Monte Syrie invites all teachers into a lyrical, inspiring conversation on learning and doing better. Sharing his characteristic wit and vulnerability, he asks us to question grading, learning, and relationship practices—and with his book in our hands, he’s a welcoming, supporting mentor beside us on our own journeys. ~Nicholas A. Emmanuele, HS ELA Teacher and Dept. Chair
Morning, all. So excited to share the cover of my book with you.
What has been years in the making is finally nearing its completion. Blessed to have such a solid support system in my publisher CodeBreaker. As blessed to have such an awesome audience in you all, for you have helped me stay the course with Project 180 over the years. Thank you for always being here. Could not have done this without you. Thank you.
The book should be available around October. I will keep you posted.
I have chased many “betters” around the bend over the past six years with Project 180. It, as my regular readers know, has been a dizzying dance of Doing, Reflecting, and Doing Better, for just as soon I brave and build one better, I am already off after the next better around the bend. Indeed, better never ends; it only bends. And as I come to this next big bend in the journey (Year Seven) and take stock of where I’ve been and what I carry with me, I can only find one constant companion–a better with an end, a better without a bend: Smiles and Frowns.
It’s my hill to die on. It’s my ride or die. It’s the only permanent in my practice. And though it would likely never play out, if ever I was told that I could no longer do Smiles and Frowns, its end would be my end. They’d have to fire me. With Smiles and Frowns, there is no bend. To put a more positive spin on it, Smiles and Frowns is the best thing I have ever done in the classroom. And it always will be–no matter how many more years I have ahead of me. It is where I hang the hat of my career.
That said, let’s talk a bit about the what, why, and how of Smiles and Frowns.
Of course, I did not create Smiles and Frowns. The idea of it has been around for a long time, and it answers to many names: “Roses and Thorns,” “Peaches and Pits,” “Happies and Crappies,” “Ups and Downs,” and the list goes on. Regardless the name, the general purpose is the same: to connect the people in the room. It’s a simple, go-around-the-room activity where people share a positive and/or a not-so-positive part of their lives.
Why
To connect the people in the room. Nothing connects humans better than shared experiences, so when we share our experiences (Smiles and Frowns), we see ourselves in others and others see themselves in us. And, eventually, “I” becomes “We.” A classroom becomes a community, a shared space where we struggle, we grow, we laugh, we cry, we learn, we live. A community. Our community.
But community is a commitment. A daily commitment. “We” takes time.
How
Here’s the general format of the activity along with some specifics I believe are key to successfully implementing and sustaining Smiles and Frowns.
Make time. Find a consistent time for the activity. I do it every day right after I take attendance. Some do it on Mondays. Some do it on Fridays. Some do it on both Mondays and Fridays as bookends to the week. I am a big advocate for doing it daily–no matter what. But I realize for some that may be a leap too far, especially for those just starting out with Smiles and Frowns. Regardless what you choose to do, consistency is key. Consistency leads to habit to routine to ritual. In my room, Smiles and Frowns is a ritual–a sacred one.
Invest time. Relationships are investments. Not gonna BS ya here, Smiles and Frowns takes time.
To be fair–and honest, I fretted the time commitment when I first began doing daily Smiles and Frowns. I know I claimed in the “Relationships Are Not Accidents” post that it only takes five minutes, but that’s not true. Some days, it does only take five minutes, but other days (most days) it takes ten or more. It depends (on so much), but I have learned to let go my old fears of “wasting instructional time,” and now I focus on the fact that I am investing in connections, in community, in us. As I said, “we” takes time. I invest in us.
Find a frame. Frame it for your kids. Here’s the gist of how I do it.
We are going to learn a lot in here this year, but of all the content we will consider, there is nothing more important than the people in this room, and so, we will spend time each day considering each other. We will “learn” each other. Every day, no matter what, we will begin our time together by connecting through an activity I call Smiles and Frowns. Here’s how it will work…
Or something like that. I encourage you to find a frame–for everything you put in front of kids, but especially for something as sacred as Smiles and Frowns (or whatever you come to call it). Feel free to use/adapt my frame, but please make it fit you and your kids, or it won’t work.
Pick a name. The name doesn’t matter. As I said earlier, there are a number of names for this activity. I like Smiles and Frowns. Pick one you like. Or, even better, make one up.
Consider configuration. I have my desks in a circle, which I believe is the best arrangement–we can see each other (a key to connection). But this can also be achieved by having kids stand in a circle if you don’t have your desks arranged in one. Please note, this does not need to be a deal-breaker. I know several who successfully conduct Smiles and Frowns with a variety of arrangements (including rows). As with everything, make it yours.
Go around the room, inviting each person (by name) to share a smile and/or frown from their lives. Typically, kids will “tag” their responses with, “Smile…” or “Frown…”
Promise the “Pass.” I cannot overstate the importance of letting–even encouraging–kids to pass. I write about it here in “The Power of the Pass.” Of course, I did not arrive at this understanding immediately. For too long, I took the pass personally, but now I see it and embrace it differently. For many, this seems to be the biggest, can’t-get-over-it obstacle to sustaining Smiles and Frowns. I got over it, by getting over it. Please let kids pass.
Community Circle
In addition to daily Smiles and Frowns, on Fridays we add “Community Circle” to the mix. My kids love Smiles and Frowns, but they LOVE Community Circle. And so, to any who are looking to up their community-connections game even further, I highly recommend adding this activity to your repertoire.
I run it the same as Smiles and Frowns. But, with Community Circle, I present specific prompts like the ones below.
I typically come up with four prompts on Friday morning, which I also share on Twitter (if you need prompts).
Yes, we still do Smiles and Frowns. Have to. Every day. No matter what.
And, yes, Community Circle takes even more time.
And, yes, happily, I invest.
I Guarantee It
It’s the only practice I guarantee. Everything else I do forms and fades as each better bends, but this is a better with an end. It changes the entire experience for everyone in the room. And it will for you, too. I guarantee it. I have had too many others tell me so over the years after they have made it a part of their practice. Smiles and Frowns is profoundly simple and simply profound. It will change you, your room, your kids–for better, forever.
“Do” is still a dilemma. Five years ago I wrote “The Dilemma of Do,” a post that dove into the “do” and “don’t (won’t) do” in the classroom through the lens of compliance v. the lens of commitment. Having purposefully placed myself in a position where I no longer had the control of compliance (I gave all my kids an A for the year), I had to rely on kids’ commitment to their learning. It is the path I chose, which was a path less-traveled to be sure, so as I made my way, I longed to learn about the do of commitment, for as I believed then, and as I still believe now, it is the only path to an authentic learning experience. As you’ve likely heard me say many times, I have no interest in compliance. My interest lies in commitment.
I am committed to commitment.
Seems simple enough. Simple, yes. Easy, no. The commitment course has not been and likely never will be easy street. It is fraught with challenges. Kids are accustomed to (conditioned for) the compliance course. Just because I have set the compass to Commitment doesn’t mean kids readily race ahead, embracing the “open road.” For most, it is a freedom (and responsibility) not familiar. Even more, the commitment course is no longer about “all kids” (that’s a compliance concern), it’s about each kid. Each is in a different place when their commitment journey begins, continues, and ends. I can teach all (compliance). But I want to reach each (commitment). In short, each ain’t easy.
Reach
Reach is the active process of meeting kids in their learning. It is “reaching out” to discover not only where they are but also who they are in the context of their learning journeys.
Their learning. This is key. It has to be. Authentic learning experiences necessitate student ownership. They have to believe they own it. We have to believe they own it. And to that end, we must first acknowledge and then accept that “ownership” is not something given but honored. Kids come to us with their learning. They work with us in their learning. And they leave us with their learning. They are never not learning. As such, we have to honor their learning, which simply is where we find them.
So, we have to find them. We have to reach them–where they are, which is the only place they can ever be. And more, despite our (vain) efforts to force the fit for all, we will never find any of our kids in the same place at once, which leads us again to the challenge of reaching each: each ain’t easy. So, it follows, then, that reach ain’t easy either.
But, reach is real because it’s a look beyond convention. That is not to say that it obviates convention. There may still be some value in looking at assessment data, diagnostics, academic history, and so on, but–at least in my experience–there may be less there than we want to admit. So, when there’s less, we have to seek more. We have to reach. We have to. And we do. I think many of us practice “reach” intuitively because we know there’s more to the story than conventional considerations which seek to describe the students in front of us, but this is seldom enough because it fails to consider the humans in front of us. As I suggested earlier, I can teach all students (transaction and compliance). But that isn’t enough. I want to reach each individual (connection and commitment).
So, I reach–every day–to find first the humans in the room, for I believe that without that human connection, I will never find each. As most know, I do that with Smiles and Frowns. I want kids to take seriously the notion that they are important individuals, for I also want them to take seriously the notion that they are the stewards of their learning. When kids feel seen as individuals (not just students), they seem to better see themselves in the context of their learning. And I believe this connection for them, for us, is an important first step towards commitment, that place where we meet and commit to their learning.
Of course, there’s more to reach than this first step. Reach is routine. It’s not something I do sometimes. It is everything I do–all the time.
I imagine our rooms, our work, a realm, a place where we exist to seek (reach) and serve (teach) the kids with whom we share (I believe) a sacred space. Their learning is sacred, and I believe–to the very depths of my being–it an honor to be a guest in their space. They are not in my space. This discovery has changed my entire view of our work. I, we, are in their space. And this belief–for me–has given rise to the idea of “reach.”
And it is an idea, an ideal–still in development. In fact, this post has become a “real-time” processing experience for me, as it was not my initial intent to explore the “realm of reach” here. I just wanted to share an idea, “Plan Me,” designed to help kids act with agency (commit) when my plan (Plan A–if you will) doesn’t fit. And I quickly ran into “reach.” And while I have had “reach” on my mind for some time now (can’t teach them until I reach them), I felt compelled to try my hand at an iteration to make more formed (if not formal) my idea of “reach’s role” in our work.
Above I mentioned that reach is an all-the-time act. And it is. Reach is always in play. As such, I could probably write a series of lengthy posts for all the ways it’s in play, but I have run around in this realm far longer than I ever intended, so for now, suffice to say, from Smiles and Frowns to Daily Discussions to tASK and Learning Check design to the Feedback/Response Process to Select-and-Support Grading and far beyond, I use reach to find each.
Limits of Reach
I am an experienced “reacher.” And though I don’t like to frame things in “good,” for the sake of simplicity, I will here say that I am a good reacher. I work hard at it, using my Project 180 approach (Do, Reflect, Do Better) to its fullest. I have to. It’s how I build better. So, maybe, I should just stick to the script I prefer, “I am a better reacher.” Meaning, simply–as my longtime readers hopefully know–I am better than I was, not better than anyone else.
Regardless the adjective (experienced, good, better), reach has its limits. For, try as earnestly as I might to reach each, there’s always a “me” for whom the plan doesn’t fit, and my earnest efforts fall short, which inevitably impacts the “do” (where I began with this post). I still have kids who don’t/won’t do. And this won’t do. It didn’t when I conducted the compliance classroom. And it can’t while I “conjure” the commitment classroom. So, I have to do better.
Of course, there are myriad reasons beyond my control which impact a kid’s doing. I accept that. But, in my room, there are things I can control through flexibility and opportunity, both of which are “reach routines.” And it was with both in mind when I tweeted this out last week. When a plan doesn’t fit, I have to come up with a different plan. Well, somebody does. And here, I have decided to ask the “actor” to change the script for a better fit–to commit with “Plan Me.”
The Form
Here’s the draft document that I will use with my kiddos this year. I say “draft,” for I will likely reflect and do better in the coming days and weeks and modify it to fit my new thinking.
The goal here was to keep it fairly simple for the kids. But I also wanted to challenge them a bit as agents of their learning to step up to the plate, so to speak, by keeping some of the more technical terminology in learning experience design: Purpose, Learning Targets, Task, Content, Product.
Of course, before the kids ever get their hands on this document, I will frame the idea of “Plan Me” (see below). As such, this was designed with the assumption that kids will understand the purpose before they get to the process of designing an alternative learning experience.
Ideally, most kids would independently design the experience, but realistically, many will want to collaboratively design the experience with me. With this in mind, I offered that option.
I included the “Original Plan” details to ground us in the intent of the original plan. I want kids to consider (and copy) the framework that went into my planning before they begin their own planning. More, it will push me to be even more explicit about my proposed plan, particularly with purpose. I generally do a “good” job of this, but as is the 180 way, I can always do better. I will do better at considering and communicating the purpose of our learning experiences this year.
For the most part, though some modification may be necessary, the purpose and learning targets will be the same in their plans, for they reflect the “Priority Standards” for our grade-level curriculum, which I must honor. So, really the alternative plan (kid choice) takes shape with the task, content, and product of the proposed experience, which I also feel I must honor–kinda the whole point of the “Plan Me” idea. I want them to consider and communicate what alternatives will better fit, so they can better commit. And so, the “rational” becomes key, for I want my “agents” to articulate their reasons for revising the experience.
The end game/goal is approval. It is my commitment to their commitment. I am committed to commitment. And, here, I expect and accept that this will be a largely collaborative commitment to come up with a path (plan) for an authentic learning experience.
The Frame
I believe in frames. I believe that framing our work is as important as doing our work. So, I work hard on how I frame everything. And though it will likely change some as I continue to reflect, this is how I might frame “Plan Me” for my kids.
To the kids…
I will try. I will fail. But I will keep trying. I have to. That is my commitment to you and your learning this year. For every learning experience I offer, from Daily tASKs to Learning Checks, I will try to design them with you in mind. I want them to be meaningful to you. I want you to see that they have value (now and later) in your lives. I want them to fit you. But try as I might, there will always be some (maybe many) for whom my plans will fail to fit, and as a consequence you may not fully commit because I failed to reach you. So, in an effort to reach even further for your commitment, I am offering a plan B when my plan A fails. I am calling it “Plan Me.” It is an opportunity for you to design an alternative learning experience with a better fit, so you can better commit. Here’s what it looks like…
This is at least a rough sketch of how I will likely frame this opportunity for my kids. I put it together a bit hastily, for I needed to get this post published this morning, but it reflects the essence of the plan.
Of course, this will not fully fix the “do dilemma,” but I hope it’s a reach in the right direction to conjure the commitment classroom of my dreams.
Hope you are all well. It has been nearly eight months since my last post, and for that I sincerely apologize. But that time allowed me to finish my book which is in the publisher’s hands at the moment and should be out early fall. It’s good to be back. Sorry for the long post.
My kids and I sing this song every day. Fashioned after my hero Mr. Rogers’ famous song, we start our daily ritual of Smiles and Frowns with this tune. Even when I am gone, the kids sing the song and do Smiles and Frowns.
It is our no-matter-what ritual. It’s how we connect. There’s nothing more important in our day.
I have often gushed about Smiles and Frowns here and elsewhere, claiming it is the best decision I have ever made as a teacher, sharing the magic we’ve found in our moments together.
Earlier this week, we had such a moment during 3rd period.
I have had the honor of experiencing many such moments when kiddos share for the first time. If you were there, you’d think that maybe someone had won a grand prize, for there is truly an eruption–a moment of joy.
This particular young lady never even talks in class. She doesn’t even say, “pass,” during Smiles and Frowns. She just shakes her head, “no.” And I expected just that as we made our way around the room that day. In fact, I almost cut her off as I went to call on the next kiddo, when we heard loudly and clearly, “We got a new house.” And after a second of stunned silence, we made clear our excitement with a raucous cheer.
And then, we continued on as normal, not wanting to call too much attention to her as she blushed red from our over-the-top enthusiasm. Magic moments don’t need to play out for long; they just need to play out, and here, all that mattered was the moment, which will endure long in our memory. That’s the magic.
It was beautiful day for her. It was beautiful day for us. For the rest of the week, she passed with the shake of her head, and that’s okay. There’s a certain beauty in that, too, a certain comfort in the routine of our daily ritual.
Had a hard week. Feel in many respects this is the most-demanding year of my twenty-six, a title I thought last year would champion forever, but so far, this year will eclipse even last year. And we’re only five weeks in.
But I am not going to drag everyone down this morning. I know I am not alone in this–if Cheney High School is anything like the rest of the world, so I will not stir up that which we all are living with right now. And Sundays are already hard enough, so I will instead share a bit of brightness from room 206.
I have shared this before, so I apologize for the repeat, but some things are worth repeating, and my Kindness Card activity, I believe, is one of those things.
Every Wednesday, after Smiles and Frowns (the undisputed Connections Champ), we do an activity I call Kindness Cards. Kids write them to each other. I deliver them. We talk as a community about the importance of being inclusive. It takes 5-10 minutes. Former students frequently tell me that they have kept them, and that they still cherish them. It’s a powerful way to cultivate connections in the classroom.
And I write them, too. Not every week, but this week I felt compelled, so I wrote one to each of my kids in 4th period.
And sometimes they write them to me, too.
This one meant a lot to me, for we indeed had had a “real” conversation earlier, and I was not sure where I stood with him after, but he let me know, and I am glad he did. And I told him as much.
Shoulder injury? Sadly, yes. Well, shoulder owie, anyway. It’s better now. Seems to be how “nearly fifty” is gonna go.
Anyway, gonna keep it short and sweet this week, my friends. Take care of yourselves. I am going to spend the day outside, doing my best to forget about school.
This has become my front-and-center “Better Builder” question to which I am seeking my own authentic answer. Still seeking. But in my seeking, I am inching closer–I think. I hope.
I ended last week’s post by giving you a glimpse of what I am calling my “Levels of Learning Commitment,” which is but a part of the larger scheme for my “Select-and-Support” approach to determining a final grade. Really, this work, this idea, began last winter when I first floated the idea of not offering any grades lower than a C in my classes (C to See, Might As Well Jump, and The Table We Set).
As ever, I was seeking to minimize grading to maximize learning, and I decided to eliminate D and F grades in my classes, leaving a C as the lowest letter to name learning at the end. But it also gave rise to another name, “Commitment.” As my longtime readers know, commitment v. compliance has been an ongoing battle in the Project 180 journey. I loathe the latter (compliance). And I champion commitment as the necessary component of any authentic learning experience. So, it was with commitment on my mind that I created the “levels” below. Of course, as with all my “betters,” work remains, but at the 11th hour I had to come up with something, and just days before this year began, I settled on this approach to meet my kids in their learning this year.
I wanted “commitment” at the center. I wanted “commitment” out in front of us. But what did–does–that really mean? The answer began with a look to the evidence, the support in the “Select-and-Support” approach I take with my kids. At the end of the term, the kids write a “Learning Letter,” which I call, “My Learning, My Story.” Learning is a story. And as I thought about their learning experiences in my room–in any room (now or later), their commitment to their learning becomes central to their experience. So, I wanted to more intentionally make that our focus throughout our time together–beginning with the beginning.
As such, last week when I asked the kids to create their “Deck of Cards,” I asked them to save their “Commitment Card” for the end. I told them that we would complete that one together. And so, on Friday, I asked them to consider the levels of commitment in the larger context of their learning experiences, and then I asked them to indicate their level of commitment to me at the outset of our journey this year, so when we literally lay their cards on the table in our “Meet-Me” meetings, I know where I am joining them in an important part of their own journey. To that end, I asked them to simply write the letter of their commitment on the card. And they did. And I think we are clear on what it means. And I think that’s a good start, but if I am an honest, it’s not all good. There’s plenty I do not love about this approach.
First, the letter. I hate that I cannot fully get away from grading. Yes, I have reduced its impact significantly, and I will continue my work in this regard, but I am still not free from it. But, it’s the currency, the language of the system, so I have to conform some. So, I do, but grudgingly.
Second, the focus on effort and completion. I feel like it steers dangerously near “compliance.” But it also captures commitment. Learning is not about focusing on effort. But it’s not not about focusing on effort, either. Our work–my students’ and mine–requires work. I can’t work (teach) until they work. Thus, it is a big part of the story. And my including it was–even if it’s not obvious–about commitment and not compliance. I think how I am reconciling it in my own mind is that there is only value added by their efforts. There is no value taken away by their lack of effort (no penalty). This is what I am telling myself for now.
Of course, there are other points to make about what I don’t love, but this post is dragging on some, and I haven’t even gotten to my point: How do I leverage my kids’ levels of commitment? I will am coming to this, but first.
Their level of commitment drives my level of commitment. If a kid indicates a level of C, then that compels me to respond with a support level of A. I am not letting the C kids off the hook. On the contrary, I am using it as an opportunity to understand how far I must go to meet them where they are ( a C is far). If the goal is for all to get an A, which it is and I tell my kids as much, then a C simply means I have to “level up” my support for that kiddo. And this, essentially, is how I have sold “Commitment” to them.
And because I have framed it as such, when I engage them on their levels of commitment, I feel as if I can better come from place of honesty–that, indeed, we have all our cards on the table. That we understand each other.
To that point, last week when the kids and I were talking about effort and completion of our tASKs from the week, I reminded them of their choices: all, most, and some of the work, not none of the work. We did not agree to that, for it was not a choice. No “none” in here. And it seemed to register. There was no none. There was only all, most, and some–each wearing the size that fit.
Perfect? Nope. Better? Maybe. Time will tell, but time will also compel better. Lots of doing, reflecting, and doing better ahead. Here’s one better I created and captured last week in an effort to raise my level of support.
This is generated from my “Support Cycle” poster I presented last spring. I will write more about it later, but it is just one way I am trying to meet my kids in their learning.
Happy Sunday, all. Thank you for letting me muck around in my thinking a little bit. Long ways to go on this, but maybe it will help you consider some of your own “Better-Building” questions as you seek your own authentic answers. See you all next week.
Morning, all. I wanted to share the complete list of “Better Builders” I have posted on Twitter for the month of August. Earlier, I posted 1 -15 (see post), and here I have added 16 – 31.
These are some of the key questions that will drive my better building this year. And tomorrow the building officially begins with the first day of school. Can’t wait to meet those for whom I build my betters.
Better is a reasoned, reflective response from the examination of our present practice. It is the answer we seek to the question we ask. It stretches us. It energizes us. It scares us. It beckons us. It is a step beyond, a call to dare different and brave better. It’s our journey.
New year. Time to build better. Well, I think it’s always time to build better, but beginnings tend to bring better to our attention. And so, to mark the beginning that August is for many of us–that lonnnnngggg “Sunday” before our big Monday–I began a series on Twitter, sharing my “better builders” with the world in hopes that it might inspire some better building for others, too.
Here are the first fifteen.
The betters I build begin here as I endlessly examine my own present practice, daily dare my different, and boldly brave my better. It’s my journey.
As my 25th summer began and I found myself reflecting on the end of my 25th year, I decided to challenge myself to come up with 25 things I’ve learned along the way, which I tweeted out in a series on Twitter.
Here, I have presented them all. I am not sure they are necessarily in any particular order of importance. I did not plan them out. I captured them as they came to me over a series of mornings, so I am not sure any one is more important than another. Though as the list went on, I did, admittedly, plan to save “relationships” and “better” for somewhere near the end, which I would hope would not come as a surprise to those who have followed the recent years of my journey here on my blog.
Are there more? Yes. Certainly. And there are probably some lessons that should have made this list over some that did, but that’s not how it played out, so I just went with what showed up during my morning musings. And I decided to share them all here with you.
Motivated, I made a little time yesterday to play around with a graphic for the “Support Cycle” that I want in front of my work with kids next year. It is still a draft, but I wanted to share it as a follow up to yesterday’s post where I talked about creating something to call attention to my role in the support cycle.
Certainly still a work in progress, but it’s beginning to reflect what I imagine, and I guess that’s as good a place as any to be. One thing that I am chewing on right now is whether to add a descriptor(s) for kids who maybe don’t need my support. Something like, “I will respect your need to work independently.” We’ll see. I will reflect on this for a bit, and we’ll see where it goes next as I imagine the possibilities of my puzzle’s pieces.
