Nothing, new, right? Not in theory. Digital schools as an alternative to regular school to either fastrack motivated students or as a credit recovery option before students "age out" of high school are not brand new. But they are still new enough to be untested and not proven.
One school in Cobb Count has had mixed results, graduating less than 50% of its students, but supporters think it is the wave of the future, economically and educationally. Students at Oakwood High School choose to be there (rather than being put there) and attend "classes" five days a week for three hours. There are four teachers in the room to assist them, but students basically structure their day however they see fit and work on whatever interests them (in a core curricula; there are no electives). The school offers three times of day to attend to accomodate working students. Total cost: $13,000 less per student than a traditional classroom.
This is a good theory. If these types of schools expand, students who choose to attend will take pressure off traditional schools, who may be able to offer better instruction and attention to the remaining students. There is a balance, though. Too many students leave, teachers get fired, class sizes stay big, and budgets shrink, so no enhanced programs.
I think there is a certain student who will do very well with this. A studnet who is motivated can finish early and get started with life (college, work, whatever); a student who is motivated can also work a job at the same time (providing, of course, that they can find a job).
It is difficult to judge the efficacy of this approach until it is around for longer than five minutes, but I think it is promising. People are starting to realize the huge time waster that is public school, especially public high school, and are looking around for alternatives. We will see how this works out.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Anxiety Dreams of Teachers - BOO!
Had my first anxiety dream about teaching in TWO YEARS last night.
It began, and they always do, with the kids not listening, being distracting, making noise, etc. When I final decided to get the lesson started, it was incomplete and thoroughly boring. Lost the kids again; got them back just in time to have an officer on horseback come into the room to arrest two students. Got them back again but needed to know how much time was left. Clock in the room and on my computer didn't work; I couldn't fnd any paper for a sign-in sheet.
Went next door to my former colleague's room only to find a room full of parents, followed by a hallway full of parents (touring the school?). When I came back in, the kids had changed the TV channel to iCarly and were all standing up. A parent followed me in, and I said, 'So this is funny, changing it to iCarly and seeing how long it would be until I noticed? Have a seat." They sat down, and I woke up.
What is it about teaching? When I was in public school, I had regular anxiety dreams about teaching, all with the general theme that I couldn't get students to stop talking and listen, or that I was unprepared for the day. The stakes are so high for teachers, and the addition of judgmental parents wandering through the building is a new, evaluative twist for me. Don't people realize that the vast majority of teachers desperately want for the kids to do well, and that the pressures teachers face are ever mounting?
I know other teachers have these dreams; we have talked about them. I haven't had them in the two years since I started HoneyFern, but it's not because I am not teaching, or the stakes are not high, or the kids don't matter - on the contrary. This is where I put my money where my mouth is and end up even more under a microscope. It's not less pressure, but the pressure is different, less judgmental. I get the feeling that the responsibility for learning rests not just on my shoulders now but also on the students', something that was missing increasingly every year (fewer students were motivated to have a a hand in constructing knowledge, and fewer parents held them accountable). I am less anxious about the teaching because that is the most important thing, and I get to keep it most important. I am not prepping for a test or some random academic milestone; I know my kids and what they need and what they excel in and we get to do that, not fill in a blank or select a letter.
I am tired, up too early, and ready for the day to start NOW. Quite a bit different than my last couple years in public school when I woke (stressed and anxious every morning about what fresh hell I might be walking into - demanding parent, demanding administrator, unwilling student, etc). Clearing the last cobwebs of the dream from my head with some very strong coffee then off to find a skeleton, coordinate our next Stock Market Game lessons and plan French for today.
Sweet(er) dreams...
It began, and they always do, with the kids not listening, being distracting, making noise, etc. When I final decided to get the lesson started, it was incomplete and thoroughly boring. Lost the kids again; got them back just in time to have an officer on horseback come into the room to arrest two students. Got them back again but needed to know how much time was left. Clock in the room and on my computer didn't work; I couldn't fnd any paper for a sign-in sheet.
Went next door to my former colleague's room only to find a room full of parents, followed by a hallway full of parents (touring the school?). When I came back in, the kids had changed the TV channel to iCarly and were all standing up. A parent followed me in, and I said, 'So this is funny, changing it to iCarly and seeing how long it would be until I noticed? Have a seat." They sat down, and I woke up.
What is it about teaching? When I was in public school, I had regular anxiety dreams about teaching, all with the general theme that I couldn't get students to stop talking and listen, or that I was unprepared for the day. The stakes are so high for teachers, and the addition of judgmental parents wandering through the building is a new, evaluative twist for me. Don't people realize that the vast majority of teachers desperately want for the kids to do well, and that the pressures teachers face are ever mounting?
I know other teachers have these dreams; we have talked about them. I haven't had them in the two years since I started HoneyFern, but it's not because I am not teaching, or the stakes are not high, or the kids don't matter - on the contrary. This is where I put my money where my mouth is and end up even more under a microscope. It's not less pressure, but the pressure is different, less judgmental. I get the feeling that the responsibility for learning rests not just on my shoulders now but also on the students', something that was missing increasingly every year (fewer students were motivated to have a a hand in constructing knowledge, and fewer parents held them accountable). I am less anxious about the teaching because that is the most important thing, and I get to keep it most important. I am not prepping for a test or some random academic milestone; I know my kids and what they need and what they excel in and we get to do that, not fill in a blank or select a letter.
I am tired, up too early, and ready for the day to start NOW. Quite a bit different than my last couple years in public school when I woke (stressed and anxious every morning about what fresh hell I might be walking into - demanding parent, demanding administrator, unwilling student, etc). Clearing the last cobwebs of the dream from my head with some very strong coffee then off to find a skeleton, coordinate our next Stock Market Game lessons and plan French for today.
Sweet(er) dreams...
Friday, October 21, 2011
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Motivation. AGAIN.
It is the elephant in the room, and sometimes not even that metaphorical. What do you do with a kid who will.not.work?
Give choices. Check.
Change delivery method. Check.
Give frequent breaks. Check.
Be very scheduled. Check.
Break down into small steps. Check.
Tweak diet. Check (as much as possible when the kid is not your kid).
Physical activity. Check.
Consequences. Painful ones. Check.
Be consistent. Check
Positively reinforce. Check.
Allow the kid to do NOTHING for a period of time. Check.
Hand over complete control to the kid. Check.
And still, in spite of all of this, the kid does nothing. What then?
I am beginning to think it is like a staring contest. You find the combination of factors that worked the best (maybe not worked 100%, but the highest percentage of success), and then you consistently implement those factors. Do not lower expectations. Do not waffle. Do not waiver. Eventually, painfully, inevitably (hopefully?), the kid will blink and do the work (and I am not talking about just teacher-y work; I am talking about kid-based "work" that is fun but requires more thought and effort than watching TV and playing videogames, work the kid chose to do. Resistence is expected on some of the other teacher-y work, but how do you respond when the kid picked the assignment and won't do it? A puzzler.).
This is my theory. I haven't found a research-based answer anywhere, and I have looked. If my theory proves correct, I am going to bottle my formula and sell it for a nickel and retire with eleventy-million dollars.
We will see what happens...
Give choices. Check.
Change delivery method. Check.
Give frequent breaks. Check.
Be very scheduled. Check.
Break down into small steps. Check.
Tweak diet. Check (as much as possible when the kid is not your kid).
Physical activity. Check.
Consequences. Painful ones. Check.
Be consistent. Check
Positively reinforce. Check.
Allow the kid to do NOTHING for a period of time. Check.
Hand over complete control to the kid. Check.
And still, in spite of all of this, the kid does nothing. What then?
I am beginning to think it is like a staring contest. You find the combination of factors that worked the best (maybe not worked 100%, but the highest percentage of success), and then you consistently implement those factors. Do not lower expectations. Do not waffle. Do not waiver. Eventually, painfully, inevitably (hopefully?), the kid will blink and do the work (and I am not talking about just teacher-y work; I am talking about kid-based "work" that is fun but requires more thought and effort than watching TV and playing videogames, work the kid chose to do. Resistence is expected on some of the other teacher-y work, but how do you respond when the kid picked the assignment and won't do it? A puzzler.).
This is my theory. I haven't found a research-based answer anywhere, and I have looked. If my theory proves correct, I am going to bottle my formula and sell it for a nickel and retire with eleventy-million dollars.
We will see what happens...
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
The Stock Market Game
We bought $40,000 worth of stock today.
Yep. You read correctly. Forty. Thousand. Dollars.
Fake money. We are playing The Stock Market Game, have been for a couple weeks now, and it is fun, fun, fun. Who knew spending fake money and watching it rise and fall could be so rewarding? So far we are in 2nd place in our region (only out of 8 teams, but we were in dead last last week, so I feel pretty good about it), and we are rising up in the state (474 out of 3600 teams). To be sure, not everyone has started yet; the game lasts until December 3rd, 2011 (the spring game starts in February), so teams still have a while to join in.
When I went to training for this, the trainer said the biggest issue is spending all your money (teams get $100K); it is hard to send even fake money into the ether, and then to watch is whittle down (or creep up) in penny increments. We have been watching the news as a school since we started investing and taking notes on possible stocks for the future (our first purchase was Apple stock, which is doing quite well, thanks to the iPhone 4S and a possible iPhone 5). Since that purchase, we have diversified to add a grocery store chain, a videogame designer, several pharmaceutical companies and a few other odds and ends stocks.
So far, here is what we have learned:
1. There is a TON of information out there, which is why people buy mutual funds instead of individual stock.
2. There are stocks you can buy for a dollar or two (not in the Stock Market Game - has to be a least $10), so you could potentially get into the stock market fairly cheaply.
3. Searching for stocks is addictive.
4. Companies are tied to one another in ways that are disconcerting and mildly discomfitting. Certain "American" brands are very, very heavily invested overseas, and certain "foreign" brands own a ton of the United States. We will delve more deeply into these connections as we go (and there is less to research), but they get a little disturbing in some instances, like conspiracy theory disturbing.
5. Talking about money is FUN. Even when it isn't real, and the stocks are tanking, trying to predict the market is challenging and engaging, and time flies when we all start talking about the potential of our investment. Don't get us started on the P/E ratio.
6. The Stock Market Game is a great way to tie in eleventy million different subjects.
7. A whole bunch of specific stuff, too, too much to list.
I highly recommend playing the game. Each team you sign up costs $7, and the game runs twice a year (once in the fall and once in the spring). States differ, but winning teams for each region usually have a banquet, and state winners get some other stuff, plus the teacher goes to New York to visit the Stock Exchange, all expenses paid.
Later this week we are going to start buying on margin, and tings will really get interesting...
Yep. You read correctly. Forty. Thousand. Dollars.
Fake money. We are playing The Stock Market Game, have been for a couple weeks now, and it is fun, fun, fun. Who knew spending fake money and watching it rise and fall could be so rewarding? So far we are in 2nd place in our region (only out of 8 teams, but we were in dead last last week, so I feel pretty good about it), and we are rising up in the state (474 out of 3600 teams). To be sure, not everyone has started yet; the game lasts until December 3rd, 2011 (the spring game starts in February), so teams still have a while to join in.
When I went to training for this, the trainer said the biggest issue is spending all your money (teams get $100K); it is hard to send even fake money into the ether, and then to watch is whittle down (or creep up) in penny increments. We have been watching the news as a school since we started investing and taking notes on possible stocks for the future (our first purchase was Apple stock, which is doing quite well, thanks to the iPhone 4S and a possible iPhone 5). Since that purchase, we have diversified to add a grocery store chain, a videogame designer, several pharmaceutical companies and a few other odds and ends stocks.
So far, here is what we have learned:
1. There is a TON of information out there, which is why people buy mutual funds instead of individual stock.
2. There are stocks you can buy for a dollar or two (not in the Stock Market Game - has to be a least $10), so you could potentially get into the stock market fairly cheaply.
3. Searching for stocks is addictive.
4. Companies are tied to one another in ways that are disconcerting and mildly discomfitting. Certain "American" brands are very, very heavily invested overseas, and certain "foreign" brands own a ton of the United States. We will delve more deeply into these connections as we go (and there is less to research), but they get a little disturbing in some instances, like conspiracy theory disturbing.
5. Talking about money is FUN. Even when it isn't real, and the stocks are tanking, trying to predict the market is challenging and engaging, and time flies when we all start talking about the potential of our investment. Don't get us started on the P/E ratio.
6. The Stock Market Game is a great way to tie in eleventy million different subjects.
7. A whole bunch of specific stuff, too, too much to list.
I highly recommend playing the game. Each team you sign up costs $7, and the game runs twice a year (once in the fall and once in the spring). States differ, but winning teams for each region usually have a banquet, and state winners get some other stuff, plus the teacher goes to New York to visit the Stock Exchange, all expenses paid.
Later this week we are going to start buying on margin, and tings will really get interesting...
Monday, October 17, 2011
Ten More Strokes
My father, Marty Siegel, loved to give advice, solicited or otherwise. He was a talker, a people person, an Amway salesman (much to the chagrin and slight embarrassment of his whole family, but I must say their cleaning products are the.best.ever). At the end of his life he sold handheld ticketing machines to police departments and often used me and my early driving/city parking escapades as a sales tool ("My daughter would be so nervous," he would say, "and she wouldn't get away with so many parking tickets!" Hardee-har-har). He got stopped once at an airport because a bomb-sniffing dog gave the sign next to his computer bag; turns out he had been carrying around trace amounts of explosives on his bag, his shoes and his person, courtesy of the Philadelphia police department. He loved to talk, and he managed to talk his way out of that and onto the plane...without his driver's license. And this was after 9/11. And into first class because his wife was a former Delta employee and they were flying non-rev.
One of my favorite things to do for my dad was to ask him for advice. If he was feeling grumpy, or bad or otherwise disgruntled and out of sorts, I would wander up to his office, lean on his desk and ask, "Got a minute?" Often, I didn't even need advice, but the pleasure it gave him to help someone was so apparent that I would ask him questions and seek solutions that I didn't really need. He wasn't ever offended if you didn't take his advice either, a rarity among advice-givers (present company included). His hope in advising was to show another path, to perhaps shine a light in a dark corner.
My favorite piece of advice from my dad wasn't really advice but a story, another of his talents (questionable, groan-eliciting talents). He told the story of a man who was swimming the English Channel, an older man who struggled quite a bit in his life and had many naysayers when he decided to give it a try. After the successful swim, the swimmer was asked in an interview how he did it, how he managed to pull it off. "Well," said the swimmer, "I kept telling myself all I would do is swim ten more strokes. Anybody can swim ten strokes. So I would swim the ten strokes and then think to myself, 'Go on, or quit?' I'd say, 'Ten more strokes, and then I'll decide,' and that is how I made it across the Channel. Ten strokes at a time."
This is the answer to the old question of how to eat an elephant (one bite at a time), but for some reason it struck me, coming from my dad, that that was precisely how he worked. He wasn't always a big-picture guy, but he was dogged, he was persistent, and he did everything ten strokes at a time. Sometimes you just need to put your head down and persevere, reach small goals and then set new ones.
My father died over four years ago (May 1, 2007) on the same day that another highly influential man in my life died in 2006 (Teddy Litovitz), and I miss him every day. At his graveside service, the rabbi asked if anyone had a story or something to say, but I couldn't think clearly enough to relate this story of the swimmer, a final, lasting piece of advice from my father. I wrote it down so his granddaughter will know his words, and I keep them in my mind every day.
Ten more strokes. Anyone can swim ten more strokes.
One of my favorite things to do for my dad was to ask him for advice. If he was feeling grumpy, or bad or otherwise disgruntled and out of sorts, I would wander up to his office, lean on his desk and ask, "Got a minute?" Often, I didn't even need advice, but the pleasure it gave him to help someone was so apparent that I would ask him questions and seek solutions that I didn't really need. He wasn't ever offended if you didn't take his advice either, a rarity among advice-givers (present company included). His hope in advising was to show another path, to perhaps shine a light in a dark corner.
My favorite piece of advice from my dad wasn't really advice but a story, another of his talents (questionable, groan-eliciting talents). He told the story of a man who was swimming the English Channel, an older man who struggled quite a bit in his life and had many naysayers when he decided to give it a try. After the successful swim, the swimmer was asked in an interview how he did it, how he managed to pull it off. "Well," said the swimmer, "I kept telling myself all I would do is swim ten more strokes. Anybody can swim ten strokes. So I would swim the ten strokes and then think to myself, 'Go on, or quit?' I'd say, 'Ten more strokes, and then I'll decide,' and that is how I made it across the Channel. Ten strokes at a time."
This is the answer to the old question of how to eat an elephant (one bite at a time), but for some reason it struck me, coming from my dad, that that was precisely how he worked. He wasn't always a big-picture guy, but he was dogged, he was persistent, and he did everything ten strokes at a time. Sometimes you just need to put your head down and persevere, reach small goals and then set new ones.
My father died over four years ago (May 1, 2007) on the same day that another highly influential man in my life died in 2006 (Teddy Litovitz), and I miss him every day. At his graveside service, the rabbi asked if anyone had a story or something to say, but I couldn't think clearly enough to relate this story of the swimmer, a final, lasting piece of advice from my father. I wrote it down so his granddaughter will know his words, and I keep them in my mind every day.
Ten more strokes. Anyone can swim ten more strokes.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
We Are Not a Public School
We are not a public school.
Our accreditation requires an annual test, but we don't teach to it.
We are not a public school. As long as you are reading, writing, moving forward, learning, growing, exploring, questioning, reasoning, thinking...you are fulfilling the mission of the school.
We are not here to tick off boxes and circle letters. Getting it wrong is another chance to think deeply and see it differently. There is value in "getting it right," and there is beauty in a "correct" answer, but there is joy in finding another way that is just as correct and true.
Yes, we know how to multiply and divide.
Yes, we watch the news and talk about the world.
Yes, we know how to organize an essay and analyze a piece of literature.
We volunteer and think about other people.
We are ethical. We honor our word. We own up to our mistakes. We are far from perfect. We work hard.
We lay in the grass and watch the clouds. We climb a tree and collect eggs. We sit on the porch and swing. We cook for each other once a week, nourishing body and soul at the same time.
We don't walk in rows. We don't have bells. We take as long as we need to take on a subject, even if that is all day.
We go out into the world and shop and see plays and get dirty in the creek we are monitoring for adopt-a-stream.
We make a wrong turn sometimes, and then we look at what happened and try to make it better.
We are not a public school. We aren't even a private school (even though, technically, we are). We try really hard to honor the individual. Sometimes we do better than others when it comes to "curriculum," but we aren't afraid to corrrect our mistakes.
This is definitely a response to several people, but it is also a clarification for HoneyFern. We don't have to be what we are not because we are beautiful as we are.
Our accreditation requires an annual test, but we don't teach to it.
We are not a public school. As long as you are reading, writing, moving forward, learning, growing, exploring, questioning, reasoning, thinking...you are fulfilling the mission of the school.
We are not here to tick off boxes and circle letters. Getting it wrong is another chance to think deeply and see it differently. There is value in "getting it right," and there is beauty in a "correct" answer, but there is joy in finding another way that is just as correct and true.
Yes, we know how to multiply and divide.
Yes, we watch the news and talk about the world.
Yes, we know how to organize an essay and analyze a piece of literature.
We volunteer and think about other people.
We are ethical. We honor our word. We own up to our mistakes. We are far from perfect. We work hard.
We lay in the grass and watch the clouds. We climb a tree and collect eggs. We sit on the porch and swing. We cook for each other once a week, nourishing body and soul at the same time.
We don't walk in rows. We don't have bells. We take as long as we need to take on a subject, even if that is all day.
We go out into the world and shop and see plays and get dirty in the creek we are monitoring for adopt-a-stream.
We make a wrong turn sometimes, and then we look at what happened and try to make it better.
We are not a public school. We aren't even a private school (even though, technically, we are). We try really hard to honor the individual. Sometimes we do better than others when it comes to "curriculum," but we aren't afraid to corrrect our mistakes.
This is definitely a response to several people, but it is also a clarification for HoneyFern. We don't have to be what we are not because we are beautiful as we are.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Playing for its Own Sake
Quite a week. From an article published in The Atlantic:
"Since about 1955 ... children's free play has been continually declining, at least partly because adults have exerted ever-increasing control over children's activities," says the author Peter Gray, Ph.D., Professor of Psychology (emeritus) at Boston College. Gray defines "free play" as play a child undertakes him- or her-self and which is self-directed and an end in itself, rather than part of some organized activity."
Hmmm. Seems like the same would apply to adults, except adults are the ones who have been restricting their own "free play" with a steady diet of TV, Facebook, Twitter and other brainless pursuits (HF is guilty of all of these, minus the TV, mostly, except for the season finale of Breaking Bad, Survivor and cooking shows. We are only human.); where is the self-directed play for adults that is an end in itself?
We are definitely overstructured human beings, and we need to relax. This is difficult these days, but I would argue that all eras had their own struggles, and ours seems to be one of the most tightly wound in history. We also have a very self-centered view of the world, every one of us, that makes it difficult to step back and see the extent of our problems versus others.
I also found out that the Dalai Lama has 2.6 million Twitter followers and follows no one himself. There are all sorts of reasons for this, some more political than others, but I like to think it's because he follows himself. Perhaps he is so peaceful because he knows when it is time to play, stopping (meditating) when he feels frantic. We don't generally do that; even when we go on vacation we are desperate to have fun, jam-packing our time off with activities (probably why the ideal vacation is less than a week - we need a vacation from our vacation).
So here is to the sitting on the front porch, watching the cars go by; the toes in the sand; the aimless meandering through city streets, seeing what is to be seen. The simply sitting and doing...nothing. Here is to playing for its own sake.
"Since about 1955 ... children's free play has been continually declining, at least partly because adults have exerted ever-increasing control over children's activities," says the author Peter Gray, Ph.D., Professor of Psychology (emeritus) at Boston College. Gray defines "free play" as play a child undertakes him- or her-self and which is self-directed and an end in itself, rather than part of some organized activity."
Hmmm. Seems like the same would apply to adults, except adults are the ones who have been restricting their own "free play" with a steady diet of TV, Facebook, Twitter and other brainless pursuits (HF is guilty of all of these, minus the TV, mostly, except for the season finale of Breaking Bad, Survivor and cooking shows. We are only human.); where is the self-directed play for adults that is an end in itself?
We are definitely overstructured human beings, and we need to relax. This is difficult these days, but I would argue that all eras had their own struggles, and ours seems to be one of the most tightly wound in history. We also have a very self-centered view of the world, every one of us, that makes it difficult to step back and see the extent of our problems versus others.
I also found out that the Dalai Lama has 2.6 million Twitter followers and follows no one himself. There are all sorts of reasons for this, some more political than others, but I like to think it's because he follows himself. Perhaps he is so peaceful because he knows when it is time to play, stopping (meditating) when he feels frantic. We don't generally do that; even when we go on vacation we are desperate to have fun, jam-packing our time off with activities (probably why the ideal vacation is less than a week - we need a vacation from our vacation).
So here is to the sitting on the front porch, watching the cars go by; the toes in the sand; the aimless meandering through city streets, seeing what is to be seen. The simply sitting and doing...nothing. Here is to playing for its own sake.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
When is a Contract Not a Contract?
When you choose not to honor it, of course!
It is hard not to slip into Grumpy Old Man mode these days. My heart is in this school. My whole being bends towards the success of my students. It is all-consuming.
This is perhaps a problem.
However.
This is also a business. There are contracts involved. Yes, they are, in fact, legally binding and enforceable. I am not trying to get rich (if you are trying to get rich in education, you must be in the standardized testing business), but I am trying to keep the lights on and the mortgage paid. And yes, there is more work that goes into one student here than in any other setting, as their curriculum is researched and designed with only them in mind. The money you pay is for that expertise in design, for my time, and I sign the contract with a promise that I will do everything in my power to help your student achieve at the highest level possible.
So why is it then okay to not honor your contract when I have honored mine?
It is not.
HoneyFern is going to be doing some re-calculating over the next eight months. This year, which started so optimistically, has seen parents using the school as a temporary stop, a transition from one thing back into public school. We are not that. We are not a stand-in for public school, we don't aspire to be, and we are not interested in the philosophy, behavior or style of public school.
"It’s absurd and anti-life to be part of a system that compels you to sit in confinement with people of exactly the same age and social class. That system effectively cuts you off from the immense diversity of life and the synergy of variety; indeed it cuts you off from your own past and future, sealing you in a continuous present much the same way television does..." ~John Taylor Gatto
Nor, for that matter, do we emulate private school; yes, there should be competitiveness and accountability, but our focus is on learning and discovery for each individual student. We lean more towards a homeschool style, fieldtrip and experience-heavy curriculum with a healthy dose of student input into their own leanring.
Not everyone is ready for this. Some students and their parents are so institutionalized that they require a worksheet and a grade for every activity in order to feel that their child is learning. Some students are not ready to express what they would like to learn, what they are passionate about, and they just want to melt into the back of the classroom. That is not possible (or desireable) here. Students (and parents) are held accountable for their actions.
It is, you could say, a contractual relationship in all senses of the word. I honor my contract with students and their families. I had hoped to have families and students who would do the same.
We will see what happens.
It is hard not to slip into Grumpy Old Man mode these days. My heart is in this school. My whole being bends towards the success of my students. It is all-consuming.
This is perhaps a problem.
However.
This is also a business. There are contracts involved. Yes, they are, in fact, legally binding and enforceable. I am not trying to get rich (if you are trying to get rich in education, you must be in the standardized testing business), but I am trying to keep the lights on and the mortgage paid. And yes, there is more work that goes into one student here than in any other setting, as their curriculum is researched and designed with only them in mind. The money you pay is for that expertise in design, for my time, and I sign the contract with a promise that I will do everything in my power to help your student achieve at the highest level possible.
So why is it then okay to not honor your contract when I have honored mine?
It is not.
HoneyFern is going to be doing some re-calculating over the next eight months. This year, which started so optimistically, has seen parents using the school as a temporary stop, a transition from one thing back into public school. We are not that. We are not a stand-in for public school, we don't aspire to be, and we are not interested in the philosophy, behavior or style of public school.
"It’s absurd and anti-life to be part of a system that compels you to sit in confinement with people of exactly the same age and social class. That system effectively cuts you off from the immense diversity of life and the synergy of variety; indeed it cuts you off from your own past and future, sealing you in a continuous present much the same way television does..." ~John Taylor Gatto
Nor, for that matter, do we emulate private school; yes, there should be competitiveness and accountability, but our focus is on learning and discovery for each individual student. We lean more towards a homeschool style, fieldtrip and experience-heavy curriculum with a healthy dose of student input into their own leanring.
Not everyone is ready for this. Some students and their parents are so institutionalized that they require a worksheet and a grade for every activity in order to feel that their child is learning. Some students are not ready to express what they would like to learn, what they are passionate about, and they just want to melt into the back of the classroom. That is not possible (or desireable) here. Students (and parents) are held accountable for their actions.
It is, you could say, a contractual relationship in all senses of the word. I honor my contract with students and their families. I had hoped to have families and students who would do the same.
We will see what happens.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Customized Learning, Project-Based Learning, Differentiation..Oh, My!
Perusing ed articles and theories and the coverage of this weekend's Save Our Schools Rally (featuring Matt Damon telling everyone that we need to get rid of testing) this morning and thinking about the upcoming year at HoneyFern. I am planning, loosely, what we will all be doing, just to have a framework in my mind, but I do really believe that I should not be the one to flesh it out. Because of accreditation, though, I do need to have some sort of structure, but to me it is important to stay focused on the mission of the school (which is to help develop intellectually curious, motivated and self-directed learners). I saw a slide-show on customized learning this morning, and that seems more along the lines of what we are doing here at HoneyFern, but I thought it was really interesting that it cast differentiation in such an unfavorable light.
The real truth is that most educators haven't the faintest idea what differentiation actually is or what it looks like; the other side of that real truth is that effective differentiation is not easy and requires tons of planning, much more than is traditionally available to teachers, especially when the majority of that planning time is then snatched back by parent meetings and mindless administrative drivel.
The other real truth of this comparison is that customized learning is extraordinarily difficult on a large scale. HoneyFern can do it because we are so small, and that's just how we roll, but customizing an educational trajectory for a class of 25, or a student load of 100+, would require superhuman effort and no outside activities (like a family or a pet). It also would not work particularly well on a regular basis in our test-driven school culture. Students would learn, just maybe not what is on the test (which is a bit ridiculous...backwards...), schools would not meet AYP and then be labelled as failing, students would leave, mass chaos would ensure, dogs and cats living together...
Then you have project-based learning (PBL), which is gaining traction as an occasional diversion from test prep. This is the dog-and-pony show that administrators trot out during open houses and sneak-a-peek sessions ("See how interdisciplinary we are!"). PBL has also made leaps and bounds forward as assessment of the product and process gets a little more streamlined and sophisticated, always a good thing, and one project a year is better than none.
So what can you do in today's schools? Not much. There is a lot of buzz about computers individualizing learning with artificially intelligent programs that accelerate or remediate as necessary, but those programs seem to pop up most with skill-based subjects (math, English) and not process-based actions (critical thinking and problem solving). No computer will be a perfect tool of customization without a teacher who A) knows how to use it, and B) has the time to really plan how to implement it. Most people seem to think that good teaching happens accidentally, and good teachers make it look so easy, but even with all of the options and tools out there, making it work takes time, effort and smarts.
We will stick with customized learning here at HoneyFern. It is more work for everyone, but the reward is so, so worth it!
The real truth is that most educators haven't the faintest idea what differentiation actually is or what it looks like; the other side of that real truth is that effective differentiation is not easy and requires tons of planning, much more than is traditionally available to teachers, especially when the majority of that planning time is then snatched back by parent meetings and mindless administrative drivel.
The other real truth of this comparison is that customized learning is extraordinarily difficult on a large scale. HoneyFern can do it because we are so small, and that's just how we roll, but customizing an educational trajectory for a class of 25, or a student load of 100+, would require superhuman effort and no outside activities (like a family or a pet). It also would not work particularly well on a regular basis in our test-driven school culture. Students would learn, just maybe not what is on the test (which is a bit ridiculous...backwards...), schools would not meet AYP and then be labelled as failing, students would leave, mass chaos would ensure, dogs and cats living together...
Then you have project-based learning (PBL), which is gaining traction as an occasional diversion from test prep. This is the dog-and-pony show that administrators trot out during open houses and sneak-a-peek sessions ("See how interdisciplinary we are!"). PBL has also made leaps and bounds forward as assessment of the product and process gets a little more streamlined and sophisticated, always a good thing, and one project a year is better than none.
So what can you do in today's schools? Not much. There is a lot of buzz about computers individualizing learning with artificially intelligent programs that accelerate or remediate as necessary, but those programs seem to pop up most with skill-based subjects (math, English) and not process-based actions (critical thinking and problem solving). No computer will be a perfect tool of customization without a teacher who A) knows how to use it, and B) has the time to really plan how to implement it. Most people seem to think that good teaching happens accidentally, and good teachers make it look so easy, but even with all of the options and tools out there, making it work takes time, effort and smarts.
We will stick with customized learning here at HoneyFern. It is more work for everyone, but the reward is so, so worth it!
"School is Not All That it Could Be"
Please take nine minutes and twenty-six seconds to watch this valedictorian's speech that breaks down everything that is wrong with what is going on in school, delivered directly from the mouth of one of school's best and brightest. Absolutely eloquent explanation of what public school is and what should be done to fix it.
Some highlights:
I should look at this as a positive experience, especially being at the top of my class. However, in retrospect, I cannot say that I am any more intelligent than my peers. I can attest that I am only the best at doing what I am told and working the system. Yet, here I stand, and I am supposed to be proud that I have completed this period of indoctrination. I will leave in the fall to go on to the next phase expected of me, in order to receive a paper document that certifies that I am capable of work. But I contest that I am a human being, a thinker, an adventurer – not a worker. A worker is someone who is trapped within repetition – a slave of the system set up before him. But now, I have successfully shown that I was the best slave.
And,
Between these cinderblock walls, we are all expected to be the same. We are trained to ace every standardized test, and those who deviate and see light through a different lens are worthless to the scheme of public education, and therefore viewed with contempt.
And,
To illustrate this idea, doesn't it perturb you to learn about the idea of “critical thinking.” Is there really such a thing as “uncritically thinking?” To think is to process information in order to form an opinion. But if we are not critical when processing this information, are we really thinking? Or are we mindlessly accepting other opinions as truth? This was happening to me, and if it wasn't for the rare occurrence of an avant-garde tenth grade English teacher, Donna Bryan, who allowed me to open my mind and ask questions before accepting textbook doctrine, I would have been doomed. I am now enlightened, but my mind still feels disabled. I must retrain myself and constantly remember how insane this ostensibly sane place really is.
And,
The saddest part is that the majority of students don't have the opportunity to reflect as I did. The majority of students are put through the same brainwashing techniques in order to create a complacent labor force working in the interests of large corporations and secretive government, and worst of all, they are completely unaware of it.
Finally,
For those of you out there that must continue to sit in desks and yield to the authoritarian ideologies of instructors, do not be disheartened. You still have the opportunity to stand up, ask questions, be critical, and create your own perspective. Demand a setting that will provide you with intellectual capabilities that allow you to expand your mind instead of directing it. Demand that you be interested in class. Demand that the excuse, “You have to learn this for the test” is not good enough for you. Education is an excellent tool, if used properly, but focus more on learning rather than getting good grades.
I wish with all my heart that Honeyfern had the opportunity to work with this student before she graduated, and I hope that she manages to find an educational setting that will recognize her talent and vision. Bravo, Erica!
Some highlights:
I should look at this as a positive experience, especially being at the top of my class. However, in retrospect, I cannot say that I am any more intelligent than my peers. I can attest that I am only the best at doing what I am told and working the system. Yet, here I stand, and I am supposed to be proud that I have completed this period of indoctrination. I will leave in the fall to go on to the next phase expected of me, in order to receive a paper document that certifies that I am capable of work. But I contest that I am a human being, a thinker, an adventurer – not a worker. A worker is someone who is trapped within repetition – a slave of the system set up before him. But now, I have successfully shown that I was the best slave.
And,
Between these cinderblock walls, we are all expected to be the same. We are trained to ace every standardized test, and those who deviate and see light through a different lens are worthless to the scheme of public education, and therefore viewed with contempt.
And,
To illustrate this idea, doesn't it perturb you to learn about the idea of “critical thinking.” Is there really such a thing as “uncritically thinking?” To think is to process information in order to form an opinion. But if we are not critical when processing this information, are we really thinking? Or are we mindlessly accepting other opinions as truth? This was happening to me, and if it wasn't for the rare occurrence of an avant-garde tenth grade English teacher, Donna Bryan, who allowed me to open my mind and ask questions before accepting textbook doctrine, I would have been doomed. I am now enlightened, but my mind still feels disabled. I must retrain myself and constantly remember how insane this ostensibly sane place really is.
And,
The saddest part is that the majority of students don't have the opportunity to reflect as I did. The majority of students are put through the same brainwashing techniques in order to create a complacent labor force working in the interests of large corporations and secretive government, and worst of all, they are completely unaware of it.
Finally,
For those of you out there that must continue to sit in desks and yield to the authoritarian ideologies of instructors, do not be disheartened. You still have the opportunity to stand up, ask questions, be critical, and create your own perspective. Demand a setting that will provide you with intellectual capabilities that allow you to expand your mind instead of directing it. Demand that you be interested in class. Demand that the excuse, “You have to learn this for the test” is not good enough for you. Education is an excellent tool, if used properly, but focus more on learning rather than getting good grades.
I wish with all my heart that Honeyfern had the opportunity to work with this student before she graduated, and I hope that she manages to find an educational setting that will recognize her talent and vision. Bravo, Erica!
If the School Won't Customize...
...Then Take Your Kid Out. Just one thing I am reading this morning from a homeschool parent who believes (and I agree) that students shouldn't be standardized along with their education.
This morning, I am also reading about how schools are filling kids up with sand and water before they have dealt with the big rocks, and I extrapolate this to education reform in general; we are dealing with smaller things like teacher tenure, class size and shifting standards when we should first be looking at the culture of education in this country, our philosophy of schooling and the changes in what schooling should be.
And finally, this morning from the Huffington Post comes a big question, or a big rock if you will, that has been floating around the blogosphere with increasing velocity this past year: why education? Eleanor Roosevelt answered thusly in 1930, and she's a pretty astute chick:
What do you think is the purpose of education? This is the educator equivalent of "why are we here?" and it requires at least a personal answer if one is to be effective regardless of their setting (homeschool, public or private). ER thought we educate to produce citizens, and there is a lot of buzz about digital citizens, global citizens, etc. Does our current public education system educate either of these types of citizens? Not intentionally or evenly across the country (and race and income level).
I believe the purpose of education is to help every person become the best version of themselves. Education should support and empower each student's individual interests, challenge how they think and push them to work through struggles. Education should also teach students how to balance a checkbook, live on a budget, write a decent letter and understand everything that they read, even if they have to look closely and read it more than once. Students should know, at a minimum, how to add, subtract, multiply and divide w/o a calculator, and they should understand estimation, weights and measures. Students should know where they are in the world in relation to other cultures, geography and ideas.
Education's job should also be to introduce thoughts and ideas that a student might not encounter on their own; education should help a student explore the digital world beyond YouTube and Google+, and it should involve some type of action that helps people who are less fortunate than the students themselves. Education should be joyous, even in the struggle, even when it's boring. Education should help students win arguments and clarify their position on an issue, beyond simply restating what their parents said. Education should produce independent thinkers who look to multiple sources for information and then synthesize them.
Do you agree? What do you feel is the purpose of education? Does your current educational setting match?
This morning, I am also reading about how schools are filling kids up with sand and water before they have dealt with the big rocks, and I extrapolate this to education reform in general; we are dealing with smaller things like teacher tenure, class size and shifting standards when we should first be looking at the culture of education in this country, our philosophy of schooling and the changes in what schooling should be.
And finally, this morning from the Huffington Post comes a big question, or a big rock if you will, that has been floating around the blogosphere with increasing velocity this past year: why education? Eleanor Roosevelt answered thusly in 1930, and she's a pretty astute chick:
What is the purpose of education? This question agitates scholars, teachers, statesmen, every group, in fact, of thoughtful men and women (bold mine). The conventional answer is the acquisition of knowledge, the reading of books, and the learning of facts. Perhaps because there are so many books and the branches of knowledge in which we can learn facts are so multitudinous today, we begin to hear more frequently that the function of education is to give children a desire to learn and to teach them how to use their minds and where to go to acquire facts when their curiosity is aroused. Even more all-embracing than this is the statement made not long ago, before a group of English headmasters, by the Archbishop of York, that "the true purpose of education is to produce citizens."
What do you think is the purpose of education? This is the educator equivalent of "why are we here?" and it requires at least a personal answer if one is to be effective regardless of their setting (homeschool, public or private). ER thought we educate to produce citizens, and there is a lot of buzz about digital citizens, global citizens, etc. Does our current public education system educate either of these types of citizens? Not intentionally or evenly across the country (and race and income level).
I believe the purpose of education is to help every person become the best version of themselves. Education should support and empower each student's individual interests, challenge how they think and push them to work through struggles. Education should also teach students how to balance a checkbook, live on a budget, write a decent letter and understand everything that they read, even if they have to look closely and read it more than once. Students should know, at a minimum, how to add, subtract, multiply and divide w/o a calculator, and they should understand estimation, weights and measures. Students should know where they are in the world in relation to other cultures, geography and ideas.
Education's job should also be to introduce thoughts and ideas that a student might not encounter on their own; education should help a student explore the digital world beyond YouTube and Google+, and it should involve some type of action that helps people who are less fortunate than the students themselves. Education should be joyous, even in the struggle, even when it's boring. Education should help students win arguments and clarify their position on an issue, beyond simply restating what their parents said. Education should produce independent thinkers who look to multiple sources for information and then synthesize them.
Do you agree? What do you feel is the purpose of education? Does your current educational setting match?
Thinking Out Loud
I talk to myself, not infrequently. Quite a bit, actually. I also talk to jars of jelly I want to set up, my chickens, the cat. I talk to myself so regularly that when someone mentions that they saw me at the grocery store or walking down the street, the first thing I ask is, "Was I talking to myself?" Oh, and my first year of teaching, the kids did a skit, and the kid who played me walked around, muttering. I recognized myself instantly.
I prefer to think of it less like homeless people muttering and more along the lines of very nearly genius muttering. I have been known to have entire conversations with people in my head and then be utterly shocked when I haven't said anything. Blogging feels like talking to myself at times (like when I ask a question and no one responds), and parenting is like talking to yourself (when you give an order and it is ignored), as is teaching (same example). When NFL players do it on the sidelines (All. The. Time), they call it "Miked Up" and get their own little specials that sports fans cling to (and all they are doing is wandering around, making inane comments, some of which make no sense, even from an adrenaline-fueled, sports-motivational-speaking point of view), but when I do it, it seems borderline crazy.
I talk to myself to keep the list in my head clear, to focus my thoughts and to connect to what I am doing. In my everyday life, I run a house, a school, a business and a rental property. I also coordinate three tutoring company jobs, plus five independent tutoring clients, do the majority of shopping, cleaning, family care and yardwork on five acres (and take care of a growing flock of chickens, two goats and a horse). I have three calendars within five feet of my desk, and four clocks. This is not necessarily a good thing - it simply is. Talking to myself as I move through my day gets the whirling mess out of my head and into the world, even under my breath, so I don't get sucked into the undertow of details. I outline what I am doing, list the steps and follow them. I am overtaxed, definitely, but if there is nothing that can be removed right now then this is how I work to keep it running (relatively) smoothly.
So my kid's friends think I am odd when I ask the jalapeno jelly to please set up in all of its green-flecked glory. If I was professional athlete, that would be worth millions.
I prefer to think of it less like homeless people muttering and more along the lines of very nearly genius muttering. I have been known to have entire conversations with people in my head and then be utterly shocked when I haven't said anything. Blogging feels like talking to myself at times (like when I ask a question and no one responds), and parenting is like talking to yourself (when you give an order and it is ignored), as is teaching (same example). When NFL players do it on the sidelines (All. The. Time), they call it "Miked Up" and get their own little specials that sports fans cling to (and all they are doing is wandering around, making inane comments, some of which make no sense, even from an adrenaline-fueled, sports-motivational-speaking point of view), but when I do it, it seems borderline crazy.
I talk to myself to keep the list in my head clear, to focus my thoughts and to connect to what I am doing. In my everyday life, I run a house, a school, a business and a rental property. I also coordinate three tutoring company jobs, plus five independent tutoring clients, do the majority of shopping, cleaning, family care and yardwork on five acres (and take care of a growing flock of chickens, two goats and a horse). I have three calendars within five feet of my desk, and four clocks. This is not necessarily a good thing - it simply is. Talking to myself as I move through my day gets the whirling mess out of my head and into the world, even under my breath, so I don't get sucked into the undertow of details. I outline what I am doing, list the steps and follow them. I am overtaxed, definitely, but if there is nothing that can be removed right now then this is how I work to keep it running (relatively) smoothly.
So my kid's friends think I am odd when I ask the jalapeno jelly to please set up in all of its green-flecked glory. If I was professional athlete, that would be worth millions.
Thinking Out Loud
I talk to myself, not infrequently. Quite a bit, actually. I also talk to jars of jelly I want to set up, my chickens, the cat. I talk to myself so regularly that when someone mentions that they saw me at the grocery store or walking down the street, the first thing I ask is, "Was I talking to myself?" Oh, and my first year of teaching, the kids did a skit, and the kid who played me walked around, muttering. I recognized myself instantly.
I prefer to think of it less like homeless people muttering and more along the lines of very nearly genius muttering. I have been known to have entire conversations with people in my head and then be utterly shocked when I haven't said anything. Blogging feels like talking to myself at times (like when I ask a question and no one responds), and parenting is like talking to yourself (when you give an order and it is ignored), as is teaching (same example). When NFL players do it on the sidelines (All. The. Time), they call it "Miked Up" and get their own little specials that sports fans cling to (and all they are doing is wandering around, making inane comments, some of which make no sense, even from an adrenaline-fueled, sports-motivational-speaking point of view), but when I do it, it seems borderline crazy.
I talk to myself to keep the list in my head clear, to focus my thoughts and to connect to what I am doing. In my everyday life, I run a house, a school, a business and a rental property. I also coordinate three tutoring company jobs, plus five independent tutoring clients, do the majority of shopping, cleaning, family care and yardwork on five acres (and take care of a growing flock of chickens, two goats and a horse). I have three calendars within five feet of my desk, and four clocks. This is not necessarily a good thing - it simply is. Talking to myself as I move through my day gets the whirling mess out of my head and into the world, even under my breath, so I don't get sucked into the undertow of details. I outline what I am doing, list the steps and follow them. I am overtaxed, definitely, but if there is nothing that can be removed right now then this is how I work to keep it running (relatively) smoothly.
So my kid's friends think I am odd when I ask the jalapeno jelly to please set up in all of its green-flecked glory. If I was professional athlete, that would be worth millions.
I prefer to think of it less like homeless people muttering and more along the lines of very nearly genius muttering. I have been known to have entire conversations with people in my head and then be utterly shocked when I haven't said anything. Blogging feels like talking to myself at times (like when I ask a question and no one responds), and parenting is like talking to yourself (when you give an order and it is ignored), as is teaching (same example). When NFL players do it on the sidelines (All. The. Time), they call it "Miked Up" and get their own little specials that sports fans cling to (and all they are doing is wandering around, making inane comments, some of which make no sense, even from an adrenaline-fueled, sports-motivational-speaking point of view), but when I do it, it seems borderline crazy.
I talk to myself to keep the list in my head clear, to focus my thoughts and to connect to what I am doing. In my everyday life, I run a house, a school, a business and a rental property. I also coordinate three tutoring company jobs, plus five independent tutoring clients, do the majority of shopping, cleaning, family care and yardwork on five acres (and take care of a growing flock of chickens, two goats and a horse). I have three calendars within five feet of my desk, and four clocks. This is not necessarily a good thing - it simply is. Talking to myself as I move through my day gets the whirling mess out of my head and into the world, even under my breath, so I don't get sucked into the undertow of details. I outline what I am doing, list the steps and follow them. I am overtaxed, definitely, but if there is nothing that can be removed right now then this is how I work to keep it running (relatively) smoothly.
So my kid's friends think I am odd when I ask the jalapeno jelly to please set up in all of its green-flecked glory. If I was professional athlete, that would be worth millions.
Nine Tenents of Passion-Based Learning
Passion-based learning, a term that seems more enthusiastic than "student-driven" or "interest-based" or "inquiry-based" learning, is an idea put forth by Mind/Shift, a site that looks forward to how we will learn and pushes a digital agenda for schools. Passion-based learning has nine tenets, outlined and explained below:
Passion-based learning requires a paradigm shift that schools may or may not be able to make, but lucky are those students in schools who do.
- 1. REACH OUT TO THE DISENFRANCHISED. We say that we want creative, passion-driven students, yet we reward the opposite. Standards-based education stifles engagement and passion in students. While drop-outs are considered to be lazy and unmotivated, many are simply not interested because they don’t understand the relevance of what they’re being taught. We’re rewarding students who are best at obedience, memorization, regurgitation, and compliance. And those who do succeed in school often don’t know what to do when they get out. We need to prepare kids to be successful in the real world, not just while in school.
- 2. SHOW RELEVANCE TO LIFE OUTSIDE SCHOOL. Passion is the narrative of mattering. It’s that simple and that difficult. Everyone has a deep rooted drive to know that they matter to others and that what they’re doing matters. When you’re doing work that matters, with people who matter, you’re willing to suffer and study more. Passion-based learning is not about matching students with topics that interest them, it’s about presenting subjects to students in a way that’s relevant. People gain empowerment when they’re doing work that matters and is respected. Angela Maiers suggests that a class essay rubric may seem irrelevant for some, and that having students surf the web to identify writing standards that are “worthy of the world” may engage them to take ownership of their writing.
- 3. INDOCTRINATE PASSION INTO THE SYSTEM. We must switch from a control narrative in the classroom to a passion narrative. While our education system allows continuity between grade levels, provides a streamlined performance metric, and “teacher-proofs” schools, assessment-based education can quell the creative process in teachers. Lisa Nielsen writes in her Innovative Educator blog: “Are we going to lose another excellent, passion-driven teacher to a compulsory system of education that as Seth Godin so aptly expresses, ‘only values compliance not initiative, because, of course, that’s what’s easiest to measure.’” School mandates paralyze educators from taking a close look at their passion for learning. School administrators should support teachers and empower them to be creative. Teachers and leadership, as exemplified by those from Aurora High School in Ohio, can read books like Passion-Driven Classrooms (written by panelists Angela Maiers and Amy Sandvold) to discover ways to use more passion in their classrooms.The Island School is an example of a public-financed school in New York City that’s implemented a schoolwide enrichment model focusing on talent development and nurturing multiple intelligences.
- 4. TRY USING THE SCHOOLWIDE ENRICHMENT MODEL. Passion-based learning is about finding a “hero,” learning what makes him/her successful, and acquiring the practices and the norms of established practitioners in that field. The Schoolwide Enrichment Model identifies student strengths, nurtures skills, and creates authentic opportunities for students to utilize these skills not just as students, but as practicing professionals providing experiences and opportunities to work and learn with others in the fields in which they are interested. If a student takes interest in the culinary arts, watching the 60 Minutes interview of Jose Andres, following up on studies of molecular gastronomy, volunteering at a local soup kitchen and exchanging recipes with a network of cooks is far more enriching than simply taking a cooking class. Jackie Gerstein said: “I realized that it becomes much more than learning about the culinary arts. It becomes a way of being in the world, the dispositions that contributes to success as a culinary artist.”
- 5. DIGITAL MEDIA IS KEY. Students can read and view media about their heroes and possibly even connect directly with them. John Seely Brown, a notable passion-based proponent and keynote at the New Media Consortium this past summer, says that passion involves an extreme performance with a deep questioning disposition. Without digital media, this quest is not possible in formal education.
- 6. TAP INTO THE WISDOM OF YOUR TRUSTED PEERS. Social media and Personal Learning Networks (PLNs) are necessary. Teachers need to publish their innovative work and share it with their personal learning networks. It’s also important for teachers to help students get connected to PLNs via social media.
- 7. BECOME A DIGITAL CITIZENS. If for no other reason, then to be able to guide students. Students need to be shown what’s appropriate and instructive with social media in and out of the classroom. Schools’ banning of social media sites impedes this process. Having teachers and students learn side-by-side can provide great opportunities for building respect and openness.
- 8. PASSION IS INFECTIOUS. Being around passionate people is the best way to become passionate. A passion-driven teacher is a model for her students. Teachers must be able to lead in the areas that they’re passionate about (whether this be in the classroom or after school). They must demonstrate that they have lives outside of school and that they are well-balanced people. Being transparent with students and building relationships with them beyond the classroom can help drive learning – students work harder with people who matter to them. The Science Leadership Academy, for example, uses Facebook as a means of connecting students and teachers to each others’ interests. Students and teachers even do things together outside of the classroom.
- 9. CONNECT WITH PARENTS. Building relationships between parents and schools is crucial. George Couros says that having a pre-conference at the beginning of the school year with parents allows teachers and administrators to listen to parents talk about their kids and gives parents a chance to tell the school what their competencies are and where their expertise lies. Teachers can then create “resident expert” walls. By identifying strengths and talents of parents, parents gain a sense of recognition and human value – they feel engaged. This leads to opportunities for parents to teach topics that they love within the school.
Passion-based learning requires a paradigm shift that schools may or may not be able to make, but lucky are those students in schools who do.
I Am a Teacher
Woke up this mid-summer morning to overcast skies and a smattering of fat, juicy raindrops. It has been an odd summer, and most mornings I wake up with a mixture of sleepy and a bit dazed, not my normal summer awakening. I have a long list of things to do every day, but I still have felt very out of it.
This has been the topic of much study for me for the past couple weeks. Why have I been in a fog, wandering, except for some isolated hours when completely focused on a task (e.g., curriculum writing or gardening)? My to-do list is full, daily, but I have been uncertain what to do with myself every day, wondering how I am going to fill the long hours that stretch out in front of me. This morning, waking up, I figured it out.
I am a teacher.
It is summer.
Hence the fog.
It was like a light bulb. I shared Waiting for Superman (see it on YouTube in pieces here) with my family last night, and I realized as I was watching how much I missed teaching this summer. Not necessarily in any format (I am not feeling the need to go back to public school), but I miss having students here, and I miss working with them and reading their work and having conversations and talking about the future. My heart broke again watching Anthony, thinking of the chance he has of survival, statistically, if he didn't get an education, and I definitely cried a bit when he got the phone call. I was a little teary-eyed the whole movie, thinking of how desperately so many children need education, and how massively we are failing them. The movie asks how much responsibility is ours for educating other people's children?
If you are me, the answer is simple: all of it. All of the responsibility sits on everybody who breathes in America's shoulders. Full stop. How can we not invest everything we are, as a nation, into our human capital? How can we turn these children into hopeless criminals, generally by the time they hit middle school, having already failed a grade (or two) and reading/computing several levels behind where they should be?
Thinking about these questions made me finally realize how I define myself and illuminated the reason I have been so foggy this summer. I am a teacher. I am other things, certainly, but there is nothing more important to me than that. But, you gasp, you have a child! Isn't that important? Of course. I see my primary role as her teacher, and the kind of teacher I am includes nuturing and building relationships, so that fits in with how I define myself and my role as a parent. What more important job could I have than to teach my child how to navigate the world, think for herself and take care of herself? Is there anything more pressing that teaching compassion and understanding, plus how to cook for yourself when you're broke, or how to grow your own food, or...or...or. I think it never really came to light when teaching in public school, as I crashed, beaten, into every summer, and, except for the obligatory summer training, avoided school and students, almost as if recovering from post-traumatic stress, avoiding loud noises and fast movements. I was forming relationships as best I could, but at the end of the year, the kids moved along the assembly line into the summer, and I was so worn out from everything having to do with school, all the little things that overtook any teaching that might have happened, that I never really fully connected with who I am.
I am a teacher. It matters to me what happens to my kids. I had a dream last night that I was back in a traditional classroom, teaching (and the kids were, or course, all paying attention in their adolescent way, which is to say that they had turned their desks in other directions but were still mostly oriented towards me), and a former student was in the back of the classroom, having climbed in through the window to say hi to some friends, but also to see me. This particular student lost his mom two years before he came to me, had a very absent dad, no siblings living with him in the house, and lived with a pair of well-intentioned but somewhat clueless grandparents. I felt such relief in seeing him, even as I kicked him back out the window and chastised him for coming into school that when I woke up I was happy to "see" that he was still okay.
I am a teacher. I can't wait until school starts. I still have curriculum to design and a library to organize and supplies to order and a house to clean all the way down to the bones before the kids come back, but I am ready for them now, even though maybe they still want to sleep in and avoid thesis statements and hypotheses. Technically I need these next three weeks so that I can really be ready and have everything in place, but the best teaching starts with the framework that the students fill in. I am ready for school to start, even though I need a hair cut, eye appointment and physical, and the same for my kid. We can fit those things in like we always do during the year.
I am a teacher, and it is a revelation.
This has been the topic of much study for me for the past couple weeks. Why have I been in a fog, wandering, except for some isolated hours when completely focused on a task (e.g., curriculum writing or gardening)? My to-do list is full, daily, but I have been uncertain what to do with myself every day, wondering how I am going to fill the long hours that stretch out in front of me. This morning, waking up, I figured it out.
I am a teacher.
It is summer.
Hence the fog.
It was like a light bulb. I shared Waiting for Superman (see it on YouTube in pieces here) with my family last night, and I realized as I was watching how much I missed teaching this summer. Not necessarily in any format (I am not feeling the need to go back to public school), but I miss having students here, and I miss working with them and reading their work and having conversations and talking about the future. My heart broke again watching Anthony, thinking of the chance he has of survival, statistically, if he didn't get an education, and I definitely cried a bit when he got the phone call. I was a little teary-eyed the whole movie, thinking of how desperately so many children need education, and how massively we are failing them. The movie asks how much responsibility is ours for educating other people's children?
If you are me, the answer is simple: all of it. All of the responsibility sits on everybody who breathes in America's shoulders. Full stop. How can we not invest everything we are, as a nation, into our human capital? How can we turn these children into hopeless criminals, generally by the time they hit middle school, having already failed a grade (or two) and reading/computing several levels behind where they should be?
Thinking about these questions made me finally realize how I define myself and illuminated the reason I have been so foggy this summer. I am a teacher. I am other things, certainly, but there is nothing more important to me than that. But, you gasp, you have a child! Isn't that important? Of course. I see my primary role as her teacher, and the kind of teacher I am includes nuturing and building relationships, so that fits in with how I define myself and my role as a parent. What more important job could I have than to teach my child how to navigate the world, think for herself and take care of herself? Is there anything more pressing that teaching compassion and understanding, plus how to cook for yourself when you're broke, or how to grow your own food, or...or...or. I think it never really came to light when teaching in public school, as I crashed, beaten, into every summer, and, except for the obligatory summer training, avoided school and students, almost as if recovering from post-traumatic stress, avoiding loud noises and fast movements. I was forming relationships as best I could, but at the end of the year, the kids moved along the assembly line into the summer, and I was so worn out from everything having to do with school, all the little things that overtook any teaching that might have happened, that I never really fully connected with who I am.
I am a teacher. It matters to me what happens to my kids. I had a dream last night that I was back in a traditional classroom, teaching (and the kids were, or course, all paying attention in their adolescent way, which is to say that they had turned their desks in other directions but were still mostly oriented towards me), and a former student was in the back of the classroom, having climbed in through the window to say hi to some friends, but also to see me. This particular student lost his mom two years before he came to me, had a very absent dad, no siblings living with him in the house, and lived with a pair of well-intentioned but somewhat clueless grandparents. I felt such relief in seeing him, even as I kicked him back out the window and chastised him for coming into school that when I woke up I was happy to "see" that he was still okay.
I am a teacher. I can't wait until school starts. I still have curriculum to design and a library to organize and supplies to order and a house to clean all the way down to the bones before the kids come back, but I am ready for them now, even though maybe they still want to sleep in and avoid thesis statements and hypotheses. Technically I need these next three weeks so that I can really be ready and have everything in place, but the best teaching starts with the framework that the students fill in. I am ready for school to start, even though I need a hair cut, eye appointment and physical, and the same for my kid. We can fit those things in like we always do during the year.
I am a teacher, and it is a revelation.
I Am a Teacher
Woke up this mid-summer morning to overcast skies and a smattering of fat, juicy raindrops. It has been an odd summer, and most mornings I wake up with a mixture of sleepy and a bit dazed, not my normal summer awakening. I have a long list of things to do every day, but I still have felt very out of it.
This has been the topic of much study for me for the past couple weeks. Why have I been in a fog, wandering, except for some isolated hours when completely focused on a task (e.g., curriculum writing or gardening)? My to-do list is full, daily, but I have been uncertain what to do with myself every day, wondering how I am going to fill the long hours that stretch out in front of me. This morning, waking up, I figured it out.
I am a teacher.
It is summer.
Hence the fog.
It was like a light bulb. I shared Waiting for Superman (see it on YouTube in pieces here) with my family last night, and I realized as I was watching how much I missed teaching this summer. Not necessarily in any format (I am not feeling the need to go back to public school), but I miss having students here, and I miss working with them and reading their work and having conversations and talking about the future. My heart broke again watching Anthony, thinking of the chance he has of survival, statistically, if he didn't get an education, and I definitely cried a bit when he got the phone call. I was a little teary-eyed the whole movie, thinking of how desperately so many children need education, and how massively we are failing them. The movie asks how much responsibility is ours for educating other people's children?
If you are me, the answer is simple: all of it. All of the responsibility sits on everybody who breathes in America's shoulders. Full stop. How can we not invest everything we are, as a nation, into our human capital? How can we turn these children into hopeless criminals, generally by the time they hit middle school, having already failed a grade (or two) and reading/computing several levels behind where they should be?
Thinking about these questions made me finally realize how I define myself and illuminated the reason I have been so foggy this summer. I am a teacher. I am other things, certainly, but there is nothing more important to me than that. But, you gasp, you have a child! Isn't that important? Of course. I see my primary role as her teacher, and the kind of teacher I am includes nuturing and building relationships, so that fits in with how I define myself and my role as a parent. What more important job could I have than to teach my child how to navigate the world, think for herself and take care of herself? Is there anything more pressing that teaching compassion and understanding, plus how to cook for yourself when you're broke, or how to grow your own food, or...or...or. I think it never really came to light when teaching in public school, as I crashed, beaten, into every summer, and, except for the obligatory summer training, avoided school and students, almost as if recovering from post-traumatic stress, avoiding loud noises and fast movements. I was forming relationships as best I could, but at the end of the year, the kids moved along the assembly line into the summer, and I was so worn out from everything having to do with school, all the little things that overtook any teaching that might have happened, that I never really fully connected with who I am.
I am a teacher. It matters to me what happens to my kids. I had a dream last night that I was back in a traditional classroom, teaching (and the kids were, or course, all paying attention in their adolescent way, which is to say that they had turned their desks in other directions but were still mostly oriented towards me), and a former student was in the back of the classroom, having climbed in through the window to say hi to some friends, but also to see me. This particular student lost his mom two years before he came to me, had a very absent dad, no siblings living with him in the house, and lived with a pair of well-intentioned but somewhat clueless grandparents. I felt such relief in seeing him, even as I kicked him back out the window and chastised him for coming into school that when I woke up I was happy to "see" that he was still okay.
I am a teacher. I can't wait until school starts. I still have curriculum to design and a library to organize and supplies to order and a house to clean all the way down to the bones before the kids come back, but I am ready for them now, even though maybe they still want to sleep in and avoid thesis statements and hypotheses. Technically I need these next three weeks so that I can really be ready and have everything in place, but the best teaching starts with the framework that the students fill in. I am ready for school to start, even though I need a hair cut, eye appointment and physical, and the same for my kid. We can fit those things in like we always do during the year.
I am a teacher, and it is a revelation.
This has been the topic of much study for me for the past couple weeks. Why have I been in a fog, wandering, except for some isolated hours when completely focused on a task (e.g., curriculum writing or gardening)? My to-do list is full, daily, but I have been uncertain what to do with myself every day, wondering how I am going to fill the long hours that stretch out in front of me. This morning, waking up, I figured it out.
I am a teacher.
It is summer.
Hence the fog.
It was like a light bulb. I shared Waiting for Superman (see it on YouTube in pieces here) with my family last night, and I realized as I was watching how much I missed teaching this summer. Not necessarily in any format (I am not feeling the need to go back to public school), but I miss having students here, and I miss working with them and reading their work and having conversations and talking about the future. My heart broke again watching Anthony, thinking of the chance he has of survival, statistically, if he didn't get an education, and I definitely cried a bit when he got the phone call. I was a little teary-eyed the whole movie, thinking of how desperately so many children need education, and how massively we are failing them. The movie asks how much responsibility is ours for educating other people's children?
If you are me, the answer is simple: all of it. All of the responsibility sits on everybody who breathes in America's shoulders. Full stop. How can we not invest everything we are, as a nation, into our human capital? How can we turn these children into hopeless criminals, generally by the time they hit middle school, having already failed a grade (or two) and reading/computing several levels behind where they should be?
Thinking about these questions made me finally realize how I define myself and illuminated the reason I have been so foggy this summer. I am a teacher. I am other things, certainly, but there is nothing more important to me than that. But, you gasp, you have a child! Isn't that important? Of course. I see my primary role as her teacher, and the kind of teacher I am includes nuturing and building relationships, so that fits in with how I define myself and my role as a parent. What more important job could I have than to teach my child how to navigate the world, think for herself and take care of herself? Is there anything more pressing that teaching compassion and understanding, plus how to cook for yourself when you're broke, or how to grow your own food, or...or...or. I think it never really came to light when teaching in public school, as I crashed, beaten, into every summer, and, except for the obligatory summer training, avoided school and students, almost as if recovering from post-traumatic stress, avoiding loud noises and fast movements. I was forming relationships as best I could, but at the end of the year, the kids moved along the assembly line into the summer, and I was so worn out from everything having to do with school, all the little things that overtook any teaching that might have happened, that I never really fully connected with who I am.
I am a teacher. It matters to me what happens to my kids. I had a dream last night that I was back in a traditional classroom, teaching (and the kids were, or course, all paying attention in their adolescent way, which is to say that they had turned their desks in other directions but were still mostly oriented towards me), and a former student was in the back of the classroom, having climbed in through the window to say hi to some friends, but also to see me. This particular student lost his mom two years before he came to me, had a very absent dad, no siblings living with him in the house, and lived with a pair of well-intentioned but somewhat clueless grandparents. I felt such relief in seeing him, even as I kicked him back out the window and chastised him for coming into school that when I woke up I was happy to "see" that he was still okay.
I am a teacher. I can't wait until school starts. I still have curriculum to design and a library to organize and supplies to order and a house to clean all the way down to the bones before the kids come back, but I am ready for them now, even though maybe they still want to sleep in and avoid thesis statements and hypotheses. Technically I need these next three weeks so that I can really be ready and have everything in place, but the best teaching starts with the framework that the students fill in. I am ready for school to start, even though I need a hair cut, eye appointment and physical, and the same for my kid. We can fit those things in like we always do during the year.
I am a teacher, and it is a revelation.
Ethical Teaching
Ethical educators don't cheat.
That means not on tests and not on curriculum for students. The test part is easy to understand, but what does it mean to be ethical when designing curriculum?
First, it means that an educator takes the time to get to know the student for whom they are designing curriculum and considers that as the most important point of entry. I don't care how brilliant the project or assignment is; if you have mis-read or completely ignored the student in front of you as an individual, the best you will get is mediocre. Students are not the same, which is generally overlooked in the traditional grade-banding and same-age grouping of schools. We like to think of ourselves as adults being individuals, so why, then, do we believe that every student is the same?
The second challenge of ethical teaching is differentiation, which means to modify instructional process and product to meet the needs of each learner differently. This is one of those terms that is thrown around in education but that very few really understand. I taught 45 teachers over three years in the gifted endorsement, and of those 45, maybe three knew what it meant to differentiate in the classroom (although all of them talked about it fluently). You cannot fake differentiation; superficial changes in instruction produce the same mediocre results as if you walked in the room and handed out worksheets.
Ethical instructors care about what they do; they don't fake their passion for teaching. It matters to them if their students succeed, and they are genuinely thrilled with their progress and achievements. This is not some mythical TV or movie creation, and it doesn't mean that they all demonstrate their passion for their subject in the same way; some teachers are less ebullient than others, but it doesn't mean they care less. Passionate educators try everything, advocate for their students and keep learning as professionals, not because they have to but because they want to.
This type of ethical educator is disappearing from the public school system as testing and lockstep curriculum takes away most of their license to create. Teachers are human, and they can only take the beating they are currently receiving for so long before they walk away. Ethical educators don't cheat their students, and, eventually, they won't cheat themselves out of their creativy and work.
That means not on tests and not on curriculum for students. The test part is easy to understand, but what does it mean to be ethical when designing curriculum?
First, it means that an educator takes the time to get to know the student for whom they are designing curriculum and considers that as the most important point of entry. I don't care how brilliant the project or assignment is; if you have mis-read or completely ignored the student in front of you as an individual, the best you will get is mediocre. Students are not the same, which is generally overlooked in the traditional grade-banding and same-age grouping of schools. We like to think of ourselves as adults being individuals, so why, then, do we believe that every student is the same?
The second challenge of ethical teaching is differentiation, which means to modify instructional process and product to meet the needs of each learner differently. This is one of those terms that is thrown around in education but that very few really understand. I taught 45 teachers over three years in the gifted endorsement, and of those 45, maybe three knew what it meant to differentiate in the classroom (although all of them talked about it fluently). You cannot fake differentiation; superficial changes in instruction produce the same mediocre results as if you walked in the room and handed out worksheets.
Ethical instructors care about what they do; they don't fake their passion for teaching. It matters to them if their students succeed, and they are genuinely thrilled with their progress and achievements. This is not some mythical TV or movie creation, and it doesn't mean that they all demonstrate their passion for their subject in the same way; some teachers are less ebullient than others, but it doesn't mean they care less. Passionate educators try everything, advocate for their students and keep learning as professionals, not because they have to but because they want to.
This type of ethical educator is disappearing from the public school system as testing and lockstep curriculum takes away most of their license to create. Teachers are human, and they can only take the beating they are currently receiving for so long before they walk away. Ethical educators don't cheat their students, and, eventually, they won't cheat themselves out of their creativy and work.
Ethical Teaching
Ethical educators don't cheat.
That means not on tests and not on curriculum for students. The test part is easy to understand, but what does it mean to be ethical when designing curriculum?
First, it means that an educator takes the time to get to know the student for whom they are designing curriculum and considers that as the most important point of entry. I don't care how brilliant the project or assignment is; if you have mis-read or completely ignored the student in front of you as an individual, the best you will get is mediocre. Students are not the same, which is generally overlooked in the traditional grade-banding and same-age grouping of schools. We like to think of ourselves as adults being individuals, so why, then, do we believe that every student is the same?
The second challenge of ethical teaching is differentiation, which means to modify instructional process and product to meet the needs of each learner differently. This is one of those terms that is thrown around in education but that very few really understand. I taught 45 teachers over three years in the gifted endorsement, and of those 45, maybe three knew what it meant to differentiate in the classroom (although all of them talked about it fluently). You cannot fake differentiation; superficial changes in instruction produce the same mediocre results as if you walked in the room and handed out worksheets.
Ethical instructors care about what they do; they don't fake their passion for teaching. It matters to them if their students succeed, and they are genuinely thrilled with their progress and achievements. This is not some mythical TV or movie creation, and it doesn't mean that they all demonstrate their passion for their subject in the same way; some teachers are less ebullient than others, but it doesn't mean they care less. Passionate educators try everything, advocate for their students and keep learning as professionals, not because they have to but because they want to.
This type of ethical educator is disappearing from the public school system as testing and lockstep curriculum takes away most of their license to create. Teachers are human, and they can only take the beating they are currently receiving for so long before they walk away. Ethical educators don't cheat their students, and, eventually, they won't cheat themselves out of their creativy and work.
That means not on tests and not on curriculum for students. The test part is easy to understand, but what does it mean to be ethical when designing curriculum?
First, it means that an educator takes the time to get to know the student for whom they are designing curriculum and considers that as the most important point of entry. I don't care how brilliant the project or assignment is; if you have mis-read or completely ignored the student in front of you as an individual, the best you will get is mediocre. Students are not the same, which is generally overlooked in the traditional grade-banding and same-age grouping of schools. We like to think of ourselves as adults being individuals, so why, then, do we believe that every student is the same?
The second challenge of ethical teaching is differentiation, which means to modify instructional process and product to meet the needs of each learner differently. This is one of those terms that is thrown around in education but that very few really understand. I taught 45 teachers over three years in the gifted endorsement, and of those 45, maybe three knew what it meant to differentiate in the classroom (although all of them talked about it fluently). You cannot fake differentiation; superficial changes in instruction produce the same mediocre results as if you walked in the room and handed out worksheets.
Ethical instructors care about what they do; they don't fake their passion for teaching. It matters to them if their students succeed, and they are genuinely thrilled with their progress and achievements. This is not some mythical TV or movie creation, and it doesn't mean that they all demonstrate their passion for their subject in the same way; some teachers are less ebullient than others, but it doesn't mean they care less. Passionate educators try everything, advocate for their students and keep learning as professionals, not because they have to but because they want to.
This type of ethical educator is disappearing from the public school system as testing and lockstep curriculum takes away most of their license to create. Teachers are human, and they can only take the beating they are currently receiving for so long before they walk away. Ethical educators don't cheat their students, and, eventually, they won't cheat themselves out of their creativy and work.
This is Not a Manifesto
I wasn't going to address this at all because, really, it doesn't matter what this one person thinks. However, the accusation deserves reflection, and, after a couple days, I am ready to write about it.
A person I don't know accused me of being anti-public school. The first five words should automatically help that statement roll off my back, but since I am who I am, it doesn't. I fired back that I wasn't, then promptly went back and re-read 106 blog posts to see if there was merit to the accusation. Although I am highly critical of the current state of education (public and private, including college and some forms of homeschooling), I am not anti-public school.
I believe very strongly in a free, democratic education for every citizen of this country. I think the principles of learning upon which John Dewey's work is based are powerful and valuable in the conversation on school reform. I think John Taylor Gattohas a viewpoint which needs to be explored as we try to make our schools better. I think politics and ego have no place in education. I think parents have rights (and responsibilities) that they don't realize. I think students are over-tested and under-engaged, pointedly in public school, but in other schools, too. I think school has lost most of its rigor and relevance. I think it doesn't matter how long the school day or year is if school itself remains the same.
I believed in the promise of public school, even as a high school dropout who didn't really get much out of it past 9th grade (other than Driver's Ed and Michael Bunitsky's AP US history class); I believed in it so much that I am still paying off the student loan for my Master's in education, and I am still educating myself to maintain and improve my teaching certificate. I taught in public school for nine years, one really good one for three, and one really horrendous one for six, but I stayed on in the horrendous one to try to change it and make it better. Six years of emphasis on the wrong thing, six years and five principals, six years and no acknowledgement from administrators other than "satisfactory" (the highest possible rating) on my evaluation (one principal didn't even observe me, and the time he listed for the observation class was in the middle of my planning. Another principal observed me twice because the first time my lesson was "too student-centered"). I worked hard for six years in that school, and the prevailing attitude was that when I was done, someone else would simply step into my place because, and I quote, "Teachers are a dime a dozen."
I don't believe in the current iteration of public education, and I firmly believe that substantial and dramatic changes will have to occur, and soon, or the uneducated masses will revolt (quite literally). I will continue to criticize and offer suggestions to the universe, administrators and whomever else will listen. I no longer expect to be professionally or personally fulfilled as an educator in public school, and I started a private school to get back to teaching, away from the dog-and-pony show and testing atmosphere of public school. I pulled my child out of public school because she was intellectually unchallenged; after one year, she tells me that if she had to go back to public school, she feels more confident in herself and more creative: "I think I would follow the rules still, but I would put my own self into what I do. I think I would work harder and be creative." Really, what more could you want? A creatively motivated strong work ethic, and intellectual curiousity are excellent, if immeasurable, outcomes. To quote: "Not everything measurable is important, and not everything important is measurable." Or something to that effect.
I am not anti-public school. I am pro-student, pro-education, pro-transformative change. I am pro-intellectual curiousity, flexibility and creativity. I am pro-hard-as-hell curriculum with proper support to be really successful. I am pro-letting kids struggle a bit, learning persistence and problem-solving. I am pro-laying on your back, looking at cloud shapes in the middle of the day, pro-art-making for the sake of it, not to fulfill a standard. I am pro-real-life education, and pro-sometimes-you-learn-it-because-that's-what-educated-people-know.
So, person on the internet who I don't actually know? There's my answer. I am sure it doesn't change your opinion, but I don't really care to. Thank you for the opportunity to move on and clarify what I believe in. If you are reading this, and you are interested in being part of something pretty incredible, I invite you to contact me and come visit.
A person I don't know accused me of being anti-public school. The first five words should automatically help that statement roll off my back, but since I am who I am, it doesn't. I fired back that I wasn't, then promptly went back and re-read 106 blog posts to see if there was merit to the accusation. Although I am highly critical of the current state of education (public and private, including college and some forms of homeschooling), I am not anti-public school.
I believe very strongly in a free, democratic education for every citizen of this country. I think the principles of learning upon which John Dewey's work is based are powerful and valuable in the conversation on school reform. I think John Taylor Gattohas a viewpoint which needs to be explored as we try to make our schools better. I think politics and ego have no place in education. I think parents have rights (and responsibilities) that they don't realize. I think students are over-tested and under-engaged, pointedly in public school, but in other schools, too. I think school has lost most of its rigor and relevance. I think it doesn't matter how long the school day or year is if school itself remains the same.
I believed in the promise of public school, even as a high school dropout who didn't really get much out of it past 9th grade (other than Driver's Ed and Michael Bunitsky's AP US history class); I believed in it so much that I am still paying off the student loan for my Master's in education, and I am still educating myself to maintain and improve my teaching certificate. I taught in public school for nine years, one really good one for three, and one really horrendous one for six, but I stayed on in the horrendous one to try to change it and make it better. Six years of emphasis on the wrong thing, six years and five principals, six years and no acknowledgement from administrators other than "satisfactory" (the highest possible rating) on my evaluation (one principal didn't even observe me, and the time he listed for the observation class was in the middle of my planning. Another principal observed me twice because the first time my lesson was "too student-centered"). I worked hard for six years in that school, and the prevailing attitude was that when I was done, someone else would simply step into my place because, and I quote, "Teachers are a dime a dozen."
I don't believe in the current iteration of public education, and I firmly believe that substantial and dramatic changes will have to occur, and soon, or the uneducated masses will revolt (quite literally). I will continue to criticize and offer suggestions to the universe, administrators and whomever else will listen. I no longer expect to be professionally or personally fulfilled as an educator in public school, and I started a private school to get back to teaching, away from the dog-and-pony show and testing atmosphere of public school. I pulled my child out of public school because she was intellectually unchallenged; after one year, she tells me that if she had to go back to public school, she feels more confident in herself and more creative: "I think I would follow the rules still, but I would put my own self into what I do. I think I would work harder and be creative." Really, what more could you want? A creatively motivated strong work ethic, and intellectual curiousity are excellent, if immeasurable, outcomes. To quote: "Not everything measurable is important, and not everything important is measurable." Or something to that effect.
I am not anti-public school. I am pro-student, pro-education, pro-transformative change. I am pro-intellectual curiousity, flexibility and creativity. I am pro-hard-as-hell curriculum with proper support to be really successful. I am pro-letting kids struggle a bit, learning persistence and problem-solving. I am pro-laying on your back, looking at cloud shapes in the middle of the day, pro-art-making for the sake of it, not to fulfill a standard. I am pro-real-life education, and pro-sometimes-you-learn-it-because-that's-what-educated-people-know.
So, person on the internet who I don't actually know? There's my answer. I am sure it doesn't change your opinion, but I don't really care to. Thank you for the opportunity to move on and clarify what I believe in. If you are reading this, and you are interested in being part of something pretty incredible, I invite you to contact me and come visit.
Educators Love Research!
One of the major buzzwords in education is "research-based" (okay, buzzphrases); you can't swing a dead cat without smashing it into a promotional flyer for a school system touting research-based practices. Here's the thing: although research has its place in education, certainly, it doesn't always hit the mark (i.e., research that says larger class sizes don't matter. That researcher has never been in a 45-student biology lab.). Much of the recent research has been focused on "what works" or "best practices," but turns out that not all of this research is actually practical.
Specifically,
"Undoubtedly, “what works” efforts deserve much applause and appreciation, but, unfortunately, they hold only limited value for educators, for two reasons. First, while researchers are pursuing what works in general, what matters to practitioners is what works in their particular setting. Educators know that a program deemed effective by researchers will not necessarily work or may have a rather different impact in their own schools...Knowing that an intervention works (or not) only tells us that the overall average effect of the intervention in all schools where it is implemented is expected to be positive (or zero). It does not tell educators in a school district whether the intervention will work (or not) or how well it will work in their schools or classrooms."
So research is done on a grand scale but doesn't really give a good answer about whether or not it will translate into a classroom or a district,
And,
"The second problem of the “what works” research is that it says little about how an intervention should be implemented once it is found to be effective."
The second is probably the most frustrating to teachers; an administrator decides that something looks good and mandates that All Schools Shall Implement The New Program. Problem is, training is absent or inadequate, some programs are pointless from the beginning and educators know it, thus not buying in and dooming the program to fail and most initiatives are inadequately funded.
Both of these problems are generally glossed over and "research-based" practices are implemented daily in schools. This is not to condemn all research in education but rather to caution parents and schools to look more closely before adopting wholesale something that is "research-based." Sometimes something works because it does; the same thing may not work for the next group of students, and good teachers adapt. They don't need a mandate!
Specifically,
"Undoubtedly, “what works” efforts deserve much applause and appreciation, but, unfortunately, they hold only limited value for educators, for two reasons. First, while researchers are pursuing what works in general, what matters to practitioners is what works in their particular setting. Educators know that a program deemed effective by researchers will not necessarily work or may have a rather different impact in their own schools...Knowing that an intervention works (or not) only tells us that the overall average effect of the intervention in all schools where it is implemented is expected to be positive (or zero). It does not tell educators in a school district whether the intervention will work (or not) or how well it will work in their schools or classrooms."
So research is done on a grand scale but doesn't really give a good answer about whether or not it will translate into a classroom or a district,
And,
"The second problem of the “what works” research is that it says little about how an intervention should be implemented once it is found to be effective."
The second is probably the most frustrating to teachers; an administrator decides that something looks good and mandates that All Schools Shall Implement The New Program. Problem is, training is absent or inadequate, some programs are pointless from the beginning and educators know it, thus not buying in and dooming the program to fail and most initiatives are inadequately funded.
Both of these problems are generally glossed over and "research-based" practices are implemented daily in schools. This is not to condemn all research in education but rather to caution parents and schools to look more closely before adopting wholesale something that is "research-based." Sometimes something works because it does; the same thing may not work for the next group of students, and good teachers adapt. They don't need a mandate!
Alfie Kohn, How Do I Love Thee?
Once again, Alfie Kohn manages to sum up in ten points some common sense that isn't so common. In "Ten Obvious Truths We Shouldn't Ignore" Kohn points out the following:
1. Memorized material = forgotten material
2. Knowing lots of facts doesn't mean you're smart.
3. Students are more likely to learn what they are interested in.
4. Students are more likely to work if they have some say in what they are learning.
5. Just because X raises standardized test scores doesn't mean X should be done.
6. Students are more likely to succeed in a place that knows their name - relationships, people!
7. We want holistic development, not lop-sided development.
8. Harder does not necessarily mean better.
9. Kids are not short adults!
10. Substance over labels.
I encourage you to read the whole article and check out the links. Alfie Kohn is one of the inspirations for HoneyFern, and his work continues to motivate us to go beyond and do better!
1. Memorized material = forgotten material
2. Knowing lots of facts doesn't mean you're smart.
3. Students are more likely to learn what they are interested in.
4. Students are more likely to work if they have some say in what they are learning.
5. Just because X raises standardized test scores doesn't mean X should be done.
6. Students are more likely to succeed in a place that knows their name - relationships, people!
7. We want holistic development, not lop-sided development.
8. Harder does not necessarily mean better.
9. Kids are not short adults!
10. Substance over labels.
I encourage you to read the whole article and check out the links. Alfie Kohn is one of the inspirations for HoneyFern, and his work continues to motivate us to go beyond and do better!
The Stupiding of America
So I need a copy of "Self-Reliance" for our study of Into the Wild (ItW) by Jon Krakauer; we are working our way through ItW and have been looking at the people and writings who influenced Chris McCandless to throw caution to the wind, walking in the Alaskan wilderness with little more than a bag of rice and a small-gauge shotgun. We have already read and discussed "Walking" by HD Thoreau, and studied the ideas behind Transcedentalism that formed McCandless's philosophy of life. It seems a natural move to "Self-Reliance." I located an online copy, but I am trying desperately to get my students to interact with their reading, so I made some calls today to locate a hardcopies to write all over.
No dice.
Not at Barnes and Noble or Borders, and when I called The General bookstore for Kennesaw State University, not only did they not have it, but college student who answered the phone also had no idea who Ralph Waldo Emerson was and asked me to repeat the name of the essay THREE TIMES.
Welcome to The Stupiding of America. My newest student told me that she has only written two essays since she left me three years ago (when I taught her at the public school I just left), and her social studies class in 8th grade was a social hour. Now she is in 9th grade, working with me, and I have asked her to complete more complex tasks in two weeks than she has all year.
Two of my other students have NEVER had to write a multi-paragraph essay with a thesis statement; they are both in 8th grade.
What are we doing? Why are kids in school?
I am completely supportive of the idea of a free, democratic education for all, but I don't think that parents and citizens of the country know how simplistic and rote instruction is becoming. My 9th grader is gifted and should be reading college-level texts; she loves to read (has read three novels already in less than two weeks and will finish two other by Monday) but has not completed an entire book/play this whole year in public high school (they read snippets of Romeo and Juliet and passages from The Odyssey, then mostly discussed the personal philosophy of the teacher). This student became angry and frustrated and said, "I wanted to learn, and I wasn't learning anything." She ended up refusing to go to school and finally came to me, where she has been working diligently ever since.
This is another case of an extremely bright, motivated person shut out from school. She is almost 16, and had she stayed in her school she may have ended up dropping out (I read at one point that 25% of dropouts are gifted, but I cannot locate that original research, so you'll have to take my word for it, or locate it yourself and send me a link!). We are so focused on the ridiculous test at the end of each year that we offer the very lowest of expectations, and our students sink to them every time.
What will it take before we learn that we need to teach up and provide the tools for all students to be exceptional? How many kids need to drop out or fail and be held back before we see this as a national crisis and stop arguing about who is responsible? It is broken, and it doesn't matter why. Stop pointing fingers and focus on the classroom. Anybody ever consider that behavior has gotten so bad because kids are bored by tasks or frustrated because they are not learning tools to help them succeed?
Stepping one foot off the soapbox but will keep the other one up there until I feel it doesn't need to be said anymore. I have a feeling I am going to be there for awhile.
No dice.
Not at Barnes and Noble or Borders, and when I called The General bookstore for Kennesaw State University, not only did they not have it, but college student who answered the phone also had no idea who Ralph Waldo Emerson was and asked me to repeat the name of the essay THREE TIMES.
Welcome to The Stupiding of America. My newest student told me that she has only written two essays since she left me three years ago (when I taught her at the public school I just left), and her social studies class in 8th grade was a social hour. Now she is in 9th grade, working with me, and I have asked her to complete more complex tasks in two weeks than she has all year.
Two of my other students have NEVER had to write a multi-paragraph essay with a thesis statement; they are both in 8th grade.
What are we doing? Why are kids in school?
I am completely supportive of the idea of a free, democratic education for all, but I don't think that parents and citizens of the country know how simplistic and rote instruction is becoming. My 9th grader is gifted and should be reading college-level texts; she loves to read (has read three novels already in less than two weeks and will finish two other by Monday) but has not completed an entire book/play this whole year in public high school (they read snippets of Romeo and Juliet and passages from The Odyssey, then mostly discussed the personal philosophy of the teacher). This student became angry and frustrated and said, "I wanted to learn, and I wasn't learning anything." She ended up refusing to go to school and finally came to me, where she has been working diligently ever since.
This is another case of an extremely bright, motivated person shut out from school. She is almost 16, and had she stayed in her school she may have ended up dropping out (I read at one point that 25% of dropouts are gifted, but I cannot locate that original research, so you'll have to take my word for it, or locate it yourself and send me a link!). We are so focused on the ridiculous test at the end of each year that we offer the very lowest of expectations, and our students sink to them every time.
What will it take before we learn that we need to teach up and provide the tools for all students to be exceptional? How many kids need to drop out or fail and be held back before we see this as a national crisis and stop arguing about who is responsible? It is broken, and it doesn't matter why. Stop pointing fingers and focus on the classroom. Anybody ever consider that behavior has gotten so bad because kids are bored by tasks or frustrated because they are not learning tools to help them succeed?
Stepping one foot off the soapbox but will keep the other one up there until I feel it doesn't need to be said anymore. I have a feeling I am going to be there for awhile.
Peer Pressure Does What?
New research published yesterday indicates that peer pressure is more insidious than originally thought; apparently, it actually changes our brain (see full bad news here).
This could actually be good news for parents and teachers, though. If peer pressure can change our brains negatively, then it must also be able to change your brains positively; if we can change the climate of a school dramatically, making it "cool" to be interested in academics or to be motivated and high-achieving, then everyone's brains will change to follow along.
Huh. That simple, eh?
Well, actually it is pretty simple in theory and should be simple in practice, but it requires a shift in thinking. Everyone in the building needs to believe that everyone in the building is capable of great things. Even the kid in the back who never says anything, and the one in the front who won't stop saying things (often off topic or inappropriate). It means believing that your late reader at home, or the kid who is unschooled and just wants to play videogames, is going to figure it out and take off, and if it takes a little while longer, so what?
Attitude is everything when it comes to education and learning. We all have bad days, the ones where we drag ourselves out of bed and wonder if we can get away with showing a movie all day, or the days when we wander into the kitchen to a pile of something the dog threw up and realize the kid who is still sleeping used the last of the paper towels late the night before when they spilled water all over their bookshelf right before bed. That's okay. We can still be human and have bad days and still, overall, be positive and work our magic. Instead of fighting the inevitable, or laying down and letting it run us over, I propose we harness peer pressure for good, not evil.
Good luck.
This could actually be good news for parents and teachers, though. If peer pressure can change our brains negatively, then it must also be able to change your brains positively; if we can change the climate of a school dramatically, making it "cool" to be interested in academics or to be motivated and high-achieving, then everyone's brains will change to follow along.
Huh. That simple, eh?
Well, actually it is pretty simple in theory and should be simple in practice, but it requires a shift in thinking. Everyone in the building needs to believe that everyone in the building is capable of great things. Even the kid in the back who never says anything, and the one in the front who won't stop saying things (often off topic or inappropriate). It means believing that your late reader at home, or the kid who is unschooled and just wants to play videogames, is going to figure it out and take off, and if it takes a little while longer, so what?
Attitude is everything when it comes to education and learning. We all have bad days, the ones where we drag ourselves out of bed and wonder if we can get away with showing a movie all day, or the days when we wander into the kitchen to a pile of something the dog threw up and realize the kid who is still sleeping used the last of the paper towels late the night before when they spilled water all over their bookshelf right before bed. That's okay. We can still be human and have bad days and still, overall, be positive and work our magic. Instead of fighting the inevitable, or laying down and letting it run us over, I propose we harness peer pressure for good, not evil.
Good luck.
Peer Pressure Does What?
New research published yesterday indicates that peer pressure is more insidious than originally thought; apparently, it actually changes our brain (see full bad news here).
This could actually be good news for parents and teachers, though. If peer pressure can change our brains negatively, then it must also be able to change your brains positively; if we can change the climate of a school dramatically, making it "cool" to be interested in academics or to be motivated and high-achieving, then everyone's brains will change to follow along.
Huh. That simple, eh?
Well, actually it is pretty simple in theory and should be simple in practice, but it requires a shift in thinking. Everyone in the building needs to believe that everyone in the building is capable of great things. Even the kid in the back who never says anything, and the one in the front who won't stop saying things (often off topic or inappropriate). It means believing that your late reader at home, or the kid who is unschooled and just wants to play videogames, is going to figure it out and take off, and if it takes a little while longer, so what?
Attitude is everything when it comes to education and learning. We all have bad days, the ones where we drag ourselves out of bed and wonder if we can get away with showing a movie all day, or the days when we wander into the kitchen to a pile of something the dog threw up and realize the kid who is still sleeping used the last of the paper towels late the night before when they spilled water all over their bookshelf right before bed. That's okay. We can still be human and have bad days and still, overall, be positive and work our magic. Instead of fighting the inevitable, or laying down and letting it run us over, I propose we harness peer pressure for good, not evil.
Good luck.
This could actually be good news for parents and teachers, though. If peer pressure can change our brains negatively, then it must also be able to change your brains positively; if we can change the climate of a school dramatically, making it "cool" to be interested in academics or to be motivated and high-achieving, then everyone's brains will change to follow along.
Huh. That simple, eh?
Well, actually it is pretty simple in theory and should be simple in practice, but it requires a shift in thinking. Everyone in the building needs to believe that everyone in the building is capable of great things. Even the kid in the back who never says anything, and the one in the front who won't stop saying things (often off topic or inappropriate). It means believing that your late reader at home, or the kid who is unschooled and just wants to play videogames, is going to figure it out and take off, and if it takes a little while longer, so what?
Attitude is everything when it comes to education and learning. We all have bad days, the ones where we drag ourselves out of bed and wonder if we can get away with showing a movie all day, or the days when we wander into the kitchen to a pile of something the dog threw up and realize the kid who is still sleeping used the last of the paper towels late the night before when they spilled water all over their bookshelf right before bed. That's okay. We can still be human and have bad days and still, overall, be positive and work our magic. Instead of fighting the inevitable, or laying down and letting it run us over, I propose we harness peer pressure for good, not evil.
Good luck.
What Have YOU Taught Today?
Say it with me: curriculum doesn't have to be a mile wide.
Let's repeat: curriculum doesn't have to be a mile wide.
I say this today in honor of my public school brethren and my homeschooling/alternative schooling partners who tend to panic this time of year (and I count myself in both groups). This is the time of year when The Test begins to loom large, the threat of not making AYP begins to throb in the back of administrators' brains, and the sheer volume of curriculum left uncovered becomes apparent.
I recently fielded an urgent cry for help from a friend of mine who is a homeschooler from way back. She has migrated from eclectic homeschooling to unschooling due to a recent spate of death in the family and other unfortunate events that have left her not quite able to prepare for teaching every day. This is a temporary move, as she can’t quite bring herself to leave her child on her own just yet (said child not quite ready for that either), but her message consisted of many lines of self-flagellation, followed by the list of reasons why she just couldn’t do it right now. Other homeschoolers have proudly posted lists of everything they are learning and doing every day, lists that are incredibly long. I have found myself nearly succumbing to the pressure of GETTING IT ALL DONE, slipping easily back into public school mode of curriculum coverage instead of subject understanding (coverage was a big part of your annual evaluation as a teacher - you had to offer proof that you had presented all of your standards in the classroom, multiple times if students didn't demonstrate they heard you).
Think about the body of knowledge in the world, all of it. Is it possible on any level to "cover" it all? Stupid question. I have a running joke with my family that I know 10% of everything (when I don't know something that is part of the other 90%), but it is truly impossible to even scratch the surface of what there is to know. Some would find this daunting, but I find it soothing. If I can't possibly teach everything there is to know, why don't I just focus on teaching what I do teach really, really well? You know, the "quality over quantity" approach? If I am doing my job and you are, too (whether you are a parent or a teacher in a classroom), then your kids will (eventually) be able to apply the skills of observation, analysis, problem-solving and criticism to any task they face, from building a retaining wall or writing an essay in college. It isn't a matter of checking off what has been covered, and it shouldn't be.
To my frantic friend, and to my former public school colleagues, I offer this piece of advice, advice from a button my friend sent me when I founded HoneyFern and was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of work I had to do: breathe. Get up every day, focus, and do the best you can for that day, realizing that "the best" changes from day to day. Focus on quality of instruction and materials, laugh with your kids, enjoy them. If you get caught up in quantity and numbers, learning isn't fun, and a teacher who sucks the joy out of learning is no teacher at all. I am not talking about blowing off rigor and not expecting your kids to struggle a bit. Struggle is part of the beauty of learning. I do belivee, though, that levity and a sense of humor relaxes everyone and makes them more receptive to tasks that are challenging; students are more likely to try harder when the pressure is off.
And remember: curriculum doesn't have to be a mile wide.
Let's repeat: curriculum doesn't have to be a mile wide.
I say this today in honor of my public school brethren and my homeschooling/alternative schooling partners who tend to panic this time of year (and I count myself in both groups). This is the time of year when The Test begins to loom large, the threat of not making AYP begins to throb in the back of administrators' brains, and the sheer volume of curriculum left uncovered becomes apparent.
I recently fielded an urgent cry for help from a friend of mine who is a homeschooler from way back. She has migrated from eclectic homeschooling to unschooling due to a recent spate of death in the family and other unfortunate events that have left her not quite able to prepare for teaching every day. This is a temporary move, as she can’t quite bring herself to leave her child on her own just yet (said child not quite ready for that either), but her message consisted of many lines of self-flagellation, followed by the list of reasons why she just couldn’t do it right now. Other homeschoolers have proudly posted lists of everything they are learning and doing every day, lists that are incredibly long. I have found myself nearly succumbing to the pressure of GETTING IT ALL DONE, slipping easily back into public school mode of curriculum coverage instead of subject understanding (coverage was a big part of your annual evaluation as a teacher - you had to offer proof that you had presented all of your standards in the classroom, multiple times if students didn't demonstrate they heard you).
Think about the body of knowledge in the world, all of it. Is it possible on any level to "cover" it all? Stupid question. I have a running joke with my family that I know 10% of everything (when I don't know something that is part of the other 90%), but it is truly impossible to even scratch the surface of what there is to know. Some would find this daunting, but I find it soothing. If I can't possibly teach everything there is to know, why don't I just focus on teaching what I do teach really, really well? You know, the "quality over quantity" approach? If I am doing my job and you are, too (whether you are a parent or a teacher in a classroom), then your kids will (eventually) be able to apply the skills of observation, analysis, problem-solving and criticism to any task they face, from building a retaining wall or writing an essay in college. It isn't a matter of checking off what has been covered, and it shouldn't be.
To my frantic friend, and to my former public school colleagues, I offer this piece of advice, advice from a button my friend sent me when I founded HoneyFern and was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of work I had to do: breathe. Get up every day, focus, and do the best you can for that day, realizing that "the best" changes from day to day. Focus on quality of instruction and materials, laugh with your kids, enjoy them. If you get caught up in quantity and numbers, learning isn't fun, and a teacher who sucks the joy out of learning is no teacher at all. I am not talking about blowing off rigor and not expecting your kids to struggle a bit. Struggle is part of the beauty of learning. I do belivee, though, that levity and a sense of humor relaxes everyone and makes them more receptive to tasks that are challenging; students are more likely to try harder when the pressure is off.
And remember: curriculum doesn't have to be a mile wide.
What Have YOU Taught Today?
Say it with me: curriculum doesn't have to be a mile wide.
Let's repeat: curriculum doesn't have to be a mile wide.
I say this today in honor of my public school brethren and my homeschooling/alternative schooling partners who tend to panic this time of year (and I count myself in both groups). This is the time of year when The Test begins to loom large, the threat of not making AYP begins to throb in the back of administrators' brains, and the sheer volume of curriculum left uncovered becomes apparent.
I recently fielded an urgent cry for help from a friend of mine who is a homeschooler from way back. She has migrated from eclectic homeschooling to unschooling due to a recent spate of death in the family and other unfortunate events that have left her not quite able to prepare for teaching every day. This is a temporary move, as she can’t quite bring herself to leave her child on her own just yet (said child not quite ready for that either), but her message consisted of many lines of self-flagellation, followed by the list of reasons why she just couldn’t do it right now. Other homeschoolers have proudly posted lists of everything they are learning and doing every day, lists that are incredibly long. I have found myself nearly succumbing to the pressure of GETTING IT ALL DONE, slipping easily back into public school mode of curriculum coverage instead of subject understanding (coverage was a big part of your annual evaluation as a teacher - you had to offer proof that you had presented all of your standards in the classroom, multiple times if students didn't demonstrate they heard you).
Think about the body of knowledge in the world, all of it. Is it possible on any level to "cover" it all? Stupid question. I have a running joke with my family that I know 10% of everything (when I don't know something that is part of the other 90%), but it is truly impossible to even scratch the surface of what there is to know. Some would find this daunting, but I find it soothing. If I can't possibly teach everything there is to know, why don't I just focus on teaching what I do teach really, really well? You know, the "quality over quantity" approach? If I am doing my job and you are, too (whether you are a parent or a teacher in a classroom), then your kids will (eventually) be able to apply the skills of observation, analysis, problem-solving and criticism to any task they face, from building a retaining wall or writing an essay in college. It isn't a matter of checking off what has been covered, and it shouldn't be.
To my frantic friend, and to my former public school colleagues, I offer this piece of advice, advice from a button my friend sent me when I founded HoneyFern and was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of work I had to do: breathe. Get up every day, focus, and do the best you can for that day, realizing that "the best" changes from day to day. Focus on quality of instruction and materials, laugh with your kids, enjoy them. If you get caught up in quantity and numbers, learning isn't fun, and a teacher who sucks the joy out of learning is no teacher at all. I am not talking about blowing off rigor and not expecting your kids to struggle a bit. Struggle is part of the beauty of learning. I do belivee, though, that levity and a sense of humor relaxes everyone and makes them more receptive to tasks that are challenging; students are more likely to try harder when the pressure is off.
And remember: curriculum doesn't have to be a mile wide.
Let's repeat: curriculum doesn't have to be a mile wide.
I say this today in honor of my public school brethren and my homeschooling/alternative schooling partners who tend to panic this time of year (and I count myself in both groups). This is the time of year when The Test begins to loom large, the threat of not making AYP begins to throb in the back of administrators' brains, and the sheer volume of curriculum left uncovered becomes apparent.
I recently fielded an urgent cry for help from a friend of mine who is a homeschooler from way back. She has migrated from eclectic homeschooling to unschooling due to a recent spate of death in the family and other unfortunate events that have left her not quite able to prepare for teaching every day. This is a temporary move, as she can’t quite bring herself to leave her child on her own just yet (said child not quite ready for that either), but her message consisted of many lines of self-flagellation, followed by the list of reasons why she just couldn’t do it right now. Other homeschoolers have proudly posted lists of everything they are learning and doing every day, lists that are incredibly long. I have found myself nearly succumbing to the pressure of GETTING IT ALL DONE, slipping easily back into public school mode of curriculum coverage instead of subject understanding (coverage was a big part of your annual evaluation as a teacher - you had to offer proof that you had presented all of your standards in the classroom, multiple times if students didn't demonstrate they heard you).
Think about the body of knowledge in the world, all of it. Is it possible on any level to "cover" it all? Stupid question. I have a running joke with my family that I know 10% of everything (when I don't know something that is part of the other 90%), but it is truly impossible to even scratch the surface of what there is to know. Some would find this daunting, but I find it soothing. If I can't possibly teach everything there is to know, why don't I just focus on teaching what I do teach really, really well? You know, the "quality over quantity" approach? If I am doing my job and you are, too (whether you are a parent or a teacher in a classroom), then your kids will (eventually) be able to apply the skills of observation, analysis, problem-solving and criticism to any task they face, from building a retaining wall or writing an essay in college. It isn't a matter of checking off what has been covered, and it shouldn't be.
To my frantic friend, and to my former public school colleagues, I offer this piece of advice, advice from a button my friend sent me when I founded HoneyFern and was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of work I had to do: breathe. Get up every day, focus, and do the best you can for that day, realizing that "the best" changes from day to day. Focus on quality of instruction and materials, laugh with your kids, enjoy them. If you get caught up in quantity and numbers, learning isn't fun, and a teacher who sucks the joy out of learning is no teacher at all. I am not talking about blowing off rigor and not expecting your kids to struggle a bit. Struggle is part of the beauty of learning. I do belivee, though, that levity and a sense of humor relaxes everyone and makes them more receptive to tasks that are challenging; students are more likely to try harder when the pressure is off.
And remember: curriculum doesn't have to be a mile wide.
Should Learning Be its Own Reward?
Ummmm...yes? Is this a trick question?
I see the attraction of extrinsic rewards. HoneyFern took a field trip to the Justin Bieber movie, with the caveat that we would go nowhere until morning work was finished (and it was an extensive list). Work was finished and fantastic, quickly. There was no cajoling, wheedling or "do it or I will say 'do it' again!" It was very clear cut: finish, or we don't go. They finished.
However.
If we continue that path (which we won't; this was an isolated incident), how big would the reward have to be next time?
Daniel T. Willingham addresses the question of learning for its own sake from a cognitive perspective. The article is a bit outdated (2008), but the basic premise is not. He says,
"Rewarding students is, from one perspective, an obvious idea. People do things because they find them rewarding, the reasoning goes, so if students don't find school naturally rewarding (that is, interesting and fun), make it rewarding by offering them something they do like, be it cash or candy.
In this simple sense, rewards usually work."
However,
"If you mistakenly offer a reward that students don't care for, you'll see little result. Or, if you reward the wrong behavior, you'll see a result you don't care for."
Rewards work in the short term, absolutely (see above movie example), but
"It is absolutely the case that trying to control students is destructive to their motivation and their performance. People like autonomy, and using rewards to control people definitely reduces motivation."
and,
"The key factor to keep in mind is that rewards only decrease motivation for tasks that students initially like. If the task is dull, motivation might drop back down to its original level once the rewards stop, but it will not drop below its original level."
The upshot of the article is that extrinsic rewards do not appreciably increase motivation long-term and have potential to be "damaging" in the short-term. If this is the case, why bother? Yes, we may get an easy result, but the result may not be replicated, students may begin to expect rewards and not work in their absence, and teachers may need to come up with increasingly complicated and attractive rewards.
Intrinsic reward, the "reward" of doing one's best because it is what one should do, provide longer-lasting (yet somewhat less glamorous) effects, but this should be the business of education: helping kids become curious, hard-working and persistent in pursuit of knowledge and skills. This obliterates the need for hollow praise and trinkets and instead builds satisfaction and authentic self-esteem, both imperative for teaching confident kids.
But it doesn't preclude the occasional Justin Bieber outing.
I see the attraction of extrinsic rewards. HoneyFern took a field trip to the Justin Bieber movie, with the caveat that we would go nowhere until morning work was finished (and it was an extensive list). Work was finished and fantastic, quickly. There was no cajoling, wheedling or "do it or I will say 'do it' again!" It was very clear cut: finish, or we don't go. They finished.
However.
If we continue that path (which we won't; this was an isolated incident), how big would the reward have to be next time?
Daniel T. Willingham addresses the question of learning for its own sake from a cognitive perspective. The article is a bit outdated (2008), but the basic premise is not. He says,
"Rewarding students is, from one perspective, an obvious idea. People do things because they find them rewarding, the reasoning goes, so if students don't find school naturally rewarding (that is, interesting and fun), make it rewarding by offering them something they do like, be it cash or candy.
In this simple sense, rewards usually work."
However,
"If you mistakenly offer a reward that students don't care for, you'll see little result. Or, if you reward the wrong behavior, you'll see a result you don't care for."
Rewards work in the short term, absolutely (see above movie example), but
"It is absolutely the case that trying to control students is destructive to their motivation and their performance. People like autonomy, and using rewards to control people definitely reduces motivation."
and,
"The key factor to keep in mind is that rewards only decrease motivation for tasks that students initially like. If the task is dull, motivation might drop back down to its original level once the rewards stop, but it will not drop below its original level."
The upshot of the article is that extrinsic rewards do not appreciably increase motivation long-term and have potential to be "damaging" in the short-term. If this is the case, why bother? Yes, we may get an easy result, but the result may not be replicated, students may begin to expect rewards and not work in their absence, and teachers may need to come up with increasingly complicated and attractive rewards.
Intrinsic reward, the "reward" of doing one's best because it is what one should do, provide longer-lasting (yet somewhat less glamorous) effects, but this should be the business of education: helping kids become curious, hard-working and persistent in pursuit of knowledge and skills. This obliterates the need for hollow praise and trinkets and instead builds satisfaction and authentic self-esteem, both imperative for teaching confident kids.
But it doesn't preclude the occasional Justin Bieber outing.
Should Learning Be its Own Reward?
Ummmm...yes? Is this a trick question?
I see the attraction of extrinsic rewards. HoneyFern took a field trip to the Justin Bieber movie, with the caveat that we would go nowhere until morning work was finished (and it was an extensive list). Work was finished and fantastic, quickly. There was no cajoling, wheedling or "do it or I will say 'do it' again!" It was very clear cut: finish, or we don't go. They finished.
However.
If we continue that path (which we won't; this was an isolated incident), how big would the reward have to be next time?
Daniel T. Willingham addresses the question of learning for its own sake from a cognitive perspective. The article is a bit outdated (2008), but the basic premise is not. He says,
"Rewarding students is, from one perspective, an obvious idea. People do things because they find them rewarding, the reasoning goes, so if students don't find school naturally rewarding (that is, interesting and fun), make it rewarding by offering them something they do like, be it cash or candy.
In this simple sense, rewards usually work."
However,
"If you mistakenly offer a reward that students don't care for, you'll see little result. Or, if you reward the wrong behavior, you'll see a result you don't care for."
Rewards work in the short term, absolutely (see above movie example), but
"It is absolutely the case that trying to control students is destructive to their motivation and their performance. People like autonomy, and using rewards to control people definitely reduces motivation."
and,
"The key factor to keep in mind is that rewards only decrease motivation for tasks that students initially like. If the task is dull, motivation might drop back down to its original level once the rewards stop, but it will not drop below its original level."
The upshot of the article is that extrinsic rewards do not appreciably increase motivation long-term and have potential to be "damaging" in the short-term. If this is the case, why bother? Yes, we may get an easy result, but the result may not be replicated, students may begin to expect rewards and not work in their absence, and teachers may need to come up with increasingly complicated and attractive rewards.
Intrinsic reward, the "reward" of doing one's best because it is what one should do, provide longer-lasting (yet somewhat less glamorous) effects, but this should be the business of education: helping kids become curious, hard-working and persistent in pursuit of knowledge and skills. This obliterates the need for hollow praise and trinkets and instead builds satisfaction and authentic self-esteem, both imperative for teaching confident kids.
But it doesn't preclude the occasional Justin Bieber outing.
I see the attraction of extrinsic rewards. HoneyFern took a field trip to the Justin Bieber movie, with the caveat that we would go nowhere until morning work was finished (and it was an extensive list). Work was finished and fantastic, quickly. There was no cajoling, wheedling or "do it or I will say 'do it' again!" It was very clear cut: finish, or we don't go. They finished.
However.
If we continue that path (which we won't; this was an isolated incident), how big would the reward have to be next time?
Daniel T. Willingham addresses the question of learning for its own sake from a cognitive perspective. The article is a bit outdated (2008), but the basic premise is not. He says,
"Rewarding students is, from one perspective, an obvious idea. People do things because they find them rewarding, the reasoning goes, so if students don't find school naturally rewarding (that is, interesting and fun), make it rewarding by offering them something they do like, be it cash or candy.
In this simple sense, rewards usually work."
However,
"If you mistakenly offer a reward that students don't care for, you'll see little result. Or, if you reward the wrong behavior, you'll see a result you don't care for."
Rewards work in the short term, absolutely (see above movie example), but
"It is absolutely the case that trying to control students is destructive to their motivation and their performance. People like autonomy, and using rewards to control people definitely reduces motivation."
and,
"The key factor to keep in mind is that rewards only decrease motivation for tasks that students initially like. If the task is dull, motivation might drop back down to its original level once the rewards stop, but it will not drop below its original level."
The upshot of the article is that extrinsic rewards do not appreciably increase motivation long-term and have potential to be "damaging" in the short-term. If this is the case, why bother? Yes, we may get an easy result, but the result may not be replicated, students may begin to expect rewards and not work in their absence, and teachers may need to come up with increasingly complicated and attractive rewards.
Intrinsic reward, the "reward" of doing one's best because it is what one should do, provide longer-lasting (yet somewhat less glamorous) effects, but this should be the business of education: helping kids become curious, hard-working and persistent in pursuit of knowledge and skills. This obliterates the need for hollow praise and trinkets and instead builds satisfaction and authentic self-esteem, both imperative for teaching confident kids.
But it doesn't preclude the occasional Justin Bieber outing.
On Raising Girls
Driving to tutoring this morning at the crack of dawn, I heard a story on the radio about how Wal-mart is now marketing a make-up and skin care line that targets tweens, that bridge age between chidlhood and teenager-hood (8-12, officially, but some would argue as young as seven these days). The best part about this (or at least one of the really, really good parts) is the skin care line's anti-aging properties. For an eight-year-old. (the other really, really good part is that the products are paraben-, sulfate- and pthalate-free, targeting the parent who is concerned about chemicals on their children. This, combined with Wal-mart's latest push to offer more fruits and vegetables and open in notorious food deserts smacks of re-imaging more than a sincere desire to help the world, but maybe that's just me.)
In addition to this, Peggy Orenstein has just released a new book, Cinderella Ate my Daughter, building on the work of her previous book, Schoolgirls: Young Women, Self-Esteem and the COnfidence Gap. Orenstein argues that although the princess ideology is old and has been around for almost as long as there have been stories, today's princess-driven tween (and younger) culture is expanded and intensified due to mass marketing and the long-arm of the internet. Princesses are everywhere, and girls are drinking it in like thirsty camels, storing up the ideas of one true love, fairytale weddings and happily ever afters for the arid years when reality hits (generally by the end of highschool) and they realize they have been sold a bill of goods that is deeply flawed and inherently immoral.
At my house we are almost on the other side of the princess dream, mostly, although the Gorgeous Girl did start a conversation about what her wedding would be like (she's ten), and she has recently been busted trying to get out of the house in make-up. How do I explain to her that she needs to be able to rescue herself? That there are not really "boy jobs" and "girl jobs" so much as there are "life jobs"(things everyone should know, just in case, like how to change a tire and how to cook a handful of dinners that don't involve ramen and macaroni and cheese)? That the toddlers in Toddlers & Tiaras and their parents are pushing an idea of perfection that is dangerous, unattainable and ridiculously unrealistic?
I refer to my kid as the Gorgeous Girl, and I remind her every day that I value the kind, smart, compassionate inside of her as much as the strong, pretty, funky exterior. We have to pay attention to our daughters and the message they receive when they wake up in the morning and head out into the world. Yes, I monitor GG's intake of media, but I am loosening the reins a bit as she gets older, choosing instead to talk with her about her dreams, struggles, opinions and ideas, especially as they relate to the false idea of "perfect," as shown on TV. I could try to raise her in a bubble (which is truly almost what would be necessary if I wanted to keep her away from princess ideology completely), but at some point there would be rebellion and my plan might backfire. It is harder and harder to combat Wal-mart and Disney, but the fight is worth it.
still waiting for the tween boy version of Wal-mart's anti-aging cream for girls; maybe a Wimpy Kid-themed hair thickener? Muscle-builder for that perfect six-pack?
In addition to this, Peggy Orenstein has just released a new book, Cinderella Ate my Daughter, building on the work of her previous book, Schoolgirls: Young Women, Self-Esteem and the COnfidence Gap. Orenstein argues that although the princess ideology is old and has been around for almost as long as there have been stories, today's princess-driven tween (and younger) culture is expanded and intensified due to mass marketing and the long-arm of the internet. Princesses are everywhere, and girls are drinking it in like thirsty camels, storing up the ideas of one true love, fairytale weddings and happily ever afters for the arid years when reality hits (generally by the end of highschool) and they realize they have been sold a bill of goods that is deeply flawed and inherently immoral.
At my house we are almost on the other side of the princess dream, mostly, although the Gorgeous Girl did start a conversation about what her wedding would be like (she's ten), and she has recently been busted trying to get out of the house in make-up. How do I explain to her that she needs to be able to rescue herself? That there are not really "boy jobs" and "girl jobs" so much as there are "life jobs"(things everyone should know, just in case, like how to change a tire and how to cook a handful of dinners that don't involve ramen and macaroni and cheese)? That the toddlers in Toddlers & Tiaras and their parents are pushing an idea of perfection that is dangerous, unattainable and ridiculously unrealistic?
I refer to my kid as the Gorgeous Girl, and I remind her every day that I value the kind, smart, compassionate inside of her as much as the strong, pretty, funky exterior. We have to pay attention to our daughters and the message they receive when they wake up in the morning and head out into the world. Yes, I monitor GG's intake of media, but I am loosening the reins a bit as she gets older, choosing instead to talk with her about her dreams, struggles, opinions and ideas, especially as they relate to the false idea of "perfect," as shown on TV. I could try to raise her in a bubble (which is truly almost what would be necessary if I wanted to keep her away from princess ideology completely), but at some point there would be rebellion and my plan might backfire. It is harder and harder to combat Wal-mart and Disney, but the fight is worth it.
still waiting for the tween boy version of Wal-mart's anti-aging cream for girls; maybe a Wimpy Kid-themed hair thickener? Muscle-builder for that perfect six-pack?
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