The Twin Monsters

Some students are easier to teach than others. For the first part of my career, my students were a breeze to teach. Most came from affluent or at least middle-class homes where education was a priority. Parents made sure students came to school fed, clothed, and equipped with supplies. A call home fixed nearly every problem in the classroom, from discipline to missing homework. Parents could—and would—bring their kids early or pick them up late if tutorials or remediation was required. All I had to do was show up, run an efficient classroom, assign some work, and grade a lot of papers. I held high standards for my students, and they, for the most part, rose to my expectations.

As time went on, our school’s student population started to change. We still had plenty of the old ready-to-learners, but an ever-increasing number of students showed up at the doorstep of our school with some obvious differences. Many came from poverty. Not all of them spoke English fluently. Quite a few came to us with limited skills. Some had moved from school to school and district to district throughout their educational lives. They didn’t look like our mostly-white, middle-class faculty and staff. They felt like outsiders among the affluent students. For a while we could ignore the changes and keep doing what we had always done. As gaps began to widen and disparities became more glaring, we had to do something about it.

I wish this paragraph could be about all the wonderful solutions we immediately discovered and how we turned everything around and created a dynamic place of learning for all students. The solutions, as anyone who has worked with challenging student populations knows, are not that easy to discover. Instead of talking about those solutions, however, I want to warn of two potential dangers that can surface when we work with students from educationally impoverished backgrounds. I have encountered them. Perhaps you have, too. I’m referring to the twin monsters of blame and pity.

The blame monster is an ugly one, with hundreds of fingers pointing in every direction. This monster appears early in the school year, as soon as the teacher discovers that “these kids” aren’t “where they should be.” The blame monster makes us question the credentials of the teachers who teach in grades below ours; turns us into armchair sociologists who blame demographics, economics, parents, peers, the media, cell phones, popular music, and the Kardashians; and causes us to make—and believe—all sorts of excuses about our students’ limitations. “These kids can’t!” is the battle cry of the teacher in the thrall of the blame monster. The monster spreads its deadly venom, infecting individuals, teams, and—horrible dictu!—entire campuses. Once the poison has spread, it manifests in a variety of guises:  despair, giving up hope, frustration, asking “Why me?”, feeling like you’re the only teacher/ campus/ district ever to face such odds. Teachers spend so much time finding causes for why their students can’t learn that they fail to focus on finding ways to get them to learn.

Teachers who know how to fight off the blame monster know that, though the monster is likely to show up in the first days of the school year, it needs to make its exit as soon as possible. Educators can’t control who walks into their classrooms; they can only control what they do with those students and how they make those students feel about themselves as learners and—equally important—as people. If the blame monster is still lurking around during the second semester and the students haven’t improved, teachers need to place the blame on themselves instead of on others or on outside factors. Quit blaming. Time’s a-wasting. Start teaching.

The pity monster is the blame monster’s less flashy but perhaps more dangerous sibling. Armed with an endless supply of Kleenex and hugs, the pity monster makes sure educators see how hard the lives of “these poor babies” are. Instead of seeing future possibilities, teachers attacked by the pity monster only see obstacles and hardships in the paths of their students, and—as any person with a heart would do—they feel overwhelming compassion. Rising from instinctual kind-heartedness, the pity monster feeds off the emotions of educators, making them fearful of being the ones who put one more difficulty or challenge onto the plates of these sweet kids and their sweet parents. The pity monster leaves a trail of low expectations; second, third, fourth, and fifth chances; thoughts of “It’s the best they can do;” and satisfaction with mediocrity. Students put their names on their paper? They get points. Students answer an easy question in a class discussion? They get a piece of candy. The teacher under the influence of the pity monster becomes the savior of the children, and all these poor babies have to do is show up and make a modicum of effort to receive praise, prizes, and high grades. The bar is set so low that any student can climb over it without difficulty. And if there is a struggle, the educator swoops in to rescue the poor, defenseless creatures and make sure they all succeed.

Defeating the pity monster requires the fortitude to set high expectations for every student, to actually believe that the students can reach those expectations, and to make the student believe they can achieve them, too. All students have to know you believe in them and that you will help make sure they can do all they are capable of. This requires building relationships; seeing the student, not the deficit; banishing the “poor babies” mentality; and getting down to business—no excuses!—in a classroom where you maximize every minute of instructional time because, scholars, you have places to go, and we have work to do to make sure you can get there!

Teaching is a tough job, and I don’t pretend to have all the answers for how to magically reach every student. I have, however, seen enough students in enough schools and to have interacted with enough teachers in my school, my district, and in many parts of the country (and even some in other countries) to know that the twin monsters of blame and pity are real and highly dangerous. They sneak up when we least expect it, and they quickly have us in their clutches. Being aware of the dangers and not being afraid to call them out when they appear is the first step to eradicating them.

All students—no matter where they come from, what skills or deficits they possess, what they look or sound like, or what obstacles they face—deserves the chance for a bright future. The twin monsters want to keep that from them, and we can’t let the monsters win.   

          

          

Two Ideas to Let Steep During Your Summer Break

One of the joys of summer during my childhood was sun tea. There was something especially wonderful about filling a big jar with water, dropping in a few tea bags, and letting the tea steep in a sunny spot in the backyard for the afternoon. A tall glass of sun tea with a sprig of mint snipped from the garden and a squeeze of fresh lemon surpassed the quality of traditional boiling-water-brewed tea and, not surprisingly, the instant Nestea or Lipton varieties. Perhaps the difference was merely in my brain, but I’d like to think that allowing the tea to brew slowly over a long period of time produced something superior.

Ideas are a lot like that. The ones we let steep for a long time are often better than the ones we cook up in a jiffy. When I have a problem to solve, I often find it’s useful to let it marinade over time rather than try to solve it in an afternoon. The summer is the perfect time to passively ponder over something that you can put into place at the beginning of the new school year.

If you don’t already have a burning question you hope to ruminate over during your vacation, I have two suggestions of topics that, because of their complexity, might not present easy answers at first but could transform your teaching practices in the fall if you had an opportunity to think about them in depth:  the state of your gradebook and your classroom expectations.

The State of Your Gradebook       

Grading has been a hot topic in recent years, and, if the chatter I see in my Twitter newsfeed is any indication, it’s not going away anytime soon. There’s a call for change in schools because people have realized that our long-held practices about grading don’t accomplish what grading is supposed to.

Your gradebook should do more than just provide a numerical proclamation of a student’s performance in your class. The numbers are meaningless unless your gradebook provides worthwhile, usable information about a student’s progress toward mastery of objectives in your class. This means that every entry— major or minor— communicates to students and parents what a student does or does not know or know how to do. This also means that things such as “completion” grades and “participation” grades need to go. Teachers embracing gradebook reform have to rethink what their gradebook looks like, what constitutes a meaningful grade, how many grades need to be taken, when and how students can redo an assignment to reach mastery, how this intersects with the district’s curriculum, and what this looks like in a teaming situation with multiple teachers teaching the same class on a campus. Such change will certainly necessitate discussion among teachers and administrators and some re-education of students and parents.

Wrapping my head around this boggles my brain because it’s hard to unlearn something that was a part of my upbringing in the school system as well as my accepted practice for decades of classroom teaching. I’m convinced, though, that it’s time for a change, and this is something I might need a summer to ponder to figure out for myself.  

Clarifying Classroom Expectations

A second thorny topic has to do with classroom management. Once upon a time, I’d spend hours over the summer devising a new set of rules and consequences to be unveiled on the first day of school to a new crop of future offenders. What behaviors are unacceptable? How many times should a student be allowed to leave the room and for how long? How many warnings occur before something terrible happens? How will I display my rules and consequences so my students will know what dreaded fate awaits them if they violate my policies? Should I underline the word “not” each time it appears on my list of rules, put it in boldface, italicize it, or do all three?

The reading I’ve been doing lately on the subject of classroom management says that punishment it out and expectations are in.

Effective teachers teach students the behavioral expectations for each activity that occurs in their classroom: how to enter and leave the room, what to do when the tardy bell rings, what reading time looks and sounds like, what happens during group work, what to do when you finish an assignment early, and what to do if you have a question or need assistance. At the beginning of school, teachers communicate, practice, and model these expectations, and then they hold their students accountable for them consistently throughout the year, reteaching as necessary and reinforcing the desired behaviors as they observe them.

What this means is that I need to spend some time clarifying my expectations for myself. What situations are likely to occur in my room, what do I want the students to be doing in each instance, and how can I communicate those most clearly to my students at the beginning of school? Setting up clear procedures at the outset is the best way to have a classroom that functions smoothly throughout the year, and that requires clarity in the mind of the teacher. I’d let that one brew over the summer so I have a clear picture in my mind when it’s time to go back to school in August.

Sun tea doesn’t take a lot of work or effort to make, but the result is worth the wait time. Similarly, having an idea in your head— one of the ones I suggested or one you’ve dreamed up yourself— gives you something to ponder in a low-stress environment, the kind where the best ideas develop slowly over time without a lot of conscious work on your part. Maybe you’ll have some inspiration and clarity in a moment of unconscious reflection that will pay off for you in the fall.  

I just read on the internet that sun tea might harbor deadly bacteria because the water doesn’t get hot enough to kill the bad microbes in your tea. So don’t get so gung-ho about the nostalgia that you poison your family and friends. Maybe you could enjoy a snowcone instead. The metaphor isn’t as good, but at least it won’t kill you.

It's Never Too Early

It’s Never Too Early

or

What to Think About While You Are Actively Monitoring

It’s likely that at some point in the next few days or weeks you will have several hours during which you are contractually obligated to monitor students while they are undergoing their state-mandated testing. You’re not permitted to be on the computer or your phone; to read; to grade papers; to look at the students’ tests; to write anything; to talk; to listen to music on your headphones; to eat a noisy, stinky, or nut-laden snack; to stand still; to sit for long periods of time; to sneeze; to sigh audibly; to laugh (maniacally or otherwise); to hover over a student long enough to make him or her nervous, to sing; to hum; to line dance; to juggle; to yodel; to take the test yourself; to snap photos; to work a jigsaw puzzle; or to arrange flowers. You get to walk around and think silently and unobtrusively for four or more hours.

What will fill your thoughts during this time? Some of my friends like to complete math problems in their heads. A few compile statistics about their test takers, mentally calculating the percentages by gender, hair style, clothing choice, handedness, etc. Others spend time memorizing the names and ID numbers of the students testing in their rooms. Still others fantasize about what they’d do if they had to opportunity to meet the person who created this standardized test or the legislator who mandated that it be taken.

I have another suggestion.

It’s never too early to start thinking about beginning the next school year. In fact, right now--during this second horrible round of standardized testing--is the perfect time to fill your idle mind with visionary thoughts about what next August can look like.

As you are actively monitoring, think about how you feel about the year-in-progress. What has gone well? What could improve? What is driving you crazy?

Perhaps there’s a new initiative you’d like to try out and have been waiting for the perfect time to do so. Want to redo the way you’ve been starting or ending class? Have you recently become intrigued by the concept of Interactive Notebooks? Maybe you’re an English teacher who wants to launch a full-scale Reader’s or Writer’s Workshop. Or you’ve wanted to be more intentional about incorporating AVID WICOR strategies to engage your students.

By this time in the year, you can clearly see what your beginning-of-school preparations have spawned. Ideally, your students are still enthusiastic, engaged, on-task, risk-taking, controllable, and eager to learn (with just a touch of unavoidable “summeritis”). You might, unfortunately, struggle daily with students who are cantankerous, unruly, discouraged, distracted, and disengaged.       

One of the great things about teaching is that most teachers get a “do over” each year. You greet a new set of students who enter your classroom (and maybe your school) for the first time. The students are full of excitement and apprehension, and you have the opportunity to set precedents, to let them know how things run in your classroom, and to clarify your expectations. Students are malleable and trainable at the beginning of the year. Effective training, like most complex tasks, requires careful prior planning. That’s why it’s never too early to get started.  

Don’t wait until the last days before school starts to try to remember what you wanted to do differently this time around. Spend some time now making your to-do list for beginning next year. Please don’t spend your entire summer vacation planning and plotting for next year; you need and deserve plenty of downtime. But having the pre-made list at the ready will allow your mind to focus quickly on the ideas when August hits and it’s time to ramp up for another school year.

Right now, when you’ve got nothing to do but monitor your students, is the best time I can think of to start composing your mental list. You may even have the time to troubleshoot a few of the problems and work out the kinks in advance.

If you don’t want to think about next year, you can always start thinking about what to buy me for my birthday. It’s only 140 days away, and I’m allegedly difficult to shop for. It’s never too early to start planning.

Secrets, Secrets Are No Fun...

I don't like Starbucks. There! I said it.

It's just not my kind of store. First off, I'm not a coffee drinker, so my menu choices are somewhat limited. I'm fairly adept at brewing my own tea at home or on the go and, if given a choice, prefer water. Tap is fine. So the idea of paying a big chunk of change for someone to make a beverage for me isn't my cup of tea, literally.

But those are not the real reasons I don't like Starbucks. In truth, I'm uncomfortable going there because I don't know how to "do" the Starbucks thing. In some stores, I don't even know where I'm supposed to stand to place an order. Then, when it comes to making a decision, I have to choose from sizes that don't make sense to me (Why is "tall" only slightly larger than a Dixie Cup?) and employ a whole vocabulary of terms that somehow everyone else seems to know but me. I have to decide what sort of milk I want, how frothy I want it, how many shots of caffeine I need, whether I prefer room left at the top to add goodies of my own, and whether I want flavorings, sweeteners, or toppings. There's an entire article on WikiHow explaining the ins and outs of this process, with baffling insider tips like this one:  "A tall typically comes with a single shot of espresso, a grande comes with a double shot, and a venti also comes with a double shot, unless it is a venti iced drink, in which [case] it comes with a triple shot of espresso." When I order at Starbucks, I feel like a stranger who doesn't know the language or the local customs.

You know what else? I don't see what's the big deal about In-N-Out Burger. I realize them's fightin' words to some of my West Coast friends, but, really, this fast food joint doesn't dazzle a guy raised with Whataburger and Braum's nearby.  On a trip to Sacramento years ago, some locals said, "You must try an In-N-Out Burger while you're here." I did. Fortunately for me, I didn't have to ask, "Which burger should I order?" The In-N-Out menu only offers three options:  a hamburger, a cheeseburger, and a "Double-Double," which is apparently a registered trademark term. The sole side order option is fries (not much of an option, is it?), and the adventurous may select from three flavors of milkshakes. During my taste test, burgers and fries were fresh and tasty but nothing special. Due to the simplicity of the menu (Their website even says, "Ordering is as easy as 1."), In-N-Out avoids the mind-boggling complexity of Starbucks.  Or so I thought....

Imagine my surprise when I learned that for years In-N-Out Burger has had a "Secret Menu" that only those in-the-know order from. You can get your burger "Animal Style" (which includes a mustard-cooked patty and grilled onions), enjoy your meat nestled in a lettuce wrap instead of a carb-filled bun, or appreciate the simple beauty of a grilled cheese sandwich if you know about this hidden menu. It might have been helpful to have this info while I was in line.

Once again, like Starbucks, In-N-Out has become a place that only people with a knowledge of unwritten or hard-to-find secrets can navigate successfully.

I wonder how many similar secrets we keep from our students in the daily operation of our classrooms.

Do we make our expectations specific and clear? Are we transparent about why we are doing a particular activity? Are policies and procedures spelled out and easy to follow, even for the uninitiated? Could a person walking into our classrooms off the street (after passing the interrogation and identity check at the reception desk) tell what our students are supposed to be doing and why? Do our students feel that sense of panic that I feel as I inch to the front of the line in Starbucks or the jealousy and sense of helplessness I feel when I watch the guy at the next table at In-N-Out devour a sandwich I couldn't find on the menu?

Recently, I discovered that some of our cherished educational practices may inadvertently be "members only" experiences for our students. An article in the New York Times last week revealed that the traditional college practice of lecture-only instruction was biased toward white male students from wealthy, educated families. Every student benefited more from active learning strategies than from lectures, and the students who saw the most positive effects from active learning (and were the least successful at learning during our lectures) were women, minorities, low-income students, and first-generation college goers. This is a powerful reminder that the sit-and-get methods of "instruction" are largely unsuccessful for the majority of the kids we teach.

So what can we do to divulge those secrets and let all our students in on the workings of our classrooms so all can benefit? Here's a list of a few ideas:

• Post daily objectives (learning targets, essential questions, or whatever you want to call them) in kid-friendly language and point them out to our students before the learning begins.
• Engage our students in experiences that enable them to immerse themselves in the learning, struggle with the concepts, and figure out things for themselves. 
• Utilize word walls for academic and content vocabulary that may be unfamiliar to some. 
• Establish clear procedures for what students should do when they enter and exit the classroom, how they should keep track of their learning, what they ought to do when they miss class, and what you expect of them.
• Provide rubrics for assignments ahead of time, and help students make sense of them before and during the time they're working. 
• Conference with students (even for tiny amounts of time) to make sure they understand what's going on. 
• Let students in on the "why" of the lesson by establishing a practical reason for what you're teaching them or asking them to do. 
• Explain specifically what you mean when you say "study for the test." Give students concrete activities or processes so they'll know what "studying" means. 
• Communicate with students and parents (via e-mail blasts, a class blog--Blogger is extremely easy to figure out and links with your Google login at school--, or whatever method you prefer) to let them know what's going on, what's coming up, and how they can seek extra help if they need it. 

Here's a quick example:

Earlier this week I visited several middle school language arts classrooms that did an especially effective job of taking the mystery out of expectations and procedures. In one, a clear objective was posted prominently for all to see, a word wall let me know what vocabulary words and roots they had studied so far this semester, a display informed me of what the teacher was reading and what she had finished reading, and the teacher gave crystal-clear instructions and then followed up with students individually as they worked to make sure they knew what they were supposed to be doing. In the other, the teacher opened class with a slide on the screen that contained an objective, a list of activities on the day's agenda, a photograph of the items the students would need to have on their desk to begin class (writer's notebook, a pen, and a highlighter), and--this made my AVID heart happy--the letters WICOR with the elements of the acronym highlighted to show the students that during class they would be using inquiry, collaboration, organization, and reading. In both classrooms, I had no doubt that the students felt equipped for success.

None of the items on the above list are difficult to implement. And why not do all you can to make your students comfortable and confident when they enter your classroom?

After all, grabbing a cup of coffee, ordering a burger, and participating in school shouldn't be stress-filled activities shrouded in mystery.

Thank you for all you do to help your students find their way. 

Craig

   

But What Are the Kids Doing?

“I have the best idea for a lesson.  I found this new article on a website that I thought I could read to the students and then we could talk about it and how it relates to what we have been studying.”

“But what are the kids doing?”

“…and then I thought I would tell the students a story about that time I…”

“But what are the kids doing?”

“…using the PowerPoint to explain the concept of…”

“But what are the kids doing?”

“…with a video from YouTube that provides a great way to get the students interested in the topic of…”

“But what are the kids doing?”

“…and I could show them a model  and some really gross pictures of….”

“But what are the kids doing?”

In and out of the classroom, teachers spend a lot of time thinking about how they’re going to teach their students. Ideas come to us when we are reading, browsing online, sweating on the treadmill, driving, or even taking a shower. But not every idea that comes to us is classroom-worthy. Sometimes, something that sounds fun, intriguing, or creative still fails to pass the one-question test: “But what are the kids doing?”

Several weeks ago, I sat in a group planning for a one-hour presentation we would be giving at a meeting of the district’s principals. We spent quite a time brainstorming the components of the presentation before we began sketching out a lesson plan.  As we added to our list, one voice of reason in the room asked us contemplative questions about the lesson, most often the question, “But what are the principals going to be doing?”  If the answer was “Listening,” “Sitting,” or “Nothing,” we revamped that portion of the agenda to make the learning something other than a sit-and-get experience.

It occurred to me that “What are they doing?” is probably the most important question we can ask ourselves while we plan for our classrooms.  It’s so easy for us to pontificate in the front of the classroom—to be the wise conveyor of information, the witty raconteur, the know-it-all professor. Even if students are mesmerized by our monologues and lectures, research tells us they’ll only remember a small portion of the information if they simply sit and listen. Writing down what you say only increases their retention by a small degree. Allowing students to talk about the material with one another and asking them to do something with the content boosts their learning potential dramatically.  

I can already hear some of you thinking to yourselves (or saying aloud), “My students are much better behaved when I stand in front of them and lecture. ”  Perhaps.  You know, babies cry less when they are sound asleep, too.    

Others of you are thinking fondly (and perhaps defensively) about your class discussions, the ones where you are standing in the front and asking your class provocative questions to stimulate conversation. Those may be beneficial to the handful of student who are actively engaged in answering and debating, but what are the other twenty class members doing? (For the record, most of the time I was one of the other twenty class members, and I wrote a lot of letters to friends, doodled on the margins of my notebook, outlined the great American novel I thought I’d write someday, wished I were elsewhere, and dreaded being called upon.)

How about adding a quickwrite before your discussion to allow students to organize and plan out their thoughts? Could the discussion take place in smaller groups within the class so that all students can have the opportunity to contribute?

One of my favorite aspects of AVID’s classroom strategies is the emphasis on student engagement and active learning. Stay tuned throughout the year, and I promise more techniques you can use in your classes to find better answers to the all-important planning question:  “But what are the students doing?”

I challenge you to make your classroom a place where the students do most of the talking, most of the doing, and most of the learning. We shouldn’t be the only ones doing the work in our classrooms, should we?

How to Give Instructions That Kids Will Follow

How many times have you given what you thought were clear instructions only to discover that your students completely misconstrued what you wanted them to do? Or they responded with a billion questions after the fact?

Giving clear instructions can make or break a class activity. Poorly-delivered directions can cause confusion and chaos and can impede success and increase classroom management issues. In the past few years, one of my professional goals has been to work on the oral  instructions I give when I work with students and with adult learners.  I’ve listened, observed, and pondered pitfalls to determine what works and what doesn’t. Here are a few tips teachers can apply if they want to strengthen their direction-giving:

1.  Tell the students where they’re headed.  Remember what life was like before a GPS guided us everywhere?  For a few years, many of us relied on Yahoo Maps and other online tools to provide printed lists of driving directions to get us from here to there. Oftentimes, the detailed instructions were especially confusing if you didn’t look at a map first; it might take five separate steps to explain that you were supposed to get onto the Tollway going southbound. Taking a moment to preview the route could prevent confusion along the way because the driver could use the big-picture idea to make sense of the smaller instructional steps. Previewing the map also could've helped the driver get back on track when an instructional step was missed or misunderstood.  The same idea applies in the classroom. Unless it needs to be a surprise, teachers should probably let their students know what they’re about to do before providing instructions.  It can be something as simple as, “Today we’re going to learn how to use and share a Google Doc, how to create a folder to organize your Google Drive, and how to submit an assignment on Google Classroom,” or, “We’re about to set up our Writing Notebooks.”  Expert direction-givers Gordon Ramsey, Alton Brown, Emeril Lagasse, and Rachel Ray always let their at-home viewers know what they’re concocting before they start throwing ingredients together. Students, like TV-watching wannabe chefs, love knowing what they’re doing before—bam!—the instructions start flying at them.        

2.  Avoid the fillers. Someone at some point in history taught teachers to be too polite:  “Okay, so…Now, what I’d like you to do, if you don’t mind, is to take out a piece of paper—if it’s okay with you—and a pen, preferably, or, if you don’t like pen, a pencil.  I need you to be quiet so that you can hear the next instruction, if you will.”  Some teachers spend so much time apologizing in advance, avoiding giving commands, asking "if you would" or would you please" questions, and sugarcoating their verbiage that the directions get lost in the shuffle.  How about this instead?  “Take out a piece of paper and a pen.”  I don’t think this “harsh” demand is going to damage any students irreparably, and the fewer words we say, the more important each spoken word becomes.

3.  Make sure students are ready to receive instructions before you give instructions.  Don’t tell students how to fill out the top of the scantron while you’re in the middle of handing out the scantrons unless you want half the class to turn in a scantron with no name and no information on it.  Don’t start explaining where to find a Google Form when ten students are still turning on their computers.  Don’t begin instructions when a gaggle of girls is huddled in the corner of the classroom discussing the homecoming dance proposal that occurred during the passing period.  Establish your class routine for getting students’ attention, get their attention, make sure all students have what they need, and then begin your instructions. If you don’t make sure they’re ready, be prepared to repeat yourself or to watch your students invent their own interpretations of the instructions.

4.  Keep the instructions simple and direct.  This one is self-explanatory. Tricky instructions overwhelm learners. Break the procedure down into manageable steps, and state the steps clearly.  Verb + direct object.  “Take out a piece of paper.”  “Fold the paper in half, hotdog style.” “Trade papers with your elbow partner.”  

5.  Provide written instructions, too.  Simplified written steps projected on a screen or on the board can help students who are visual learners or who lag behind. Pare down your written instructions to the most essential wording, and elaborate as needed while you present them orally.

6.  Have a signal so you'll know when to proceed.  "When you've finished marking the text, put your pen down so I know you're ready to proceed." "Sit down in your seats after your entire group has shared their prewrites." Simple visual cues can help you determine when to give the next set of instructions. 

7.  Help the slowpokes catch up by providing “bridge” instructions.  You'll inevitably have a few students who lag behind the rest of the class. Some of them might be dragging their heels because they're unsure of what they are supposed to be doing. I'm fond of adding a little bridge to let everyone know how to catch up with the rest:  "After you've underlined the sentence you think is the main point of the article, write a paraphrase of that sentence in your writer's notebook."  The students who are confused or delayed then know to speed up the previous step and rejoin the class.                         

               

8.  Keep them from jumping the gun.  When you begin giving instructions, some students start before you've finished what you have to say. Starting off with, "Stand up and find a group of three people who don't sit at your table," will cause several students--or the entire class--to leap from their seats to locate their group before you tell them what to do. I recommend giving a cue at the beginning of your instructions to let them know when to begin.  "In about a minute, when I turn on the music..."  "After I finish these instructions, on the count of three...." Providing a clear signal prompting them to begin the activity will keep them in their seats and attentive while you tell them what they need to hear. 

9.  Don’t overload.  We're all guilty from time to time of giving too much information at the beginning, which leads to us having to repeat ourselves later. We begin by saying something innocent like, "Stand up, find a partner, discuss the question on the board, and then draft a summary of your response in your notebook. Then, you're going to list pros and cons for the statement you wrote down." A better approach might begin like this: "When I say 'Go,' stand up and find a solemate--someone who is wearing shoes similar to yours. When you find your partner, stand side-by-side, face me, and quietly wait for the next instruction. Go!"  Once you've ensured that everyone has found a partner, you're ready to continue. 

10. Ask for questions in a way that will get the questions you want.  I've found that "What questions do you have?" works better than "Are there any questions?" This doesn't give the students an easy "no" answer and doesn't presuppose that there will be no questions about your instructions. Even the best instruction givers sometimes leave the students with legitimate unanswered questions. 

The art of giving clear instructions is not easy to master. All of us can continually improve. But if you are mindful of the pointers above, you'll soon find that your students become more compliant and that your classroom runs much more smoothly. 

Now, when I say 'Forward this blog post,' send this to three of your teacher friends who might need help with instruction-giving so they can learn what you just learned.  They will thank you later. 

Thanks for all you do to make your classroom a successful learning environment for all your students. Forward this blog post!

Craig

What Reality TV Can Teach Us About Assessment

Back before I finally pulled the plug on my cable TV, I was once a reality TV addict. My favorites were the competition shows, the ones that pitted ordinary people against one another in a weekly competition, eliminating one person at a time until a victor emerged. Today, while I was doing a bit of last-minute rubric analysis with my students to make sure they understood the writing expectations for next week's state assessment, it occurred to me how much I could learn about good instruction--and particularly assessment--from the television I used to watch so avidly.

Let's take Project Runway as an example. On this show, a crop of wannabe designers performed ridiculous weekly challenges in hopes that a celebrity panel of Heidi Klum and her team of fashionistas would deem their garments worthy of remaining "in" the competition for another week. While designers toiled in the workroom, Tim Gunn periodically popped in to monitor progress, dispense advice, ask questions, make faces, and provide helpful suggestions about how the judges might react to the hastily assembled products. When the time limit expired, the designers paraded their outfits in front of the judges who each offered feedback and candid opinions before making a final judgment and declaring one of the designers "out." Throughout all of this, the producers of the show provided viewers with snippets of interviews with the contestants discussing their progress or lack thereof.

This design-and-judge approach is not unlike what goes on in classrooms all over the world. Teachers present challenges to their students, allow the students to work on them to demonstrate mastery, and assess the final products according to a rubric. Too often, though, we leave Tim Gunn and the interview snippets out of the equation. We go from assignment to summative assessment without allowing for formative assessment and student feedback along the way. Then we are frustrated when the final products don't meet our expectations or are surprised at the number of students who didn't succeed. Educators can't forget that it's our duty to check in with our students periodically along the way so we can catch them before they veer too far off track and offer them guidance to get back on course. Without the wisdom of Tim Gunn, the designers on Project Runway would struggle unnecessarily with a tricky seam construction, get bogged down on an insignificant detail, and fail to manage their time adequately, resulting in an unsatisfactory, slapdash, or incomplete final product. The show's interview clips provide opportunities for the contestants to voice their own understandings of the task and their progress. Similarly, we should require students to talk about their understanding of the assignments in their own words, to summarize the elements of the rubric, and to reflect on the work they are doing as they are doing it rather than waiting to reflect on the final product only. By encouraging this metacognition and awareness of the task and expectations, teachers can help students guide their progress, focus on the most important elements, and produce the best results possible.

Another show I miss from my cable television days is The Worst Cooks in America. In this delightful series, a hapless and inept bunch of newbies, who have been nominated by their loved ones due to their lack of culinary skills, enter an industrial kitchen to be mentored by two celebrity chefs who each take a team of non-cooks and attempt to pass them off as trained professionals. Each week, the chefs-in-training learn a new technique--poaching an egg, filleting a fish, making a sauce--and, once they've supposedly mastered it, get to create a meal on their own to showcase their new skill. After the "learning" stage in which the chefs offer guidance in the kitchen, the competitors must complete the final task without supervision while the celebrity chefs cower nervously in the corner and pray that their proteges can perform without their assistance. The final meal is eaten and judged, and one sad loser says goodbye to the TV kitchen and goes home to inflict his or her under-appreciated cooking skills on the family.

The thing I love about thinking about this show in relationship to the classroom is that it emphasizes the importance of supervised practice on specific skills. The celebrity chefs don't just throw an unwieldy task at their trainees and hope it goes well. Instead, they demonstrate the week's focus technique, allow the cooks to practice it with guidance, provide feedback, and then step up the difficulty by asking them to apply their knowledge to a more challenging, complicated task. This is exactly what we should be doing as teachers. Instead of assigning an entire essay, project, or lab report and hoping the students can figure out all the individual components and put them together into a suitable final product, we should allow students to complete a portion of the assignment--or a sample portion of a similar assignment--and offer feedback before we ask them to combine multiple skills into a final masterpiece. An art teacher could ask his students to practice sketching, shading, and texturing in small assignments in a notebook before drawing a still life for a major-grade assessment. Writing students might learn how to develop thesis statements, write introductions, and incorporate research using correct citation in separate lessons before having to pull all those skills together into an entire essay. A PE teacher or coach drills her young athletes in dribbling, shooting, and blocking before putting them on the court to play a full game.

Throughout the year in my class, I've tried to apply these principles to help my students succeed in the various challenges I've placed before them. Recently, that's been true as I've worked to make sure they are prepared for the weirdness of the expository essay on next week's STAAR test. I've allowed them to explain the rubric in their own words. I've modeled effective word choice and revision and have allowed them to practice on their own and on others' writing. I've offered feedback along the way. We've dissected example essays. We've written thesis statements, brainstormed supporting anecdotes, blended sentences together with transitions, outlined, drafted, and assessed our work and the work of others.

Next week, you can find me cowering in the corner and praying that my students can successfully complete whatever challenge the STAAR test makers throw at them.







         

You Can't Do This, But You Should

Today’s blog is about something extremely important that you probably won’t be able to do. I mean, really great teachers can do it, but not everyone is a really great teacher. If, by some small chance, you are able to do it—and I’m not sure you will—you’re going to find it hard.  Not just a little hard.  Super challenging. Most teachers can’t do this at all. So, if you’re like most teachers—and most teachers are—then this is going to be nearly impossible. Let’s be realistic. You can try if you want, but don’t expect that you should be able to do it. I have absolutely zero faith in your ability to do this.

How’d that feel?

A third of the people who read that paragraph are extremely irate and are determined to read on and prove to me that they can do whatever it is I told them they probably couldn't.

Another third of the readers have already given up, clicked on the X in the top right of the screen, and moved on because they are pretty sure I’m right.

And the rest of them may attempt but will doubt themselves all along the way, and their doubts will hinder their chances of success.

This is what happens when teachers don’t believe in their students. Many of us, as successful adults who've been to college, can look back and identify those people in our lives who were our constant cheerleaders, our most ardent encouragers, our biggest fans. We succeeded partly because of our own abilities and initiative and partly because of those people who believed in us. At times, we've done things we didn't think we could do because of those supporters who knew we could.

Not all of our students have supporters, cheerleaders, encouragers, and fans in their lives. Every day, some receive messages telling them they can’t do it, that they’re not good enough, and that they will have to be content where they are. These students look to teachers to be the ones who believe in them, open doors, and allow them to soar.

Several years ago, I walked into a yoga class at my gym on a Saturday afternoon. I’d been practicing yoga for several years but had never been to that particular class or met that particular instructor. As I walked in, the teacher eyed my middle-aged, not-so-flexible body and said, “Hello. You’re probably going to have a lot of difficulty in this class. It’s really challenging.” I almost picked up my mat and walked out. But instead I adopted the “I’ll show her” mentality and huffed and puffed, sweated and strained my way through the 75 minutes. She was right; it wasn't a breeze. Several of the poses required bending and stamina that was beyond me, but at no point did the teacher offer a word of encouragement or even a validation of my effort. I haven’t been back to her class.

I remember that feeling like it was yesterday. That yoga teacher set up an expectation for failure the moment I entered the room, and I reacted with resentment. Others would respond by feeling defeated before they began. Few, if any, would surpass the instructor’s expectations and achieve at a high level.

I wonder how often as teachers we do that with our students. I sometimes catch myself saying things to them that are less encouraging than I could be. On occasion, I disparage their collective lack of success. And some days, I become that yoga teacher, setting up barriers to success that my students can’t—or don’t want to—get past. I get so caught up with pointing out the bad that I forget to celebrate the good.

My favorite yoga teachers are the ones who praise consistently. The point out the things we’re doing well. They notice effort and applaud improvement. They make their students believe in themselves. And their students sometimes surprise themselves when they realize what they've been able to do.

I began this post by trying to make you feel defeated, but I want to end it with a word of hope.

Think what a difference we can make in our classrooms—in our schools, even—if we show our students every day that we believe in them. As we empower our students, we will all experience and celebrate greater success. We can do this. It only takes a shift in what we say and the way we say it. That’s completely within our control. Let’s make it happen.