Resisting the hustle and bustle for silence

They hated it when I first introduced it. They tweeted, “This is killing me.” They even begged me after class to never do it again.

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?

It’s Easy To Start Something

The starting is the easy part.

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.

Communicating with Parents

A whole host of studies show that kids with engaged parents are more successful in school. They achieve more, are generally more safe, and most importantly, are more confident as they go through the schooling continuum.

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.

My Data Dilemma

I have no use for statistics and numbers that mean nothing. That goes for grades, literacy test results, credit accumulation, etc. They rarely tell me anything of value about a student.

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.

How I Lesson Plan

I suffer from “The Bus Syndrome”.

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.

Nine Thoughts About High School from A Kindergarten Class

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.

Should Extra-Curriculars Count?

Three students, three different outside interests. Three students that are taking time to create, develop skills, or produce professional work.

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?

To Be Engaged Through Authenticity

It’s a mystery what engages students. Whoever says otherwise is lying.

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.”

Teaching and Learning: Inherently Required?

With the changing tide of public education, I think we are charting territories where this essential question is being explored?

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?

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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.

A Culture of Kindness

It’s around. With the internet, it never turns off. You can’t find any quiet places to get away from it. You can’t ever take back your actions online. All of this, yet in conversation with my class a week ago it seemed that they were content with blaming the victim. “Yeah well, she …” always leads to justification.

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.