You Can't Make This Stuff Up

Well obviously someone can make this up because they did, but I definitely can’t make it up.  I was browsing the internet (as I so often do) and low and behold this image popped up on my screen.  I couldn’t help but laugh out loud (and email the picture to many of my friends—something I also do often) but then I got to thinking.  Someone is making a business on this.  Someone is selling parents a cover for the swing at the playground and alongside it a healthy helping of fear.  This product is meant to assuage the fear in parents of the notoriously dangerous playground swing.

Parents are so worried about protecting their children that they would purchase an absurd product like a swing protector.   We know parents love their children and want what is best for them, but doesn’t this seem extreme?   It might begin with the swing—or actually the sister product The Shopping Cart Cover—but it quickly turns into ‘that horrible influence on my child’ or ‘the terrible teacher who didn’t push him.’  There are so many horrors out there I can’t even tell you.  As we sit down with parents for parent teacher conferences we need to keep this ‘playground fear’ on our shoulder.

Some teachers think of parent teacher conferences as a time to showcase the growth of their students with the adult partners who love them so dearly.  Others of us teachers dread these conferences, what unexpected horror is going to befall me this year?  Which parents are going to leave thinking I am a horrible teacher?  But we often forget to think about the parents.

Every parent brings something to the table during those conferences.  Kids are about as personal as it gets.  Every critique you have about a child is taken straight to the heart.  Every improvement that is needed is one thing that a parent did ‘wrong.’  Parents see themselves in their children and you have the raw data and the professional opinion that can make or break their life’s work. 

As you sit down in those tiny chairs (come on people, go get the big chairs that are in storage…) remember these vulnerable parents sitting with you.  There is no formula that will guarantee a successful conference, but I believe that taking the perspective of every parent who walks in your room will certainly be a strong start.  Not every parent is there to judge your teaching or your classroom or your grading scale. Every parent, however, loves his child to the point where he would do anything to protect her from the dangers of the world.  Show these parents that you are indeed partners working together to help their child and allow them to resist putting up a barrier—a ridiculous swing cover if you will—between you and their most prized possession.

Happy Conferencing!

You Changed the What?!?!?

We have a constant need to do better—or we should.  If we don’t try and do new things better than last year then we are not ‘good’ teachers.  We become stagnant in our work.  We become the washout of the school, the teacher no parent or kid wants to be subjected to for a whole year… 

It is your first year teaching fifth grade.  You have taught third grade for four years but you are now moving up in the world to fifth grade.  The last fifth grade teacher retired with much fanfare and many tears from adoring students and parents—and look at that here you are. 

The material you received from him was a jumbled mess.  You know there is a method to his madness, but you cannot for the life of you figure it out.  You do see the big file called “State Projects.”  Youknow about these state projects, they are famous, legendary.  Fifth graders have been completing them for centuries.  There are model projects in this folder from at least 10 different years!  As you plod through the planning of the year you realize a really cool way to integrate this years state project with your science unit.  ‘This is going to be so cool.’ You think to yourself.  In fact, it takes the project to a whole new level.  You spend months building it up in your head and in the minds of your students.  They cannot wait to start.  Finally, in February, you hand out the assignment, rubric, and timeline.  The students have to bring it home to review with their parents and bring it back with a signature that they all understand what is expected. 

Monday morning one student brings it back with a post-it note from his mother “I would really like to speak with you about this project.” The note says.  An email is waiting in your inbox from another parent about your ‘new idea.’  And yet another approaches you at pickup.  The message is the same from each of them:

How can you change this treasured tradition of the fifth grade project?

By now, I am sure you have a similar story from your own experience in mind.  Whether it is changing an assessment, book choice, unit of study, or routine I am sure you have heard people resistant to your change.  Change is uncomfortable, it is unsettling but yet we know we need to keep evolving to thrive in our jobs.

How can we reach a balance with this tension?  When do we need to drop what is comfortable for something new and challenging?  When do we need to maintain routine and structure for the sake of our classes and ourselves?

I think we need to ask ourselves the biggest question of ‘why?’

In the scenario I painted above the new teacher had a need that she was trying to meet.  She was entering a world of unknown trying to make sense for herself—to own the classroom she was about to guide.  Her need was strong and real and she wouldn’t have been able to teach the students well if she didn’t feel in control of the classroom material.  Had she just taken over the jumble of files her year would have been a jumble of lessons. 

Many new teachers starting out feel one of two things.  One new teacher needs to prove to herself and to those around her that she can ‘do it on her own.’  She wants to separate herself from the person who had been there before and prove that she is just as worthy of the position if not more.  She may abandon what has worked in the past for the sake of being ‘different, innovative, creative.’  The other new teacher clings on to what he has seen.  He anchors himself in the known even if he knows it isn’t was is best for his students.  He knows what he would like to do, but is uncomfortable making any changes for fear of failure.

As you can imagine, neither of these teachers are ideal.  As with almost everything in life we teachers need to balance.  We need to balance the old with the new, the innovative and the routine and most importantly we constantly need to be asking ourselves ‘Why am I really doing this?  Is it best for my students?’

So let’s go back to our new fifth grade teacher.  Was she wrong to change the project?  Is she expecting too much changing this beloved project too soon?

She needs to listen to the parents and understand that change is hard and uncomfortable but ultimately if she can answer the ‘why’ with confidence and compassion she is off to a successful start.

Spring has Sprung

It is spring! (sort of)  Although the weather may not be cooperating, in the life of a school it is definitely spring.  Children know it, parents know it, and we as teachers definitely know it.  Springtime in schools is when we begin to think about next year.  What will I be teaching?  Who will be in my class?  Will I be in the same grade?  Will I have to start a new math curriculum—again?  I want to challenge you to also ask yourself this spring: “What can I do better next year?”

It is very easy to get stuck in a rut.  When we find something that works, we often stick to it, and move on to ‘fix’ something different that needs fixing.  We never revisit the first fix and it just becomes something we do because it works.

I recently visited a beginning teacher’s High School English class.  She had never taught the Great Gatsby before, but she told me she wasn’t at all concerned about beginning the unit.  Curiously, I wondered why she felt so confident about this book.  “Well I still have my notes from tenth grade.” She told me. 

You may be laughing--even outloud--at this naïve comment, but this new teacher is not alone.

Ever met a fifth grade teacher who is suddenly shifted to kindergarten because the numbers have shifted in the school?  Ever been handed a ‘brand new amazing’ curriculum in August and told that you need to teach it? 

We are often thrown into situations that we are ill prepared for, sometimes we know how little we know and sometimes we don’t.  The new teachers’ naïveté is humorous, but her situation is not unique.

So lets go back to those ruts I was talking about before.  I can picture this new teacher in five years. 

In one scenario she is still using her tenth grade notes to teach the Great Gatsby.  She is clinging to what she knows and what feels comfortable no matter the value.  I can see that fifth grade teacher who is now a kindergarten teacher still adapting her fifth grade routines and activities for her younger version of her former students.   

The next scenario shows a fifth year teacher who has reevaluated the way she teaches different units.  She has a method and a philosophy that she applies to every book she has her students read.  She is ready to tackle any new piece of literature that may come her way because teaching literature is an art form.  The kindergarten teacher has a shelf filled with literature on early childhood education.  She has an early childhood guru who she often turns to with new ideas she has been wondering about. 

So here we sit at the beginning of Spring, counting the days until summer vacation.  We are all thinking about next year and what new challenges it will bring.  I want to challenge you to take this opportunity to also think about how you are going to tackle these new obstacles in a strategic and proactive manner so that next year you will be able to answer the question

“What am I doing better this year?”

The Luxury of Time

This past week a brave new teacher opened his ninth grade all-boys classroom to myself and a group of other experienced teachers (the brave part is the all boys 9^th grade, not necessarily the team of teachers who joined!).  The veteran teachers and I split the task of observation, each taking another area of classroom life to watch as the new teacher was going about his day.  A subject matter expert paid close attention to the delivery of the material, another mentor watched the students for ‘on-task’ and ‘off-task’ behavior trying to capture what happened before and after each instance, and I focused mainly on who was doing the intellectual work at any given moment in the class. 

These three areas of focus were all of interest to the new teacher so we decided to divide and conquer.

After the 42 minute observation (A huge shout out to the scheduling masters in each building I work with) the veteran teachers and I sat down to debrief our observations.  It took us 45 minutes to prepare a reflection for the new teacher that one of the veterans—the new teacher’s mentor—was going to deliver on our behalf. 

During our debrief, the other veteran teachers and I each tried to address what we saw in the new teacher’s class.  We were focused on presenting evidence, and backing up opinions with data.  We had some healthy debate about the interpretations of our data, and we saw different areas of focus for the new teacher.

So you may ask, why did we spend so much time focusing on one lesson and one new teacher?  What did we gain?

Well first off, I think the new teacher gained a lot from our observation.  He got to see his classroom through our eyes, and understood that our observation was to help him think about growing in his practice, not about judging his classroom. 

The veterans and I learned a great deal about our own teaching.  We were pushed to think ‘how would I do that differently,’ ‘what do I do that he doesn’t do,’ and even ‘I never thought of doing it that way, it is so much more effective.’  (All of these are comments I thought about during my observation). 

What was also incredibly valuable was the time afterwards to debrief.  We really gave ourselves time to be openly reflective about what we saw in the classroom.  We pushed one another to use evidence, and point to the facts.  We backed one another up with anecdotes from other parts of the lesson.  We were all in all colleagues.           

I realize that time is truly a luxury in schools.  We are all pressed for time, trying to make every second count and there truly isn’t enough time to accomplish all that we want.  But I cannot say enough about the value of a splurge.  These veterans and I really overindulged in this luxurious conversation in which we really took the time that was needed to learn to better our own observation practice.  I recognize that we can’t do this every week, but I also know that we cannot afford to never do it again.

Let it Snow

So I am on a roll here talking about books I have read/am reading.  I recently just picked up a book called “Free Range Kids” which came out of a popular blog with the same name.  The book is really geared towards parents with helpful tips about letting our caged children run free.  It is filled with facts and advice such as “Drop your third or fourth grade child and a friend at an ice cream store with money for sundaes.  Pick them up in half an hour.”  There is even has an encyclopedia in the back of the book entitled “Safe or Not? The A-Z Review of Everything you Might be Worried About.”  Which includes ‘metal bats,’ (I’m assuming of the baseball kind) ‘death by stroller’ and ‘eating snow.’

                                                        

As I sit here in Boston looking out my window at the snowy landscape (in early March) I am drawn to this last bit about snow.  Everyone who grew up in certain parts of this country (and many other countries of the world) has a childhood story or two about snow.  There is something magical about the break in pace, and the change of landscape.  I remember waking up in the morning only to realize school was canceled and I was going to be able to spend the entire day outside (I did indeed eat snow—usually with maple syrup on top).   I remember walking up that terribly steep hill pulling my sled behind me, and the rush of the snow on my face as I sped back down.  I don’t, however, remember playing in the snow at school.  I can’t imagine that it never happened, but I just don’t remember it.

This past week many schools in New England had school despite the white stuff falling from the sky.  Yesterday I heard a kid saying that “this was the best recess we have EVER had” when he came back in from 45 mintues of playing in the snow with his classmates.  The little kids spent the entire recess body sledding down a big hill of cleared parking lot snow.  You just can’t beat it!

It is easy for us adults to be annoyed at the streets, the fact that we have to stand outside for outdoor recess, or the hour of our cancelation call.  We may even worry about the safety of our students eating the snow, or staying outside too long.  But before we do, lets just step back and remember the magic of it all—and maybe, if you can let our inner child out for just a minute you can  have a little taste of the snow yourself (I highly recommend adding some warm maple syrup).

"Ish-ly Ever After"

Ish by Peter H. Reynolds

When I was younger I would have told you that I wasn't creative.  I was never very good at drawing and I have very little musical aptitude so as a child I could only label myself as "not creative."  I even had an art teacher who used to fix my work when I was finished to make it more accurate.

I recently had the pleasure to sit and observe an impressive early childhood classroom.  I spent most of my  observation focused on two boys.  One boy was sitting under the climbing structure with a shovel digging "the deepest hole ever," while his companion was filling the dirt from the hole into a red wagon.  There was a lot going on in that yard, children coming and going, fighting erupting and resolving but these two little boys kept on digging.  They were checking the depth of the hole against their shovel, responsibly collecting the dirt and taking turns when one got tired of his position.  At a certain point the digger declared he was 'done' (I presume the center of the earth was getting a little too warm) but the play had only begun.  The second had an idea.  "Lets get some water."
The mud was delicious. The rich dark liquid coated their hands, shirts, the wagon and even the patio.  The boys experimented with the way their new substance flew threw the air, stuck on different objects, and trickled down their arms.  "We can build pyramids like in Egypt." one said and then the rock collecting began.
This play continued until the mud hardened, the pyramids had been built (yes, in one day), and the boys were ready for a new adventure.
So you may ask 'is this learning?' 'where was the teacher?' 'what goals did they meet?'

What if I told you they were learning'ish.'  There is a wonderful book by Peter H. Reynolds called "Ish."  It is about a boy who loved to draw until his brother mocked him for the inaccuracies in his drawings.  He gave up drawing all together until his sister points out the "ish" quality of his work.  "Ramon felt light and energized.  Thinking ish-ly allowed his ideas to flow freely."

No one in this early childhood classroom was worried about the final product.  No one cared if the boys were dirty, or there was a hole in the ground, or if there was mud in the wagon.  The boys, like most five year olds, were naturally thinking ish-ly and their teachers were going along with it.

Thankfully, this scene is not unique to the school I was visiting.  Many early childhood teachers understand the value of "ish" thinking.  The products are not what is important, it is truly the process.  Students don't need to take home a cute project because they have spent the day really learning and growing.  There are a myriad of ways to document student learning and teachers can show this growth through storyboards, videos, anecdotal stories, and photographs.

I can say with confidence that most art teachers don't 'fix' their students' work.  Many early childhood teachers understand the value of process over product.  But what happens as children grow up?  One of my colleagues told me of a course he took on differentiated instruction where the professor lectured the entire time.  When asked about his method of teaching the professor replied "there is just too much to cover, I don't have time to differentiate."   What happens along the way?  How can we go from an open ended mud play to a two hour lecture and expect that each student is really learning the most he can learn? What is the developmentally appropriate way to teach a college age student?  Is this a question we even should be asking?  Shouldn't students know how to learn on their own by college?

When students enter the workplace they are often put back into the 'ish' zone.  Sure they are asked to complete tasks and perform the basics but it really is the 'ish' that will set them apart and lead them to success.  It is the out of the box and creative, projects and ideas that make a difference in life.  If these students haven't thought 'ish'-ly since they were six, it will be a lot more difficult to switch their thinking at twenty.  So how can we make room for the 'ish' in all of our classrooms?  How can we reward this thinking and creativity and "allow his ideas to flow freely?"

I won't tell you now that I am not a creative person.  It took me years to be able to see the creativity inside myself.  I was stuck in the mindset that creativity could only be seen through art or music.  Maybe during the poetry unit we did once a year or the creative writing essay that was worth 10 percent of my grade I could use that little bit of creativity I had.  But now, as an adult, in real life, I use my creativity every single day.  I hope that our students don't have to wait until they are adults to come to this realization.  Each and every one of our students should be able to live their lives "ishly ever after" no matter how their creativity manifests itself.

Lessons from The Trunchbull

My son and I are in the midst of a major Roald Dahl phase.  Dahl is a very dark author and reading his books together has been a blast, and has given the two of us a lot to discuss.  Our most recent foray was in the heart of Matilda.  Matilda is a particularly gifted student in Miss Honey's class.  Miss Honey is very caring, but most of the other adults in Matilda's life are not.  The principal in the school 'The Trunchbull' has some particularly stirring pearls of wisdom.

                 "I have never been able to understand why small children are so disgusting.  They are the             bane of my life.  They are like insects." she declares while sitting in Matilda's kindergarten class. "My idea of a   perfect school, Miss Honey, is one that has no children in it at all.  One of these days I shall start up a school like that.  I think it will be very successful."

When my six year old read this line he turned to me and said "A school with no children in it would just be a factory."

Now I could turn this blog post in many different directions.  A gushing parent tribute to my incredibly reflective kindergartner, an editorial about the value of children, but instead I want to think about what a school with no children would look like.  Would it indeed be a factory?

In the model of today's schools my son's gut reaction may be correct.  Ken Robinson creates a great image in one of his talks about the child on an assembly line where the only thing that really matters is the date of manufacture.  They are moved through the years like stages of production until they are stamped at the end with a seal of approval in the form of a diploma.  There are periodic 'inspections' from various factory workers and the overall product should look fairly similar to the one produced in the same box.

What if this weren't true.  What if a school with no children was a workshop?  What if the end product wasn't one in a box of nine but rather a unique piece of art like nothing ever seen.

This seems intimidating.  It seems impossible.  It may even seem too idealistic.  And perhaps all of these are true using the framework that we work within.  But what if this framework looked different?

Some of us have the ability to make these changes.  As school leaders we can reshape the way our schools look.  We can restructure our class groupings, subject areas, or even just the way we frame our assignments to our children.  What if you replaced one unit test with an unbounded project?  What would you see?

I don't know, it may be a disappointment and a waste of time but it may be just the thing that you need.  Maybe that kid who never cared about your class would open up and soar.  Perhaps that shy kid who never was able to connect would be able to mentor a neighbor in an area of strength.  You never know what your students may be able to accomplish unless they are given the chance to show you.

One year I had a student who was painfully shy.  It made me uncomfortable to ask her to speak because  the idea of putting two words together in front of her class was pure agony.  As one of the final assignments of the year I hosted an America Idolesque competition in my classroom.  The students all had to present some type of performance showing what they had learned about different types of rocks. We then had a voting process and the winner was chosen to present at a whole school assembly.  Well by now you probably have guessed that the student who won in our class was this same shy girl.  She stood uncomfortably in front of our classroom and quietly read the words to a song she had written.  No one could hear the words, but after her presentation she passed around the lyrics so we could all see them.  They were really fantastic, witty and smart.  Her peers voted that her song was the one that needed to be presented at the assembly but how was she going to do it?  We couldn't even hear her in our small classroom.  They brainstormed what to do.
"Well let's teach her how to sing loudly"
                                       "Picture the audience in their underwear"
"That never works..."
         "Wait, why don't we sing with her"                                 "We can't do that, those aren't the rules"
"Who made up the rules?"
                                             "Let's just change them"
The kids kept going on.  I am sure you can hear the conversation in your own head.  Eventually without any intervention from me, the students decided they all needed to learn the words--the song was too good not to be heard.  One boy offered a guitar, another offered to write out the chords for him.

These were kids I had never seen before.

I knew what they knew in math.  I knew their reading levels could predict their misunderstandings.  I even knew what they liked to do in their free time, but this was a side of them I had never seen.  Giving them an opportunity to just be authentic allowed them to take on new roles they had never taken on in my classroom before.  It may have looked like a waste of time to an outsider, but I knew differently.

They used problem solving, critical thinking, musical prowess, and so many more skills I didn't document.  This was true learning, and I had very little to do with it.  The end result wasn't an amazing performance.  I can't say the whole school stood demanding an encore.  There wouldn't have been any dramatic music in the scene in the movie--but those kids were so proud.

They were all beaming: the writer, director, musical accompanist and their teacher.  Although I didn't give them each an inspection stamp at the end, I could really see the value of their time and the beauty of their art.  The work they did in my class those few days couldn't have been done in a factory, only a workshop filled with chaos and failure, ingenuity and perseverance could have produced such a performance.