Happy New Year, all. I have some exciting news to share with you.
Project 180 is on its way to becoming a book in 2021!
I have partnered with the team at Code Breaker Inc. (http://codebreakeredu.com) to bring Project 180 to life as a book by the end of Summer ’21. I am so stoked and grateful to have this opportunity to work with these awesome folks.
Moving 180 from blog to book was always on the horizon, but I always imagined it much farther down the road. However, now, as we wrap up year five of the 180 journey, the horizon is here. I will provide more details in the near future, but for now, I just wanted to ring in the new year with this news. And I wanted to thank you all for helping me grow 180 for the last five years. I am excited to see where this next path takes us. Would not be here without you. Thank you for all your kind support.
We’ve all been there, I imagine. There, ya know, that place where things don’t quite fit the form, that place where we meet learners and there’s no other way to adequately describe it other than “messy.”
It doesn’t fit, no matter the scale. Oh, we try, in earnest, to consider and capture all the places where we imagine kids should be, crafting carefully the language of the levels, some times mincing words ad nauseum, finally settling on something. And we enter the arena, positive we have the Rosetta in hand to capture and call the learning we encounter. But then, it happens. We find something outside the neat niches we have carved, and we pause.
And in the pause, one of two things happens. We force the fit. Or we forget the fit. If we force the fit, we just find the level that seems best, we color it with edspeak, and assign a number (honoring the rubric). If we forget the fit, we acknowledge that when we introduce humans into the mix, things get messy and we have to find a way that works, not a way that fits (honoring the learner). So we forget the fit. And then the guilt sets in.
Whether we force it or forget it, we are left wondering and worrying. Not in a debilitating way. We don’t have time for that. But more in a nagging, unsettling way. Something’s not right. And it all comes back, I believe, to the rubric.
So, we should not use rubrics? Maybe. But no, I am not going to say that out loud. Most of us have to use rubrics. It is the mark of good teaching. Just try to get through your yearly observations without presenting a rubric to your evaluator. So, I am not suggesting we abandon rubrics. But I am suggesting that we regard them less reverently.
Do, I use rubrics? No. I present success criteria for our priority standards so we know where we are headed, and when I can, I use the criteria as entry points into the feedback/response process, but when I can’t, I don’t. Criteria are guides, not gospel. In the mess that is learning–and teaching–I have found the need to steer outside the margins. So, I do. But I am not saying that makes me a great teacher. I am saying that if being a good teacher means strict adherence to a rubric, then I don’t want to be a good teacher. I’ve only every wanted to be a better teacher. And I have found being better means being responsive to the learner in front of me, even when–especially when–she doesn’t fit the form.
She is sitting right in front of me. It was her work that led us here in the first place, and at this place it seems an affront not to include her voice in something so personal, something so complex.
My first step into my “changing education” journey was focused on grading. Unsettled by the “grade game,” I sought to change the game by focusing on learning–not grading, which led to that radical first step in year one where I gave every student an A for the year. Since then, my journey has taken me along a number of paths as I have explored ways to push grading aside in order to let learning have–to let learners take–center stage. Below is the message I shared with them yesterday as I presented my “select-and-support” approach to grading.
Their learning. Their story. This is where I have landed in principle and in practice. I ask the kids to take the lead on determining their final grade in what I have come to call a “Learning Letter.”
This, of course, is not a new idea in the Project 180 Classroom. It, in general, has been the approach since year two. This is just the latest form it has taken. This is latest path I am on to focus on the learner in the learning.
Of course, some raise a brow at such an approach, suggesting I am undermining the integrity of the system, and even committing malpractice as I am the one who is qualified to measure learning. Yes, I have the title of teacher, and, yes, I guide the learning experiences, but I question–fervently and frequently–if I alone am solely qualified to judge learning, especially within the confines of the system’s conventional approach to labeling learning and learners. It seems the oft forgotten element in this is the learner. How can I not look to this primary source? She is sitting right in front of me. It was her work that led us here in the first place, and at this place it seems an affront not to include her voice in something so personal, something so complex. I have to include her. And so I do.
So, have I found the way? Of course not. I will never find it. The territory is too vast. But at the end, when I come to rest, I will look back upon my journey, and I will say with confidence that I tried. This is just my latest in a long list of tries to find the learner in the learning.
“Hey, kid. Good to hear form you. No stress. Just progress. Do what you can when you can. Your grade will be fine.”
“I guess sy, it’s like i don’t understand how teachers, administrators, and my parents expect me to do all of this work and have a good mental health. It just puzzles me. I have 2 councilors, and a semi supportive family and I’m still behind and not doing well… I just can’t imagine what people that have it wayy worse than me feel yk [ya know].”
I do know. It’s why I am the way I am. I know–rather have come to know–that I have to be flexible, and I tried to communicate that to my kiddos yesterday, as they, too, are no doubt puzzled by this strange time that we have been forced to fit.
As I have long said and lived, I cannot control all that happens outside my room, but I have a great deal of say as to what happens inside my room. And in that say, I have learned to speak the language of flexibility, bending where I can, where I must. And so, I do.
Too flexible? Absolutely. I will not pretend otherwise. I bend too far for kids. But don’t they take advantage of you? I am not sure what that means. If I offer, shouldn’t they? See, my experiences with bending have not resulted in the “great escape” that many fear. If we give them too much freedom, they will run and never return. That has not been my experience. Kiddos, like the one with whom I shared the above conversation yesterday, return time and again. She, when she can, returns to the “roost.” She checks in. She turns in work. She seeks help and feedback. When she can. And when that happens, I am here–ready to bend. But what about learning? What about it? Does she not seem to be learning during this strange time? Does she not seem to be reflecting on her human experience as she learns about struggle, perseverance, community, and empathy? It seems plain to me that she is learning more than I can teach her.
No, she may not meet all the requirements of all our “priority standards” for the semester, but she seems to understand that she has other pressing priorities right now that require her attention. So, I let her live her story. We often think we have to turn to literature and other’s stories to learn about the human experience, but I have found that our little humans are living some pretty powerful stories right now. They don’t need to live vicariously through fictional characters. They just need to live their lives. And I have found that being flexible gives them the room and freedom they need for that.
We are not ruining kids lives–now or later–when we are flexible. I think that’s a fallacy born of fear, a fear that if we don’t keep them in line, that if we don’t make them comply, they will never fit. Phooey to that. All of it. They will fit fine, for they are learning to fit themselves first.
Well, I suppose it’s a bit much to say Project 180 has made it a 1,000 miles, but today does mark a milestone of sorts with this being the one-thousandth post since starting my journey into the blogosphere nearly five years ago.
And when I did take that initial, tentative step with my first post, I wasn’t sure where it would lead. I thought I would write a few posts in an attempt to start some conversations around changing education. I thought it might become an occasional habit as I reflected on my experiences in the classroom. But I did not think that it would become a daily habit (now ritual) during the school year. I did not think that.
But now, every morning, long before the sun signals the day, I am here reflecting and writing, sharing my journey with those who will listen. Some have listened to every word (thanks Mom); some have come in along the way; others have left; and some have recently joined. And it’s the “some” (you) who have helped keep me going. And for that, I offer my deepest gratitude. You matter. And I hope you know that. Thank you.
Where does it go from here? I don’t know. For now, I will keep writing. I am at least committed to finishing this fifth year of Project 180. And from there I will consider my next steps. Maybe it will be time for a new writing journey. But wherever my writing takes me, I will continue as I began until I end: continuing the conversation about education.
Thank you for being one of the some who has joined my journey. I couldn’t do it without you. Thank you.
Morning, all. Thought I’d share our activity today. Our work has been a bit “heavy” this week, so I wanted to lighten it up some.
On a whim, I created this assignment yesterday afternoon. I wanted something that still related to what we have been working on topically, but I also wanted something that would get us started on the right foot with writing this year. Many kids fear and thus hate writing by the time they get to me. Too often it’s a stale, sterile, strict, and structured experience that maligns kids’ mindsets about writing. So, I try to change that.
Writing is creating. It’s a messy affair that takes lots of practice. And I think that practice can be play. We don’t have to take everything so seriously all the time. In truth–if we want to be serious about this–most kids will never ever write again as we teach them outside the institution of education. That is not to say that writing isn’t an important part of their growth–it’s vital. But I believe the vitality of it lies in the process and practice, not the polish and publish. And so we process, we practice, we play. And as we do, we grow. But it takes time for kids to trust. So, we make and take the time. And though many will certainly not trust my call for “play” today, I believe we are taking an important first step together as we try to repaint the picture of writing.
“I accept that you won’t accept any old work from me. Thank you for understanding, and thank you for your prayers and support. I will be sure to keep you updated, and I will also be doing this week’s assignment. End of story. :)”
End of story. This is a brief follow-up to yesterday’s post. In my earlier exchange with this young lady, I tried to “flex” a bit and tell her that my not accepting any work was the “end of the story.” But she, as you can see, reminded me that it’s her story, and as such, she–not, I–will get the last word, which offers me a humble reminder this morning of how lucky I am to be a part of their stories.
Day Fifty Two. Morning, all. Spring Break day for me. We have to have our days used up by the end of this week, so I am taking a day today and my last day on Friday. Still doing my morning work with school, but I am going to step away from the bulk of my responsibilities (minus checking email) and take a “day off.”
What does that like? Well, later this morning, I am going to play cowboy as we give our small herd of seven calves shots and ear tags ( we will also “take care” of the boys). After that, I am going to get some golf in with my brother and best friend. Gonna be a good day.
Day Thirty Five. Morning, all. Gonna keep it short and simple today. Need a break. Hope everyone is safe and sane. I’ll see ya back here on Monday. Take care.
