Just after school, last week
“Tim, are you obsessed with texting?” I asked. The final bell had rung, and students can take out gadgets without worry of confiscation. The black piece of plastic was an extension of his arm.
“Yes.”
“Well, I apprecitate the honesty. But what does obsession mean?”
“15,889.”
“Huh?”
“I’ve sent 15, 889 text messages over the past two months,” he laughed, flipping open the phone again to show me the outbox. I flailed backwards in disbelief upon seeing the figure with my own bleary eyes. Impossible.
“That’s what, over two-hundred a day?!”
“I guess so. Mr. B, I’m quick.”Now, I know that these teens are obsessed with gadgets and social networking, but this took the cake as the most absurd amount of text-messaging I’ve ever heard of. No wonder he hasn’t been turning in any of his reading project homework. Get a life, son! He laughed as he left the room, looking down at his phone the whole way. I hope he didn’t run into anyone.Just after school, the other day
Waiting for the late bus, I challenged some of the boys to settle the score—just who was the best arm-wrestler in the late-bus crew? Tom stepped up to the plate. “Let’s go Tyler.”
“I reckon you’ll beat me with your right arm—I’m a lefty,” Tyler responded, sitting down while bracing himself in an athletic stance, leather farm boots in position on the ancient, spinach-green library carpet. He pulled off the victory with his right arm. “Now, let’s go lefty.”
“Uhhhhhh.” Tom hesitated.
“Watch this folks, this is my milkin’ arm.” BOOM. The match was over before I said go, and Tyler—who had to get back home to some milkin’ duties—got up and strode out the door without saying a word.
The following things have been uttered in my vicinity of late
* I overheard this in the hallway, between classes. I got his attention, leaned over and whispered in his ear in front of his buddies– Son, you better think again. I know I didn’t hear you right, correct? With the boys, I’ve found the calm intensity and soft voice is effective with discipline, and doesn’t cause a disruption.
** No.
***I have a bathroom in my class. However, many students tweak out when I suggest they use it, imagining classmates who obsess over their restroom business, thus passing up perfectly clean facility use.
As a third year teacher, I haven’t known any other education climate than one completely saturated by high-stakes testing, standards, NCLB, and the surrounding controversy. So, knowing only one way, I have to tease out my stance and position in the abstract - what would it be like without standards and the high-stakes tests that measure whether or not they’ve effectively been taught?
This issue is complex. As a first year, alternative certification teacher I was more than grateful for a starting point - the standards for teaching writing. I was also grateful, however, because in 2005-06 Kentucky did not test writing in the eighth grade. That took some of the pressure off, and gave me a clear focus on where I could start my teaching. I won’t say I was effective my first year, but without the standards I don’t think I would have known where to begin with my severely disadvantaged students.
Although the state’s standards are a helpful starting point, high-stakes testing seems to shift the focus to the standards as the final, ending point. This shift is dangerous, because it shifts teachers’ focus from teaching critical, independent thought to teaching students to regurgitate facts or perform measurable, testable skills. Because it is challenging and messy to test a students’ thought processes, tests demand students demonstrate knowledge in simple skill sets, which leave no room creativity or differentiation.
High-stakes testing is particularly dangerous for writing, because writing in itself is a process. The process of writing and its development are closely linked to the students’ independent thought process and ability to communicate that process clearly to an audience. Analysis, logical categorization, deduction, creative expression, hightened awareness of detail, and problem solving are all strengthened through development of the writing process. Effective writing instruction develops the cognitive process and will improve students’ performance in all subject areas. In short, clear writing is clear thinking.
What is lost when there is a sole focus on over-simplified, clearly measureable standards in writing instruction? Some teachers may teach only isolated skills: formats, mechanics, key words or phrases, and abandon the development of writing as a process.
Don’t get me wrong: my students need standards. They need a starting point like a model structure in which to write an essay. But they also need the intellectual freedom and inspiration to move beyond such structures when they are ready to do so.
Additionally, because writing is a process it should not be expected - cannot be expected - that all students will demonstrate comprehension of the same standard and the same time. This is another problem with standards inherent in the very word: students’ learning processes can’t be standardized. What one student learns in September another will learn in March. What’s wrong with that so long as each student is improving, developing higher order thinking skills, learning to be independent thinkers and problem solvers?
We all know what’s wrong: it can’t be tested. Differentiated development can’t be easily measured. If it can’t be measured, how can we place blame, effectively threaten and punish teachers and schools for the failure of the US public education system?
I’ve heard Congressmen say that we need NCLB because no organization can police itself. There is truth in that statement. And I’m the first to acknowledge that our education system needs fixing. The difference in ideology on how we fix this problem becomes clear, however, when we look at that Congressman’s following analogy: we have federal regulations on corporations, so why not schools? Because in schools we’re not producing cogs or widgets or any sort of things that can be standardized in neat little boxes: we’re charged with developing minds, which are complex and messy and beautifully mysterious.
One final point: let’s be careful how much we focus on raising standards and discouraging questioning. Nazi Germany is an historic example from which we would benefit to learn. Performance standards were dramatically raised in that society; what was discouraged was critical question and differentiation from the group. Let’s shift our focus from standards as an end in themselves to learning as a process so that we don’t create a society of high-performing robots.
Writing and teaching are the two defining occupations in my life. They are strongly connected with my identity, not only in that they classify me as one “writer” and two “teacher,” but also in that it is through writing and teaching that I have come to know myself and improve myself as a human being, first and foremost, in this beautiful struggle of conscious existence. In essence, I teach for the same reason I write: to learn.
When I began teaching it was, quite honestly, because I did not know what else to do. Teach Kentucky was recruiting at my university, and I contacted them because I simply thought, “That might work.” Naturally I sought certification in Language Arts (reading and writing), because as an English Literature and World Religions major, I was probably not qualified to teach much else. I had no idea how much I would learn.
My writing began in a similar, in-opportunistic vein. When I began writing as a young child, it was not for any reason other than pleasure. I enjoyed it. It felt good to write a story or poem then, and it still feels good to put something of my own on paper – to create out of nothing something of meaning, if for none other than myself.
Just as I wrote for pleasure, I read to explore. I explored worlds, characters, ideas, and their expression. I explored words and their interplay, their organization, their possibilities. My interest in writing and reading were inseparable, and practice in both the act of reading and the act of writing led me to pursue the act of conscious, analytical thought.
Quite effortlessly, and without realizing it, I grew from the processes of writing and reading. The effortlessness and unconsciousness of my growth was never clearer to me than in my first year of teaching middle school. Students came into my eighth grade classroom in August not knowing how to read or write meaningfully. How could somebody not know by age thirteen? And here was I, supposed teacher, without a clue on how one taught someone to read. After first grade it just came naturally – didn’t it?
Because the pleasure of it all first drove me to read and write, I therefore try to make writing pleasurable for my students. First, I find the appropriate book for their enjoyment. The book must be a perfect fit for their skill and personal preference. Then I seek to inspire. From the spark of their inspiration I teach the skills that I hope will sustain their continued improvement in active and meaningful reading, writing, and thinking.
It is through these processes of reading, writing, and thinking that students become better readers, writers, and thinkers. Likewise, it has been through the process of teaching that I have become not just a better teacher, but also a better human being. Teaching has taught me to listen, it has sharpened my ear favorably toward diversity so that I now know appreciation of differences means listening with honest openness to opinions, perspectives and beliefs that starkly contradict my own.
The difference can be noted in my reading tastes, writing styles, and philosophical perspectives. In all three I have moved from a more Kantian normative perspective (think: post-Enlightenment European male colonist) to a more post-modern one (think: quiet, wizened grandmother who asks questions rather than proselytizing.)
Writing seeks to render not just a representation of reality for the reader, but a new, more accessible reality, where we can explore emotional, psychological, spiritual, and physical phenomena, fearlessly. The written word helps us make sense of our lives, of the human experiences, and of existence in the more general sense. It helps us organize and develop concepts and ideals that have yet to be realized. It helps us define right from wrong, and strive for good in the development of personal moral code. Then it helps us untangle that moral code from prejudice and normalization of situation.
To be able to teach this process is to give a student not a mere skill that can be tested to meet or fail against a standard, but rather to give that student the ability to reason his or her own way to happiness. It is to give the student the ability express and share his or her own experiences with others in a way that can then lead to mutual understanding, connection, and bridge between strangers in this often very lonely world.
Every day when I go in to teach I am hopeful that my thoughts will be clear and my words will be precise. I hope to reach my students wherever they are. I hope to refine my patience, to have the wisdom to take the appropriate action in every situation. I hope to listen, and then, to really hear. And through every success and failure they provide me, I continue to learn.
I’ve found myself writing various reflections and essays on education recently, and the piece below challenges the assumption that traditional grading practices are best for kids.
Over the past few years, nobody has positively influenced my own pedagogy more than Alife Kohn. Traditionalists and conservatives often dismiss his views, because they are usually at complete odds with the educational status-quos, relating to grading, student motivation, classroom structure, and homework. I recommend reading all of his books and essays, but brace yourself for some jarring arguments.
Could Standard Grading Practices Be Counterproductive?
Imagine the following scenario: Valerie gets her report card back on a day when palpable excitement and fear surges through schools when students bustle back to homeroom at the end of the day. She is relieved; straight A’s, as usual, and she goes on her way. She is a responsible student—some might label her a teacher pleaser—and completes most of her homework, despite struggling a bit on exams. In another classroom, Jonathan gets his report card from his homeroom teacher and his hands tremble as he unfolds the paper. A few C’s, a few D’s, and one F, despite the fact that he scored highly on his tests in all subjects. He usually didn’t turn in homework, and was lazy at times in class, yet demonstrated mastery of the content. I challenge you to consider the following: What do grades mean? More importantly, what should they mean? Should they be emphasized in our schools as much as they are?
Of course, grades can mean many things. To receive an “A” like Valerie, it might mean a student worked diligently, completing all work and doing just well enough on tests and other projects. It also could mean that the student knew most of the material going into the course and had no trouble at all, receiving high marks but barely learning anything. It might mean grade inflation. It might be a reflection of a few graded assignments, or it could reflect dozens of assigned grades, depending on the teacher’s assessment methods. Countless other variables occur when grades are tallied.
Hardly surprising, parents, teachers, and students often discuss or dispute grades, with the constant threat of panic or conflict if a grade drastically dips. What is shocking is how rare the following question is asked: Does this grade reflect whether or not the student has actually learned anything?
The problem with our grade-dominated system is that emphasizing grades and grading can distract us from focusing on what really matters—whether or not students are comprehending and learning the material. A ridiculous—even tragic—amount of time is devoted by too many teachers disputing grades with parents and students, instead of using that time to discuss what the child is learning, or having other productive conversations
Another problem with a reliance on heavy grading is the underlying assumption that grades are a necessary motivator for students. There are several problems with this contention. Psychological research proves that students, and people in general, are more likely to lose interest in what they’re doing if they are promised carrots or threatened with sticks. Using grades as a “threat” (stick) or “reward” (carrot) for completion of work is extrinsic, or external, motivation. This type of motivation often results in decreased student focus on the learning objective.
I cringe when I hear students ask, “Mr. B, is this for a grade?” because of this very fact. We should desire to eliminate that question in our schools—do we not want students to be motivated for the sake of learning itself? In classroom environments where grades are pushed, the sad fact is that students will often choose the easiest path to high grades, rather than challenging themselves in meaningful and creative ways. In classrooms where students are intrinsically (internally) motivated, excellence is more likely to occur.
Most students want to learn if presented with engaging and exciting learning environments and experiences. At the least, I’ve found that more students are motivated to learn when presented with authentic, stimulating learning climates than by the “threat” or “reward” of grades. Research proves that the human brain is wired to enjoy discovery and novel ideas, experiences, etc. If we focused more on creating ideal learning climates, grades could slowly be pushed aside and we could focus on feedback that is constructive, spurning more student growth. Unfortunately, the pressure of grade competition and comparison is engrained in our system.
I currently work in a public school environment where grading is seen as an important motivational facet and feedback tool, and this is no reason for me to despair, despite the problems with the practice. I commend members of the math department at my school for actively making strides in recording fewer grades, instead focusing on formative assessments and interacting with students to constantly gauge what he or she knows. One of the most productive things I’ve decided to do as a teacher has been to deemphasize grades, because traditional grading is insufficient as I attempt to assess student learning, growth, and development.
Like anyone, I enjoyed receiving good grades throughout my schooling years. But I honestly didn’t care as much about grades in the courses where I was interested in what we were doing for the sake of learning itself—the intrinsic motivation that can ultimately lead to the creation of students who display the greatest tribute to public education, a desire to continue learning.
Interested in learning more about Teach Kentucky?
Be sure and check out a host of videos including Teach Kentucky supporters explaining why they value the program and Teach Kentucky teachers sharing their experiences, by clicking here.
On Sunday the 27th of January, Teach Kentucky hosted its annual dinner where perspective teacher, current teachers, mentors and supporters from all throughout the community gather together. Be sure to check out the photos by clicking: here.
First semester really wore me out this year, and I think I was teetering on the edge of some serious burn out. Even over break I found myself questioning my career in education and whether or not this was the right path for me. (The usual doubts: can I keep up the stamina to deal with the daily drama, am I actually teaching them anything at all, is it worth it, etc., etc.)
But when I came back on Tuesday, all those doubts evaporated the second I saw them. Ah yes, looks like I am doomed to teach.
Resolutions are trite, I know, but they’re really helping me be a better (more patient!) teacher.
Hopefully, with these new goals in mind, I won’t get nearly as stressed out as I did last semester. The way I see it, this really is the only way I’ll be able to continue teaching: if I resolve to do what I need to do to be happy.
Writing education greats like Nancy Atwell have stressed the importance of writing in order to teach writing. After all, if we are not familiar with the process ourselves, how can we instruct others on its best approaches?
Recently I decided that although I still come home exhausted, I am done with my Masters and with KTIP (Kentucky Teacher Internship Program), so I do have a few more hours to spare each week. Why not take up writing again? It began with this blog - I was conscious of the process by which I came up with ideas for posting, organizational format, sentence construction, development and my titles. Awareness of my strategies aided me in planning lessons that would help my students practice the same strategies in each step of the writing process. It helped me understand potential pitfalls and to be prepared with backup suggestions when one encountered frustration(s) or writer’s block.
Then, slowly, I began writing for myself again: poetry and fiction. Out of nowhere I realized I possess this fathomless sea of creativity, and it’s quite pleasing to write. I’m enjoying it like I did when I was in high school and college. It’s also made my lessons more inspired, helped my students to see my writing, showed them that writing is something we can do our whole lives, put me on the more level playing field of “human” and “aspiring writer” with my students as my comrades in the pursuit of good writing.
Incidentally, I received news tonight that for the first time since college my writing will appear in published form in the winter issue of Eclectica Magazine, an online literary journal. I’m very excited to show my students tomorrow that it is possible to take one’s writing all the way through the writing process to its actual publishing. With the advent of the web, publishing is all the more accessible and democratic. Tomorrow my students will see that as a reality for me and for them as I will have them submit their poetry to various online forums for publication.
Wish us luck!
While teaching 7th Grade Language Arts at Shelby County East Middle School (12-05)
“I hate it.
It’s for sissies.
I don’t understand it.
I only like lovey-dovey poems…
We did poetry in fourth grade, that’s all I know.
Shakespeare sucks!
NO i do not Like poem because i can’t keep a good poem going so that why i can’t stand it!”
The above lines represent initial comments some of my students wrote about poetry before delving into the genre. In early December, I had just returned from the National Conference for Teachers of English (NCTE) in Pittsburgh. I was lucky to see Nancie Atwell speak, as she is the Michael Jordan of middle school language arts. She said something along the lines of over the years I’ve found that once my kids understand and appreciate poetry, their writing and reading flourishes. By golly, that’s all I needed to hear to begin scheming up a poetry teaching plan. On the flight back from Pittsburgh, I started brainstorming. I folded down the crusty tan seat tray, squished my knees against the seat, and took out a notepad and pencil.
As I finish up a poetry unit, I can’t say it has been a rousing success for all students. Some still believe poetry is exclusively for fruitcakes; others have trouble with anything resembling abstract or creative thought. But some of the most unlikely students have inspired me after, I suppose, I inspired them to open up a little bit. Encouraging students to write poetry began with a poem by George Ella Lyon, a native Kentuckian. It’s called “Where I’m From” and contains lines representing various facets of one’s life, like faith, family, common phrases, etc. This is the middle stanza of the poem:
“I’m from fudge and eyeglasses,
from Imogene and Alafair.
I’m from the know-it-alls
and the pass-it-ons,
from perk up and pipe down.
I’m from He restoreth my soul
with a cottonball lamb
and ten verses I can say myself.”
Most students have enjoyed writing Where I’m From poems, especially struggling writers who gain confidence and exude pride while penning honest images about their lives. Steel-toed boot kickin’ Billy and Bob are two of my struggling readers and writers.
I wish I could show you the jumbled mess most of Billy’s writing is. His handwriting looks like a cross of Russian and Arabic. Uhhhhh, Billy, could you read that to me? I have no idea what it says. He is representative of a group of boys who view literary exploits as feminine. Like Billy, Steve—whose verbatim quote at the top of the e-mail is both alarming and poignant—is functioning at a literacy level way below that of his peers.
Steve—100% deer hunting, four-wheeling, tobacco-spitting—has approached me several times about his Where I’m From poem. “I got it out during science class and re-wrote it,” he mentioned a few weeks ago. “Can I bring it home to show my dad?”
I honestly believe this was the first time he’s ever been proud of something he wrote at school, besides crude notes he passes to friends. Billy also got excited over his rough draft.
“I showed my family the poem,” Bob mumbled one day, seemingly embarrassed with that very act of sharing. “They all really liked it, but my dad said poetry is gay.”
“It’s not,” I responded. “Let’s write him a poem about 4-wheeling and guns and see if he says the same thing.” I have yet to help his with this poem, but it could happen. The rest of his family thought the poem was sweet.
I’ll admit some students can compose a poem that belies their actual shaky grasp of the written word when it comes to longer, more complex projects. But the mere fact that this type of student is excited about his writing—a feeling I suspect has few and far between—is wonderful.
So that’s the news from East Middle School in Shelbyville, Kentucky. Hard work but this type of student response could keep my motor running all day. I’ve copied Billy’s rough draft below (I helped him with spellcheck).
Billy’s Draft
“I’m from Longview, Texas
From the Texas woodlands
Full of spruces and pines.
I’m from Laura and Chris,
From a family of five.
I’m from sweaty shoulder pads,
From chicken and mashed taters.
I’m from I’m telling mom
And from a dog named Fletch
With his blue eye that could
Light up a room.
I’m from a cranky old man
I call grandpa.
I’m from a green shingled
Dog house in my backyard.
From a long line of athletes
Once was and never was…”
The month of November has been a difficult one. I returned from the NCTE annual convention in NYC late Sunday night, inspired albeit exhausted from the four days I spent in the city, starstruck before such English education big-wigs as Nancie Atwell, Kyleen Beers, Janet Allen, Bob Probst, Jeff Wilhelm, and many authors I have loved from afar for quite some time now: Walter Dean Meyers, Jonathan Kozol, Christopher Paul Curtis, and Jerry Spinelli to name a few.
So I walk into school Monday morning - and I get there by 6:05, because I’m just teeming with ideas, ready to put some of that inspiration before the hungry minds of my students - and I immediately realize I’ve forgotten my keys - and my lunch. I could go back, but then I wouldn’t be ready for the day by 7:30, when I pick the children up from the gym. So I find the custodian and beg his apologies as he leads me to my classroom to unlock the door. Mid-apology I take a step up the stairs and trip, spilling coffee all down the front of me.
“I hope this isn’t foreshadowing the rest of my day!” I say lamely.
But, of course, it was. Not only was the printer in a chronic state of debilitating “offline,” all three photocopiers were also defunct. So when my team leader came in at 7:20 to inform me that the team has decided to do “lock down” or “single class instruction” for these next two days, I would be keeping my homeroom for the next two days, and did I have any packets of LA work for the other teachers to dole out? - I just about lost it.
But, as we teachers do, I composed and ruberized myself to be a paragon of flexibility. So one of my classes knows poetry quite well, and the others’ unit will be cut from six weeks to four. Although justice here seems to be lacking, there are - I suppose - greater tragedies in the world.
And the mandate gave me extra time to discuss my trip to New York with the students. We discussed geography and history, and I read to them from the several books I’d had authors sign for them. They were pretty impressed. “You met the author of Bud Not Buddy AND Monster?! Luck-eeeeee!”
Tony is a student who sometimes stays after with me for mentoring. He is not a great student, very disorganized, and struggles with anxiety because of some family problems. When I was at the convention, I heard an author speak who I had never hear of before: Coe Booth. She spoke about her first and most recent book Tyrell, a book written for the long neglected audience of African American, inner-city adolescents. The main character, Tyrell, tells his story: dad in jail, mom verbally abusive, a little brother to care for, trouble in school. Much of Tyrell’s story sounded similar to Tony’s. As I listened to Ms. Booth speak, I thought: I’m going to have a book signed for Tony.
When I gave Tony the book on Monday, I stopped him as he was going into the classroom from bathroom break and held the book open for him. He read the inscription: “To Antonio, I wrote this book for you. Keep reading. Love, Coe Booth.” He thanked me, sincerely, and trying not to make to much of it, I wheeled him back into the classroom and back to work. I could hardly get him to put it down all day, and when he was doing his other packets (science, social studies, etc.), he kept it on his desk or in his lap. (Thanks, Coe!)
What I’m most looking forward to this break, is sifting through my pages and pages of notes and hand outs from last weekend, and piecing together a truly inspired/inspirational poetry unit. Also revisiting the memoirs, and doing some precious reading of my own.
| M | T | W | T | F | S | S |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| « May | ||||||
| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | |
| 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 |
| 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 |
| 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 |
| 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | |||