Can We Handle the “Truth?”

Yesterday, Grant Wiggins took a good sized whack at a hornet’s nest(Be sure to read all of the comments, too).  He boldly stated that fiction should be removed from ELA curricula:

No, I am not kidding. I think it is absurd that the bulk of reading making up the ELA curriculum involves fiction. There are few good reasons for retaining so much literature and many good reasons for dumping most of it. Plato famously banned poetry from The Republic. And who is the author of the above quote who agrees with me? None other than Thomas Jefferson.

The responses appeared across various networks faster than you can say Huck Finn.

I give Grant credit for raising the point in such a way.  If you’ve been in English departments in America over the last few years, the topic of including more non-fiction is one that we’ve been discussing at length.  Additionally, there have been myriad studies that show how we’ve created a void for male readers through our adherence to certain titles within the canon.  However, there is something that bears mentioning when we talk about the types of books we read in schools.

The person working with the students.

I work with a group of English teachers now who I know get students, both male and female, into the literature they read.  Could we do better at providing choice to them and providing access to texts that would suit them more perfectly?  Absolutely.  But recently, we asked our students what they thought about their English classes and an overwhelming majority came back to say that they really enjoyed the novels because of the teachers.  And, to further counter Grant’s point, 56% of our respondents were male.

Mary Beth Hertz wrote about this last night, in what I thought was a clear counter-argument that contained both an appeal to our emotions–because let’s face it, great fiction should create empathy within us– and a sober look at some of the things we can do to make our ELA classes more accessible to those we feel are disaffected by the canon.  She also pointed to Nick Provenzano’s post that looked at the yearly reflections on his curriculum:

The one thing that is really tough about being an English teacher is that ever year, the curriculum gets old. As it gets older, the students are slightly removed from it. In the curriculum for my district, the “newest” piece is Death of a Salesman. That is now over 50 years old. I think Death of a Salesman is still relevant to students today and the Dustin Hoffman movie is a great performance of the work. I still love teaching The Crucible and the kids cannot get enough of Holden and The Catcher in the Rye… It’s Twain and those crazy Romanticists and Transcendentalists that are losing the power they once had on students. Many kids cannot see the connection of Huck coming of age and Thoreau writing that people should be who they are no matter what others think. What next?

What Nick points to is clearly something, from my conversations with English teachers over the last few years, that is on the mind of those in the classrooms.  Can I still use the tried and true novels we’ve used and help students make connections between themselves and the characters?  Can they access these?  What I liked about Nick’s post is that he details some of the changes he’s made in his curriculum by including a class on the Graphic Novel, or Pictorial Literature, and other elements like pulling in new material to teach things like satire.

Strangely, though, as I conclude this and think about the words I just read and wrote about Nick’s practices, it goes back to the initial point: it’s the person working with the students that makes all of the difference.

Order Among Some Chaos

For a while now, I’ve been gathering a list of sites in Diigo that I’ve named “PD Topics” and I haven’t had time to cull through them.  What I am thinking right now is that with the impending close of the year and the expanse of the better part of the school year ahead of me, why not begin thinking about how to pull these together in a few different sessions for my teachers and for others.

 

 

What I’d really like to do is to bring in experts like yourselves who have used some of these sites (or created them) to speak to my teachers for a few moments via skype.

Posted from Diigo. The rest of my favorite links are here.

Please Tell Me Where the Tipping Point Is.

In late October, I was fortunate enough to participate in TechLearning Magazine’s Northeast TechForum in Tarrytown, NY. This marked the fourth year that I’ve been associated with the conference either as an attendee or a presenter.  Each year tells me a dynamically different story about what is happening in our schools here in the Northeast.  Each year someone new comes into the conference and turns it on its ear in some capacity.

My presentation, Admin 2.0, was in the afternoon, which gave me all morning to catch up with friends and peek in on some of the sessions that were going on.  In each of the sessions, there was a recurrent theme among the crowd: their computers were really small, and a good percentage of the machines lacked full keyboards.  The proliferation of eReaders, smartphones, and iPads especially astounded me.  Later in the day, as I entered the room where I was slated to present, there they were again: iPads and Kindles, and small little machines stretched across the cloth-covered tables.

Had I missed something?  Was there an iPad tree in the lobby that I neglected to pluck?  Were my eyes deceiving me, clouded by geeklust for the latest gear from Cupertino?

Indeed, no shrub or gadget-crush was present, they were really everywhere.  I left the conference with a head full of steam to find out if the price had dropped or there was a deal to be had for educators.  What I found was not a price drop, nor an educator discount, but rather more information to add to the turmoil that’s been surrounding the real work I do in my district.

Publishing is upside down right now, in all forms.  Magazines and newspapers are struggling to remake themselves into viable options that readers and consumers still feel they need, and education publishers are beginning to feel that pinch as well.  In a recent article at Xplana, Rob Reynolds spoke about what he feels are “Nine Important Trends in the Evolution of Digital Textbooks and E-learning Content”

  • The increased disaggregation of content and the breaking up of the traditional textbook model
  • A proliferation of e-content and e-learning apps that support content disaggregation and new product models
  • A merging of the current rental market and the e-textbook market
  • A wide range of license/subscription models designed to respond to consumer demands around price and ownership
  • The growth of Open Education Resource (OER) repositories
  • The development of a common XML format for e-textbooks, shared by all publishers and educational technology players
  • The importance of devices and branded devices
  • The development of e-commerce and new product ecosystems that challenge the traditional college bookstore
  • A move from evolution to innovation and revolution

For those of us in K-12 education, the shift to eBooks or iPads or any straying from our traditional reliance on textbook publishers is cause for alarm–not in the sense that we don’t welcome them, but in the sense that we have budgets due (in New Jersey they are due really soon).  So what I want to know, and I want someone out on the internets to tell me is have I missed the tipping point?  When I look at the needs of my departments this year, should I be looking away from the reliance on paperbacks and textbooks, tradition be damned?  Or is it still too early?  If I really buy into what Reynolds is talking about, or what Lisa wrote about just a few days ago, why would I waste one more taxpayer dollar on a medium that will soon be outplayed by really, I mean really, inexpensive technology and distribution systems?

This situation, as I’ve described it, leaves a lot to be considered in terms of both the physical infrastructure (is your building equipped with universal wireless access for students and faculty to download all of these snazzy eBooks and apps), and intellectual infrastructure (is your staff and school community ready to take the leap into what many traditionalists–look at the comments on Lisa’s last post–would believe is the great demise of the American attention span).

Just for giggles, before I sat down to write this initial idea down after TechForum, I called up Cushing Academy.  Remember them?  The private school that cleared out much of its book collection in its library in favor of Kindles? A few quick stats:

  • 100 Kindles available to students
  • only three ever gave them issues and had to be sent back
  • they can’t keep them out of the hands of students
  • titles are constantly added via multiple school-based Amazon accounts
  • they don’t regret the decision (at least the librarian I spoke to).

Something to think about as we all build our budgets–is it time to make the switch?

Image Credit: http://i.imgur.com/IVA1N.jpg

The Nerd Knack.

I’ve talked about it before here, this idea of withitness that is truly hard to quantify when it comes to teaching, but I think it coincides nicely with the idea below.  Both Dr. Cleeves and “Frank” would be traditionally characterized as “nerds” both by physical appearance and society’s intellectual qualifications.  Kids react one of two ways to teachers of this ilk: embrace or terrorize.

Dr. Cleeves was wicked smart.  So smart, in fact, that he held several patents that he created during his time in the pharmaceutical industry, a bit of information he shared with us on the first day of microbiology in my Junior year of high school.

“Frank” was wicked smart too.  His collection of jarred specimens in formaldehyde gave his room a distinct Shelley-esque feeling as I sat raptured in both his Biology class as a sophomore, and Anatomy class as a senior.  That coupled with his encyclopedic knowledge of tissues, organs and systems clearly matched the degrees that hung on the wall of his office.

Both men had obvious intelligence, and the paperwork to prove it.  One was a great teacher and had to fight off students trying to get a moment of his time during his prep periods.  The other didn’t make it past November before a student lit up a cigarette with her Bunsen burner.

What separated the two clearly knowledgeable men?  Simple.

The Nerd Knack.

Dr. Cleeves provided us with a wealth of content knowledge about the inner workings o single-celled and simple life forms and showed us proper procedures for working in a lab; however, we never knew him.  We never saw him as someone who was in it for us.  He loved science, he loved figuring things out, but he lacked the capacity to share that passion with us.  Soon enough, once the initial politeness of being in the presence of a learned person wore off, students were figuring out ways to disrupt his thought process away from nucleotides and towards the nonsense happening between the aisles.

“Frank,” played it entirely differently.  From the moment you walked in, your name changed to something associated with either what you did outside of school, a sibling that had gone through the school, or something he noticed about you.  How did he find this stuff out?  Because he cared to know who you were and where you came from.  Whereas Dr. Cleeves was literal in his definitions, “Frank” was descriptive and hyperbolic, often taking the time to find obscure images of things such as filarial worms, or onchocerciasis (all really, really nasty things that leave lasting impressions on adolescent minds).

One taught science, the other taught kids.  And we understood the difference right away.

Audience Trumps Structure Every Time

Last week, in my reading of Kate Glass’ article at ASCD Express “ReThinking Five Paragraphs,” I related to much of what Kate portrayed in her writing.  The staid structure of writing that we’ve all been exposed to as students, and perhaps perpetuated as teachers needs some close scrutiny.  When, other than on standardized tests, do we read arguments that wrap up neatly in five formulaic paragraphs?  This is, as Dan Meyer put it in his 2010 TEDxNYED talk, akin to an impatience with irresolution.  And Glass notes that:

Freedom can be a little scary. Kids sometimes even panic when they are told they can decide how many paragraphs their essay needs. It can be shocking for them to find out that, yes, sometimes a paragraph has only three sentences.

Without a doubt, writing in an unstructured form is scary for students struggling to discover their voices as writers, but it’s precisely what will make them better when coupled with guidance, coaching and support from a patient teacher.  However, by continuing to force a good percentage of student writing into that frame, we are working to stagnate their development as writers more than we are to foster it.

Glass further points that even after wrestling for years with the historical background of the format

I never missed an opportunity to remind my students that the structure was actually derived from Aristotelian principles of logic. Who better than Aristotle to endorse your lesson plan?

she came to the conclusion that teaching that format as default was doing more harm than good:

I finally came to the conclusion that the five-paragraph essay just no longer serves kids in the 21st century.

and

…not only were my students complaining that they found the structure too constraining, but so were the very college professors I’d be turning them over to when they graduated.

which is exactly what we found when we spoke to college professors who teach primarily freshman in the traditional freshman comp at universities.  The format has constricted our students abilities to see writing as thinking, because thinking doesn’t necessarily fit neatly into five boxes.  What they expect is that students can have original thoughts that have value; what they find they get are canned responses.

In workshops with teachers this summer, I used the work of Andrea Lunsford and the Stanford Study of Writing (Clive Thompson hits it better here though) to show that all hope is not lost for this generation of students.  One thing that Glass pointed to as paramount to her teaching and the teachers of writing everywhere was the ability to write for audience:

Of course, I still have to train my kids how to use the five-paragraph essays for standardized tests, but now more than ever, in this world of Facebook and Twitter, our students need to learn the crucial notion of audience.

Lunsford used a Greek word, kairos, to describe what she found in her study as the students’ ability to detect audience and adjust their writing accordingly.  I wonder where audience comes in when we talk about the idea of changing the definition of literacy in today’s day and age.  Regardless, it has to factor as prominent, and if we accept that, to whom are our five-paragraph essays aimed at?  What audience demands those other than the standardized test?

First Impressions

New district, same questions.

As America heads back to school for the 2010-2011 school year, teachers are sprucing up their websites with links, rules, schedules, supply lists, do’s and don’ts, and the accoutrement that their administrators deem as necessary information.  In looking around at so many school websites, individual teacher pages, and other special interest pages that schools have, I see such a disparity in how they are designed.  Were there any serious questions given to functionality?  Was the community asked for its input?  Did parents have a chance to give feedback on what they wanted to see on their child’s teacher in regards to their website?

My district is moving to a new host for its website, and it happens to be one I am familiar with from a previous district.  In looking around the newly designed site today, I remember having hours of conversations with both teachers and administrators about what the purpose of the website was going to be?  They were concerned with what was on it and I was more concerned with what was not on it.  This is our brand, for lack of a better term; it’s our masthead.  From this place online, we invite visitors into our online space.  It had better do what we intend it to do.

From the teacher’s perspective, you have choices to make right now.  What do you want this space to be?  Do you know what your students’ parents want it to be?  Are you using it as a means to send home weekly, bi-weekly or monthly information?  Are you using it as a place where students can download forms, notes, or other business items?  Is your daily homework listed there?

Whatever decisions you make now will have ramifications on you for the next few months.  For example, if you feel that this year is going to be the year that you update the website with weekly plans for students and parents, and you go like mad for two months, and then November hits and you miss a week or two.  What happens then?  What if your plan is killing your time?  If you work in an elementary school, the time you have to update a website will quickly be usurped by myriad other responsibilities, and the precious prep time you have may not be reserved for website updating.  By putting this out there to your students and parents, you are sending a message that this is how I run things.  When you change that midstream, that message is changed, and you stand to lose credibility.

What I’ve always told the teachers I have worked with is this: decide now what you want this to be, and make sure it matches who you are.  If you are not someone who plans on updating this daily or weekly, don’t design a page that has elements that call for frequent updating.  Include basic elements of your bio, your contact information, and your daily and weekly teaching schedule so parents can see when the best times to reach you are.  If, however, you have grand designs of using this as a hub, and the platform your school or district uses is friendly enough, go for it.  Just make sure you plan time in your week for updates.

If, however, you were like me, you may quickly outgrow the capabilities of what the platform offered you.  That’s OK too.  What I did was to link everything from the school page to the places where students and parents could find where we were working.  I also included explanations of why that was the best place for us to work (wikis for collaboration, blogs for reflection, etc.)

In looking for some examples, these were suggested by a few people from within my network (Thanks to Megan and Bill).

What can we infer about these schools from these pages?  What do you look for in a school or teacher website?  What is required of you by your administration or community?

I Find These to be Good

This week and its preceding weekend have been filled with tweaking a workshop I am giving called “The Lecture is Dead.  Long Live the Lecture!” in southern New Jersey.  In hashing out my ideas and designing the days, I came across some great statements in regards to how we present information in presentation form from some of the “pro-jocks” in the business and from some random places.  I thought I take a few moments to share them here:

Guy Kawasaki:

I learned by watching lots of presentations, and one thing I figured out early on is that most CFO-level speakers — particularly CEOs, particularly male CEOs — really suck as speakers. They’re boring; they’re long; they wander around. I saw speech after speech, and I discovered that if there’s anything worse than a speaker who sucks, it’s a speaker who sucks and you have no idea how much longer he or she is going to suck. That’s a horrible feeling.

To prevent you from getting that feeling, I’ve developed a Top 10 format. All of my speeches are in Top 10 format, because if you think I suck, I at least want you to be able to track my progress through the speech so that you know approximately know how much longer I’m going to suck.

GoClick (a commenter on a 37signals post about Garr Reynolds discussion about Takahashi and Guy Kawasaki)

If there’s one thing I really don’t like it’s transitions in Powerpoint. Nothing says “I’m a knob” like some jazzy wipe from one ugly hard to read slide to another. I see it all the time.

Anthony Rebora

The “2009 High School Survey of Student Engagement,” conducted by the Center for Evaluation and Education Policy at Indiana University, reveals that 66 percent of the students surveyed said they are bored on at least a daily basis in school, with 17 percent reporting that they are bored in every class. Two percent of the students said they are never bored in school, raising suspicions that they could be Russian spies. (Kidding about that last part.)

And this…

And this..

In essence, it’s become a rousing process of finding great methods, ideas, and examples and then eventually letting the groups play with them.  Some great slides were created by Monday’s groups; I am anxious to see what Friday’s session produces.

Something Practical

David Wees tipped me off to something interesting two weeks ago and it’s been stewing in my mind ever since.

When I was a kid, I read this book whose title I have forgotten, about a football team on the verge of going to the playoffs.  It was a choose-your-own-adventure-story and, well, I read the thing at least twenty different times until I made it to the Super Bowl.  Needless to say, I was intrigued by David’s tweet due to some nostalgic longing for that football book, but also for some other reasons that my more mature, adult “teachery” side found worthy of investigation.

When you walk into the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum you are given a small card that looks like this one.  Inside of it is a story that will be told throughout your visit to the museum.

David’s idea pushed me to think of this as a writing exercise for students of the Holocaust, a topic usually covered either via a reading of Night, or by a run through on their way to V-E Day in their US History II class.  Take these cards or create your own characters and run with it.  Create a story that forces readers to make choices, choices backed up by historical evidence and write the outcomes that many faced, and do it using a simple form to create and track the choices that your readers make.

What else can we do with these type stories?  I was thinking of capitalizing on some of our students interest in FanFiction and allowing them to create stories in this format based upon popular novels, or asking students to create a choose-your-own-adventure for a classic like TKAM.  What would have happened if…

I’d love to hear from others out there who are using tools in a capacity that they were not necessarily meant for, but are giving their students some outstanding opportunities.

I Love to Teach

There is something maddening about leaving a classroom and realizing that your objective was not exactly met.  Yes, it was close, and there were several bright lights lit within the room, but equally as many blew out the candle out of either frustration, confusion, or failure to see the relevance.

What I love about teaching, and education in general, is our ability to come out swinging the following day.  We can do better by our students through a bit of analysis and inspection.

Over the last week, I’ve been working with groups of teachers from Camden Tech in Camden County, New Jersey on student writing.  Here’s the workshop description:

Progressive and innovative educators everywhere have long pushed for a re-emergence of critical thinking skills within student work, and in our era of standardized testing whereby we tend to place an emphasis on being either right or wrong, our students sorely need to be able to break out of those boxes (or bubbles).  The constant cry of employers in the 21st Century has been for thinkers and communicators–they want those who can think their way through complex problems.  Are we helping our students to do that?  Of all the advantages technology has availed us of in the past few years, has it truly led us closer to understanding how students think when they write?  In this session, we will talk about how simple, free tools can lead us to a greater understanding of what our students are thinking when they write, and give us another tool to use when we conference with our student writers.

My original intent was to help them see how to use the revision history within Google Docs and things like PiratePad to show how you can follow the way in which students wrote the paper.  By clicking on the “Next” button in the revision history, you can track through a student paper.  This idea, gleaned from conversations with Drs. Miller and Hammond from Plangere Writing Center at Rutgers University, lets you see whether students are writing from 0-500 words in a straight shot, or if there is some recursion going on.  Plus, when feedback is given in the form of comments, are students responding to it in a positive way.

However, after a conversation with Zac Chase while he was awaiting his last dinner in South Africa, he got me thinking about something altogether different through a series of questions he dropped into my planning document.  After taking a look at my description above, he asked me:

  • Ask about the writing they do in their daily lives (digital and not). Why do they do it? Where do you they do it?
  • What’s the point of asking learners to write? What’s the endgame? Is there one? Should there be?
  • Why do we give feedback?

Side note: I still think that skyping someone into your world from another continent ranks as one of the coolest things you can do.  Granted, Zac lives in Philly, but physically he was in South Africa.  Just saying.

So from that description I originally came up with, and taking into consideration Zac’s questions, I decided that the learners in this workshop would need to be driving the bus.  Zac and I talked about how his students needed to trust him before they would write for him in any meaningful capacity.   Think about it, would you go out on a limb and write with your best voice for someone you had no faith in?  Especially young writers struggling to figure out their writing voices.  Will they take compositional risks for adults they don’t think can handle it?

Working off of that logic, how can we expect students to write well in standardized situations, especially if we value voice and audience?

Zac’s push led me to these questions that I posed to all participants in both sessions:

  • How can we both develop student confidence as writers and give them timely and effective feedback?
  • What formats are the most fitting for student writing styles?
  • Which technologies fit well into my idea/purpose behind getting students to write?

Here is the slidedeck I used:

And here is the site I built to house the activities and resources I pulled from.

Friday, I met with a group of 26 teachers, Monday, 16.  I walked away from Friday’s sessions thinking to myself that I had about a 50/50 split, and the survey’s revealed as much.  I looked closely at the comments and realized that the order of the workshop could be changed.  Instead of spending the bulk of the time on authentic writing, which the Friday group really go into quickly and produced writing quickly, I altered the focus to spend time on creating environments where they could play with the feedback aspect of Google Docs.

Result?  Much better feedback and a smoother running workshop. My only wish is that I could have the Friday group back again.

Lesson Learned

The difference between the right word and the almost right word is the difference between lightning and a lightning bug. Mark Twain

Last week, I wrote a post in which I described the goals of what I had tried to do in a workshop at NYSCATE’s Leadership Summit.  In describing it, I used a few images to help, as well as a description of the goals.

In the comments, you’ll notice that a teacher from Iowa and South Dakota, Jerrid Kruse, took me to task for the language I used, or, retrospect, did not use, to frame the conversation in the post.  The seminar was about moving our colleagues, our schools and our students from what we know and are comfortable with in learning and teaching, to that which we don’t know, or rather that we do know, but are too paralyzed by our fears to move to.  What came through in the post, thanks to the image used, was somewhat short of that.  In looking back at it today, I realized two things:

  • Write without distraction.  I was following way too many ideas around and not focusing on my message.
  • Hit the mark with the language I use.  Be very precise with what I want to say, and how I want to say it.  Both of those elements were very loose in that last post.

Also, I get it–it’s an online space.  But it’s my online space, and for those that happen by here, I’d like what you read to be a reflection of me and my learning process.