[REPOST] The First Step is Admitting You Have A Problem

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In celebration of the five years that I have used this space to broadcast my voice, I am republishing my favorite blog posts, one each month.  For the month of May, I’ve decided to go with a piece that solicited lots of comments.  Many readers felt I was being too critical of myself as an educator, but to this day I stand by what I wrote.  I, like many others, often get caught up in the self-centered spectacle that teaching can be.  I think that we all need to be reminded to step off the stage and put the students first.

This piece was originally posted in April 2008.

As I have found myself immersed in the world of edublogging lately, and I have even been able to work face-to-face with some of the bloggers whom I respect enormously, I have come to a sobering conclusion.

I have known for some time that praise from administrators and fellow educators does not always correlate with sound pedagogy or exceptional work in the classroom. After all, these individuals are basing their opinions and evaluations on (at best) very short glimpses of teachers working (they don’t call ‘em snapshot observations for nuthin’). I have blogged in the past about the somewhat empty praise that I have received. But, my ego still gets the best of me.

Over the past few months, I have read posts from the likes of Will Richardson, Dan Meyer, Bill Ferriter, and Scott McLeod extolling the virtue of using digital tools to enhance instruction. Bill, in particular, has described the how he uses these tools to improve what he has always done. All along, I have nodded my head in agreement. After all, I said to myself, anyone who is confident enough to engage in a discussion about what works in the classroom must be already doing it, right?

It was only in the past month, as I began to think about what my teaching assignment for next year will be, that I have felt like the Emperor who suddenly realizes that he isn’t wearing any clothes. A better analogy might be the addict who counsels other users to abandon their habit. I have opened my eyes to the truth, and it has been somewhat painful.

It is far too easy in the isolated world of a public school to frame your abilities within the context of your classroom, team, department, and school. It’s so tempting to look around, without really seeing what others are doing, and tell yourself that you are Great. I’m embarrassed to admit that my measly seven years of experience, along with praise from teachers (who had never seen me teach), students (who enjoy a good joke), and parents (who listen to their children), led me to believe that I was doing all the right stuff in my classroom.

But, in reality, I am that guy. I am the self-absorbed “Sage on the Stage” that turns every class period into a one-man stand-up comedy show. I keep their attention by making them laugh. I bestow knowledge and dispel myth from my lofty residence at the front of the room. I use technology extensively, but I rarely put it in the hands of students. Sure, I use excuses like, “There aren’t enough computers in my room” or “You can’t trust eighth-graders with expensive equipment”. In the end, though, it’s about control and my ego, and when the show is on, it is intoxicating to be anywhere in the room. It’s fun… but it isn’t good teaching.

You’ll notice that I use the present tense to describe this problem, in a similar way to how a recovering alcoholic will always call himself an alcoholic. I will always be that guy. Now, I just have to begin to become That Teacher.

Me and My Mom

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When I was ten years old, I began to have episodes that verged on panic attacks.  I would lay in bed worrying about school work, and obsessing over the important things I would miss if I couldn’t fall asleep.  It was a cycle of paranoia that could only be broken by the caring touch and soft words of my mother.

Years later, when in the midst of my adult life, I would occassionally feel that tinge of panic well up in my mind.  It might be when a major life decision was ahead of me, or when the challenges of adulthood weighed heavily on me.  Each time, a phone call to my mom brought back a sense of peace, calming my fears.  She eased my (often irrational) anxiety and, through her advice, gave me back the confidence to move forward.

But, not all of my mother’s influences on my life were so obvious.  For most of my memory, she worked as a middle school nurse in a high-poverty community that was affected by the mobility of military families.  It was always clear how committed she was to helping children and building meaningful relationships.  She was the bedrock of the school community, remaining in her role while the rest of the faculty and administration changed over several decades.  My sister and I inherited that desire to help children, and our chosen careers–education and nursing–mirror her life.  In small ways, she inspired us to make a difference.

My dad is famous for his extroverted devotion to his friends, and my mother’s personality was often overshadowed by his.  At her memorial service, however, I learned that my mom’s coffee maker in the nurse’s office at school was a meeting place for teachers every day–a central part of the school culture.  This was especially surprising because my mom was never an extroverted person.  She was not as gregarious as my father, but she was fiercely dedicated to her smaller social circle.

When she got sick, I felt completely helpless.  I was surrounded by my father, sister, and brother-in-law–all nurses–and as badly as I wanted to make her feel better, it seemed beyond my reach to do so.  Those days were excruciating, and it wasn’t until just a few weeks ago that I felt some comfort, in the form of science.

A recent episode of one of my favorite podcasts, Radiolab, featured some research about fetal stem cells that can be found in the mother’s blood.  This was a topic I had learned a bit about several years ago, but hadn’t connected to my relationship with my mother.  The science has shown that a mother’s blood contains lots of cells from the fetuses that she has carried, and that those cells can remain in her body for decades.  This idea–that my cells and my sister’s were carried around by my mom throughout her life after we were born–was romantic and comforting.  But, then it got better:

“When they examined compromised tissue from [the patient's] liver, they discovered lots of fetal cells. ‘We found hundreds and hundreds,’ he said. Normally they’d expect to see five or ten, but in this case there were ‘literally sheets of cells — whole areas’ gathered at the liver apparently turning themselves into healthy cells.”

-Robert Krulwich quoting Dr. Kirby Johnson

My mind swirled with the possibility that my cells (and my sister’s, although it’s much more likely that hers would irritate my mother after all those years) might have been helping my mom to fight her hidden cancer.  I pictured cells that date back to before my birth swarming all over her wounds, healing and repairing.  Selfishly, I wondered if maybe she lived as long as she did because of me.

I still get that panicked feeling from time to time, and I’ve been forced to find my own ways to deal with it.  Appropriately, it is often memories of my mother’s soothing words and gentle touch on my back that do the trick.  And so, this Mother’s Day–my first without the comfort of my mother’s voice or her smile–I choose to think about the gifts that she gave me…

And the possibility that I was able to give a little back.

 

edcampNC: That first step’s a doozy

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I’ve been on a bit of a professional development diet lately.  I’ve missed out on the chance to attend (or present at) several recent conferences and I haven’t been as active in the PD scene at my school.  This has left me craving some rich learning experiences.

Back in February when news broke that Bethany Smith and friends would be putting on an edcamp event in Raleigh, I signed up immediately.  The combination of networking opportunities and the “unconference” format–not to mention the free price tag–made this an offer I couldn’t refuse.  I had heard about EdCamp Philly and others, and I was eager to experience this alternative to typical professional meetings.  Plus, it was practically in my backyard.

On the morning of this event, I will admit that I had second thoughts.  I had just returned from a two-day field trip with my eighth grade students and I was feeling the developing symptoms of a head cold.  Nonetheless, I medicated myself and caffeinated myself and ventured out into the unknown.  I didn’t really know who would be there, but I knew it would be a powerful learning experience.  It did not disappoint.

Here are my five biggest take-aways:

1. The Idea Board: Who would have guessed that such a simple board covered with colored sheets of paper could be so disruptive to the traditional conference format?  You show up, you put a question or topic on the board, and then you discuss which ones stay and which must go.  I posted “Grading Practices that meet the needs of parents, teachers, and students” and was amazed at the conversations that followed at the idea board (hours before the session ever started).

2. It’s Everyone’s Job to Advertise edcamp:  I didn’t talk about this event with very many of my friends and colleagues.  This was largely because I felt that it wouldn’t appeal to them.  I thought that promoting it would make me out to be some sort of fanatic.  I mean, who gets together with other educators to talk about teaching on a Saturday.  This was a big mistake.

The turnout for this first event was a little low.  Over two hundred tickets were reserved, yet only 70 or so people actually attended.  While I enjoyed the cozy atmosphere, I think that more voices would have improved the experience for everyone.  Next year, I’m considering a sandwich board:

 

3. Smackdown is da bomb!  I’ve been to a wide array of resource sharing events, but nothing can compare to the rush of getting up in front of dozens of people that include district leaders, administrators, app developers, and fellow teachers and taking ninety seconds to explain why an app/site/tool is so awesome.  It’s a little hard to explain, but that one event alone will keep me coming back to edcamp in the future.

4. Unconference has its drawbacks: At one point, I found myself in a room full of inexperienced teachers.  I was attempting to foster a conversation without “presenting” what I knew or leading the discussion, but it became difficult for me to avoid taking over.  I wanted desperately for some of the others to see the error of their ways, but I tried to stay low-key and not dominate the conversation.  As a result, I left unsatisfied in a way that I don’t think would have happened at a traditional conference session, despite the increased interaction of this format.

5. Unconference can be a powerful tool: Some of the same qualities that frustrated me about the “unconference” model in one session, made other sessions SO enjoyable.  When creative minds tackle simple questions and brainstorm wild solutions, everyone wins.  Even for those teachers who may have felt like they didn’t have much to offer, or who came expecting to be passive information “absorbers”, there were moments of realization in which each of us felt valued and appreciated for what we bring to American education.

6. BONUS: The word “dongle” is funny no matter how old you are.

What did you take away from edcampNC?  Planning to come next year?

 

 

photo #1 credit: Stéfan via photo pin cc, photo #2 credit: law_keven via photo pin cc

 

Am I Not Being Clear? [REPOST]

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In celebration of the fifth anniversary of this blog, I am re-posting some of my favorite entries from the past five years.  Be sure to check out some of the very interesting and thought-provoking comments on the original post from May 2011.

I have found myself engaging in more grading discussions, both within my school and outside of it, than ever before.  Some of these have been spurred by administrative efforts to standardize grading in my building and others by conversation between novice and veteran educators.

Earlier this week, I raised my voice in a meeting and jumped out of my seat–red in the face–to make the point that my grading system does not ignore homework or take away any incentive to complete it.  I said,

“Homework is formative practice that is intended to build skills, and therefore does not measure mastery, and shouldn’t be used to calculate a child’s grade.  I use other means, such as behavioral consequences, as motivation for my unmotivated students to complete their homework.  Giving a grade isn’t motivating those students now anyway.  Grading homework is already not working, so why not try something different?”

It’s a hard pill to swallow for a lot of my colleagues, but I think that it is a critical transition for our profession to make.  We need to refocus on the purpose of grades as measures of curriculum mastery and develop other measures and reporting methods for informing parents of character education, work ethic, behavior, etc.

To this end, I have developed a simple test for those who want to know how important it is to stop including homework (and all forms of practice) in a student’s grade:

  1. Next week, give your students a homework assignment on Monday.  Tell students that it will be graded and factored into their average.  On Tuesday, record how many students did the assignment and how many did not.
  2. On Wednesday, give your students a second homework assignment.  Tell them that whether they complete it adequately or not will be reported to their parents, but it will not affect their average in class.  Again, record how many students complete the assignment and how many do not.

Your students will fall into one of three categories:

  • Students who completed both assignments. These students will do assigned work whether it’s graded or not.  They are motivated by the challenge, by the mark reported to their parents, or by some other factor (not including grades).  Their homework completion will not change if you stop including homework in their grades.
  • Students who completed neither assignment. These students are not self-motivated and are also not motivated by grades.  Their homework completion will not change if you stop including homework in students’ grades.  They need something else.
  • Students who only completed the first assignment. These are the only students who are motivated to do their homework by the effect on their grade.  If you stop including homework in their average, they will need a new motivator to encourage them to complete it.

Based on my personal experience and anecdotal stories from colleagues, less than 15% of students fall into the third category. Moreover, these students have been led to believe that a grade is a reward (or, at least, leads to one) rather than a measurement.  These are the same students who beg for extra credit and who want desperately to know if what you are discussing will be “on the test”.  This group of students needs to learn that practice leads to mastery, and mastery leads to success in more complex subjects.

To be clear, I value the practice that homework provides.  I give homework assignments.  I grade them.  I provide constructive feedback to students.  I report the quality of homework to parents and students.  I do not factor homework into my students’ averages.

To those who would call my system flawed, I say this: If students only do homework because it improves their grade, why do only 15% stop doing it when it no longer affects their grade?  Why do 20% or more avoid doing it even when it does affect their grade?  We include homework in a student’s average to motivate them to do it, but yet many are not incentivized by this practice.  It’s not working.

Moreover, this issue gets at the heart of how confusing a student’s grade can be.  What does an A mean? Hard work and average mastery?  Strong mastery and no work ethic?  Below grade-level understanding but amazing effort?  If you can’t say, then it isn’t a useful piece of information to share with parents and students.

 

Breaking the Cycle

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There is a field of science called chronobiology that seeks to understand the cycles that ebb and flow under the surface of life. Many of these patterns follow the sun (daily) and moon (monthly), but some of the most amazing and ubiquitous ones follow a twelve month cycle, like mating, reproduction, blooming, and hibernation.

Teachers are no exception to this phenomenon. More than many professions, our lives follow a predictable and renewing annual pattern. Every fall, we welcome new students. Throughout the academic year, we build relationships with them and learn their strengths and weaknesses. We watch them grow and develop.

But at the end of the year, often contrary to our natural emotional instincts, we cast them out of our lives. We send them on to the next stage in their lives, bestowed with our wisdom and strengthened by what they have uncovered in their short time with us.

From the students’ perspective, education is an upward spiral. But, for teachers, it’s a never-ending cycle of building bonds and breaking them.

I think that year-round teachers have it the worst because the time between saying goodbye to departing students and welcoming the new can often be measured in hours. In response to the constant flux of year-round teaching, these educators must find creative ways to insulate themselves from the emotional toil of this annual cycle. But all teachers eventually learn to maintain a certain emotional distance as a self-defense measure. We protect our hearts by not opening them too far.

 

This year, I was presented with an opportunity to move up to the eighth grade with my seventh grade students. I was excited about the possibilities–students already familiar with my style and procedures, relationships already formed–and the year has lived up to my expectations. I have never enjoyed teaching as much as I have this year.

As this year draws to a close, however, I am starting to realize that there is a penalty for disrupting the natural cycle of teachers. By choosing to continue on with my students, and not start fresh last fall, I am setting myself up for a much more difficult goodbye this June. I look out at my classes sometimes and feel a sense of dread at the prospect of starting over again. I worry about their future almost as much as I do my own children.

And so, the questions arises: was it worth the emotional cost at the end to have another year with this class of learners? Will the benefits of deeper bonds and better communication outweigh the pain of watching 127 memories of the past two years head off to high school?

I can say with confidence that the answer is unequivocally “yes“.