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.

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!

Secrets, Secrets Are No Fun...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Here's a quick example:

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

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

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

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

Craig

   

But What Are the Kids Doing?

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

“But what are the kids doing?”

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

“But what are the kids doing?”

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

“But what are the kids doing?”

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

“But what are the kids doing?”

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

“But what are the kids doing?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You Can't Do This, But You Should

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

How’d that feel?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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