they rationalized–predictably.

Their apologies were appreciated but not necessary. I think they mistook my concern for disappointment. And though I’d be disingenuous to suggest that there exists no measure of disappointment on my end, I don’t want my disappointment to be the force at work here. I don’t want them to worry about letting me down; I want them to worry about letting themselves down. In the end, it’s about them. I, as I have stated repeatedly, provide opportunity. They will either make something of the opportunity or they won’t. But along the way, if I recognize that they are not seizing the day, I will nudge them into motion, and if it should be that compunction from my disappointment moves them along, then so be it. But I’d rather it come from them, not me. If they want to save face, they need to move, not apologize.

Their rationales were convenient. Yes, they are often overloaded with school and life. Yes, the 180 approach does reduce the load with its flexibility. Yes, there is some logic behind doing the things first that carry immediate penalties if they are not done. Yes, they are young and are not always going to make the best decisions. But. Regardless the reasons, not doing is not doing. In 211, not doing carries no immediate penalty. But not doing in 211 does carry some long-term consequences. Growing requires two things: practice and feedback. The process of progress begins with doing, and it continues with receiving feedback. Simply put. No practice. No feedback. No growth. And when there is no growth, there will be consequences. And it is here where I attempt to impart some wisdom on my young travelers, telling them that no one looks back and wishes they had done less; in truth, most of us look back at opportunities past, and wish we had done more.

And for these kids in particular, “more”–sadly–is anything, something. And so we bargained. I challenged them to commit to doing half the work. No, I’m not really okay with that, but half is better than nothing. Fortunately, we are talking about a small minority of kids here. But wishing to elevate the bar for all, I challenged those who are doing much of the work to do all of the work, leaning heavily on the fact that there is not a lot, leaning more heavily on the passing of time, and leaning most heavily on the consequence of not reaching growth potential in the coming and quickly passing days ahead. In the end, I just want each moving forward. We don’t all have to move at the same speed, but we do all have to move. Have to.

Happy Wednesday, all.