So, the Prince of Procrastination finally sat down to do his latest independent learning project.  This is our third “ILP,” and as some may recall, this time we had to challenge one of our fixed mindsets, mine being drawing–or really, just art. I don’t need to be good at art; I am married to an art teacher; she is good enough for both of us.  But I do need to be a good model for my students.  I can’t just talk the talk.  I also have to walk the walk.  Yesterday, I started walking, the path unfamiliar.

The photo, taken in July of ’72, is of my grandpa’s barn; it represents one of my earliest memories, and though it has long been torn down, I carry a vivid memory of an early, not-yet-light-out morning when my I was with grandpa as he fed the cows.  I was just over two-years old.  The cows were these huge shapes in the early morning light, both fascinating and frightening, but bigger yet was grandpa, my earliest and still biggest hero, though he, like the barn, has long been gone.  So, upon deciding what I would draw for this project, I decided to honor he who has always given me the strength to do the things I thought I could not.

Having the great fortune of living with an art teacher, I sought my wife’s help for this project.  Of course, always willing to engage me in the “art of art,” she jumped at the chance to teach me some of life’s finer things. I had the same mindset when I tried to teach her golf, but for that she either had a more formidable fix to her mindset, or I just wasn’t a very good teacher.  I suspect it’s the latter.  And of course, as all married couples know, teaching our others something–anything— is always a challenge, so I braced for this reality; I prepared myself to fully acknowledge my fixed mindset, let go of all doubts, and let my wife lead the way.  And though–as you can see in the sketch, I have a lot to learn and a long ways to go, I made some progress yesterday, and three small miracles occurred.  My wife taught not an easy student.  I drew.  And, most importantly, I grew.

And that is I why I am doing this, to grow and be a model for my students, especially in arenas outside my comfort zone. As a writer and teacher of writing, I am supremely comfortable and confident, and I can both talk and walk that path without end, but if I am really going to help my kids grow, I need to get them to walk where they won’t, and I have to walk with them.  So far, it is shaping up to be an incredible journey.

Magnificent Monday, all.

I have a confession. Yesterday, I donned an unfamiliar hat, earning a new moniker: Selfish Syrie.  Let me explain.  My son Finn has been sick all week, and because we think he’s old enough and because neither Mrs. Syrie nor I could “afford to be away from school this week because we had too much to do” he stayed home alone.  And while he certainly was fine alone–he is our mature, sensible one–alone becomes lonely, and yesterday, Finn had had enough.  In our family, when enough becomes enough, we sometimes have to implement the “I-just-need-a-good-cry” option.  Faced with the reality of mom and dad not getting home until after 7:00 PM because of parent-teacher conferences, Finn invoked the good-cry option, and for me enough had become enough, and I skipped conferences and came home to be with my son. And though I know I made the right choice, I am bothered by how guilty I felt then and still feel now, wondering if my rationalization for my decision was real or convenient.

Beyond Finns’ need, I convinced myself that my choice was okay because, I didn’t feel well either (sickness tends to make the rounds in a family), I was at the high school the night before until 7:30 for freshmen parent night, and not many parents would probably show up anyway, so I could just email the ones who did. Thus, having won myself over, I taped a note and sign-up sheet to my classroom door and went home.  But as the evening wore on and I looked at the clock wondering how many parents I had missed and how my colleagues were fairing, I began to wonder if I shouldn’t have toughed it out, if I shouldn’t have made Finn tough it out.  And still now I am wondering, but then, as I replay my lazy evening on the couch with Finn watching TV, I am more assured that I was in the right place last night.

But of course this will no doubt ebb when I get to school this morning and confront the list of missed parents.  Ah, the life of a teacher, the act of balancing our professional and personal lives, which I’m not suggesting is completely different from other professions, for all have to find balance. But teaching is perhaps a little unique because our profession is so personal, for if it were not, I am not sure that I would be wrestling with this right now.  Fortunately, I am surrounded by an incredible group of colleagues who help me keep my priorities straight, colleagues who tell me to go home, colleagues who understand  and live the daily dilemma of choosing between our kids and our kids.  Sometimes, we have to be selfish and choose our kids.  I just wish we didn’t have to suffer the guilty side effects.

Happy week’s end, all.

So, I got distracted this morning responding to a comment on my post on Edutopia.  What’s more, I let my emotion get the better of me a wee bit, but the guy rankled me, especially his comments in reference to another’s post about his son with Asperger’s, so I got jiggy with it.  Sorry, It’s a long read.  I promise to not get distracted tomorrow.

The dad’s post

I am of two minds or more on this. Is the point the learning? Or is it doing assignments? Both maybe.

My son, who has Asperger’s, is a really bright kid. He doesn’t do all of his homework – if he sees a point to it, he does it with pleasure, but if not, he doesn’t. I’ve not been able to change that, no matter how I have tried, and now that he is 15, I accept it. Last year, he got a D in his bio class, a class where he got 95% or above on all the tests. Most of the homework was the kind where you are labeling and coloring things, and he found it a waste of time. He loved the class, and he learned the material, and will discuss it fluently and happily. But his report card had a D… is that fair? He learned the material. I don’t know.

I teach elementary school. I grade kids on mastery of standards, on a 4 point rubric scale. Somehow that feels more authentic, but I don’t know.

The response to the dad’s post

I am truly stunned by the comments here from what I assume are some dedicated and experienced teachers. One teacher/parent actually explained away his child deciding on his own that some of the teacher’s assignments were a “waste of time” – so he didn’t do them. Can you imagine if all of us adults did that in life? Maybe you think filling out lesson plans is a waste of time, so you don’t do them. Or maybe you decide to skip your assigned crossing guard duty? How long would you last as a teacher? What’s worse, it sounded like that parent just gave up having their child do their homework. I realize we’re living in a politically correct world where everyone gets a trophy but come on – a 0 is a 0. If someone doesn’t turn in an assignment, that’s what they deserve. That said, there are ways to build your point system that a 0 on a homework assignment shouldn’t totally wreck a child’s GPA. The total points for my homework assignments never amount to more than 20 percent of a student’s final grade. I also award 20 percent for something I call participation and courteous behavior. They have to be engaged and respectful or that costs them just as many points as not doing their homework. Occasionally, I’ve received push-back from parents until they realize their students are learning real-world skills. I don’t accept “he’s just shy” just as I don’t accept “she thought the homework assignment was a waste of time.” It’s my job as a teacher to create an environment where even the most shy or angry kid WANTS to participate and do their homework. Otherwise, I’d be the real zero – not the kid. That seems to be missing from this discussion – creating an environment that produces good grades – not zeroes.

My response to the response

Hi, Steve. Thank you for joining the conversation. It is obviously a topic that places people on opposite ends of the spectrum, and while it is doubtful that I what I say here will bring us closer together, it may on some level move us less apart.

First, it has been my experience that the folks who tend towards grading reform, are dedicated and experienced professionals, who are reflective and open to new ideas and possibilities that challenge the status quo, not simply for the sake of challenging the status quo, but for the sake of refining practice to best serve kids.  For me, my journey into grade reform stemmed from the arbitrary approach that I believe too many educators take towards grading.  An accusation that I was not above, but one that I was not comfortable with, so I sought to make changes, for if I am honest, I am no expert on grading. I do not know it all, but I want to know more, so I can be better.  And, earnestly, I believe that is where most of us are coming from as members of the “no-zero gang.” We are not the wack jobs that many think us; we are simply educators who believe that there is some sense to this approach.  I first happened upon the notion of no-zeroes from Ken O’Connor’s 15 Fixes. And it made sense to me; it seemed fair to me–enough so, that I thought it was worth a shot.  So, I took it. And so far, for me, it has been one of the best grading-practice decisions I have made in my twenty years, so it is stunning to me that people are so undone by others making changes–like no zeroes–to their grading practices.

Second, I assume that the “parent/teacher” you were referring to is Chris from an earlier comment in the thread. I think it is short-sighted and unfair to dismiss his son’s story as “another kid deciding for himself that his teacher’s assignments were a waste of time, and so he didn’t do them.”  Is it so unbelievable that a teacher could assign work that was not a good use of students’ time or of benefit to their learning?  I can think of a bajillion assignments from my own experience as a student that were of no great benefit.  Their purpose simply seemed to be a transaction that had to be completed for a grade. So, I did them, but only out of compliance.  That is not to say, that I didn’t have another bajillion assignments that were of benefit.  But even at that innocent age, I knew the difference, and though I resented the busy work, I did it.  I wish I had had the courage at that age to make some independent decisions about MY learning.  If Chris’s son can pull A’s on the assessments without doing the practice, then it seems to me that he made a pretty wise choice.  I imagine that that is more reflective of the types of decisions that we make as adults, because we no longer have to put up with some of the nonsense that we did as kids.

Third, you talk about it being your “job as a teacher to create an environment where even the most shy or angry kid WANTS to participate and do their homework.” Sounds great, but based only on the information you shared, I am stunned–appalled–by how you accomplish that.  Let me get this straight, your getting kids to do this stems from punishing them with points if they don’t comply?  “They have to be engaged and respectful or that costs them just as many points as not doing their homework.” Really? And that accounts for 20% of their overall grade? You motivate angry and shy kids by threatening them with points?

It has been my experience that these kids are already disengaged, disillusioned, and disenfranchised, so it’s hard for me to believe that this is really a viable practice for engaging them.  Oh, I am sure, you frighten them into submission and call it engagement, but compliance is not commitment.  Can’t we engage kids without points?  If one has to use the threat of grade reduction to engage kids, I believe that he/she lacks the skills to actually, authentically create an engaging culture in the first place, and that’s too bad, for the kids are the ones who suffer. My experience suggests that developing relationships with kids is a far better recipe for engagement than forced compliance.

You suggest that parents respond favorably to the real-world-skills approach that you take. What world is that?  Let’s take our world: teaching.  Let’s imagine your motivational system being used on teachers, with the principal in charge, and in this world, he/she has the power to deduct up to 20% of your pay, subject to his/her perception of your “participation and courteous behavior” in staff meetings. Would you subscribe to this?  I’m not sure what your experience has been, but my experience tells me that a lot of teachers would be making less money each month.

In your classroom, when you make these judgments on student participation and courtesy, how do you decide what’s okay and what isn’t?  Is it simply subject to your interpretation?  If so, isn’t there a potential for discrimination and abuse?  To be fair, I don’t know you, and I will never visit your classroom, so it may very well be that you are able to be supremely objective in your judgment and kids are never on the receiving end of unfair treatment, so I will grant you the benefit of the doubt, but my experience with human nature suggests that danger lurks with these types of “grading” practices, practices that seem more teacher than student-centered.

And I think that is what it comes down to for those of us who lean towards grading reform in the shape of a no-zero approach (among other considerations); it’s a student-centered, let’s-strive-for-fairness approach with kids’ best interests in mind. We’re not crazy.  What’s crazy is the traditional, I-am-the-teacher, I-do-what-I-want approach that kids have been subject to since the dawn of public education–a terrible truth that needs to be confronted http://www.edutopia.org/discussion/uncomfortable-truth-about-grading-practices.

It’s time for change, and I am sorry that we have to endure tough conversations to get there.  I mentioned earlier, that maybe I could bring us less apart, and I am sure by now I only widened the divide, but I believe this dialogue is a necessary step in the evolution of public education. Discord can eventually lead to harmony.  Again, thank you for contributing to the conversation.

Happy Thursday, all.  Again, sorry I got distracted this morning.

There’s a part of me that loves tests not. They create anxiety for kids, and they also create some tension between teacher and student, especially if a student does not do well.  Unfortunately, yesterday’s test on Night thrust us down this path. Yesterday, kids were anxious.  Today, there will be tension from some as I hand tests back.  And while, I do not love what tests do to kids, they are necessary experiences in education, dragons that must be fought.

To begin, the test was tough.  It was, as I will call it today, “a big-kid test,” a test that not only required mastery of content, but also some mastery of test taking.  My intent here is to prep the kids for what’s to come.  Most of my honors kids will go on to take Advanced Placement courses, and most of them will be seeking to produce high SAT or ACT scores for college entrance and scholarship awards.  They have to have experiences with “tough tests.”  It’s a necessary evil.  But despite my trying to explain that to them today, I will be the enemy for causing them stress.  And that is when I will remind them of what I did to make the necessary a little less evil, the dragon a little less scary. This will be on my board when the kids walk in today.

What I did.

1. Gave two-and-a-half weeks to read a 115 page book.
2. Gave a list of people, places, and terms that would be on the test.
3. Facilitated three discussions about the nine segments of the book.
4. Provided summaries of all nine segments and allowed use on the test.
5. Allowed you to have the book during the test.
6. Allowed you to use any and all notes you took for the test.
7. Gave you class time to take notes, and encouraged you to collaborate with peers to create your notes.
8. Told you in advance that there would be an opportunity for post-test corrections (up to 80% with resources).
9. Told you in advance that there would be an opportunity for retake (up to 100%, new test, open book, no notes).
10. Reminded you repeatedly that it was not an easy test.

What did you do?

Though answers will vary, there’s a degree of predictability here in terms of what kids did and how they performed.  Many kids did very well, earning A’s and B’s.  And, no surprise, for they are the ones who actually read the book, heeded my warning, and took numerous notes.  Some did not do very well.  Some did not read the book.  No coincidence. I just hope they are willing to own it and learn from it.

Today will be bitter-sweet.  On one hand, it will not be fun to break the news to some of the kids, but on the other hand, it will be exhilarating to celebrate with those who slayed it, those who vanquished the foe.  I just hope that some of my kids learned a lesson.  I hope they learn that one can slay the dragon if one is prepared.  Can’t go into the cave without a sword and shield.  Fortunately, in 219 they always get another shot at the terrible lizard.

Happy Wednesday, all.

Most days my sixth-period kids drive me crazy.  Not bad crazy. No, more of a I-haven’t-the-strength crazy.  And while I am uncertain if it’s the dynamic of kids, or my diminished end-of-the-day energy, they are my most energetic, talkative, can’t-find-a-focus group, especially this semester.  Consequently, sixth period is generally a half-a-day behind my other classes.  And despite, my daily vows to get us caught up, we never do, and it makes me crazy. Of late, I’ve begun to accept that it is what it is, and I no longer fight it as fervently as I once did. I’ve begun to falter, to weaken, and after the last two days, I surrendered.  The kids win.  Maybe I am not qualified to teach a classroom management course at Eastern, after all. But before I throw in the towel, let me explain.  I said I surrendered; I didn’t say I lost.

So, something unexpected happened, something I did not anticipate from my sixth-period stinkers.  By now, we have made our way through the book, Night.  As we made our way, we stopped after every three segments and discussed what we had read.  Nothing profound here, classes discuss text all the time.  And, as I did, other teachers even  give kids prompts and opportunities to lead the discussion. Still, nothing groundbreaking.  Overall, I was very pleased with all of my classes and their contributions to a deep and lively discussion; even my–at times–severely shy third-period class engaged in great discussion, but none of my other classes came close to my sixth-period–my can’t-stop-talking-for-a second, bouncing-off-the-walls wild things.

For two solid periods, last Friday and yesterday, they engaged in perhaps the best class discussions I have witnessed in my twenty years.  And it’s not just that they talked, for that is never a problem, but they listened–they LISTENED!  So, too, they respectfully asked questions, built off others’ points, and used each other’s names as they moved the discussion forward and deeper with each passing minute.  Of course, I participated and moderated to some degree, but I didn’t have to.  I thought Friday was a fluke.  How could sixth period pull this off?  But yesterday, they did it again.  And I, inspired by their feat, let them know how much I appreciated them, and that, in the end, my worst talkers were, in fact, my best talkers.  So, we shared a laugh.  They, too, I believe were surprised by their performances.  But, the honeymoon, won’t last long, and we’ll get back to being an old, married couple soon enough, vying for position in our daily dance in the last hour of our day.  But from here on, I believe I will lead less, and follow more.  Ah, the beauty of letting go. Crazy.

Happy March, all.  May you find some unexpected beautiful craziness in your day.

Morning, all.  So, my typing skills already leave a lot to be desired, but now with my new boo-boo, they really are wanting.  Wish it were a better story, but near the end of my Sunday mountain bike ride, all the scary/sketchy stuff done, I caught a rock, and before I knew it I was over the handlebars, on the ground, with a finger…well, half a finger, where it did not belong.  My buddy tried to pull it back into place right there on the trail, but we did not succeed, so I picked up my bike, and we rode the rest of the way out–must have looked more like a tea party with my right pinkie, daintily lifted off my handlebar.  Anyway, got to the truck, drove to what was supposed to be “urgent care,” and waited nearly two-and-a-half hours for them to finally get my digit back to normal.  Really, in the end, I got lucky.  Though there is some cartilage damage, the tendons and bones are fine.  Just gonna have a fat, sore finger for a while, and a splint that does not make this particular task easy.

Of course, one of my first thoughts was my wondering how I was gonna blog with my injury, but it’s working out okay, and I don’t get off the hook for my morning minutes.  Nor am I off the hook for grading papers.  Yesterday, I made my way through a pretty good pile of essays, and while it was an adventure of sorts, it is nothing compared to the adventure my kids will have with reading my comments on their papers today.  Didn’t think it possible, but my handwriting can actually be worse.  Have fun, kiddos.  Of course, some probably won’t tell the difference.  It was already pretty bad.

Have a great Monday, all.  Happy leap day.

Happy Saturday, all.  Wanted to share with any who care, that my “Is Our Grading System Fair” post on Edutopia has been quite active today,  with people both supporting and challenging my views;  I responded to  some of the challenges as tactfully as I could. In truth, I love the challenges, and I don’t take them personally.  I am just pleased that the conversation is underway.  If you are interested, here’s the link. http://www.edutopia.org/discussion/our-grading-system-fair

Enjoy the rest of your weekend.

I’d like to begin by giving a huge shout out and thank you to Debi Hammel for sending a utensil care package to 219 yesterday.  Your generous gift will help many a kid fill their faces.  Thank you, too, for giving me the blessing and privilege of sharing experiences with four of your lovely kids.  I miss Kayla, Lex, Lorissa, and Shane.  I am excited to share more experiences with the others on the way.  Thank you, Debi.

Yesterday was a rare day in 219.  It was eerily quiet and peaceful.  It was a work day, and I was available as always, but unlike always, the kids didn’t really need me.  And while on some level that bums me out, on another level it was a much needed treat of time.  I got less behind, not caught up, but less behind, and that I believe is the life of a teacher.  It is a mad, nine-month scramble through which we constantly struggle to keep our heads above water.  Yesterday, I got to float.  I got to breathe.  But so did the kids.  As Kaila shared sixth period, “Sy, this is exactly what I needed.  I am so stressed out with all that we have to do.  Thank you.”  No, thank you, Kaila. Thank you, all.  It’s exactly what I needed, too.

Of course, it’s back to treading water today and avoiding drowning this weekend as I dive into a sea of student work, but it only makes me appreciate yesterday’s calm waters even more.  Thanks for holding me up yesterday, kiddos.

So, as some know, I have a few names: Syrie, Sy, SuperSy, Super Syrie, Silly Syrie, Stern Syrie, and the latest…Sy the Utensil Guy.  I’m not exactly sure how/when this began, but it is my newest hat.  Kids have learned that I have a stash of plastic utensils, and at all times of the day, they come to me seeking spoons and forks.  It generally begins with Carissa’s daily diet of mac and cheese during second period, and from there I get a number of visitors over the course of the day interested in my cheap cutlery.  At first it was only my students; then it became my students asking for their friends, and now on a semi-regular basis, it’s kids I don’t even know. But familiar or not, I fork over the forks.

So, what’s the deal?  Why the new hat now?  Well, for one, kids are hungry.  And, for better or worse, I allow them to eat in room 219.  And while some of my colleagues can’t even imagine letting kids eat during class, for me it’s a necessary no-brainer.  Let ’em eat.  Let ’em be people.  This is part of the equation.

Recently, the cafeteria announced that it would no longer provide utensils to students who were not eating school lunch.  However, for 25 cents, they could purchase a “spork.”  This is the second part of the equation.  But, I am not blaming the school; it’s simple economics in a world where funds are finite.  I get it.  It makes sense.  But it does not change the fact that kids need things.  Yes, they could–probably should–bring their own from home, but they are kids, and I have a soft spot for the little stinkers, even those I don’t know.  And so, when I can, I give them what they need: pencils, pens, paper, notebooks, books, and sometimes, when I can spare it, food.  I gave Steph a banana yesterday.  How can I ask her to give her all if all that she’s thinking about is food?  I had it. I gave it.  Simple stuff.

So, by now, I am getting used to my new hat.  Of course, my stash has drastically diminished in recent weeks, and what I thought would last me all year, will be gone in a week or so, but as I tell the kids, I am crazy rich.  I am a teacher.  They pay me stupid amounts of money.  Buying them forks is the least I can do.  #therichlife  #pocketssodeep

Happy Thursday, all.

Monday I mentioned that my helping kids with their speeches  would be the most challenging and satisfying work I would do this week.  I should have also said it would be the most exhausting.  For four 55 minute periods, I strive to be completely present in scores of conversations, ranging from “I don’t know what to do my speech on” to “What if I use a simulated story about my deceased grandma’s view on our right to vote.”  And these are rarely quick-question, move-on-to-the-next-person conversations. They are make-and-hold-eye-contact, seek-to-understand, question-to-clarify, maybe-get-lucky-and-inspire-them discussions–one right after another, a constant line until the bell rings. Many even after the bell rings as kids linger wanting more.  Most of the time I make them walk and talk with me as I make the way to the staff bathroom on my 5 minute potty break, my 5 minute intermission before the next act begins.

Of course what I would like to do, what I need to do is get caught up on my grading and planning during this “student work time.”  But what I like and need take a back seat to what I love: working with kids.  So this means I am perpetually behind–sorry parents that I don’t have the latest grades in Skyward yet.  I would do it after school or in the evenings but I have others in my life with needs too, others who also deserve my being fully present.  But sadly this is a struggle, for I have yet to find the “off switch” and at the end of the day; it stays with me, ever-present in my mind, and my students don’t help.

Last night, Eva gave me homework.  “Have my topic for me tomorrow, Sy.”  After a number of conversations with miss Eva, and numerous pleas to let me off the hook, she has persisted in seeking my help to find a topic.  Of course, I did not make the decision any easier by telling the kids that they had to truly care about their topics, that they had to have “fire in their bellies.”  So, it’s partly my fault, and as it goes, last night during my college class when a group of my students are presenting, I find myself distracted with Eva’s topic, and before I know it, I am turning over the grading sheet, scribbling down some ideas for her topic. Alas, it never ends.  Never a break.  And at the end of the day, I am spent, hoping that my night of sleep is deep, for if I wake up, it begins again.  I can’t remember my last deep sleep.

But at the end of the day, I wouldn’t have it any other way.  Not sure I have a choice.  Eva gave me homework.

Happy Wednesday, all.  Thank you for your support.