Morning, all. Gonna wish everyone a happy Wednesday and call it good this morning. Lots to get done, and too little time, so I’m gonna take the easy road this morning. Sorry. Tomorrow I will do better.
Happy Wednesday.
Do. Reflect. Do Better.
Yesterday was day one of #WhyWeek. I ended up calling it “Why, Sy?” for my kids. Below are the four “Why, Sy?” screencasts that I made to share “my why” for our work. The first is an introduction to “Why, Sy?” And the other three accompanied the three tASKs I presented to kids.
Unrehearsed and unscripted, they are a little rough and clunky. In truth, this was harder than I imagined it might be, and though scripting and practicing may have created a “better” product, I am not sure it would have been as authentic, which was/is my goal with these.
I wanted to share them this morning, not for their cinematic or pedagogical value, but rather, I wanted to share them to show that I try to walk my talk. Day two today of “looking them in the eye” and speaking a why for each tASK I present. My hope is to make this habit, then routine, then ritual. If I talk why, I have to walk why.
Happy Tuesday, all. Stay safe.
Do. Reflect. Do Better.
Why?
Little word. Big impact. Reminds me of the power we place in another three-letter word, “yet.”
Both, for their own part, play a role in our attempts to motivate students. Yet is the card we ask them to play when they experience challenges along the way. “I can’t do it. Yet.” And even if this is a little different perhaps than Dweck really intended, it’s a card that gets dealt time and again in classrooms all over with many believing it’s a magical card trick that transforms the learning experience for kids. Maybe.
But what about why? Why, though dealt far less, seems as important a factor to motivating kids in their learning experiences. If yet compels them to continue, then why presents a purpose to begin. But it seems we skirt around this a bit. Oh, many post a learning target each day. Some even post a purpose on the board. But I wonder if that’s enough–for kids. No doubt, whenever adults visit, they gush at such stuff. But what about kids? Do such things really motivate them to dig into the work? Are our answers to the the implied (most kids are afraid to ask) question, “Why are we doing this?” sufficient? Are they authentic? I am not convinced they are. And that lack of conviction has led me to challenge myself to think more deeply about and present more authentically to my kids the word “why.”
This was from my early-morning musing on Saturday. I want to do better with the “why” in our work, so this week I am going to challenge myself to present a “Screencastify why” for each and every task I ask this week. I am going to “look them in the eye and tell them why.”
And I am going to strive diligently to be authentic. For some things, I imagine I will not come up with a great answer. But when that happens, I am just going to tell the kids, “This is just a school thing. Out of this context it will matter little. It might add value to your growth with language, but it is not the be all, end all to your development.”
Yes, I know, and yes, I expect such honesty is likely to reduce completion of work. And yes, I know the focus here is motivation, but I also know that “dressing things up in learning targets and eduspeak” isn’t all that effective either. So, I am gonna try. I am gonna focus on why.
Happy Monday, all. Have a great week.
Do. Reflect. Do Better.
Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein
There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.
Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.
Yes we’ll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we’ll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.
This is my “My Room Message” to my students yesterday. And though I am no Silverstein, I tried to capture in my message that which lies beyond the classroom.
Beyond the classroom? Is there such a place? Yes, I think there is. It’s that place where we seek to reach kids who can’t stay, won’t stay on the sidewalk because it’s not leading them anywhere. We know this. They know this.
“For the children, they mark, and the children, they know…”
They know (especially by the time they get to us in high school). The endless track of teaching and testing to keep them away from the edges, to keep them centered on the sidewalk. And I am not only talking about “students of concern.” I am talking about all kids–high, low, medium-who’ve become disillusioned about and disengaged from their learning, as if it’s not theirs to own. And I imagine it seems to them more a game of earning than learning. But isn’t that the game we invite them to play? And if by some chance they go astray…well, the rules of the “earning game” can be harsh.
And so for them–for each, I seek to see that place where their learning is their own, where their learning can live.
“And watch where the chalk-white arrows go…”
I “seek to see,” not to show. Where each kid walks, so I may help them grow. Around their corners and around their bends, so I may find where the classroom ends.
And they begin.
A bit of fancy this morning, I suppose. But maybe we need a little fancy. Maybe we need to step off the track a bit and seek the “chalk-white arrows” and see where they go.
Happy Thursday, all. No school for us tomorrow. See you back here on Monday.
Do. Reflect. Do Better.
Traditionally, generally, a test marks the end. In many instances–too many, in my opinion–it becomes a point of no return for kids: “The score is in the book. We are moving on, to the next unit of study, to the next test.” And the cycle repeats itself so many times that kids–and educators–come to think that testing is learning, that testing is teaching: that testing is everything.
Proof? Ask 100 teachers how much weight they give their tests in the grade book. I imagine the answer would reveal a weighty reality, one that strikes fear and raises anxiety in kids. Fear and anxiety? Why? Why ever?
And to what end the end (the test)? “Will this be on the test?” Is that learning compass for kids? All else matters not, only that which will be on the test? And what of the test after we have moved on? Is all that the kids dumped on the test and now forgotten really as important as we make it out to be? Did they really learn it if they take the test on Friday only to have forgotten most of it by Monday? This type of learning does not seem to endure, and the kids know it. But it does often come with a lasting impact: the one in the gradebook. If the impact of the grade endures but the impact of the learning does not, what does this say about our means, about our end? How do kids translate the meaning of this? I don’t know. Ask them how they feel about tests? That might give us some insight, but I suspect we already know. And I suspect for many of us, despite our own compasses pointing us away from such practice, we continue towards the only end we’ve ever known: the test. Seems a sorry end.
But there is hope. I have heard heartening tales of more and more teachers offering corrections and retakes. And when it’s kids telling the tales, I become heartily hopeful that there may be a better end after all. For when kids experience opportunity to continue learning, the means make more sense and the ends seem to be but short stops before the next steps towards learning and growing. No dead ends. Just steps.
Out of time this morning on this third installment. Wanted to get further down the trail, but I will have to make a short stop here until I can continue towards my next end tomorrow.
Happy Wednesday, all.
Do. Reflect. Do Better.
The world won’t give them resources. Won’t it?
I have changed the oil in my own vehicles for years. Drain the oil, change the filter, refill the oil. Easy peasy. But when I bought my Tundra that peasy became a little less easy. And so, I turned to YouTube. I had to. Things were different. And in the different I had to learn. So, I sought help in a DIY video. I still have its link saved in “Notes” on my phone. And though I have now changed the oil in my Tundra several times, I still consult it on occasion “just to be sure.”
Did I pass the test? Well, my Tundra is still running. I am still changing the oil. Did I cheat? By watching someone else do it first and then going back to it during the task to make sure I was doing it right in my first and even subsequent attempts? Did I really do it myself if I had help? Well, I certainly felt like I was the guy getting his hands dirty.
Okay, I’m being a little flip this morning, but speaking plainly, using resources is “real-world learning”. “Traditional testing” is a school construct that frankly is absurd when put to the test. I am not saying that tests don’t exist outside of school. They do, but nearly all of them, even “high stakes” ones, can be taken again, and again, and again.
And it is with this in mind that I design not tests but learning experiences for my kids. And for those experiences, I do what I believe is necessarily my duty, I create and provide resources that they can initially see and refer back to as they experience learning.
In this case, I provided not only an example learning check with a different text, but I also created optional support videos to help my kids if necessary. But what if they have to make, support, and clarify a claim in the real world? The world won’t give them resources. Won’t it?
A quick “how-to-make-a-claim” YouTube search resulted in hundreds of resources. This is information that is and will always be at our kids’ fingertips. So, why should I present an experience that’s different from what’s real? I am no longer about maintaining the status quo and fabricating a fictional experience for kids just because we feel like we have to honor the austere “test” of our institution.
I am about supporting kids in their learning. I am not a protector of the test. I am a teacher of kids. And not I’m sure there is anything more important for me to do than provide supports. We talk a lot about “design” in our practice: lesson design, assessment design. unit design. But if in our blueprint there is no space for “support,” we have not fully delivered on our promise as the architects of the learning experiences we provide our children.
I provide supports. I have to. I am a teacher. That is why I design my house the way I do. People, little humans, reside there. And I am responsible for the quality of their stay.
Okay, perhaps a little “soapboxy” this morning, but the “testing coalition’s “box” overshadows mine, so I felt like I had to speak up a bit.
(from part one) Optional Support Videos
Where can I find the Tone words?
How do I write the Claim?
How do I write the Cite?
How do I write the Clarify?
How do I construct the Paragraph?
Happy Tuesday, all.
Do. Reflect. Do Better.
“…but they are the menial and the mundane, which measure not my worth. Let my worth be measured in the support I provide.”
Morning, all. Following is an example of a “distance” Learning Check in my class from last Friday. I have worked for years to make a test not a test. Instead, I work to support the experience of learning with my approach to “assessment-as-learning.”
By any other name, we’d be called “supporters,” for what’s our job–really–if not to support? I am not a manager, a measurer, a grader. I am a supporter. Yes, I am at times required to undertake the tasks of the respective titles listed above, but they are the menial and the mundane, which measure not my worth. Let my worth be measured in the support I provide. And so, with that in mind, I “share myself” in what I offer below as a supported experience from the Project 180 Classroom. And for the rest of the week, I will break it down into parts, sharing the what, why, and how of my approach.
Learning Check: “By Any Other Name”
Learning Experience Target
Today I will experience making, supporting, and clarifying a claim about rhetorical/literary elements in a text.
Optional Support Videos
Where can I find the Tone words?
How do I write the Claim?
How do I write the Cite?
How do I write the Clarify?
How do I construct the Paragraph?
Prompt
Passage
“Of course, they were both wrong. I understood it perfectly, and I remember it all very clearly. But I put it happily away, because it had all happened to a girl called Cynthia, and I never was really particularly interested in her” (15).
Tone Word Resource – https://docs.google.com/document/d/1kF1hyLHncSMBMkx3rnRhFmahQvhA5sZq3qDJYyaavNw/edit?usp=sharing
CCC Template
| This is your answer to the question. Please write as a complete sentence. Please remember to show that you know what the tone word means in your sentence. Claim: |
| This is your “Discovery Quote” from the passage–where you found your answer. For this you will cite words from the provided passage that you believe help convey the tone. Please include the page number in parentheses. (15). Cite: |
| This is your clarification of your claim in the context of your cite. Please do not begin with, “In this quote.” Clarify, make clear your claim and then reference the cite. Start with your claim. Clarify: |
CCC Paragraph
Directions: Take each part from the template above to form a paragraph in the space below. Please make sure that they all fit together to form a coherent paragraph. Please proofread your paragraph to make sure it all fits together. It is okay to add/delete words to make that happen.
Expectations
I will meet the expectations on this Learning Check with my CCC paragraph if I…
…present a claim that answers the question in the prompt about the author’s tone.
…support my claim about the author’s tone with textual evidence from the provided passage.
…clarify my claim by making reference to my cite, further explaining how it supports my claim.
Once your paragraph is written. Please highlight the specific parts as shown in the key below.
Claim
Cite
Clarify
(Write your paragraph here.)
Support Videos
Did you use any of the support videos?
If yes, please indicate which ones.
Response to Feedback
You will complete this after I return your Learning Check with feedback. You will then resubmit to complete the Learning Check process.
How did you do?
What did the feedback reveal.
What will you do better next time?
Happy Monday, all. See ya here tomorrow.
Do. Reflect. Do Better.
As my longtime readers know, I view learning a story, and that view shapes how I work with kids, seeking to empower them to take ownership of their learning experience in my classroom. It is their learning. It is their story.
Yesterday, I asked them, “to check in with a chapter” as we approach the midpoint of the quarter.
And their stories become my story becomes our story. Their “chapters” not only capture, they compel. They help me see so that I may serve. They help me hear so that I may support.
Story has become the centerpiece of my work with kids. From the story-generating ritual of Smiles and Frowns to the journey-capturing practice of My Learning, My Story, we are bound. Stories connect. Stories endure.
And what lovely stories they are.
Happy Friday, all. Have a great weekend.
Do. Reflect. Do Better.
That we even conceived of the idea of “failure” in our approach to teaching kids is an absurdity.
Along time ago in a classroom not really so far away (120 miles), a young man became a teacher. At that time, he would not have guessed that he would be forging lifelong connections with kids. Heck at that time he didn’t even know that relationships were part of the deal. He thought he was there to teach English to 7th graders. He thought a lot of things, I suppose. And I suppose, a lot of those things have changed over the years. But, the lessons he learned about connecting with kids from that first formative have stayed center. He was reminded of that this morning from one of the very kids who in her own unique and sometimes challenging ways taught him some valuable truths in the classroom. I wanted to share our interaction from Facebook this morning (with permission).
Crowd, I am sorry, old friend, that you and your son are experiencing this. And though I don’t have “the” answer to set it right, I will offer this. School is largely an artificial construct, that cannot, does not, and—sadly, seemingly—will not meet the needs of all kids. It seems instead to expect all kids to meet its needs. As such, when kids don’t fit the mold—for various reasons—the system labels them failures, and this creates situations such as the one you find yourself in. And to speak plainly, it’s bullshit. It’s bullshit any time, but it’s especially bullshit when it fails to meet the needs of our IEP kids. All kids learn and grow in different ways and at different times. But the system largely ignores this as we try to run them along the assembly line built for convenience, not effect. In short, the system is failing your kid. Your kid is not failing the system. That we even conceived of the idea of “failure” in our approach to teaching kids is an absurdity. The only thing we should be focused on is growth, which then becomes the goal which gives rise to our role to serve and support. It should be that simple. “It shouldn’t be this hard.” Ever. That is not to say that learning is without challenge. Growth requires challenge, but it also necessitates support. And though I imagine those who have served your son have tried in earnest to support him, there are systemic shortcomings that can make it difficult, so I am not necessarily pointing a finger at any of his teachers; I am, however, poking an emphatic finger in the chest of an institution that creates these all too frequent, all too real, all too tragic situations for kids and families. And for that, I am truly sorry, Crowder. But, sadly, my sorry won’t fix anything. So what, then, Syrie? This. Center your son in the idea of learning as growth, help him see in himself what the system has seemingly failed to find: a young person with the means to learn and grow every day in the authenticity of his own way. Let that be what he sees in himself. And when that self is threatened from a system who would have him believe otherwise, then advocate for the service and support that he truly deserves and let the system flail in its own failure. But I caution against using the system as a scapegoat, (which I feel like you are not trying to do). Help him believe in himself. Help him find the words, “I am learning . I am growing.” Those should be the words in the heads and hearts of all our kids. That they would ever think or speak otherwise is a travesty. It’s, in a word, bullshit. Sorry, my friend. Not sure if this helps, but I felt compelled to share my two cents this morning. Your son will be okay. Of course he will. He has you for a mama. Take care, kid.
In a few hours, in a classroom 3.8 miles away, a far-less young man will continue a teacher. He will not guess what connections will continue or in what ways they will come to enter his life later on. But he will know to focus on connecting with kids when he enters the classroom. He has to. He has learned that. He had to. He had some great teachers along the way. Thank you, Kristina, for being such a great teacher. Sorry for your struggle. Wish I could mend what’s broken.
Happy Thursday, all.
Do. Reflect. Do Better.
Only twenty days. Seems longer–a lot longer. And as I look ahead to the many days to come, I…. Well, I can’t do that. That tunnel is too long, that pitch is too steep. One day at a time. One step at a time. I have to live and work in the present moment, for that is all I can sustain. And for now, it’s working. We are moving. We are learning. We are managing. And we will continue making our way, but if I am honest, I worry about the days, weeks, and months ahead. Can we sustain this strange? Yes. No. Maybe.
Not trying for a pity party here. Just worrying out loud. I worry about our fatigue, our apathy, our anxiety, our distance. Ours. All of us. Teachers. Students. Administrators. Parents. Society.
It is ours. All of it. And as long as we remain together and accept it as ours, I think we will be okay, but already, in various ways, I see the cracks forming, and I hope we can hold it together, for it is ours to hold. And our continued compassion and grace is all that’s going to sustain us on the long road ahead. We got this. But we gotta “got” each other, too.
Happy Wednesday, all. “Get” each other. We gotta. There is no other way.
Do. Reflect. Do Better.