Madeline Meets Curious George

In an old house in Paris

that was covered with vines

lived twelve little girls in two straight lines. . . .

The smallest one was Madeline.

So begins the story of Madeline, a beloved 1939 children’s book by Ludwig Bemelmans. Madeline lives in an orphanage and is watched over by her nurse and teacher, Miss Clavel (You thought Miss Clavel was a nun, didn’t you? It turns out she’s a nurse. Who knew?). In the first of her many adventures, Madeline and her fellow orphans follow a strict daily routine (“In two straight lines/ they broke their bread/ and brushed their teeth/ and went to bed.”), Madeline has an emergency appendectomy, and everyone cries a lot.

Two years later, H. A. Rey created the story of an equally popular character, Curious George:

This is George.

He lived in Africa.

He was a good little monkey

and always very curious.

In the initial book in the series, George is abducted from his homeland by the unnamed man with the yellow hat. True to the story’s title, George’s abundant curiosity gets him into trouble repeatedly, upsetting sailors, firemen, and a balloon man. Eventually, the man with the yellow hat realizes he is ill-equipped to take care of a monkey in urban America, so George finds himself happily residing in a zoo at the story’s end.

Which of the two would you rather have in your class: Madeline or Curious George?

I suspect that many teachers’ initial response is that Madeline would be a whole lot easier to teach and would thus be the more desirable student. Though we don’t see anything about Madeline’s behavior in school in the book, we observe all kinds of cooperative obedience in her daily routine. I’m sure Madeline would never turn in work late, forget to bring supplies to class, nor get in trouble for chatting with her neighbor during instructional time. Many teachers would view Madeline as the ideal student.

George, on the other hand, is a less predictable option. Aside from the fact that he’s a non-linguistic, non-human pupil, George could either be a delight or a terror in the classroom. The book tells us he’s “a good little monkey,” but, in the story at least, George’s curiosity leads him into some situations that would drive most teachers crazy. In some classroom environments, George would be off-task and non-compliant. With the right teacher, however, Curious George would be completely engaged in his learning.

Unfortunately, some teacher’s classes resemble a scene from Where the Wild Things Are. The “wild rumpus” prevents any learning from occurring, creating an environment that would be frustrating to compliant Madeline and that would encourage Curious George to jump into the middle of the mayhem.

If you’ve let your classes spiral out of control, you may have to become like Max in Maurice Sendak’s story:

And when he came to the place where the wild things are

they roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth

and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws

till Max said “BE STILL!”

and tamed them with the magic trick

of staring into all their yellow eyes without blinking once

and they were frightened and called him the most wild thing of all

and made him king of all wild things.

Whatever “magic trick” you have to employ to get your classes under control is a necessary first step to creating an environment conducive to learning.

Once you’ve maintained order, your students could be learning in one of two states:  compliant or engaged.

Compliant students are doing what they’re supposed to do. They’re behaving. They are following directions. They are completing their work. Compliant classrooms look a lot like Madeline’s orphanage with all the students in straight lines going through the motions without much excitement. The motivation for student compliance may be fear and coercion, a desire for an extrinsic outcome like a grade or reward, or simply a “cooperate and graduate” mentality. There’s rarely any passion or excitement in a compliant classroom, but there’s no chaos either. It’s preferable to the world of the wild things. It’s not, however, a place where Curious George is going to thrive. In fact, George will likely be pigeonholed as a troublemaker and will be singled out for his off-task behavior.

Engaged students are excited about what they’re learning. Their motivation is likely more intrinsic; they’re doing what they’re supposed to be doing because they are involved in learning that is interesting, worthwhile, authentic, and valuable. External rewards are not required because the students want to be doing what they are doing. There is an entirely different vibe from a compliant classroom. It’s probably a little noisier and more energetic than Miss Clavel’s roomful of dutiful girls, but the noise and energy are focused and purposeful. Curious George, whose curiosity would be a detriment in other classroom environments, would learn most successfully in this scenario. So would most students.

I invite you to take a moment to observe your students during class. Where do they fall on the continuum between compliant and engaged? What steps can you take to move them closer to a state of engagement? Here are a few suggestions:

• Open-ended rather than closed-ended questioning and learning tasks
• Authentic work about authentic content rather than “fake” activities that don’t transfer to the real world
• Structured collaboration rather than individual work or unstructured “group work”
• Student-driven inquiry rather than teacher-determined outcomes
• Creativity rather than rote learning
• Honoring student voices and opinions rather than rewarding students who do exactly what you’ve predetermined they’re supposed to do
• Opportunities to take risks safely rather than suffer the “gotcha” repercussions of being incorrect
• Emphasis on the intrinsic rewards of inquiry-based learning rather than insistence that everything be graded
• “Fun” activities that are directly linked to the learning outcomes rather than unrelated, fluffy fun and games
• A playful atmosphere rather than joyless conformity

By fostering George’s natural curiosity and making Madeline feel safe to be herself, take chances, explore, and immerse herself in authentic learning, teachers can win with every student.

The One-Week WICOR Challenge

One of the best ways to take AVID schoolwide and promote top-quality learning for every student in every classroom is to pay attention to the strategies you’re using to engage your students. By taking my One-Week WICOR Challenge, you can become aware of how frequently and consistently you’re using AVID’s five components of instruction (writing, inquiry, collaboration, organization, and reading) with your students.

How do I take the One-Week WICOR Challenge?

I’m glad you asked. Simply make a chart, one for each prep you teach, with the days of the week and the five parts of WICOR on it (or you can use mine here). As you go through your week, take note of when and how you address each of the five areas.

For instance, if your students read an article, discuss it with a partner, and then write a summary of what they discussed, you’ve just used reading, collaboration, and writing. Write what you did on your chart.

This link will take you to a printable handout listing many aspects of WICOR, just in case you want some clarification of the types of strategies that fall under each category.

What do I do with this once I’m finished?

You don’t have to do anything with it. The AVID police aren’t going to storm your classroom to ask for verification of your WICOR activity. What I’d suggest, however, is that you use the chart as a self-diagnostic to guide you in planning for your class.

Good instruction addresses all areas of WICOR, but some teachers have a hard time including all of them in their lessons. If you notice that you’ve had two days in a row with no student collaboration, perhaps it’s time to work in an activity--big or small--that allows students to talk with a partner or trio. If you discover that students seldom write in your class, consider asking students to write a few sentences to summarize what they’re learning and hand it in as an exit card. When test time rolls around, if you’re not doing it already, think about helping students understand how to study for your course--an act that involves organization of time, materials, and content as well as inquiry.

If you discover that you’re using a balance of  WICOR strategies routinely in your class, pat yourself on the back and know that you’re helping campus efforts to take AVID schoolwide. Your students and your AVID Site Team will thank you!

Revisiting Oz

Revisiting Oz:  Finding the Sweet Spot for Struggle

Years ago, I attended a late-night showing of the classic 1939 film adaptation of The Wizard of Oz at a movie theater in Austin, Texas. My most vivid memory of the experience occurred during the final minutes of the screening.

You’ve probably seen this movie, but in case you need a refresher, I’m talking about the part where Dorothy has accomplished her mission by melting the evil witch and has returned to Oz to let the wizard know that he can now send her back home to the black-and-white but considerably safer world of Kansas. When the wizard proves to be bogus and reneges on his promise, Dorothy is nearly inconsolable. Just as things seem completely hopeless, suddenly the familiar pink bubble floats down from the sky, signaling the return of Glinda, the Good Witch of the North. Looking like a living blob of cotton candy, Glinda, waving her wand erratically, glides over to Dorothy, who approaches her in a state of panic.

       

“Oh, will you help me? Can you help me?” Dorothy cries breathlessly.

Glinda the Good smiles at Dorothy--as if unaware of all the poor girl has gone through since the two last chatted--and says in her sing-song voice, “You don’t need to be helped any longer. You’ve always had the power to go back to Kansas.”

To my surprise, at this point during my movie-viewing experience, the audience burst into a unified “boo,” and several people shouted out expletives directed toward Glinda.

I thought the unexpected audience reaction was hilarious. It had never occurred to me to question or judge Glinda’s assistance, but it does seem like this so-called “good” witch is a bit cavalier about the entire situation and ought to be brought up on reckless endangerment charges or at least forced to pay for Dorothy’s future therapy bills.  

Looking back at this scene today, I’m struck with several thoughts related to the work we do as students struggle in school. The extent to which we let students struggle is a tricky balancing act. In our attempts to find the sweet spot of struggle, we move between several extremes.

Scenario One:  If We Only Had a Heart

When Glinda shares with Dorothy that she possessed the power to go home all along, the scarecrow, horrified, asks her, “Why didn’t you tell her before?”

Glinda replies placidly, “Because she wouldn’t have believed me. She had to learn it for herself.”

           

That response could be interpreted in a few ways. On one extreme, we can view Glinda as a hard-nosed stickler who was teaching Dorothy a valuable lesson. By leaving Dorothy to her own devices to walk great distances in sparkly high-heeled shoes (those didn’t look like slippers to me) and battle an evil green nemesis who tried to kill her by fire, deadly poppies, and flying monkey attack, the good witch was simply toughening Dorothy up, allowing the young girl to face the hardships of life and, hopefully, learn from them.

There are times as teachers when we move to this extreme. If you’ve ever caught yourself assigning work “because it’s good for the kids” or withholding clemency  “because they need to learn that life is tough,” then you are guilty of this.

           

The only reason for assigning work--classwork or homework--is because it’s necessary for students to master the objectives of the course. If that’s not the case, we try to justify our barbarity to ourselves by saying we are making our class more rigorous when we are actually just subjecting our students to cruelty.

           

There’s no need for teachers to teach students the lesson that life is hard. If they haven’t learned that already, life will provide plenty of opportunities for them to learn that in the future. The “life is tough” objective is not in our state standards. I looked.

Dorothy lived on a farm in Kansas during the Great Depression and didn’t have parents. I’m pretty sure she knew that life isn’t easy. She didn’t need a woman with a high pitched voice and a crown to help her learn that.

Sometimes we have to step back from our rigid ways and reclaim the heart of teaching, remembering that we’re here for the kids and should help them succeed rather than making them appreciate everywhere else that’s not school.

Scenario Two:  If We Only Had a Brain

On the other end of the spectrum, we can view Glinda as someone who made Dorothy suffer unnecessarily (and smiled about it after the fact). Our inclination is to rescue the Dorothys of the world so they don’t have to struggle.

If you’ve been teaching for more than a day, you’re well aware of the phenomenon of the helicopter parent, the one who swoops in to save their child before the child has any opportunity to struggle and problem-solve for him or herself. These rescue attempts come from a good place: the heart. Parents love and care for their kids and want to give them all the support they’re able to provide.  

Sometimes, we are guilty of same thing as teachers.

When we enter helicopter teacher mode, we look at our students as poor, fragile souls who deserve pity and constant rescue. We coddle and give thousands of second chances (which are actually third, fourth, fifth chances, etc.). We hesitate to ask students to step outside their comfort zones and try things on their own because we are concerned about how they might react if they are not successful. Again, all of this comes from that good place; we have the heart to make each student feel safe in a world that often seems dangerous and daunting.  

If we step back for a second and use our brains, however, we see that this rescue mentality stunts growth in whatever areas we are assisting students. By saving students when they forget something, we hinder the development of responsibility. Solving problems for them prevents young people from growing the capacity to problem-solve on their own. And shielding students from opportunities to speak publicly, answer questions aloud, and wrestle with a difficult intellectual task keeps them at their current level of competence perpetually.

Scenario Three: If We Have the Courage

While I think Glinda the Good Witch was a little too hands-off in her approach to Dorothy’s lesson-learning, Dorothy did learn some good skills during her journey. Was Dorothy’s assistance-free struggle worth it? Or should Glinda have just sent the poor girl home from the outset of the story and saved her from the difficulty? The sweet spot for struggle lies somewhere between the two extremes.

In our classrooms, the best thing we can do is allow students to struggle with a safety net and visible assistance at the ready when students falter. We have to have the courage to let go of our tendencies--whether it’s to teach a harsh life lesson or to circle the helicopters for rescue before a struggle occurs--and become what Jessica Lahey, author of The Gift of Failure, calls “autonomy-supportive” educators.

In her book, Lahey is writing on the subject of parenting, but what she says still has relevance for our lives in the classroom. When we support our students’ autonomy, we develop a true growth mindset for ourselves and for those we teach. Lahey offers some parenting tips that translate well into teacher practices:

• Encourage from the sidelines.
• Praise students for their effort, not for their inherent qualities.
• Make sure your students know you like them, regardless of their success or failure.
• Allow for mistakes but guide students to learn from them.  
• Value mistakes as much as successes.
• Support students’ feelings of frustration and disappointment.
• Allow students a chance to struggle with a problem before you provide solutions or answers. Talk with them about how they’re solving the problem and guide them to find a solution through questioning.  
• Don’t offer extrinsic motivators in exchange for behaviors.
• Don’t overwhelm students with unsolicited advice and direction (we see it as “helping;” they see it as nagging).
• Give feedback--and give it in the moment when students need it.

I’ll return to the topic of feedback in a future blog because I think it’s such a vital part of what we do as educators.

Providing thoughtful assistance at the moment when students need it is the best way to guide them to success. If Glinda had loaded Dorothy with tons of advice on the start of her journey, that advice would likely have fallen on unreceptive ears since Dorothy--like many teens--wouldn’t have viewed the advice as meaningful at the time. On the other hand, if Glinda had waited until the end to point out everything Dorothy did wrong (like we do when we offer exhaustive feedback on a paper after the grade is in the gradebook and the student can do nothing about it), she would deserve to be booed by audiences. If only Glinda had popped in for a coaching conference with Dorothy at several stages along the journey, the young girl would have felt more confident, could have developed a more thoughtful strategy for success, and probably wouldn’t have done so much shrieking and crying.  

It takes an act of courage for us to let go of our long-entrenched practices to do what research tells us is best for our students. Finding that sweet spot for struggle isn’t easy. For many, becoming autonomy-supportive will require that courage, as well as some heart work and some brain work.           

Whose Team Are You On?

Inquiring Minds Want to Know: Whose Team Are You On?

When I first started teaching, it was me against the kids every day. We were on two separate teams. Sometimes, we drew battle lines over disciplinary issues: would I manage to get them to sit down, shut up, and do their work, or would they take over the classroom and derail learning completely? At other times, we were on opposing academic teams. I set traps, built walls for them to climb, threw obstacles in their way, and bombarded them with tricky questions and daunting challenges to see whether the students could master the content I was trying to teach them. Some of them managed to learn in spite of my efforts to frustrate and thwart them.

I thought I was doing the right thing, that it was the teacher’s job to present challenges for his students. I believed that making my class more rigorous--which I defined as being excruciatingly difficult and exhausting--was the hallmark of my excellence as an instructor. I reveled in my ability to find flaws in student work to justify bestowing a less-than-perfect grade. I told my students things like, “I don’t give 100s on essays because no piece of writing is ever perfect,” and I believed I was being motivational rather than kind of a jerk.

Nowadays, I’m embarrassed by the Me vs. Them mindset I promoted during my early years in the classroom, and I apologize to any former student reading this for the damage I may have unintentionally inflicted on your developing psyche.

In the world of education, we should be on the same team.

We all want the same things, right? Student success. Learning. Growth. Preparedness for the future, whatever that may entail. Those are lofty aspirations, and I think students deserve not to have to play on a team by themselves to reach them. Life certainly provides plenty of obstacles without teachers throwing more into the path. Why wouldn’t I want everyone to succeed? Why would I be delighted that only a few, if any, were able to rise to my high standards?

When I worked on abandoning the adversarial approach, I found that the result was a classroom where inquiry was at the center. I strove to cultivate a curiosity along with my students--to wonder, to ponder, to explore, to examine, to dissect, to question, and to try things out. I stopped being the guy with all the answers and started trying to be the one who guided students to ask questions instead.

My approach became a bit conspiratorial. There was a mission to be accomplished, and we were going to work together to figure out how to do it.  No longer was I the enemy. I was inviting my students to join me as we tried to escape the wiles of others:  John Donne,  William Shakespeare, Emily Dickinson, the guy who wrote the AP World History textbook, the creators of the AP test, the many ancestors who cobbled together the insanely tricky English language, artists who created works of art without telling us what they mean, and the State Board of Education.  This shift in attitude--from opponent to teammate-- changed the entire tone of my classroom, turning it from a hive of agitated bees to a learning community working together cooperatively to succeed. We developed a true growth mindset.

Often, we even learned for the sake of learning, rather than for a grade.  Here’s an example to clarify this shift:

ADVERSARIAL CRAIG:  We’re about to have a graded discussion over the novel we have finished. I am going to be grading each time you speak. I will rate the quality of each response, and write your score on my chart. You’ll earn points each time you speak. If it’s an insightful response accompanied by a specific quotation and page reference from this 416-page book, you will receive more points than if you offer an answer with no support. If you don’t speak at all, you’ll receive a zero for this major assignment. Any questions? No? Begin! (maniacal laughter like a cartoon villain)

REFORMING CRAIG:  Since we are going to be writing some interpretive essays later over this novel. I thought it would be a good idea for us to talk about our different interpretations of the text. I often find that I understand things better when I talk about them with other people. You came up with some questions about the novel yesterday in groups, and I want to use those questions as the basis for the discussion. You may find that the questions you prepared lead to other questions as you begin to explore the answers. I encourage you to go back into the text whenever possible because that’s the only place where we can get an idea of what the author was thinking, and unsupported opinions are like untested hypotheses in science. They need more investigation. You’re going to want to take notes in your Writer’s Notebook about what people say because you’ll probably find some ideas that will help you when it comes time to write the essay later. Make sure you listen more than you speak and that you make others comfortable sharing their ideas.    

I always try to provide a “why” for anything I’m asking students to do so that they’ll see a tangible benefit to participating in the activity. In the above case, the “why” justifies my not taking a grade on this. We are discussing to learn, and while we are learning, we may not be ready to be assessed. In fact, I think in this instance that assessment would only add pressure to the discussion and would cause students to focus on their own contributions rather than working as a class to wrestle with the ideas in the text.

My reforming view of what a classroom should look like involves the teacher in the role of a coach or mentor. Sometimes, I break from an activity to have a huddle to discuss strategy. We debrief often. We review past performance. And we set future goals.

I wish I could tell you that this was an easy shift to make. Unfortunately, many years of schooling and my natural pickiness and perfectionism (some would blame it on my being a Virgo) have made it hard to unlearn my hard-nosed teaching practices. I have had to be intentional about my team realignment, but noticing the change in my students’ dispositions has helped me in my struggle.

When I work with teachers on AVID’s WICOR strategies, I find that the I, inquiry, is a little different than the other four letters of the acronym. While we might “do” writing, collaboration, organization, and reading, inquiry is more of a philosophy than a strategy. We don’t “do” inquiry; it’s how we do everything.

Abandoning the me vs. them approach helped establish a culture of  inquiry in my classroom. The students and I are on the same team, and we are always questioning ourselves, the thoughts of others, the ideas, and the world around us to make sense of things.

Class should be a pep rally, and we should all look forward to a winning season where we can celebrate our many victories together.