Creativity: What It Is and Isn't

Several weeks ago at our district's Flex Learning Saturday, I talked with teachers about the topic of creativity.  I addressed the need for teaching creativity and creative thinking so that our students will become out-of-the-box problem solvers in their lives and careers. The ensuing discussions alerted me to the notion that perhaps creativity is less easily understood than it should be, so I’ve compiled some lists of what creativity is and what creativity is not to help you further define this tricky concept:

Creativity is NOT going to Michaels and spending your paycheck on glitter, stickers, puff paint, felt, and stick-on googly eyeballs.

Creativity is NOT turning in a project that required a lot of time and effort to make pretty.

It is NOT coloring inside the lines or making sure that the ocean is blue and the grass is green. 

Creativity is NOT following a recipe you found on Pinterest to bake a cake you have never made before.

It’s NOT following a pattern to knit a stocking cap or going to a party at Painting With a Twist and following the teacher’s directions to paint a picture that looks like everyone else’s.

Creativity is NOT watching the teacher dress up like a historical figure and deliver a lecture.

Nor is it tweaking one or two phrases in a preexisting song to make the lyrics roughly match a concept being studied. 

Writing in a journal or diary, expressing individual thoughts or opinions, and “being yourself” may not be creative activities. 

Creativity is NOT the same thing as free time, playtime, game time, or recess.

In their 1999 report to the British government on creativity, culture, and education, the National Advisory Committee on Creative and Cultural Education defined creativity as “imaginative activity fashioned so as to produce outcomes that are both original and of value.”  Ken Robinson (whose TED Talk “How Schools Kill Creativity” should be required viewing on the subject) simplifies this only slightly, defining creativity as “the process of having original ideas that have value.”

Using these guidelines, we can begin to shape our thinking about what creativity looks like in our classrooms.

Creativity IS representing one’s learning in a unique way to teach someone what you know.

It’s coming up with a new way to solve a math problem.

It’s devising a new experiment to test a hypothesis.

Creativity IS doing something that doesn’t look like the teacher’s example.

It may involve many drafts, and it may get messy. 

Perhaps the creative thinking won’t even result in a finished product, but the thinking done may later be used in another unexpected situation or context. 

Creativity in the content area classroom shouldn’t be creativity for the sake of creativity; then it doesn’t have value, a component in the above definition.

Creativity IS using someone else’s idea as a springboard to make something entirely different; it’s applying what you’ve learned or discovered in a unique way. 

Creativity IS designing your own coloring book, inventing a new knitting pattern, painting your own picture to decorate your room, writing a monologue in the voice of an historical figure or literary character, applying what you’ve learned about suspense in short stories to write your own story that will cause the reader to lose sleep, making up a new game to pass the time on a rainy day, totally rewriting the words to a song or rap to teach someone about something, and using what’s available in your kitchen to make up a tasty new recipe…and then posting it on Pinterest for other people to make.  Or creating a new website that is different and better than Pinterest.

Creativity IS identifying a problem and then coming up with a solution that no one else thought of. 

 According to creativity guru Paul Torrance, creativity may involve fluency (coming up with numerous ideas), flexibility (solving a problem in many ways or coming up with a wide variety of ideas), originality (thinking up something no one else thought of) and elaboration (adding depth and detail to your thoughts.) 

Creativity may or may not be fun, but it’s a whole lot more exciting than sitting and copying words off a PowerPoint slide.      

As you equip your students with creative thinking skills, ask yourself if your idea passes the Ken Robinson test:  does it produce ideas that are (1) original and (2) have value?  If so, chances are you’re on the right track.

To read more about what Ken Robinson has said about creativity, I recommend this article.               

Are You Watching?

Have you ever taken a moment during a class to watch your students? I mean, really watch them? Kids don’t have great poker faces during school hours, and observing their faces and body language can provide you with plenty of feedback about how well your students are being hooked by your lesson.

It’s one thing to watch students while you are the one doing the talking. Depending on how charismatic an orator you are, you may see a dutiful few who are making eye contact and nodding along with you, a roomful of eager listeners waiting to be filled up with your brilliance, or a bunch of catatonic teens fighting off slumber (and, likely, some who have given up the fight and have succumbed to a nap at their desks). Regardless of how they look, if you’re the one doing the talking in your room, you’re also the one doing most or all of the thinking. That’s not the goal.

In an ideal classroom, we limit teacher talk and shift the cognitive load to our students. Asking students to talk about the content definitely increases student engagement, but it still offers educators plenty of opportunity to look at their students to assess the degree of engagement. Sometimes, students who are supposed to be engaged in partner or small-group classroom conversation actually look like this: 

Staring blankly at the paper in front of them. Slack-jawed. Ignoring one another entirely. Yawning. Expressionless faces. Flat, lifeless conversation.

The mere act of giving students something to talk about doesn’t mean they will eagerly talk about it. I’m guilty—and perhaps you are, too—of providing students something to talk about without giving them a reason to talk about it. Talking about a worksheet doesn’t remove the fact that there’s a worksheet in front of them. Pair-sharing an answer to a dull question only makes it slightly less dull.

When I give students a conversational task, I want to see faces like these:

Smiling. Maybe laughing, Bright-eyed. Animated. Showing visible signs of thinking. Leaning forward. Lively conversation.   

When we give students something provocative, worthwhile, challenging, and intriguing to think about, we pique their curiosity, ignite their interests, and spark their inquiry. If your students don’t appear joyful about their learning, why not? I hope it bothers you and spurs you to think: What can I do to change that?

Here are a few questions to consider if you want to ramp up the engagement level of the student talk in your classroom:

• Am I asking students to talk about something they care about?
• If the topic is not intrinsically interesting, what can I do to build their curiosity?
• Did I tap into their need to express opinions, connect to their experiences, and have fun?
• Does the task have an element of playfulness, or is it a drudgery?
• Did I provide an accessible entry point for students to begin the conversation or learning, or have I provided insufficient scaffolding to allow them to approach the learning without intimidation?
• Is the task clear? Do they know what they are supposed to be doing?
• Is the task complex and open-ended rather than simplistic? In other words, does the activity warrant conversation and exploration, or is it a one-and-done, quickly answerable question?
• Did I do everything I can do sell the learning to my students so they have maximum buy-in?
• If the assignment is not one I designed myself, did I take ownership of the assignment or introduce it as something “they” want my students to do?
• Are you asking your students to talk about concepts at a level that is above their maturity or interest level?
• Are the students going to do something worthwhile and interesting with what they discuss?
• Do my students see the benefit of talking about this topic, believing that they get smarter through interaction with others?  

A good gauge for judging your students’ engagement in your observations is to compare what you observe when your students are interacting socially with friends to what you see when you ask them to talk in your classroom. The difference could look like this:

“Friend talk” is lively, joyful, playful, noisy, animated, casual, comfortable, and pleasurable. Sadly, some “school talk” is silent, dour, filled with pauses, lifeless, drab, uninspired, mechanical, and tedious.

“School talk” with probably never look exactly like “friend talk.” And it probably shouldn’t. It it does, your students probably aren’t really talking about what you’ve asked them to. They’ve abandoned the conversation topic and are now chatting about what they did last weekend. I’m not satisfied, however, with students in academic conversations looking like they are attending a funeral and are struggling to find something to say about the deceased. I want school talk to look more like friend talk than that. I can usually accomplish that by carefully considering what I have my learners talk about and what I ask them to do in their pairs, triads, or quads.

Not coincidentally,  different levels of engagement produce a perceptible noise-level shift, too. Disengaged classroom talk is very quiet. Engaged classroom talk is somewhat louder. Social talk rises to a significantly louder volume level. By simply listening, it’s easy to tell when students are “done” discussing.  

If you haven’t stopped teaching to look—really look—at your students lately, I invite you to quit working so hard, step back, and observe. If you like what you see, keep doing it. If the students’ “school talk” faces look like they’d rather be anywhere else but in your classroom, maybe you can tweak what you’re doing so that your students clamor to talk with one another about the exciting things they’re learning.     

The Power of a Nudge

A little nudge can make a big difference. When Sonic sends me a text message informing me that “for today only” grilled cheese sandwiches are on sale for 50 cents each, I’m more likely to make a poor nutritional choice for lunch.  When the grocery store checker asks me if I’d like to make a $1 donation to help fight local hunger, I’m more likely to be philanthropic.  And when my 99-year-old grandma says that I’m getting a little tummy and pokes my belly when I see her at Christmas, I’m more likely to decide to jump back on the exercise bandwagon and forego that bargain grilled cheese from Sonic.

The power of suggestion exerts a mighty influence on us. Nobel Prize-winning behavioral economist Richard H. Thaler, whose book Misbehaving was a captivating read about a field I knew nothing about, examined the ways people are steered by others to make smart decisions that they themselves view as smart decisions after making them. As Thaler and his onetime research partner Cass Sunstein said it, their goal was to “influence choices in a way that will make choosers better off, as judged by themselves.” Thaler addressed the power of such persuasion, saying, “People can be nudged to save for retirement, to get more exercise, and to pay their taxes on time, but they can also be nudged to take out a second mortgage on their home and use the money on a spending binge.” In other words, people can be nudged to make good choices or to make poor choices.

Although the work of Thaler and Sunstein focused on the realm of economics, teachers and other adults in an educational setting have the opportunity to employ the power of the nudge in their interactions with students. In fact, a nudge from a teacher might be the kick-start that sends a student on the path to college.

We have reached the time of the year during which schools start asking students and parents to make decisions about their course selections for next year. Teachers often find themselves in the position to recommend classes to their students and offer advice, sometimes in a official capacity (as in a list submitted to counselors of students who should enroll in specific courses—whether at an advanced or remedial level—or a signature of recommendation on a student’s schedule card) and sometimes in a less formal way (such as giving advice to a student who asks your opinion about what class to take).

Sometimes data comes into play when recommendations are made. Teachers mine student data and identify cutoff points to see which students hit the magic number that makes them eligible for honors courses. Data can be dangerous, though, when it’s the only measure we use to measure student potential.

As I see it, test scores and other data are best used to identify potential in students who might not self-identify into rigorous courses or who might otherwise escape notice of those who are recommending. For instance, a student who didn’t grow up speaking English or who doesn’t come from a language-rich household might score lower on a standardized measure that is linguistically based, but that student’s high score on a nonverbal test of thinking skills (such as the nonverbal portion of the COGAT) indicates overall cognitive ability that might be developed over time in language-related areas. In that case, the student’s standardized data might be a flag to a teacher looking to nudge a student to consider taking a more challenging class.

The danger of standardized scores is that they are often used to justify gatekeeping, the practice of only admitting the top students into classes and excluding those who don’t fit a preconceived profile. I hear teachers speak of students as not being “honors (or AP) material.” Gatekeeping thrives on fixed mindsets like this, and doors of possibility remain closed to students. What teachers may not consider when discouraging a student from taking an advanced class is the long-term impact of not taking that class. Closing an academic door early on makes future doors harder to open.

The students who most need the nudge from teachers are the ones who don’t see the possibilities within themselves or who might not believe that honors and AP courses are for kids like them. Teachers should remain on the lookout for indicators of potential in their students and should let students know what they spot. Curiosity, a highly developed sense of humor, persistence, problem solving abilities, leadership skills, critical thinking, and organization are among the traits teachers should point out to students who possess them. Those students might not see those traits in themselves and may have never considered that those traits could indicate potential for success in challenging coursework.

I always notice the mentions of teachers in the award acceptance speeches that occur this time of year. “I’d like to thank my seventh grade teacher, Mrs. So-and-So, who saw in me something I couldn’t see and encouraged me to try out for the school play, launching my acting career.” “If it weren’t for Mr. Such-and-Such in tenth grade, I wouldn’t have believe that I could become a writer.”  Successful adults can often look back and identify that one adult who identified their potential, pointed it out to them, and gave them a nudge in the right direction. A nudge says, “I believe in you.” A nudge can say, “You can do it.” A nudge can say, “Here’s something you do well that will help you succeed.”

A nudge can also say, “This isn’t for you.”

I don’t want to be the adult who makes that decision on behalf of a young person. I don’t want to be the educator who relies on data to such an extent that I fail to see the human behind the numbers. I want to nudge for good rather than evil, for growth rather than discouragement, and for opportunity rather than oppression.

I want to be thanked someday in an award acceptance speech. I know it’s statistically unlikely to happen, but I figure my odds go up each time I nudge another kid to consider a previously-unconsidered possibility.

Failing at Passing

“What’s your failure rate?”

That’s a question principals, department heads, and other interested parties may be asking teachers in upcoming weeks. It’s a question that causes anxiety, tension, and cognitive conflict for many teachers. The expected or “right” answer to that question had better be a really low number or, preferably, zero. It’s the teacher’s responsibility to make sure everyone passes, right? No child is left behind. We don’t let kids fail.

Receiving messages like these--ones teachers may interpret to mean they are not allowed to have any Fs in their gradebooks—causes angst because not letting kids fail isn’t as simple as it seems. When teachers look at their gradebooks and notice that students are failing, they’re faced with a dilemma that seems resolvable through several pathways:

• Devise some sort of do-over plan (or, in the case of some students who are missing assignments, a “do” plan), which could involve retaking tests and/or amnesty for incomplete or missing work.

• Add in a few “extra” assignments that struggling students are sure to do well on to counterbalance low grades already in the gradebook. This solution typically involves participation grades or “creative” assignments with low standards for success.  

• Lower their standards. Make tests and assessments easier. Grade work for completion rather than accuracy. If students can’t reach the bar, lower it.

• Do some gradebook magic tricks that cause some assignments to simply disappear and some grades to rise on their own. Presto! No more failing students!

Each of the these solutions is problematic, and some are completely unethical. But we all know that when feeling trapped in a no-win situation, sometimes people make poor choices.

The thing that frustrates and frequently infuriates teachers faced with the mandate to eliminate student failures is that it’s hard to give a passing grade to a student who has put forth no effort in class. This student doesn’t deserve to pass. He’s done absolutely nothing all semester. One problem with the no-fail classroom is that some students have learned to work the system. They know that the teacher is going to reach a point of desperation and are hedging their bets that things are going to get easier for them so that they can pass without earning the grade.

Here’s the truth as I see it:  A student who hasn’t mastered the objectives and standards for a course shouldn’t pass the course.

Here’s the caveat that accompanies that truth: Most gradebooks measure things other than objectives and standards. If a student is failing a teacher’s class because of factors unrelated to objectives or standards, that failure is difficult to defend.

In other words, if the student is failing because of a lack of compliance but knows and can demonstrate what he or she is supposed to know, that student deserves to pass. If passing a class hinges on completion of activities and assignments that don’t relate to the state standards, teachers ought to rethink what they are putting in their gradebooks.

I can’t find a Texas state standard that says that students have to demonstrate the ability to complete work on time. There aren’t standards that stipulate that students color maps neatly in social studies class. I’m pretty sure that following a correct heading format isn’t a state objective, nor is having a parent sign a syllabus, letter, or reading/practice log. Anything related to actual classroom behavior should be off-limits in a gradebook. Finding words in a word search? Nope. Baking a cake or cookies should probably only count for a grade in Family and Consumer Science classes as there isn’t a state objective in academic classes that involves food preparation, procurement, or consumption. And there’s no objective that says students must donate tissues, paper towels, or other classroom supplies.

In my days as a student, I received grades or suffered numerical penalties for every one of those things at some point, and I have given grades or deducted points for many of them over the years as a classroom teacher. I’m sure most of us have. But when we know better, we have to do better.

Before I knew better, some students failed my class who probably had mastered the objectives of the course, and other students received inflated grades in my class because of their compliance, their art skills, and their participation, not because of their high-level mastery of the objectives. Looking back, both of those bother me.

Gradebooks have one job: to communicate whether a student has mastered the objectives of a course. Recording grades based on completion or on aspects unrelated to standards misleads parents and students about students’ progress. It also unfairly penalizes students who know the content and skills but can’t be bothered to jump through the extraneous hoops.

A student, then, who doesn’t master the objectives of a course might receive a failing grade. But what about that lingering refrain that says, “We don’t let students fail”? Educators should be relentless in their efforts to teach students so they can master objectives. That doesn’t mean that teachers give up on students, saying, “If they’re not going to try, then that’s their decision.” Students are not adults and don’t get to make that decision. It also doesn’t mean lowering the bar—as long as the bar is at the level expected by the state, not a bar set at an extra-high level because teachers believe they are teaching a grade much higher than the one they actually teach.

This whole discussion about grading and assessment is a thorny one, and most of us are still struggling to find the answers. As we search for solutions and try to reach a shared understanding, it’s essential that teachers talk with one another and with administrators about practices and expectations. What grades are needed to provide an accurate and reasonable picture of a student’s learning? What do we want our gradebooks to communicate? What are the standards to which we intend to hold our students accountable? How are we measuring progress toward those standards? What is acceptable evidence of mastery? What role does daily work play in the gradebook?  What does an A mean? What does a C mean? How are we encouraging our students to become learners rather than performers and completers? What legacy practices are we holding onto that violate what we claim to believe about assessment?

Assessment that is not meaningful is a waste of effort for students and a waste of time for teachers. And discussion about failure rates is only meaningful when teachers, parents, administrators, and students understand what passing and failing truly mean and when teachers focus on learning goals instead of compliance.

Incredibly Credible

There’s nothing worse than being stuck with someone who seems incompetent: the Uber driver who asks you for directions, the doctor who has to consult Web MD mid-visit, the waitperson who looks at you blankly when you inquire about a specific menu item, the car salesman who reads off the brochure to tell you the features of a new auto, the Starbucks barista or bartender who asks, “What’s in that drink?”

For students, being stuck in a classroom with a teacher who doesn’t seem to know what he or she is doing can be excruciating and potentially hazardous to student achievement. In fact, researcher/professor John Hattie, whose meta-study determined the factors most crucial to student achievement, ranked “Teacher Credibility” as the #2 teacher attribute leading to student success (#1 was “Teacher Estimates of Student Achievement,” whether the teacher can accurately tell how a specific student is doing). Credible teachers inspire students, but, as Hattie said, “If a teacher is not perceived as credible, the students just turn off.”

I’m assuming we are all wanting to be viewed as credible rather than incompetent, but we may be uncertain about what “teacher credibility” entails. Hattie identifies four factors that can help us out.

1. Trust: Students need to know they can trust you. They need to know they are in good hands and that you aren’t going to lead them astray, leave them lost and confused, or ask them to do something they aren’t capable of doing. Hattie says the best way to gain students’ trust is to show trust toward them. It’s hard to trust someone who doesn’t trust you back. Another way to achieve trust with your students is to talk to them. Not talk at them. Not talk for them. To them. Having authentic conversations with your students and getting to know them as individuals, letting them know you see them for who they are, and allowing them to see you for who you are develops bonds of trust that will allow you to take your students farther than they thought they could go.   

2. Competence: Teachers who project the image that they know what they are doing are perceived as more competent than those who bumble confusedly through class. There’s no substitute for coming to class prepared for your day. Students shouldn’t get the idea that you’re making up plans as you go along. A competent teacher knows the subject matter, has prepared and proofread any written documents or visual aids, manages people, time, and materials efficiently, has a clear sense of purpose and direction for the lesson, and can answer questions with confidence. Inevitably, a student will stump the teacher from time to time with a question the teacher can’t answer. Rather than looking at that as a failing, this is a prime opportunity for the teacher to model learning along with the students. When leading class discussions, the competent teacher has prepared questions to ask at the appropriate moment; the teacher who struggles to develop questions on the spot risks looking unprepared, a sure sign of questionable competence.    

3. Dynamism: A dynamic teacher exudes credibility. The teacher has to be “on” from the beginning of class until after the students leave the room. Developing a confident speaking style that avoids fillers, such as “ums” and “likes,” helps the teacher deliver the message without distractions. I suggest videorecording yourself from time to time (horrifying as it is to watch) to evaluate your own dynamism. Are you someone students listen to because you command their attention (Commanding is different from demanding.), or are you losing your students because your delivery is tentative or confusing?

4. Immediacy: Some teachers like to barricade themselves behind a desk, hide behind a podium, or set some other boundary between themselves and their students. Teachers who develop credibility, according to Hattie, eliminate as many of those barriers as possible and teach in proximity to the students. Evaluate the arrangement of your classroom to make sure there are plenty of places for teacher mobility, and use all of them routinely. Reducing the distance between you and your students makes you more approachable and accessible, which adds to the perception of credibility.

If you’re like me, you can remember some of the teachers in your past who failed to convince you that they knew what they were doing. You can recall those who made you feel you weren’t really in good hands. You might be able to think of a few that you were pretty sure were winging it every single day of the year. Those teachers are probably memorable for the wrong reasons.

You can probably also think about the times when you knew you were in the classroom of a master teacher. I think of teachers who trusted us to take charge of the learning, who connected with us as people (even if we were decades younger than they were), who seemed passionate about the content and well-prepared for instruction every day, and who thoughtfully designed learning experiences that stretched us as thinkers. Those were the teachers with credibility.

Take a tip from Hattie, and think about your own credibility in the classroom. He outlined some pretty basic traits that are attainable for all of us. Pick one (or all of them) and make those a resolution for your upcoming new semester. You have the power to become one of the teachers students will remember for all the best reasons.   

The Art of Framing a Lesson

I had to cancel my cable television because of the the Food Network. I admit it. I am addicted to TV cooking shows. I could spend an entire day watching Alton, Giada, Ina, Ree, and Guy cook and talk about cooking. Even if they are preparing something I know I will never make in my own kitchen, those culinary celebrities convince me that their efforts are worth a half an hour of my undivided attention.

The same thing happens in classrooms of effective teachers. Top educators frame lessons in a way that motivates students to want to engage, even if the topic being studied isn’t intrinsically interesting to the learners. TV cooks have something to teach us about what we could (and probably should) be doing in our classrooms.

Obtaining student buy-in is an art. It’s part of personalizing a lesson, figuring out what you as an individual teacher bring to the lesson plan. The worst way to frame a lesson is to just launch into the learning. “Take out a sheet of paper and take notes.” “Open up your book and let’s start reading.” You’d never see a Food Network host cook open up the show and start cooking without a preamble. In my time spent with TV cooks,  I’ve observed three effective strategies for framing a lesson that occur regularly on cooking shows to entice disinterested viewers to become learners.

Strategy One:   Establish a Need

“When you’re as busy as I am, you don’t have the time or energy to spend hours in the kitchen after work making dinner. If you’re watching your waistline or your wallet, you probably want to avoid expensive, high-calorie meals in restaurants, too. Today, I’m going to show you three easy recipes you can make at home to prepare a healthy meal for your family without spending hours in the kitchen or breaking your bank account.”

TV chefs, as well as master teachers, give their learners a reason to pay attention when they frame a lesson by establishing a need. They circumvent the “Why do I need to know this?” question by answering it before it’s asked. “You need to know this because it’s on the test,” is one reason which only motivates a handful of students. If that’s the only purpose for learning a teacher can provide, I can’t blame kids for zoning out. Offering a compelling, real-world purpose for the learning that’s about to happen doesn’t guarantee student buy-in, but providing no reason probably does guarantee that many learners will zone out. An English teacher who says, “Today we are going to write a persuasive essay, which you need to be able to do to pass the STAAR,” will have to work a lot harder to engage learners than the one who opens class by saying, “Today you are going to learn some techniques you can use to convince nearly everyone you disagree with that you are right. With what you learn today, you will increase your chances of winning almost any argument by appealing to your opponent’s logic, ethics, and emotions.” That’s a need that will hook any teenager.

Strategy Two:  Describe a Desired Outcome

“The perfect chocolate cookie is a blend of chewy and crispy. Lightly browned on the bottom and golden on top, the cookie should melt in the mouth without falling apart when you pick it up. Today, we are going to learn how to bake a cookie that meets that hard-to-achieve balance. Showcasing a few simple tricks of the trade, this recipe will soon become your go-to favorite for baking irresistible treats that’ll please the pickiest cookie connoisseur.”

Beginning class with the end in mind helps students know where they are headed. Unless teachers have a particular reason for concealing the goal (and I can’t at the moment think of what that would be), providing students with a desired outcome gives them something to aim for and establishes a clear idea of the direction they’re supposed to be headed. This also lets them know which parts of the lesson are the most important. The desired outcome can also take on an anticipatory feel as students curiously await the discovery the teacher claims will take place during class. “We are going to be reading several essays in the next few days because I want you to observe how powerful language can engage a reader. You’re going to witness techniques of some of the greatest writers of the past century, and then you’re going to try your hand at using some of those techniques to craft an essay on a topic important to you and to convey your enthusiasm to your reader with powerful word choice, purposeful use of sound devices, unexpected but effective figurative language, and anecdotes that elevate your writing from ordinary to extraordinary.” Students in this class now understand the purpose behind the reading of the essays and the techniques the teacher hopes they will attempt to write brilliant essays of their own. Unfortunately, many teachers would just hand out essays and start reading. Later, they would be surprised and disgruntled that the students didn’t use any techniques from the essays in their writing.

Strategy Three:  Tell a Personal Story

“My grandpa loved to cook. He also loved to make food for other people. When I was a little boy, I used to stand in the kitchen and watch as my grandpa made sugared peanuts. I’d watch with anticipation as the sugary mixture melted in the electric skillet and then hardened on cookie sheets in the oven. Grandpa warned me and my brother to stay out of the way so we didn’t burn ourselves, so we followed his every move from a distance as the kitchen filled with the aroma of golden, sugary deliciousness. Now that Grandpa is no longer with us, we keep the tradition alive by making our own batches of sugared peanuts and—just like Grandpa did—filling ziplock baggies with them to take to friends and coworkers at the holidays.”   

By appealing to an audience’s love of family, food, and tradition, a TV chef would have viewers glued to the screen during after telling this heartwarming story about his grandfather. A personal story helps people connect to the storyteller and the topic whether on television or at school. A well-placed, purposeful story or anecdote can provide the beginning of a memorable lesson. Framing a lesson by telling a story appeals to the affective needs of students, establishes classroom community, and has the power to make a dry lesson less dull. My students of yesteryear have since told me that they remember my introduction to using online databases for research: a personal tale about the joys of using the paperback Reader’s Guide to Periodical Literature to find actual print articles in magazines at the Richardson Public Library (they had a better selection of periodicals than the Plano library) back when I was their age. I once introduced a lesson about a poem with a tongue-in-cheek descriptive story: “Back when I was a kid, there used to be this thing called ‘playing outside.’” My story not only gave my students a chuckle and informed them about a piece of lost Americana, but it also gave them a framework for connecting to one of the characters in the poem in later discussion.

Without a frame, a picture on a wall looks incomplete  So is a lesson without a frame. Making the effort to frame a lesson with a hook to engage learners can transform a mundane class period into something memorable. Turn on the Food Network and see how they do it. And invite me over since I can no longer watch the TV chefs at my home.

Growth for All

I half-jokingly mention to people that I am the sole caretaker of a number of at-risk houseplants. It’s pretty much true, though. Despite my attempts to foster the growth of the specimens under my care, most of the vegetation in my home exhibits at least one undesirable trait. My aloe has stopped growing. The peace lily hasn’t bloomed in years. The two remaining leaves of the once-vibrant snake plant seem healthy but lonely. The philodendron drops yellowed foliage periodically. The zeezee plant (yes, the one that Better Homes and Gardens says is “so easy it’s almost a challenge to kill”) is proving that I’m exceptionally bad at plant life support. And the unidentified plant I grew from a cutting my neighbor gave me is now so tall and gangly that it constantly requires cutting back and propping up.

I’ve read all about plant care, and I have come to a conclusion. I’m overfertilizing some, underfertilizing others. Some are too wet; others, too dry. A few could benefit from repotting. Two need to be moved to a sunnier window. One needs to be left alone. And one will be just fine if I find something for it to climb on.

It occurred to me (in my never-ending quest for educational metaphors) that my plant E.R. is a lot like a classroom. Like my houseplants, every student has needs that must be met in order for each one to grow. Some could use a little boost of fertilizer or root stimulant (I might call that motivation). Others require supports and scaffolds. A few would benefit from some pruning or redirection. Many should receive more care from me, but some are stifled by excessive attention and need to be left to their own devices.

In every case, plants and students grow more successfully when you get to know each one individually and meet each one’s needs. Plants allegedly like to be talked to; so do students, especially when the talk shows that you see them as people, not just as part of a collective whole.

Plants and students all deserve to experience at least a year’s worth of growth in a year. Tending to one segment of the population and extending that same treatment to all will ensure that only one segment grows.

A grave danger exists in schools when educators create a single deficit narrative and apply it to all their students. “My students can’t or won’t  ______.”  Fill in the blank with whatever you want: read, write, solve problems, do homework, think critically, pass the state test, study, pay attention, etc. What sometimes happens is that we craft a deficit narrative, apply it to all our students (even though in reality it only relates to a portion), and then prescribe a treatment for all according to that narrative. In effect, we put leg braces on every student even though only a few need to wear them.

When a houseplant appears healthy but has stopped growing, chances are it is root bound. The roots have reached the capacity of the pot and have nowhere to expand. The only way to get the plant to grow is to transplant it into a larger pot.

At times, the one-size-fits-all approach to classroom instruction leaves the most able learners root bound. By teaching to the lowest common denominator, we limit the growth of students who could thrive if given the room to expand the scope of their learning.

I’m going to work on getting better acquainted with my plants. I need to stop trying to diagnose them as one big, problematic group and instead get to know each one and give it what it needs. I’m also going to encourage teachers, administrators, and others who work with students to do the same. It would be nice if one solution fixed every problem, but the world is more complex than that, whether we are talking of plants or pupils. Let’s give all a chance to grow.