In my performance-learning classroom there are three basic components that we rely on: practice, performance, and feedback. I only use “grades” because I have to, and my “grading,” as most of you know, is–intentionally–far from traditional. And so, as I’ve written about numerous times, “work” looks different in my classroom. Well, it may not actually look that different. After all, that is a worksheet down below. But it feels different. Just ask my kids. They will tell you that work is optional, but I would also hope that they would tell you that work is beneficial. If it does not advance their learning, I don’t want them to do it. Sometimes–often times–they make this decision before the work. They decide they don’t need it. And that’s understandable; they’ve been subjected to teacher work far too often in their experiences, and they have discovered that much of what we put in front of them is just busy, fill-the-time (or the grade book) work. Jennifer Gonzalez speaks this truth in her recent post Frickin’ Packets. Kids are keen to the work game we play. So, many of them are reluctant to do the work. Work. Just another four letter word. One they learned early, and have come to revile deeply.

But I am seeking to change that. As I mentioned above, many of my kids don’t dive directly into the work. It’s work. But as we continue down the path to proving our learning through performances, many come to discover the benefit. They find themselves going back to the “work” as they learn through feedback that they are not meeting the performance targets. Yes, it’s retroactive, but for many, it’s also now relevant, because they are now in the context of the learning, and they see, they better understand the worth of the work. That does not mean that they go back and complete the entire worksheet, but instead, they go back and do what they deem helpful. The example below is not my best of this, but it is my latest. The kids are preparing to write their introductions for their Project Be a Voice pieces. Yesterday I put this in front of them to help them find their way. Some dug into it out of necessity. Others dismissed, but not disrespectfully. They already knew where they were going. It is likely that some will have to come back to it, but they get to make those big-kid decisions. It is their learning. It is their work. They will get out of it what they put into it. And that’s not untrue in the real world. But I also know it is not untrue that if we don’t find much value in it, we tend not to do it in the “real world” either.

On occasion, in my less resolute moments about this, when I wonder if this approach has any merit, I see my kids doing “work” from other classes. And more often than not that “work” is copying their friends’ worksheets, and this gives rise to my own four letter words about that kind of work. Work.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…begin drafting our introductions.

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Thursday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better. 

“If they all carried the same meaning, then I should be able to challenge the standardized measure with another if I find it out of sync with my findings from the 180 days that I have spent in direct contact with the student, drawing from one or more of the other measures to support my position. Shouldn’t I? If not, then what the hell am I even doing?”

 

Never quite settled on what learning is and what learning is not, I try to be careful of coming from a place that suggests that I know–definitively–what learning is. I don’t. And that plays a big part in my Project 180 approach. Seeking to better understand the complexities of learning and the diverse needs of the little humans I serve, I attempt to turn upside down conventional approaches, and if there is one convention that I would love to leave on its back, it would be standardized testing. Much reviled but nonetheless regarded as the measure that determines learning in public education, standardized testing sits atop the bench with its gavel stamping success and failure on the foreheads of kids and teachers, schools and districts. At the end of the day, despite some of the eduspeak that would suggest otherwise, it is the measure that holds sway in education. It’s mad. I’m mad. And recently, I tweeted my mad rantings into the Twitterverse.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

...begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…finish and discuss the documentary from yesterday.

…begin drafting/crafting our statements of purpose/focus.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Wednesday, all. Have a great day.

Do. Reflect. Do Better. 

Out of the classroom today. Life calls. Have an appointment. Am asking the kids to listen to the world today by having them watch the Netflix documentary Living On One Dollar. Will catch up with them tomorrow, so they can share what they heard, as they themselves seek to speak.

Sorry for the short post, all. Have a great Tuesday.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

 

If we can set aside the politically motivated aspersions that surround the March For Our Lives moment this weekend, then we might see what’s at the center of it all: kids. Many seem surprised by, and some cynically doubtful of, their ability to find and speak their voices.  But I am not. I am not at all surprised, for I listen to their powerful, beautiful voices. Every day. In fact, I try to give rise to them every day. And currently, with Project Be a Voice, I am trying to give them the loudspeaker, so that they may speak their own truths, their own humanity.

And those truths are more various than one might think, and I try to give rise to them all, even the ones I disagree with, maybe especially the ones I disagree with. I am not here to give kids truths. I am here to help them find their own. Last week I received a letter from a parent accusing me of pushing my liberal agenda on her child. It caught me off guard, for I believe I am neutral to a fault, hyper-conscious of my position of “power.” And so, I was surprised by the amount of vitriol in the letter, which accused me of giving kids too much room to speak their minds, especially in the face of authority. She’s right. I do give kids room. But what I wish she understood is that I give her daughter the very same room. Further, I wish she understood that I am trying to give each the guidance to speak their truths in ways that compel others to listen. For if we can listen to each other, then we can understand each other, and if we can understand each other, we can better live with each other.

Kids spoke this weekend. Some listened. Some did not. And though they are only kids, they have something to say. I know. I listen every day. And my life is better for it.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…listen to each other as we wrap up sharing our beginnings.

…establish credibility by deepening our knowledge from finding print or digital sources about our topics.

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Monday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better. 

Today

Today I will listen.

Today I will learn.

Today I will take measure.

Today my wheels will turn.

 

Today I can only guess.

The effort and the fear.

Today I’ll weigh their words.

Their truths upon my ear.

 

But today won’t last long.

It’s only one in a week.

Today their voices come.

I’ve asked them all to speak.

 

So, today I will listen.

From each a thing to know.

Today I’ll take it in.

And from their truths, I’ll grow.

 

Today. Today, the kids will share their beginnings, those first mutterings of meaning, and I get a front row seat, and I will be on its edge, leaning into each. Can’t wait. Can. Not. Wait.

And in the tomorrows to come, I will be buoyed and brightened by the little suns that rise in my day, as they further find their voices, as they further find their way. Damn I love this job.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…share our beginnings.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Friday, all. Have a great weekend. Thanks for letting me practice my sappy rhymes on you today.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

Was up at 2:15 this morning to get my lovely wife to the airport. She’s already in the air. Coffee’s not providing much lift, so this plane is still on the ground. Gonna be a short post this morning, folks.

After my “monster morning” start yesterday, the kids quickly chased away my demons as we settled into a great day of learning. We were seeking to answer two questions with our work.

How can I get and keep my audience’s attention?

How can I use ethos, logos, and pathos to engage my audience?

Our first stop was to watch the speech below from Lewis and Clark High School student Ava Sharifi. She shared her voice with the staff and students during their MLK assembly back in 2016. We analyzed how she got and kept her audience’s attention as well as her use of ethos, logos, and pathos. The kids did a great job of digging into her message and delivery. My hope is that they carry what they learned from Ava into their work for sharing their own voices.

 

Today, they will begin that work as they seek to find ways to make a first impression and get–and keep–attention with their own words. In an effort to walk the walk, I am working along side them on my own “speech.” I have asked them to write five beginnings (hooks) to their speeches. Tomorrow they will share three of them with the class, so they can get some feedback and some practice with sharing their voices. Can’t wait to listen.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…seek our voices.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Thursday, all. Sorry for the lame post. Gonna be a long day.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

Maybe it’s that we are down to fifty-five days. Maybe it’s that standardized-testing season is right around the corner. Maybe it’s that we are starting a new project. Maybe it’s that I completely flubbed the lesson fourth period yesterday. Maybe it’s that I am putting too much pressure on myself by applying to the Humanities Washington Speakers Bureau. Maybe it’s that the “innovate weight” presses constantly. Maybe it’s that I am two chapters from finishing the haunting, beautiful book A Monster Calls. Maybe it’s that I have created this superhero persona when I am just a human who wears Superman shirts to hide his fear. Maybe. Maybe more. Probably more.

But, maybe it is the book. Maybe my own monsters call. Or maybe, more aptly, I am calling them. Conor O’Malley called the Monster.

You are the one who called me, Conor O’Malley, it said, looking at him seriously. You are the one with answers to these questions.

 

And while my own struggles are in no way comparable to Conor’s, (I am not ready for that truth), the book has seeped into my spirit, and I have called my own monsters forth, my own self forth.

Have I done enough with the time?

Have I done the right things with the time?

Are my kids learning?

Should I prep the kids for the SBA?

Will I sellout if I do?

What if my kids don’t pass?

What if my kids do pass?

Are my kids learning?

Is this new project too ambitious?

Am I kidding myself that kids can find their voices?

How do I give them freedom and direction?

Are my kids learning?

Am I expecting too much from my “regular” kids fourth period?

Am I supporting my regular kids fourth period?

How can I fix yesterday’s flub during fourth period?

Are my kids learning?

Should I be applying to Humanities WA Speakers Bureau?

Is it a vanity project?

Do I have anything to say?

Are my kids learning?

Am I an innovator?

Am I an “eduquack.”

Do I even know what better is?

Are my kids learning?

Am I ready for my Mom’s death?

How will I face that Monster?

Are my kids learning?

Why haven’t I been wearing Superman shirts lately.

Am I a fraud?

What am I afraid of?

Are my kids learning?

Are my kids learning. That’s my monster. He visits me every night, but unlike Conor’s, who always visited at 12:07, my monster cannot tell time. He does not care about time. He cares only for cracks, cracks to creep into, where he strangles certainty, taunts truth, and haunts hope. My cracks call. He answers. He always answers. But he never speaks. He makes me tell the tale. The tales are not easy. But I try to tell them anyway. This morning I have more cracks than I can manage. And I am afraid. But soon the sun will rise, and the cracks will close, and I will be among my kids, forgetting for a time that which haunts, and I will be made bold as I face another day and be okay–until the sun sets and I speak my stories into the dark yet again. For he will call. He always does.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

...begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…analyze a speech for ethos, pathos, and logos.

…begin answering the question, “How will I get my audience’s attention?”

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Wednesday, all. Thank you for letting me tell my tale this morning. It helped.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

 

 

“Sy, I got a beef with you.”

“Well, good morning, Dev. What’s up?

I was meeting with my grade-level team in another classroom when Dev found me early yesterday morning.

“Well, it’s not with you personally,” he continued, “but have you seen my grade? I mean, I know it’s not my ‘grade’ but I can’t have an F, Sy.”

“Let’s go see what’s going on, Dev.” And we walked across the hall to my room.

Funny how, despite one’s efforts to get kids to see “grades” differently, there still remains vestiges of the Freak out from their traditional experiences when they see an F on the online grading screen. Thinking I had perhaps moved us past such moments with multiple explanations and reassurances to kids and parents about what the “grade” means on the screen, I was a bit disappointed but not surprised by Devin’s response to his “grade” on Skyward. Old realities cling. New realities struggle to take hold.

“Sy, you know I gotta have my bike. If I have an F, then I can’t ride my bike. And that’s not an option. I gotta ride my bike,” Dev persisted on the way to my classroom.

He’s right, I do know. He tells me and the rest of the class every day during Smiles and Frowns. Not a day goes by that he’s not sharing something about maintaining his many bikes or pulling off some gnarly new tricks at the skate park. I know. I also know because I, too,  need my bike. Bikes. That was our connecting point. Dev was new to my class at semester, and he was not quiet about wanting to transfer back into my colleague Jenna Tamura’s classroom. He liked her. He was comfortable with her. But he said he’d give me a chance. And so, for a few days, Dev took me and my class for a test ride. Somewhere along the way, he learned about my love for two-wheel wonders and apparently that sealed the deal, for he stayed. And I am glad. I am glad I passed Dev’s test.

Anyway, back to my room and Dev’s beef. In a matter of minutes, we settled his grievance. He was missing two performances, which I knew, for I had just updated the online grade book the night before. One, I was able to give to him, along with a fresh stack of resources, to take home. The other, I told him he could take during class later that day. And just like that, all was right in Dev’s world again. He would not lose his bike. He was not “failing.” But he did need to follow up; he did need to “find” me, so we could set things straight. And he did. He found me.

And that’s what I am now going to start telling my kids that an “F” means: Find me. It does not mean you are failing. It means you need to find me. It means that your grade needs attention. And until we connect, we can’t do much about it. But once we do, there are many things we can do. There’s always possibility. There’s always opportunity.

But these require connecting. And while I’d like to think that I am closely connected to all my kids at all times, it is simply not the truth. There are too many of them, and there is too little of me. And that, along with my adult ADHD and my not-so-impressive organizational skills, results in our losing touch every now and then along the trail. But I stay on the trail. Yes, I sometimes, explore that curious path that “bends into the undergrowth,” but I never stray from the trail. And in that, I try to be the beacon. I try to be he who brings some comfort and supplies some aid out here in the great expanse of my and my kids’ wandering. I try.

Yesterday, Dev found me. And so did many other kids. We emailed our learning reports home to parents. So, yesterday was a good day to be found. Yesterday was a good day to peddle possibility and offer opportunity. It’s what I do. It’s why I am out here. But I can’t do it all. The kids have to help. They have to Find me. For I get lost sometimes, too.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…move down the Be A Voice path.

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Tuesday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

 

 

Everyone arrived safely. With 128 student drivers at the wheel, we safely and successfully navigated parallel structure last week. I gave them the keys and a rough map of their destination, and they did the rest. I simply sat beside and enjoyed the view.

Here are some of my observations from the passenger seat.

Leaders emerge. This does not always happen immediately, but with me out of the way, kids had to settle into the seat, and take the wheel. It was interesting to observe the group dynamics. It was fascinating to watch kids, who I’d thought would not, take the wheel.

Kids are creative. Though the few pictures I remembered to take, will not do the necessary justice, the kids came up with some creative ways to teach parallel structure. One had to be there to truly appreciate the clever ways kids taught material that they had just learned themselves. Wish I had an easy to share the videos I took.

Kids are conditioned. Of course, not all found creative inspiration. Some, to be frank, bored the socks off us with definitions and examples. Oh, they were not bad, but they paled in comparison to some of the engaging ways others approached the task. But I blame not the kids. They are accustomed to and conditioned for such things. Makes me think of how many such lessons they have had to sit through over the years. Guess there is some truth to “we teach how we were taught.”

Teaching is learning. It is certainly not a new idea. I think Seneca gets credit for it from umpteen years ago, but there was and is truth to the notion that if you want to learn something, teach it. Still true today. So, I let the kids teach so they could learn, and though I am not through the entire stack and though we will take our future learning further, most have demonstrated learning on their performances. They are successfully identifying correct use of parallel structure as well as revising sentences with awkward, not-parallel structures. They taught it. They learned it.

Learning is messy and time-consuming. If one had observed (by the way, you’re always welcome, except you Mom) my class last week, they would have found themselves in the middle of a noisy, messy affair that lacked conventional structure. I had purposefully faded into the background, relegated to a glorified timekeeper, occasionally reminding kids how much time remained. I had to “disappear” a bit. I can’t give them the keys and the wheel and ask them to drive if it’s not real. So I let them get messy and noisy. Did I want to take control? Of course. That habit will die hard. And I will likely never fully give it up, but in these designated “Teach-Me” moments, I will let it go. I will let them go. It’s the whole point.

Of course my experiments with “Teach Me” have not resulted in perfection, but it has given me more to learn from and tweak with, as I chase better ways to help kids learn. So, I will take what I learned and try to do better. Always better.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns

…email learning reports

…begin selecting topics for Be a Voice Performances.

…reflect in Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Monday, all. For any curious about the “except Mom” comment above. My mom is always trying to get into my classrooms. Moms.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

Six years ago I had an opportunity.  An opportunity that was unexpected. An opportunity to share.  An opportunity to be honest. Monte Syrie, my colleague and friend, started teaching a Classroom Management class at Eastern Washington University.  Because this is one of the first classes prospective teachers take, he thought it would be beneficial for them to hear from current teachers other than himself.  From that thought came the teacher panel. An opportunity for teachers to share their answer to the question, “What do you wish you would have known when you were in their shoes?”.  And now, having never missed one, I’m 17 teacher panels in and each quarter I struggle a tad bit to pick the one piece of advice to share. I usually share one of these, my top 3 answers.  

I wish someone had told me that relationships are important.  In one of my early education classes there was a brief mention that you needed to have a good rapport with your students, but beyond that there was no further discussion.  I quickly learned, in my early years of teaching, that if kids feel like you care, they will trust you. And if they trust you, they will do pretty much anything for you. How do I do it?  I greet each of my students, each of my classes, each day at the door. Sometimes it’s with a simple, “Hello”. Sometimes it’s, “How are you?”. And it doesn’t end there. This year I’ve started beginning the period each day with smiles and frowns, something good and/or bad that is going on in their lives.  And I share with each of my class periods as well because our relationship is not a one way street. If I’m asking them to open up and share something personal, I have to be willing to do the same. Yes, it takes time, but I believe it’s important because they are important.

I wish someone had told me that each kid deserves a fresh start.  It is true that as human beings it’s natural for us to judge people.  That said, it is unfair for a judgement to be held against a kid. Why?  Well, the reality is they are not perfect. Humans are not perfect. To me it doesn’t matter what a kid said and/or did the day, week, or semester before.  I don’t care who their brother, sister, or parent is. Every student has a fresh start every single time they walk through my door. If I’m honest, it’s not always easy.  There are kids who push your buttons almost every day making it a struggle to start new with them. Granted there are “exceptions to the rule” and “extreme behaviors”. There always is.  But I know that my students value and appreciate the fresh start that they always have with me. I have realized if I don’t give them that, then they will shut down and I won’t get much out of them academically or otherwise.

I wish someone had told me that you need an outlet.  It is easy to fall into the “school trap”.  The trap where you feel like you have to get to school early, stay late, and take mountains of work home each night.  And this trap has a serious side effect. . .you forget to take care of yourself. For me I have to take the time to workout on a regular basis.  When I don’t, when grading, meetings, etc., get in the way, I can feel the difference physically, mentally, and with my attitude. And that difference affects how I am in my classroom and how I am with my students.  They can tell when I’m not myself. The minute I get back into the workout groove I feel like myself again. Yes, I love my job. It’s not just what I do. It’s who I am. But, it’s only a small part of my life, so I have to make time for the other parts of my life.  

Even though I’ve been doing these things for a number of years, this year I’ve realized that they are vitally important in making our select-and-support grading approach successful in my classroom.  There’s no way kids would have been open to this drastic change if I wasn’t myself, if they didn’t trust me, and if they didn’t think I cared about them.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.