I Put on Clothes for This?

Here I go again, sounding like an old person. . .

Back in the days before the Internet, curious scholars who wanted to learn from a wise expert enrolled in classes to listen to lecturers pontificate about their areas of knowledge. I have fond memories of many of my college professors (and some of my high school teachers) regaling  (mostly) eager students with lectures while we furiously took notes to capture as many brilliant ideas as we could.

In today’s world, we can find lectures in many places. A simple Google search will yield numerous videos, podcasts, and presentations on nearly any topic featuring eminent scholars from around the globe. Students can now receive a better-than-average traditional education for free with only a smartphone and a pair of earbuds.

It would be vain for any of us to believe that our lecturing abilities surpass those of everyone who has ever made a TED Talk or YouTube video, so if we are relying on the one-way transmission of information during our classes as our sole mode of instruction, we are replicating (probably less effectively) an experience students can get elsewhere. Similarly, if we spend class time showing videos or movies, we are asking students to come to school to do something they could do just as effectively at home without having to change out of their jammies.

The advent of learning management systems, such as Google Classroom, and the trend toward 1-to-1 access to technology have made it all too easy for instructors to post an assignment and sit back while the students work quietly on it on their Chromebooks, laptops, or tablets. In many cases, these online assignments are the electronic equivalent of worksheets, with students filling in blanks and boxes as they answer teacher-created questions or complete online charts and tables. Many students come to school and spend most of their day sitting silently in front of screens, providing the information asked for, with little to no interaction with their instructor or peers. It’s really no different than if they had stayed at home taking an online course, except, of course, they had to put on clothes to come to school.   

If physical schools and colleges are going to remain viable in the present and future, they must provide an education that is different and better from what students can receive at home online. Real school has to be different from e-school.* There has to be substantial value in making the effort to get dressed and come to class beyond just hanging out with friends in the halls and cafeteria.

Additionally, if teachers want to remain in actual classrooms with students and to push back on politicians who try to increase class sizes, we have to show that our physical presence in proximity to our learners makes a difference. We can’t follow the example of “Ditto,” the character from the 1984 movie Teachers, whose students are so accustomed to filling in worksheets without any interaction that no one notices the teacher has dropped dead at his desk until  they run out of mimeographed worksheets to complete. We must put into practice the things that distinguish live instruction from e-learning.

One benefit to being a student in a classroom with an actual, living teacher is the opportunity to receive live, in-person, in-the-moment verbal feedback from the instructor. We know that the most effective feedback is the kind that occurs when learners actually need it, at the point when they can improve what they are working on. Telling students what they should have done after the fact doesn’t have the same impact as coaching students along the way. As students are reading, writing, or creating, teachers could hold quick check-in conferences with individuals or small groups to clear up confusion, redirect those who are heading off track, offer suggestions for growth, ask questions to promote self-reflection, or nudge students to the next level.

The teacher isn’t the only source of valuable feedback in a face-to-face classroom. Some of the most transformative feedback comes from peers. When we teach students to give and receive feedback from one another, everyone becomes more skilled and accomplished. Establishing structures and procedures for providing feedback in class on one another’s work is a worthwhile step toward making the most of the learning options available in traditional classroom settings.

Differentiation is another opportunity that is seized more easily in an in-person teaching situation. A savvy teacher figures out where each student is and offers next steps that are responsive to each student’s needs. If we are marching all our students in unison through a one-size-fits-all series of experiences, we are missing out on the opportunity to grow all our students to their fullest capacity. Teachers who make the biggest differences with students have a sequence of clear goals in mind and are able to put each student at the right point on the continuum to move them closer to the target. They also have an idea of how to challenge at a deeper level any student who has reached mastery.

Perhaps the most significant bonus of coming to school and learning in classrooms is the chance to have conversations in real time about what we are learning. The art of verbal discourse is limping along in our emoji-driven society. When the only communication students have with other humans is through Snapchat pics and abbreviated text messages, they don’t get better at speaking. Yet those who can effectively express themselves verbally get what they want in life. What better place is there to practice speaking than in a classroom where there are others with whom to converse and a teacher to offer feedback for improvement? Classroom conversations—whether in informal pair-share situations, structured discussions (such as Socratic Seminars or Philosophical Chairs debates), collaborative study groups, or small work groups—bring the learning to life. Students aren’t just sitting there slack-jawed in front of screens; they are engaged with one another, defending positions, trying out new ideas, clarifying their thinking, and questioning themselves and each other. This is where the learning happens. This is when the effort of coming to class becomes worth it.

As we plan for instruction, it’s not a bad idea to look critically at how we are teaching. If every day of class involves something students could do just as effectively at home in isolation, it’s time to change it up. We need to rethink the role of the teacher and the role of the student in schools. When we see the teacher as a valuable source of feedback, individualized coaching, and inspiration and the students as active participants in a community of learners, school will once again become something worth putting on clothes for.

* I mean no disparagement to those who are doing important work developing online courses and electronic learning experiences for students. There’s a growing demand for e-school classes, and I’m impressed by the efforts to make online learning increasingly interactive, open-ended, and responsive to student needs. I wonder whether the demand for e-school classes is partly due to the fact that so many traditional schools are still teaching like it’s 1985.  

Restroom Equity

Many of the schools I visit have a restroom equity problem. I’m not talking about that issue at public venues like conference centers, performance halls, and sporting arenas where there are clearly not enough women’s toilets and their line snakes out the door while the men zip in and out of their restroom. The equity gap I most frequently observe is race-related.

I’m just going to say it. In many schools, a disproportionate number of students wandering around the halls with bathroom passes during class are not white or Asian, and more of them are male than female. I have no idea whether they ever actually go to the restroom or not. What I mostly see in the halls are black and Latino male students strolling with no sense of urgency individually, in pairs, or in larger groups during the times while (I assume) instruction is taking place in their classes.  

Here’s why I think this is an equity issue worth exploring. Equity issues in schools crop up whenever an outcome exists that that doesn’t mirror the demographics of the campus. Whether it’s enrollment in AP and honors classes, participation in extracurriculars, placement in disciplinary programs, or failure rates, if there’s a discrepancy between observable reality and campus demographics, that issue merits a closer look. If, for instance, 60% of students on a campus are white, then 60% of the students in the hallways during class should be white if we have true hall pass equity. If 90% of failures in a course appear on the report cards of male students, while males comprise 51% of the population enrolled in the class, there’s a gender-related equity problem. The roaming-in-the-hallways population I observe on many campuses doesn’t match those campuses’ demographics.    

It’s easy for us to make excuses, place blame, and point fingers to explain what’s happening, but as far as I can tell from a quick internet search (one that has no doubt sullied my Google search history and will lead to all kinds of weird shopping recommendations the next time I open Facebook or Amazon), bladder size doesn’t vary significantly according to race. It’s tempting to ask what it is about those kids that makes them not stay in class, but the conclusions that develop from conversations like that always sound racist to me. Blaming the students is easy, but it’s not productive because we can’t force students to change. We have to look at our own role in this.     

The better question to ask is this: “What is it that these students’ teachers are doing or not doing that is causing some students to want to leave class while others are staying put?”

As I see it, students ask to leave class for five (legal) reasons:

1.  They are bored.

2.  They hope to rendezvous with their friends.  

3.  They are restless and need to move around.

4.  They don’t feel like the time spent in class is valuable.

5.  They actually have to use the restroom.

Let’s explore these and the role we play as teachers in each:

1. Boredom.  When class gets boring, minds wander, which leads to kids wanting to wander, too. Keeping kids interested may be the key to keeping more kids in the room.  We can’t avoid the reality that some concepts we have to teach are more intrinsically exciting than others, but we can control the method of delivery, the pacing, and the way we “sell” the lesson. Framing the lesson in an engaging manner that links the content to students’ experiences, interests, life goals, and opinions helps ensure buy-in. Our own excitement about the learning matters, too, as apathy is contagious. Find something in every class period to be genuinely excited about and communicate that enthusiasm sincerely. Vary the mode of delivery and the activities, and keep the pace moving from bell to bell. Avoid lags and downtime by being extra prepared and by teaching with a sense of casual urgency. Spice up a routine with something unexpected. Students won’t want to be gone from your room for fear of missing out.

2. Social Opportunities.  News flash: Not every student comes to school for the learning. For many students—and particularly those in poverty, according to Eric Jensen in the fantastic book Poor Students, Rich Teaching—the opportunity to spend time with friends is the driving force behind school attendance. If social needs aren’t being met in class, students will seek peer interaction elsewhere (ie. in the hallways). Classrooms that rely on sit-and-get models of instruction, that demand student silence, and that fail to build community lack the social motivator for students to remain in class. I wonder if many of our classes, especially in schools where minority groups are truly in the minority, are segregated by race and class, with some students feeling like insiders and others feeling like they don’t belong. If white teachers (most of whom enjoyed school growing up) teach primarily to students who are like them in background and attitudes and don’t make special efforts to build relationships with the students who are most unlike them, the class divides into the “in” group and the “out” group. Classes where students know, appreciate, and interact with one another are ones that fulfill every student’s social and emotional needs. These are the classes where students feel they belong, and when a community exists, students don’t try to escape into the hall to find their pals.

3. The Need to Wiggle.  Classrooms where students stay put in their seats all period cater only to the compliant students with extreme attention spans. Many students, particularly adolescent boys, grow restless when they sit too long. If the teacher doesn’t build in opportunities to squirm and get some energy out, the logical recourse for restless students is to feign a bladder emergency so they can walk for a few minutes. Teachers who understand kids’ desire to wiggle incorporate movement into lessons, giving them chances to stand, walk, change their position, respond with physical movements, and do things besides quietly sitting and listening.

4. Lack of Value. Some things we do in school seem like a waste of time to students. When I was in fourth grade, my teacher (a sweet woman who, bless her heart, was not a dynamic oral reader) made us listen to her read aloud Jack London’s long and boring novel White Fang every day after recess for weeks. Nothing about this experience seemed pleasant or worthwhile at the time; I could have read the book on my own if I had cared anything about a dog in Alaska, which I didn’t. My solution was to figure out how to give myself the hiccups so that I could be excused to get a drink of water in hopes that the hiccuping would cease—and I was one of those kids who actually liked school. When class isn’t worthwhile, students can think of many places they’d rather be. These days, watching a full-length video (when every kid nowadays has immediate access to millions of videos in his or her pocket) seems like an excuse for the teacher not feeling like teaching that day. Being given way-too-much time to complete a not-that-challenging task takes away any sense of urgency to spend the class time working. Time to work independently and silently without in-the-moment feedback from someone else seems wasteful. It’s hard to work in isolation in school—the place where your friends are—rather than saving it for home (or not doing it at all). Having to do many repetitions of a skill they’ve already mastered is tedious and pointless. Using grades as a motivator only works with students who are particularly concerned about grades, so we have to think of other ways to make the learning matter to the other students. Make every minute count so that students won’t want to roam.  

5. Legitimate Need. Sometimes you actually need to pee.        

When we identify issues of equity, we have two choices. One is to accept the situation the way it is, which means that we are okay with inequality, with differences determined by race and class, and with some students receiving better opportunities and experiences than others. The other choice is to figure out what is wrong with our system and fix it. The education system in the United States was created at a time when denying opportunities to some sectors of society was not something the people in power seemed concerned about. Many aspects of that system have remained in place for over a century. Isn’t it time we started identifying places where equity gaps exist and figuring out what we need to do differently to fix them?

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.     

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.

Breaking a Bad Habit

I always envied teachers who could lead class discussions with ease. You know the ones. Their students sit raptly as the teacher conducts a discussion, calling on volunteers (or “voluntelling” less eager students) to answer question after question the teacher poses to the entire class. In my first years of teaching, that was my instructional go-to model--whether we were talking about a piece of literature or pointing out the important aspects of a work of art--yet I didn’t feel like I was very good at it. Nonetheless, nearly every lesson of mine featured a section (sometimes a lengthy one) during which I asked questions and the students answered them.

Now that I have a little more experience, I realize that my question-and-answer discussion model was problematic for several reasons.

My classroom Q&A resembled a giant game of tennis with me on one side and the class on the other. I lobbed a question, someone went after it, I responded with the same question directed to another student or backhanded a different one, and the volley continued. If an observer had been charting the interaction, it would have looked like this:

Notice that the students were directing all of their talk in my direction and that some students dominated the discussion while others made it through the period without saying anything at all. While I’d like to believe that those silent students were hanging on their classmates’ every answer as they listened intently, I’m afraid the reality was that many of them were paying only partial attention or were zoned out completely.   

At the end of the period, I would have patted myself on the back for my students’ lively discussion and mastery of the content. If I thought about it more carefully, however, I would realize that all I could say for certain is that someone in my class knew the answer to each of the questions. I would have no idea whether every student understood the material. The individual students, who had caught on that if they didn’t call attention to themselves one of their eager, impulsive classmates would blurt out the answer (saving them the trouble of thinking), would have no idea what they knew or didn’t know.

Furthermore, this back-and-forth Q&A with me always on the receiving end was exhausting. I was doing at least half of the work, which meant my students were collectively doing the other half. Mathematically, the average student in a 25-person class was working for 2% of the discussion time--an unacceptably low number.

Over time, it occurred to me that leading an effective class discussion required me to break one old habit and replace it with new ones.

My bad habit was asking a question that I expected one student to answer in a discussion.

I have worked to replace it with a combination of two better habits.

The first is a pair-share. When I catch myself about to ask the class a discussion-type question, I stop myself and say, “In just a moment, when I say ‘go,’ turn and talk with an elbow partner about this question for 30 seconds. Go!” At that moment, every student is engaged in conversation about the topic, as speaker and/or listener, instead of the handful who would have paid attention to my full-class discussion and felt brave enough to contribute. After students have discussed in pairs, I call on a few of them to share. Students who might not have volunteered to share on their own have now had the chance to try out their answers on another student. They also have the option to share with the class an idea or insight their partner brought to the discussion.  The result? More confident, thoughtful student responses with increased participation.  

My other replacement habit is to precede a class discussion with a quickwrite. I ask a question and then let students take a moment to think on paper about their answer before we talk about it as a class. Sometimes, when I’m feeling extra adventurous, I ask students to pair-share after their quickwrite and before we discuss.

These new habits aren’t fancy or revolutionary. They’re easy to implement. All I have to do is remember to stop myself before I allow a classroom discussion to occur and insert some strategy that requires every student to think and respond. Not only do my subsequent discussions have more depth and buy-in, but I feel content knowing that my students are working at least as hard or harder than I am. 

2016: The Year of...

Did I ever tell you about the time I thought I was cooking quinoa but instead mixed up a big batch of boiled chia seeds?  It was an honest mistake. I had scooped quinoa and chia seeds that afternoon into separate bulk bags at Sprouts, written down the code (but not the name of the item) on each twist tie so the checker could charge me correctly, and brought home my healthy purchase to cook. Wanting a delicious and healthful savory side dish to go with my meal, I looked up the instructions online for cooking quinoa (1 cup quinoa, 2 cups water; boil 20 minutes) and started making dinner.

Unbeknownst to me, I inadvertently scooped out a heaping cup of chia seeds instead of quinoa.

I don’t know if you’re familiar with the culinary experience of chia seeds. In the last several years, they’ve been moved from growing green “fur” on ceramic pets (Ch-ch-ch-Chia!) to being praised by Dr. Oz and other health food gurus for their nutritional value: high fiber, protein, calcium, antioxidants, and more. In their uncooked form, the seeds look like, well, grey-colored quinoa grains. When you mix them with liquid, however, they begin to form what scientists have best been able to describe as “sludge.” Most websites recommend adding a teaspoon or two to your protein shakes, soups, or snacks. I boiled an entire cup.

As soon as I noticed the gelatinous pan-full of chia goop and realized my mistake, I had two options: 1.  I could throw the chia away and start over, or, 2. I could try to do something with my creation.

Option 1 seemed like the best choice at first. After all, I had failed at my attempt to cook quinoa to accompany the chicken breast that was baking in the oven. I did not come up with the correct response, and there was no way to turn this into a palatable savory side. No one wants to eat chicken with chia phlegm for dinner. But if I abandoned my creation, how would I dispose of it? I didn’t trust that my not-Hefty kitchen trash bags would safely contain the mass all the way to the dumpster, and any attempt to wash this glop down the sink would surely end with an expensive visit from a plumber.

Option 2 presented some fun challenges. I recalled vaguely seeing Chia Seed Pudding on the dessert menu at a restaurant, and I wondered if I could make something similar. What might happen if I tried to turn this accident into a not-so-bad-for-me after-dinner treat? I added a little milk, some sugar, and some vanilla and continued to boil. The mixture thickened even more to a lovely puddinglike consistency. I removed the pan from the heat, scooped the pudding into dishes, and cooled it in the fridge.  And you know what?  It was delicious, so much so that I made it again later on purpose.

In our classrooms, I’m afraid we often create students whose only choice  when faced with a challenge is Option 1.  In their minds, there’s a right answer, a correct result, one path to a solution, a single definitive interpretation. If they don’t come up with the lone answer the teacher is seeking, then they’ve failed. They can start over or simply give up.

What if we helped students embrace Option 2? Education, after all, should be about a search for knowledge and understanding. Students should cultivate a playful curiosity.

In fact, I’m decreeing that in my world 2016 is “The Year of Playful Curiosity.” I hope the students and teachers I work with open their minds, banish their insecurities, and wonder “what if?” along with me.

Imagine what would happen in English classes if students trusted their own ideas and didn’t feel compelled to run to the internet to find out what The Scarlet Letter really means. What if they got excited by examining a sentence or paragraph from a book they were reading just to explore what the author was doing with words? They might even try playing with words in similar ways in their own writing.

What if classes raised more questions than answers? What if teachers didn’t predetermine the “right” answer to the essay or discussion question beforehand but only decided what criteria would demonstrate a successful response? What if students grew accustomed to playing around with ingredients, with numbers, with ideas, and with concepts in a safe and exciting environment?

The Understanding By Design framework our district uses for unit planning (Wiggins and McTighe) stresses real-world application, experiential learning, meaningful performance expectations, variety of experience and methods, and creation of meaning rather than accumulation of knowledge. Unit planners determine an acceptable outcome to measure learning and then design the learning experiences students need to reach that outcome. The best units won’t move students in a lockstep fashion to a uniform result; they will allow students to explore, grapple with concepts, play around with ideas, try them on for size, return to the drawing board, and wrestle their way to an acceptable solution. There’s ample room for playful curiosity in these UbD units.

When I think of playful curiosity, I think of one of my favorite English professors from my Southwestern University undergrad days, Dr. Debbie Ellis. Clad in Birkenstocks and sporting an unruly cascade of blond hair so long she could sit on it, Dr. Ellis loved to pose playful questions. I recall with delight answering essay questions on tests (that’s right; her tests were actually fun) in her intro to literature, Chaucer, and Shakespeare classes:  “Who was the most villainous character in all the short stories we read?” “How would the plays have been different if Shakespeare had switched the fool, Feste, in Twelfth Night with the fool, Touchstone, from As You Like It?”  Dr. Ellis didn’t have a correct answer in mind. In fact, she celebrated the unexpected and well-defended unusual response. After each test, she compiled a handout with excerpts from her favorite responses; seeing your answer made the handout was a mark of accomplishment and a source of pride.       

Our world today makes achieving a state of playful curiosity a struggle. When you can google any factoid you seek, watch a video instantly of someone performing most any task, ask a question online and get a response, and cut and paste someone else’s idea and try to pass it off as your own, taking the time to wonder, to play, to try, to fail, to revise, to retry, and to explore seems almost wasteful. But isn’t this where the real learning occurs?

If we’re going to make this playful curiosity thing happen in 2016, we’re going to have to unprogram our students. We are going to have to change their mindsets about school, and, in many cases, we’re going to have to change some of our own mindsets and break old habits.

I invite you to jump on my bandwagon, to embrace the idea of playful curiosity, and to re-envision what your classroom will be like in 2016. I don’t have all the answers about how to do this, but I’m curious to see what they might be. Let’s play around and figure it out. We might end up with sludge, or we might end up with something new and awesome!