Eight weeks later, I suggest it, they do it. They like it.

I call it No-Talk Thursday.

Sure, there are still the skeptics and the resistant, but as a whole the class fades to silence much quicker now than it did then. It is a stretch of time where they are allowed/encouraged to disconnect and instead plug into themselves.

This isn’t to say they never do it on their own time, but when the world is buzzing around you too many of them choose to buzz along.

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In about fifty days, I’ll be leaving K/W and flying to B.C. to begin my 42 day Bike Across Canada. Forty-two days of solitude, pedals and scenery. As I’ve explained to my classes what I’m doing, many of them ask, aren’t you going to get lonely? Aren’t you going to get bored all by yourself?

The truth is I don’t know. I don’t think so, but I’ve never gone this long on my own. I’ve never allowed myself this long to be contemplative.

I’ve never been silent for so long.

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As we shift gears and move into our “No-Talk Thursday”, I often think “Is seventy-five minutes a week near enough?” Should we be practicing quiet contemplation more in schools? Is school too loud?

As we shift our classroom pedagogy towards a more online presence, a more “connected” existence, do we also allow the natural hustle and bustle of technology into our classrooms and in essence, into the learning procedure?

We know that learning happens when a student “thinks about thinking” or a student “wrestles with the knowledge/concepts/ideas”, however, are we giving students space to do that critical contemplation, or meta-cognition?

Should we be taking more time to resist the hustle and bustle and add more silence?

In my mind, it needs a radical tactical shift.

As I talk with other teachers, it seems that this is a universally accepted idea. The system needs to change.

John Mayer sings, “We are waiting on the world to change.” The problem is that year after year, as we sit and wait for a system that is adequately responsive, we lose another opportunity to get started.

Can teachers change the system? Are teachers system leaders?

On one hand, we are the front lines. We are the first person to deal with students and parents. We show up everyday and close the door. We have the utmost of control over the experiences of a student. Innovation and change can happen on a daily basis. We have the ability to radically alter how we approach learning, how we instruct, and how we assess.

Yet, the status quo is maintained. The change that happens is often minor. We haven’t seen any radical change since the dawn of the information age.

And the reason, because the system hasn’t changed.

This paradoxical relationship of change has stymied any lasting, important forward movement.

Teachers speak about a mistrust of administration, the Ministry and the support they’d have if they were to try something outside the box. Not to mention, the fear of trying something, failing and the lasting implication to the students under their care. For all the talk about trusting teacher practice and judgement, is there  All valid reasons for sure.

Though it isn’t enough. Change is needed.

I’m left questioning the likelihood of true systemic change. I’m left wondering if the acts of a single teacher, or even a radical group of teachers is really change. But, that doesn’t make me still want to try new things, challenge the system and encourage others to do the same.

I guess my question is, are you waiting on the system to change or being the change?

It’s cheesy, I recognize.

The point is, I want to have high expectations of my students. I want to set the bar high and I want to help each kid get over it.

I want be a consistent positive force.

Every morning, that’s my goal. Make a student believe and move a student forward.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve been very cognizant of the feedback I give my students. I try to tailor the feedback to be positive, to be constructive, to remind them of the successes they’ve achieved.

But upon reflection, upon sitting down and talking with students, I realize I’ve been glossing over the honest feedback. I’m trying so hard to polish my message, that the truth is being washed away. 

This unsettles me.

Where is the line? Where is the tipping point between positive, constructive feedback and honest feedback? Because they aren’t the same thing.

In a discussion with some colleagues, the idea of “tough love” came up. Is there room for tough love in schools anymore? Some teachers felt that there really wasn’t. They felt that the expectations now (with credit recovery, credit rescue and all manner of student success) lead to a sanitized feedback loop where no one admits there is dirt anywhere to be seen. I’m not sure I fully agree, but I can see where they are coming from.

So, I ask you, how do you balance being positive and constructive with providing honest feedback?

To start a blog, you need five minutes on Blogspot or WordPress and you’ve got a blog. Now, you can say you have a blog. You are doing it. But, of course, you’re not. You have to put in the time, day after day. You have to write, consistently.

In university, I was focused on sitting down and writing a novel. I did. I got started. I wrote the first three thousand words. I could now tell people, “I’m writing a novel.” I felt that was the accomplishment. I thought starting was enough. But years later, I only had 3000 words and a fading belief that “I was writing a novel.”

Last week, I started a podcast. (Just a Teacher Podcast) I was proud. I said, “Hey world, I started something.” It took me about fifteen minutes to record my first episode, another ten minutes of editing, five minutes to download the correct WordPress plugin, and before I knew it, it was done. I had a podcast. This week the reality set in. I’ve got to do again. And again to make it meaningful.

Starting is not enough.

Call it what you will, follow-through, resilience, discipline or whatever. That’s when it gets hard.

Yet, that’s when it matters. That’s what separates an idea with a product. That’s what separates an intention with delivery.

Don’t get me wrong, starting something is great. In fact, I’m always happier starting something and letting it fade away then having the idea festering. But the world will never be changed without the next step. Or the one after that. The world will never be changed by just the start.

I have to sit down and write the next blog post. I have to write the next chapter. I have to create the next episode. That’s when it matters. That’s when it counts.

It’s easy to start something, the next step is when it counts.

The point is, blogging may not be as “authentic” as I think.

I tweet on a semi-regular basis. I follow teachers from around the world that also tweet about education. Not many, really. In fact, out of all my teacher colleagues, about half actively use Twitter. (Unless, they are tweeting anonymously, which is distinctly possible.)

The point is, tweeting may not be as “authentic” as I think.

I read books and talk about them. I share the books I read and my thoughts on them with a group of people that fluctuates. In fact, many of my friends read sparingly, mostly the news or internet gossip sites. (Unless, they are reading novels and not talking about them, which is distinctly possible.)

The point is, reading and talking about what I read may not be as “authentic” as I think.

And so I’m left questioning, what am I in the pursuit of?

Theoretically, I want students to use their words as means of connecting with people. I want them to learn how to use language to move people, to persuade them, to inform them. I want them to understand that we must approach different audiences in different ways.

But who are these audiences I speak of?

My wife is an engineer. She writes on a regular basis, probably more than I do as an English teacher. Her audience is other engineers and she typically writes technical memos.

My brother is a radio promotions manager. He writes on a regular basis, probably as much as I do. His audience is other co-workers in e-mails, with point form descriptions of ideas and logistics.

I suppose I’m wondering, who are the audiences we are preparing our students for?

Most of us are not bloggers, or tweeters, or book club enthusiasts, yet I’m calling this the act of writing for authentic audiences. I’m wondering if I’ve missed the mark.

So, I ask you, where is your authentic audience?

This podcast is that place. I hope to capture the thinking of regular, everyday teachers here as they respond to the same six questions.

1. Define your role as a teacher.
2. What is your favourite part of teaching?
3. What needs to improve in education?
4. Describe a time when you got it right.
5. Describe a time when you blew it miserably.
6. Who was your favourite teacher?

The idea being that these six questions allow teachers to reflect on their role and value. Hopefully, these questions also will begin a conversation amongst us as we openly look at the highlights and lowlights, our successes and our challenges.

Episode one features a good friend of mine, all-round good guy, J.P. He also happens to be just a religion teacher.

If you would be willing to sit down and answer my six questions for this podcast, please drop me a line on Twitter @kempscott.

Edit: All episodes of the podcast can be found at http://justateacher.ca

“Often children –and adults– need external incentives to take the first steps in an activity that requires a difficult restructuring of attention. … But once the interaction starts to provide feedback to the person’s skills, it usually begins to be intrinsically rewarding.” - Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi in his book Flow.

And so it exists, that place in between. The fulcrum point of getting learning going and maintaining momentum.

We need to be in pursuit of the perfect balance between externally incentivizing learning at the beginning, without making the external reward the only reason to persist, while creating a system to remove the external incentive when a student’s skills have made learning intrinsically rewarding.

Presumably, every student is different. Every student reaches that place of equilibrium at a different time. The seesaw of their motivation finds that perfect place at a different time depending on parental influence, ideas of achievement, use of punishment, etc.

I’ve been a strong proponent for getting rid of grades in school. I still think this is important. Marks are inauthentic.  However, Csikszentmihalyi has got me thinking what external incentives should/could replace grades to get the learning started. 

Are there authentic incentives that we can harness in schools? Views on YouTube, likes of Facebook? I don’t know, but maybe we need to spend more time thinking about these things.

I worry sometimes that this is because parents are marks-driven. I worry that the engaged parents are the ones saying, “You need to get 90s.” I worry that these studies reinforce the idea of parents and teachers as enforcers of compliance. But that’s a separate blog post.

Getting parents involved is important. Their involvement must go beyond parent’s night and report cards. And so I try something new.

Every Friday, in one of my classes, I’m having students write an e-mail to a parent. In the scope of a good conference, I’m having them write the e-mail, cc-ing me, that includes three components. 1. Their successes of the week. 2. Things they struggled with this week. 3. Their goals for next week. Every Friday, each student is going to answer the question, “What did you do at school, today?” with something more than, “Nothing.”

The idea of the e-mail is to encourage and enable students to tell the story of their learning. In their words, reflect on what’s working, what’s not and how they plan on going forward. But that’s not all. Every two weeks (I’ve divided the class in half, so 15 one week, 15 the other), I plan on replying to the e-mail, to each student and their parent. My reply will acknowledge, encourage, support and strategize with that student and their parent. It’s my attempt to let learning take precedence. It’s not about communicating a number, but rather it’s about documenting the process.

There are some reservations I can foresee: What if there are no parents? I think send an e-mail to someone you hope to make proud. What if the parent doesn’t have e-mail? We go old school and we write a letter.  What if a student doesn’t write it? I still write my e-mail to them and the parent. However, it is based on my observations and conversations. The idea is that someone else is then telling their story.

Like anything, it’s an experiment. It’s an attempt at bringing together three pillars of a child’s education (themselves, school, parents). It’s something active that brings parents into the community of learning. But it might not work. I’m willing to take that gamble.

I’d love to hear your thoughts on this plan, possible problems, etc.

Thanks to Mike Pinkney for helping me refine my ideas while shouting over the playing of the house band and thanks to Anne Doelman for lending me the book, Conferencing and Reporting by Kathleen Gregory et al.

They don’t tell me her story. They don’t tell me where she’s been, the view of the world she holds or the magnitude of her dreams. Truthfully, they don’t tell her that either.

It’s the time of year when grades and report cards become the bittersweet taste on everyone’s tongue.

I’ve made my position clear on quantitative data for learning. But then something happened today.

A colleague, for whom I have the utmost respect, pointed out how often I use quantitative data to achieve my creative and qualitative goals.

Every time I step outside the door to run, I start my watch. I upload the GPS data onto Strava and relentlessly track my progress. I can tell you which kilometre of the last seven runs was my best, the elevation of my typical training run and I can track myself against my friends. But running isn’t about the number.

As I sat down to write a novel in these past four months, I used a word-count tracker that gave me real-time results based on my intended “delivery” date. I knew how many words I wrote each sitting, how many times I’d used the word “stillness” (7 times) and how many pages per chapter. I watched these numbers regularly to fulfill my need for discipline. I knew when I had short-changed a writing session and that I’d have to make it up tomorrow. These numbers helped me achieve my creative goal.

So you see, I have a data dilemma.

I use data to help me pursue my learning, improving, achieving, but I hate when it is forced upon students and teachers. Especially in saying this is the “important data”.

As I was out running, trying desperately not to look at my watch and become data dependent, I considered that I like the data I self-select. The data that is important to me. The data that fits into my goals and my definition of what I want to achieve. I’m not looking at my time and thinking it’s not as good as Craig Alexander, instead I’m thinking, “Man, I’m really off the pace I want, I’ve got to pick it up.”

Therein lies the rub, self-selection.

We need a system that allows students to determine what data matters to them. Then allows them to access that data, track the data and use it to achieve. We need a system that allows teachers to determine what data matters to them. Then allows them to access that data, track the data and use it to achieve. Each for their own means.

Maybe we don’t track enough data, real data. Data that matters.

Where this sits with my thoughts on standardized test data, I don’t know.

That’s why it’s my data dilemma.

What would you do if a student told you to fuck off?

A friend of hers was asked this as an interview question. As I was writing my response, I felt inadequate to answer the question. There are so many variables at play in a classroom, that to know what I’d do, is inauspicious. That said, in an interview, I’ve never met a question for which I didn’t have an answer.

So, I wrote back:

To be honest, that’s a tough question. I’d probably answer it like this:

Any reaction like that from a student requires consequences. No doubt about it. That said, learning is all about relationships. Sending a student down to the VP changes the relationship I have with that student. It might even undermine that relationship. So, how would I move forward? I can only assume that the reaction is from a build-up of frustration from the student and not an “out of the blue” eruption. I’d take a breathe. I’d tell the student to take a break, wait outside, or something like that. After ten minutes or so, I’d try to have a conversation with the student that begins, “I’m sorry that you are frustrated. We are going to deal with your frustration, but for us to be able to move forward, we need to make sure we both have respect for each other. In saying that, I’ve never sworn at you. I’d appreciate it, if you apologized for swearing.” In having the conversation, I’d try to address the frustration the student is having, and then offer them the chance to define a consequence for swearing. To apologize is not a consequence. At this point, repairing the relationship is my first priority.

I don’t know, that would be my approach. I’m not sure if I’d get the job, but that’s what I’d do, or at least, hope to do.

I’d love to know if I’m alone on this one or if anyone has an alternative approach.

What would you do?

What a trying time it has been and will continue to be for us.

It sucks having your profession seemingly attacked. It sucks having the work you do seemingly disrespected. I don’t like it. I don’t like being put into the situation where I need to defend what I do on a daily basis to people who seemingly don’t understand.

I’ve heard from some of you that you “avoid the conversation” if it comes up with family and friends. I get it. It’s easier that way. I don’t blame you for wanting to just take a break from the politics and snippiness.

I don’t like Bill 115. I think it was a cowards way of dealing with fiscal realities and frankly, it was an effort to create a negative atmosphere in education. And it worked. Negativity is everywhere.

And so now, here we are. Our contracts have been imposed and Bill 115 will be repealed. A shrewd political move if ever I did see one. A move in need of some political, vocal response. No doubt about it.

Where do we go from here?

Many of you have suggested we need to continue a “Permanent Pause” and continue our withdrawal of extra-curriculars. I couldn’t agree less. Now, I respect your decision, as I always have, to not participate in extra-curriculars. They are voluntary activities and I believe we should leave them this way. If you don’t want to do them, if you have a family to spend time with, even if you don’t and you just want to go home, get your marking and prep done, and then read a good book, do it. I respect that entirely. But I hope, you can respect my desire to continue with extra-curriculars.

I believe extra-curriculars are more than just a sports team to cheer on or a club to fill a lunch-hour. I believe that part of a rich high school experience is the opportunity for students to connect authentically outside of the classroom with peers and teachers. For many students, these opportunities are the connective tissue to the school community. To some, it is the only tissue. I suggest that we need this connection now more then ever.

We are growing an increasingly cynical and disaffected young population and our removal of extra-curriculars will contribute to a furthering of that sensibility. Not because students “deserve” it or because they are “entitled” to it, but rather because learning is about relationships. Rather than driving our students, and parents, away from our school communities, we should be working to connect them further. Rather than pushing them to community organizations disconnected from the school, we should be connecting the organizations to the school. We need to build an authentic community that believes in the eternal value of public schools, both inside and outside of the classroom. This is our best long-term strategy.

Studies have shown that students who are active in the school, do better, live better, and feel safer, in general (A bit dated, yet still relevant: http://nces.ed.gov/pubs95/web/95741.asp). Our students success is tied to our ability to make them feel connected to their school community.

But that’s not it. I believe it allows me to be a more authentic teacher. It allows me to participate with them in my interests. They can witness and be part of my passions.

And so, what is the removal worth? Where does it get us?

I’ve been told, via Twitter, that we will ‘piss off parents’ so they’ll force the government to settle this mess. Sure, I agree. Then what? In two years, we do it all over again? I am a believer that a negative act never builds community. It only destroys one. Instead, acting positively towards our students and parents, giving them a world-class education (inside and outside the classroom) builds a long-term population that understands the value of teachers, which can only help us.

I’m always criticized for these ideas, because it doesn’t seem to have enough “action”. What do we do now? We start to aggressively build community. We reach out. We stop cowering from the conversations. We tell our tribes to think about the teacher that made a difference for them. We call our MPPs, every day. Not just the few of us, the many. I think of Andy Dufrense mailing a letter a week and then a letter a day in Shawshank Redemption.

Rather than removing what I do in my free time, rather than telling me what I can’t do, rather than mandating the absence of an action, why not mandate an action? An action that puts direct pressure on the government. People are always willing to give up their free time for something they believe in. Always. If we aren’t willing to give up our free time for this, do we really believe in it or are we just following along?

It’s easy to get angry and frustrated and say, “I’m done with this.” But that isn’t a solution. A solution comes when we march forward into the wind. This may be a long fight. We need to uncover tactics that are sustainable. Calling our MPPs every day, may not be sustainable. I get that. However, neither is a “Permanent Pause”.

Together, we face an uphill climb. Old ideas will keep us at the bottom. Easy prey for the next premier, the next government, or the citizen who just sees our pension and holidays. We need to redefine the relationship of the public to teachers, hell, to public education. It starts by building community in our schools. It starts by putting direct pressure on our government. It starts by talking about our eternal value to everyone. That’s being active to me.

Respectfully,

Scott

The Bus Syndrome is a terrible affliction, which hampers my role as effective collaborator, effective teacher and effective colleague. The Bus Syndrome is such that I live in my own head. I am terrible at writing down my lesson plans. I am terrible at recording what I do on a daily basis. Sure, I document some things, but in general, I never take the time to keep good records.

If I was hit by a bus, my replacement would be lost. Thus, I suffer from The Bus Syndrome.

After thinking about the possibility of this demise, I thought I should record a few thoughts about my lesson plans. After reading James Robbins’ blog for awhile now (and directly in response to the format of his book), he has given me the vocabulary to process how I plan for the week ahead.

Following these nine questions allows me to be ready for the week:

1. How will I demonstrate my genuine interest in the lives of my students? Will it be an “impromptu” conversation, greeting them at the door, an acknowledgment of the major events in their lives, etc?

2. How will I provide timely, effective, productive feedback to each student over the course of the next week?

3. How will I reward and recognize specific students for their performance this week? Will I highlight their work to the group, tweet it out to the world, hang it on the wall?

4. How will I connect the purpose of what we’re doing to each student this week? This requires me to consciously know what makes each of my students tick, so I can be deliberate and intentional when connecting purpose for each of them.

5. What choices will I give my students this week that will give them a sense of control and autonomy? How will I encourage them to make choices that strengthen them, rather than taking the road of least resistance?

6. How can I help them grow this week?

7. How will what we do foster a greater sense of community within the room? How will I strengthen social bonds amongst students and between students and myself?

8. How can I inject some fun into what we do this week?

9. What skills, strategies, ideas do my students need me to model for them this week? Will it be a specific academic skill, a social skill, forgiveness, kindness, or maybe it is a time management strategy, an idea about living with passion, etc?

I believe these nine questions allow me to maintain a specific focus on my lessons and understand the virtue of public education.

If I’m ever hit by a bus, use these questions to figure where to continue on from.

Over the last month, I have had the great fortune of taking my Grade 10 Applied English class to visit and participate with a kindergarten class. It has been fun and rewarding for both sets of ‘kids’. Mr. Childs (@ischilds) has welcomed us with such kindness and generosity. We have had the opportunity to read with/for, play with, colour, write, practice the alphabet, build with blocks and most importantly, connect with these little people.

Having spent an entirety of one day in a kindergarten class during my practice teaching, I haven’t had much exposure to these micro-learning environments.

Here is my list of nine thoughts I had about teaching high school from the kindergarten class:

1. Carpet time is about communal learning –> I don’t have a nice blue carpet in my classroom, but the essence of carpet time is we all gather and we talk. I’ve started doing that by gathering at a boardroom table. It is about being silly, being focused, engaging with each other. It is also about establishing the direction of the day.
2. Even big kids are scared by little kids –> I couldn’t believe how unnatural it was for some of my grade 10s, especially the boys, to engage with the kids. They were uneasy to start a conversation. Often it was because they didn’t know where it was going to go, the unexpected left some of my students unwilling to make the first step.
3. Communication filters are self-created –> These four and five year olds just say what’s on their mind. From a teacher’s perspective, Mr. Childs is a consummate example of having a measured, sound response to even the funniest statements. What’s interesting is the filters that we unconsciously create for ourselves. I’m not thinking about the time and place filters that are conscious, but rather the communication barriers our students make to create their persona. These little guys don’t worry about that, so what am I doing to create that environment for my students to start to strip away the communication filters?
4. Variety is key –> Watching the little kids jump from one thing to the other is so fascinating. One minute they are figuring out the structure of a building, the next they are painting a picture. The two skills in high school are so often separated by time and space. A specific class for each skill. How does a creative opportunity affect an analytical problem? It fosters creative problem solving and rational artistic exploration. The siloing of skills begins to destroy that interplay.
5. Learning happens in the midst of chaos –> To think that students sitting in rows helps learning is preposterous. The chaos that is a kindergarten class exemplifies learning and the messiness (yes, sometimes literally as I watched a little boy paint the front of his shirt while laughing the whole time) of being engaged. Despite the chaos there are clear and measurable signs of progress.
6. Role-playing and authentic learning –> Although I try hard to constantly be putting our learning in the context of authenticity, I might be missing the mark. These kindergartens learned about the mail system by creating a post office and delivering the mail. They learned the concept of money by running a pretend store. It was “authentic” but it was close enough.
7. Patience is invaluable, yet looks different. –> I think the patience to work with kindergarten students is immense. You need to constantly be patient as they work through problems, get distracted and make a mess. It’s no different in high school class, though how patience is demonstrated is different.
8. Compassion is personal –> Some of my students are typical teenagers who are caught up in their own world.  No judgement, that’s just the way it is. However, after these experiences they recognize the impact of ‘mentors’. In fact one came up to me and said, “Mr. Kemp, it’s crazy that my buddy was excited to see me again. She told me she really liked when we came.” This student of mine, now has a larger perspective of their community.
9. High schools students are just big kids –> Once the blocks were out and some of the little boys were building structures, try dragging these 16 year olds away from the blocks. They looked at me with disappointment when we had to put the ‘toys’ away. For every time someone says, “Oh man, you work with teenagers every day.” I remember in these moments that they’re all kids who are trying to manage their role in this wider world.

She’s writing a novel and is 30,000 words in.

He plays hockey four to five times a week.

He’s illustrating a children’s book for me.

Each of these projects are self-directed, have full student engagement, require these students to work tirelessly at developing the requisite skills and demonstrate them. Yet, things that happen outside of school count for nothing in it.

It seems that timing is everything because she’s demonstrating her English skills but unless it was assigned between 8-2:30 it seems that that demonstration doesn’t count.

Why don’t extra-curriculars count? Why don’t we assign credits to those students that demonstrate the elements of courses on their own time? Why do we require students to perform the tasks we assign as proof of skills and abilities?

I’ve floated this idea to some students, just as a supposition, their response, “Yeah, good question. But it’ll never happen,” or “Who’s doing the evaluation of these products?” or “How do you know it was that kid who did the painting?” or “Aren’t some sports teams harder and require more dedication?” or “What about access to resources, they aren’t equal?” All good questions, no simple answers.

But I’m left unsatisfied. I’m left thinking about the work that they’ve done and thinking why aren’t we encouraging this. Why aren’t we legitimizing their efforts?

I know, I know, people are going to ride me for suggesting we should provide extrinsic rewards for their work and undermine their intrinsic interest. I agree with that argument too.

However, while we’re counting, should extracurriculars count?

The easiest way to gain that perspective is by showing gratitude.

I try to recognize and acknowledge those that I am grateful for and show them that gratitude regularly. However, I’m not nearly as conscious about with my students.

I heard of a colleague who for Thanksgiving wrote a little note of thanks to each of her students, those things matter. After hearing about it, I’ve tried to make a concerted effort to show gratitude more often. Especially to my students as it fosters an open, kind community.

It’s always interesting when I offer my sincere gratitude to students for something specific, it’s a visual change in their body language. It changes their tone.

One of my considerations is to identify the moments when I’m getting frustrated or tired and that’s the moment when I need to offer gratitude. To the student who is challenging me the most, the perspective I gain by looking through the lens of gratitude, changes my reaction.

The next consideration is that my students come from different contexts before they walk into the room. I need to recognize and have gratitude for those other influencers, my colleagues and their parents. I try to offer gratitude to my colleagues who help establish the culture in the school. I have tried to maintain a habit of writing a thank you note to colleagues who go beyond. My next step, might be, to take that idea and send e-mails of thanks to parents, for their children’s behaviour. All it does is foster a positive relationship.

 Today, right now, in this moment, who are you thankful for? Have you told them?

———-

Please feel free to share with me, your thoughts on what the Little BIG Things of Education.

Related Posts:

The Little BIG Things of Education

Little BIG Thing #6: Play Devil’s Advocate

Little BIG Thing #5: Listen to Their Music

Little BIG Thing #4: What I Learn is As Important

Little BIG Thing #3: Surprise Changes Culture

Little BIG Thing #2: Celebrate Being Wrong

Little BIG Thing #1: The Brightness of Your Eyes

Sure, there are some tried and true strategies that result in engagement; those things that have students knee deep in rich learning. But can we really answer what it is about those experiences that hooks them?

In class today, I saw a group of students totally focused on the role of the government in relation to private enterprise while participating in Civic Mirror. I would classify these students as being immersed in the learning, however, as I take a step back I can’t seem to pinpoint what it was that was the factor for engagement.

Was it the gamification? Was it the competition? Was is it the structure of the activity?

I’ve seen students totally immersed in learning before when none of those things were present and instead, it was because it was fun, or included technology, or aesthetically pleasing.

So then, what is it that results in true engagement?

My first thoughts are connected to Dan Pink’s theories of intrinsic motivation being autonomy, mastery and purpose. (If you haven’t read Drive yet, pick it up. I think it is essential teacher reading.) But I also think, engagement is about authenticity.

That’s why it is so damn hard to pinpoint what causes engagement. It is equally hard to pinpoint authenticity.

I think of authenticity as a means of making learning real life.

It is connected to authentic audiences (not just the teacher or other classes but the marketplace). It is connected to authentic problems/projects (not just school work, imagine if projects). It is connected to authentic learning (I suppose this is about purpose primarily).

What does all this mean?

I don’t think I’ve got answer. I think that engagement is still a mystery, but it is in the process of moving “school work” to “life work.”

Do you need a teacher to learn?

The idea that we are learning partners, or that we are no longer the fountain of knowledge, I think lends itself to this question. If we recognize that we are facilitators, activators, or evaluators, does the role of teacher go by the wayside?

I try to think of my learning, I don’t have a teacher in the formal sense, but I do need someone. Be it the writer of a book or the maker of the YouTube video, there is someone responsible for the dissemination of the information. But what happens when we start removing the human, is Google my new teacher?

In a tinkering framework, in a place where I start a problem, then wrestle with it, rearrange the pieces until the problem is solved, experience is my teacher.

If I write a novel, edit it, and print it, in our incredibly on-demand world, and it doesn’t sell, the marketplace is my teacher?

In our budget conscious, austerity measured world, is this what the corporate interest is investigating? Isn’t the biggest single cost-savings in education always teachers?

I’ve said many times here on this blog, that I believe it is absolutely paramount that teachers are learners, but by that very nature are all learners eventually teachers, or are all learners teachers to themselves?

In fact, my ramblings and reflections on feedback have brought me to this quote from Dave Nicol, “We tend to think of feedback as something a teacher provides, but if students are to become independent lifelong learners, they have to become better at judging their own work.” and so again I beg the question, are teachers an absolute requirement in the learning process?

Douglas Thomas suggests that the role for teachers now is to provide, “the context not the content.” Is this where we find the need for the external instructor?

I’m not suggesting we remove teachers from the room or even that the job of a teacher is not critical, however, for how long? If learning is our purpose, do we not need to look at whether teaching is inherently required?

——–

This blog post has been rattling around in my head for a while, I know it is greatly incomplete and states a serious of ridiculous questions, however, I needed to get it out.

It’s mob mentality run amuck.

I wonder if this is the straw. The one that broke the camel’s back. The last piece before those ignorant of technology recognize that we have a lawless wild west right now. And Jesse James has rounded up the old n’er-do-wells and is using them to inflict damage.

Part of the problem is that we don’t really know how to define bullying.

My take is that our problem is not bullying. The problem is our culture of meanness.

We have politicians who would rather find faults, than fix breaks. We have a media culture that looks for another group of people that we can all safely sit and laugh at. We have students who think saying, “I was just joking,” is enough justification for being mean.

What I propose is a new culture of kindness. A conscious attempt at holding each other accountable.

It starts with parents and teachers. It starts with turning off Jersey Shore and Honey Boo Boo. It starts with making a concerted effort to praise, compliment and acknowledge. It is too easy to be mean, especially when the victim isn’t present, or no one holds you accountable.

Too many people blame technology for the bullying and not enough spend time thinking about the tone of our conversations.

We must be better than this. Kindness works too.

I was proud to speak in front of such an intelligent, engaged audience who asked so many great questions and provided some varied perspectives. I have embedded below the slides from my presentation.

—–

The conference moved this year from one where the tool was the principal focus to the pedagogical shift taking shape in education. Obviously, I like this move. I think too often we spend time worrying about the what and how of teaching, and too little time is spent wrestling with the why. This conference enabled that wrestling.

However, it also enabled something else for me, it forced me to focus my thinking around assessment, which ironically I spoke about. I realized, with more clarity than I had before, that assessment is right now the linchpin to the shift in education.

John Seely Brown, Michael Fullan, and even Nora Young, all addressed the shift in instruction, but none of them offered the insight into the shift in assessment and I fear that is underlooked.

Frankly, assessment and evaluation may be the structure of the system that slows down change the most.

I see it as there are two main cogs in education, instruction and assessment, and while instruction is slowly coming to life, assessment is still in a state of disrepair. It’s rusted over and will take some serious elbow grease to get it moving again.

And we can’t disregard it.

We’ve made cosmetic changes to evaluation, however, at the end of the day will universities and colleges accept our students if they haven’t jumped through the hoops of GPAs and averages. What then becomes of the innovation, creative problem solving, and imagination?

The ECOO experience has focused in my interest in assessment and evaluation, it has left me with more questions than answers and has enabled me to connect with other educators asking those same questions. I can’t wait to see where this takes me.

—–

It’s Not About the Number

That’s what learning is all about.

On one hand, I try to avoid being political. I try to keep my own beliefs in the background. I try to bury my bias. My goal is not to sell an ideal but to encourage critical thinking.

On the other hand, I strongly and vocally encourage social justice and the pursuit of cultural awareness. I strive for my students to be active citizens and critical of authority.

This may come as a surprise to many, but I’ve got opinions. I’ve got many opinions on many subjects. Not only do I have opinions, I like to share my opinions.

What job do I ultimately have? To be my authentic, opinionated self, while maintaining a healthy grip of objective reporting, much like Murrow and Cronkite or to be devoid of personality, a list of facts and figures with no bias?

*****

I’d like to say this post is not about what’s happening in Ontario where there is a showdown between the Ontario Liberal Party and teacher unions. I’d like to say that this is a reflective post about the nature/value/danger of my opinion in my classroom.

But it is.

It’s important to know what their teachers are facing. It’s important for students to understand the climate of the school. It’s important for students to understand that regardless of what is happening, their teachers are there for them, despite potential withdrawal of extras.

Does that make students the pawns of both sides?

*****

I also think this post is questioning the rhetoric that what the unions are “fighting” for are the “democratic” collective bargaining rights. I’ve seen it said, “We’re fighting for everyone, not just teachers.”

Yet, I’ve asked colleagues who were teaching during the Harris years and after, did the labour dispute make them overall more political active and the answer was no. Unless the issue was affecting them directly, they were unaware.

If we are railing against the loss of “democratic rights”, why aren’t we up in arms about the federal government’s use of omnibus bills to pass ill-supported legislation?

*****

I suppose at the end of the day, I’m curious, is the nature of teaching political?

This guy is your typical applied level student. Interesting, nuanced, at points disengaged and most of all, not meant to sit in a classroom doing worksheets all day. He’s easily distracted in class, struggles with writing, and yet, as this huge untapped potential for learning. He doesn’t seem himself as someone school is designed for and that makes perfect sense.

“How did you do that?”

“It’s a simple algorithm.”

“Where did you learn it?”

“On Youtube,” he says non-chalantly as he shows me his Rubik’s cube belt buckle. “My fastest is 1minute and 6 seconds.”

“What?!?”

“But, I’m trying to get better.”

He sits down, hardly listening to the school announcements, and whips through it a couple more times. Complete it, mess it up, complete it again.

I ask him to teach me. He says, “You can just go watch some Youtube videos and it will be much easier.” But I sense a learning opportunity. For me and for him.

I sit down, he stands over my shoulder and starts the process. In the position of student, I quickly become discouraged. I say, “I’ll never be able to do this…” and “This is too hard…” and “I’ll never remember this,” but he just calmly tells me to keep trying. He stands over my shoulder for something like seven minutes until I shrugged it off. “Never mind, we’ve got other things to do.”

It’s easy to say that the student who shrug off school, don’t know what’s good for them. Or paint the need for today in the light of their future. But the reality is, it is hard to learn. It is hard to be put into a situation that is difficult, all day, every day, and still maintain your enthusiasm for showing up.

I’ll be back, I’ll eventually (my goal is by the end of the semester) be able to solve the Rubik’s cube, but I see myself as learner. But I don’t have to do it everyday. Just chipping away.

How often do we take the same skill and make students do it over and over, day after day? Maybe it’s time we diversify. Maybe it’s time we allow students to determine when they need a break.

I mean, after all, it’s a simple algorithm.

I think one of the most pressing issues within our culture is our culture of mistrust.

It destabilizes everything.

——–

I was talking to my class, two days into the new school year, about the idea of trust. Who they trust? Why they trust these people? Do they trust me? Earning trust?

The overwhelming sentiment in this Grade 11 class, trust is hard to earn, often broken, and sometimes elusive.

I asked them if they trust the government: overwhelmingly no.

I asked them if they trust their teachers: overwhelmingly no.

I asked them if they trust the police: overwhelmingly no.

If they trust me: not sure.

I recognize that this class is not a random or statistically-relevant sample size, and I do recognize that it may be part of a teenager’s m.o. not to trust anyone, however, I don’t think they are alone. And I think this is indelibly sad and dangerous as we move into a more connected world.

Their thoughts in when they decide to trust someone, when they act first. When they feel trusted, they trust.

——–

It is harder now to gain the trust of a stranger than ever before. But that is what is needed. From teachers, politicians, administrators, parents.

Our culture does not trust.

Being antagonistic is not going help. Being adversarial is not going to help. Instead, interactions of kindness will help. Instead, actions of supreme generosity will help and actions of righteous honour will help.

Trust ends where trust starts through actions of kindness, generosity and honour.

Let’s start talking about teaching.  Let’s start talking about learning. Let’s start talking about the fact it takes a community to raise informed citizens and a generation of critical/creative thinkers. Let’s start talking about how we can work together to make things work.

I know, I know. My union brethren is going to talk about how the government is not sitting at the table. I get it. They aren’t doing their part. So, let’s just start doing ours. Why are we waiting for them? 

Let’s start really talking about the inefficiencies in the system, the extraneous. Let’s start talking about how we can be better. Let’s start talking about how we can save money.

Getting into a fight with a waiting and willing opponent is foolish and often dangerous.

Instead, let’s start talking to our students’ parents about how we can create a better learning environment. Let’s start talking to them about how we can make them learn more. Let’s not mention wages, sick days and grid structures. Instead, let’s talk about their kid. The individual. What can we do to help them learn?

Let’s start talking to the world about the value of an education. Let’s start talking about learning something new, not achieving a higher mark. Let’s start talking about what happens in a classroom, for real. Strap up cameras in the room and show the world. Write to our papers. Let’s start talking about why people love their teachers. Let’s start talking about why we need to be better as teachers.

Let’s stop the rhetoric and lame commercials. Let’s stop trying to solidify a better bargaining position.

Let’s be honest.

Let’s start being the leaders we can be.

***Any time an us vs. them dynamic is created, there will be victims. Too often, it is the students. ***

I was charged by the same colleague and friend for being someone who expected people to recognize the need for change. Guilty.

Her claim was that I expected big sweeping changes and I don’t give enough credit to small incremental change and that the latter is the only thing that will make the big changes we need.

And she might be right. Maybe I need to focus on the little changes.

A teacher sets up a class website. Celebrate. A teacher uses some formative assessment. Celebrate. A teacher uses one less worksheet. Celebrate.

I see her point, that if I’m so stuck on waiting for the big stuff, I never acknowledge the movement that is taking place. At a certain point, I try to rely on that. I pride myself on my “incremental change” when it comes to the environment, my buying habits and parlaying principles into actions. I recognize that I can’t live free of all the damage we do. I always say the best step you can take is the next one.

But this is different, isn’t it? Education is already 10 years behind.

The way our students interact with the world is changing so much quicker than incremental change will allow. Check out youtube, Khan Academy, heck even Instructables,  they are all a demonstration that education is now truly public. Something is being added to that list weekly. A spot where any student can get what they need and to know what they need is within reach.

Yet, we rely on textbooks and worksheets. A fixed place, time and subject of learning. We still expect students to sit still and listen to me. Non-stop, all day in subjects we deem important.

And so I say to my colleague and friend, I am guilty of wanting big change. I am guilty of expecting people to recognize the change and make it happen. Because, the way I see it, incremental change is important, but it’s not enough.

That’s what teachers say after getting off their iPad, disconnecting their netbooks and closing the Skype window.

It’s not about the tools. It’s about the teaching.

The problem with that, of course, is it is about the tools. The internet has changed learning. It has changed knowledge in much the same way the printing press changed knowledge and learning.

Don Tapscott refers to it as the “Age of Networked Intelligence” in his recent TED talk. Therein lies the radical, tactical shift.

Knowledge, learning and intelligence is now distributed. It is no longer limited in time or space. It is only limited by desire.

It is only limited by desire.

Access, being what it is,

The question is:

What are you doing to foster that desire?

In my mind, that is the question that is at the root of public education. We aren’t churning out soon-to-be physicists and doctors. We should be churning out kids who love asking questions and exploring and reading and writing and engaging in the world around them. That’s our why.

Subjects taught in isolation, memory testing, work for the sake of work can no longer be what we do. But we need the tools to make it happen.

The pedagogy must come first, but we are pissing in the wind if we don’t have access to the intelligence.