Friday, December 13, 2013

Uncommon Core - My Deepest Beliefs about Education

During the CEL Convention in Boston this past November, Steve Peha presented a session titled "Uncommon Core."  During the session he asked educators to consider what is at the core of who they are as educators, posing several questions to guide their thinking.  He encouraged his participants to return to their schools and share their "uncommon core" beliefs with their colleagues.

A participant and the session chair of Steve's presentation, Oona Abrams returned home from Boston and posed a challenge to us on her blog.  She invited her readers to dedicate a blog post (or two or five) to exploring some of Steve's "uncommon core" question.  Tonight's blog takes a stab at the first one.

With regard to education, what are your deepest beliefs?

I believe I need to meet every student where he or she is.  It is my role to get to know that child's strengths and weakness, interests and dislikes, mood swings and personality so I can provide that child the education he or she needs and deserves.

I believe my role is to teach students first and the subject second.  I am not covering curriculum or checking boxes off a standards completion worksheet.  I am making connections with learners to provide them the skills they need to tackle any task with confidence and competence.

I believe in failure.  I also believe in do-overs, try agains, and tomorrows.  

I believe in choice.  Whenever possible (which is a lot), students feel empowered when teachers give them options for reading, writing and participating.

I believe that how empowered students feel in the classroom directly correlates to how successful they feel in and out of school.

I believe in reading and writing workshop.

I believe my role as a content area supervisor is to educate, coach, guide, and support teachers.  It is also my role to set high standards for all teachers - new, veteran, mid-career, satisfied, disgruntled, enthusiastic, or catatonic (thank goodness I do not have any of those).

I believe in connections.  When students know I care about who they are, they are willing to explore ideas with more depth, more vigor and more vulnerability.  In turn, I can push them to think about more complex, sophisticated ideas.

I believe in bad days...because kids are kids, and I am human.  Students will disappoint me, frustrate me, or really make me angry.  I will make hasty decisions, choose the wrong text, or misread my students.

But I believe in redemption too.  I know I must learn from the bad days and return to my classroom ready to go tomorrow.

I believe teachers must advocate for our profession to re-imagine educational structures, requirements and facilities to design learning centers in which the humanities, the arts and the sciences intersect and inspire students to be innovators in the fields of their choosing.

I believe in education.  But I also believe we can do it better.  I have accepted that challenge and will continue to improve my work and expand my learning to ensure we do.      

 

Wednesday, December 4, 2013

Let Them Be

We all give assignments like this...

"Pretend you are a reporter..."

"Pretend you are a director..."

"Pretend you are a speech writer..."

Our intentions are good.  We want students to imagine themselves to be someone real.  We want them to feel a sense of purpose and to tackle an assignment the way a professional might.  Most of our students dutifully play along and fulfill the requirements to get the grade.

[SLA]ng's Winter 2013 Edition
But...we can do better.  With the world at their fingertips (because they have a keyboard underneath them), we should ask students to be reporters, directors and speech writers.  If we want them to take work seriously, we must give them serious work.  In Meenoo Rami's talk to the CEL Convention in Boston this past November, she encouraged us to give students a real purpose and a wide audience.  She shared an example from her own classroom from last winter.  Her students wanted to make a magazine.  So Ms. Rami taught them how.  Her students didn't pretend to create a magazine; they created an online magazine in which students were writers, editors, photographers and more.  They had an audience (their entire school and anyone else who clicked the link...including an entire audience of CEL attendees).  She gave them voice.  She showed them that language is a powerful tool.

Last year I taught course called "Literature and the Law" during which we did a short Hitchcock film unit to study how suspense and foreshadowing is portrayed on screen (contrasting with texts).  At the end of the unit, I invited students to adapt a favorite film or story into a Hitchcock style film of their own.  Interestingly, the students who chose this option tended to be my "disenchanted" students.  I worried they would come apart at the seams, not realizing all it took to make a five minute film.  I was absolutely wrong.  They were doing something, producing something real.  At the end of the process in which they had to write, plan, collaborate, communicate, edit and more, they had a product in which they took great pride.  They uploaded them onto YouTube.  Here is just one example made by two of my twelfth grade students who adapted a scene from Law Abiding Citizen.  They directed, produced and starred in their film, and the results were rather astounding.  If you are familiar with Hitchcock's style, take a look at their version and see what you think.  Fair warning  - they curse.      

Screen shot from students' version of Law Abiding Citizen
Do you think they understand how to build suspense on film?  Did they understand how Hitchcock used these tools?  Did I need them to pretend they were directors,  producers, or actors to complete the assignment?  No.  I invited them to be directors, producers and actors.  They were empowered to produce something authentic and for an audience as wide as they wished it to be.  Each student who chose this assignment did an outstanding job, earning some of their highest marks of the year.  And yet it was the assignment in which I had the fewest "How much is this part worth?" and "How many points off if I don't do this on time?" and "What is the point of this?"  They were all in.  They were making a film.  The points were an afterthought.

We need to give students more opportunities in ELA classes to be.  Our role as educators is to help them with the skills and the research they need to be successful as they work in these roles.  We need to help them find their audience and their voice so they no longer need to pretend to be someone.  We can show them they already are.  We need to let them be.          


Sunday, December 1, 2013

Saying Yes to #CEL13

There were so many reasons to say no.

When asked to serve as the Conference on English Leadership's Program Chair for Boston, I had excellent reasons to decline.

1.  I am the mom to two small children who were only five and two years old when I was approached about the opportunity.
2. I had only just begun working in a new school district.
3. After two professionally unsettling years, I was only starting to regain confidence (thanks to my great new district) in who I was as a leader.
4.  I embraced my introversion like a security blanket and struggled mightily when pushed outside this comfort zone.
5.  Did I mention the two young children?

Despite all those reasons (and many others), I said yes.  I said yes because I believe in CEL and its mission.  When I became the World's Most Woefully Unprepared ELA Supervisor in 2003 at the age of 28, one of my mentors, Helen Poole, told me about CEL.  I attended my first CEL Convention that fall and learned so much in those three short days.  I have only missed one convention since then.

When I was asked to be Program Chair for Boston, I felt indebted to the organization.  I wanted to (hopefully) provide a professional experience for new and veteran literacy educators that reflected all I had learned during my ten years of CEL involvement.  I had to say yes.  I had to say thank you.

Saying yes opened my professional world in tremendous ways.  It forced me to stop and think about every conference I had ever attended and what worked (or didn't) about each of them.  It challenged me to consider how to bring the right people together to inspire and educate.  It allowed me to invite those educators who teach me - Eric Sheninger, Troy Hicks, Donalyn Miller, Meenoo Rami - to address our entire CEL audience.  It connected me with dozens of talented educators such as Chris Lehman, Kate Roberts, Maggie Roberts, Kate Baker, Colette Bennett and many, many more.

But saying yes opened me in many unexpected ways.  As a card bearing member of the Fiercely Independent Introvert Society, I preferred to do it all and to do it alone.  Guess what?  That is absolutely impossible when planning an annual convention for a national organization in a location 400 miles from home.  I had to ask for help.  I had to recognize the gifts of the many brilliant, generous CEL colleagues and utilize them to create a dynamic professional experience for everyone.  I needed them to delegate tasks, to gather input, to vent frustrations, to celebrate milestones, to make decisions and to remain calm.  I needed trusted friends to tell me when an idea was terrible, and I needed those same friends to help me decide what to do instead.

Saying yes gave me my greatest lessons in leadership.  Turns out, I don't know it all nor do I need to.  As a department supervisor, I have plenty of talented educators surrounding me who can teach me, set me straight and cheer me on when days get tough.  I can honor my introversion by giving myself the quiet time I need to think and process.  However, I can also step outside that comfortable space and make connections with really smart, generous people.  I can take a risk.  I can handle rejection.  I can celebrate my successes.  I can say what I want...what I need...and live to tell about it.  I will be a better literacy educator because of all of these lessons I learned while planning #CEL13.

There were so, so many reasons to say no.  But I said yes.

I am deeply grateful I did.


 


 







Wednesday, September 11, 2013

Never Forget...So You Can Teach Them.

On the ninth anniversary of September 11th, I was teaching an AP Language course.  Just a few days into the school year, we were exploring why people write - to persuade, to entertain, to explain.  On the 9-11 anniversary,  I chose to focus on writing to remember.  We read excerpts from speeches given after other tragedies, the Challenger explosion, the Oklahoma City bombing, and the Columbine massacre, to see how people used language to delicately balance the feeling of loss with that of hope.  We also read pieces from September 11th.  

During our discussion I shared with my students that the language that moved me most deeply during the weeks following the event were the messages left on the missing persons posters that lined New York City blocks.  I told them about standing in front of a large Penn Station wall covered with these posters that October.  I saw two familiar faces there.  The handsome football player who was the bartender at a local bar when I was in college and a photo of my sorority sister who had graduated  a few years before me.  By the time I saw their posters and the hundreds of others, we knew they were gone.  But the desperate words on these posters haunted me for months.  

"Please help me find my son!"  

"Looking for my husband.  We are expecting our first child any day.  We need him home!'  

"Missing my gorgeous daughter.  Worked in Tower 1.  Brown, curly hair.  Brown eyes.  Bright smile."

"Have you seen my Daddy?"

My students stared at me, unable to comprehend the idea of hundreds of missing persons posters taped all over New York City.  They were only 8 years old when the towers fell.  They had seen images of the exploding planes, the crumbling towers, the charging fireman, and the billowing flags.  But they had never seen a picture of the image that moved me the most. Paper after paper lining the walls of Manhattan, each one representing one life lost and an entire family's suffering.  

So the next day, I shared pictures of these walls with them.  They viewed each one quietly, carefully.  Then they wrote about what they saw and what they remembered.  

I will never forget.  I hope my students won't either.  



Sunday, September 8, 2013

Just Jump In

As the parent of two small children, I have attended my share of "Bounce House" birthday parties.  You know the ones, right?  A company inflates four or five giant plastic slides, mazes and castles in a tiny industrial park unit and allows the party hosts to bring in cupcakes and invite 20 of their four-year old's best (screaming) friends.  Ahhh...I love these gatherings.

Having attended many of them, I have noticed an interesting parallel between these parties and the first day of school.  When I load my bubbly child into the car to drive to the party, he is bursting with joy.  He can't wait to see who else will be there, to check out what bouncy castles this place has and to run around like a lunatic.

And then we arrive.

I am quickly asked to sign a form releasing the company from all liability in case of injury (buzz kill).

He is crammed into a small room with a 19" television and 19 of his closest friends. A slightly condescending 20-something announces, "OK kids.  You have to be quiet and watch this video or else you can't play."  Her smirk shows she basks in the glory of this power. So these happy-go-lucky tots watch a dreadful tutorial on the rules for bouncing and all the things they cannot do while playing (or else they might suffer grave injuries).  I have never seen such eager faces deflate so quickly.

Well, actually, yes I have.  I see them in the hallways on the first day of school.

Our students arrive ready.  Most want to be back.  They have composed their own set of new (school) year resolutions where they promise themselves that this is the year they stay organized and earn their best marks ever.

Then the school bell rings.  They shuffle through doorways to find uncomfortable seats and wobbly desks, which they will happily endure as long as the class is a good one and the teacher is nice/cool/funny.

And then teachers do what we think is the right thing to do.  We distribute our syllabus.  We review the rules.  We review our expectations.  We tell them what materials they need to buy.  We tell them the consequences for misbehavior.  We ask them to fill out forms, to listen closely to our directions, to stay quiet.  They hear this speech six or seven times throughout the day, so by the last period they look just like those four year-olds stuck in that stuffy room watching television.

Now, I do believe in sharing all of this information with students.  But we don't have to do it on the first day, and we don't have to do it all at once.  Instead, show them the best thing about your class.  What do you include as part of your classroom routine that makes your class unique?  Show them that.

For many years, students walking into my classroom on the first day found me sitting at a student's desk writing in my writer's notebook.  Many entered the room without even noticing me sitting there.  On the board, I had written, "I am writing.  Please join me."  Slowly, students caught on to what I was doing and what I wanted them to do.  I did not speak.  I kept writing.  I would look up, smile, point to the board, and return to my notebook.  Within a few moments, silence settled throughout the room, and I found myself surrounded by 27 adolescents all writing in their pristine notebooks or on scraps of paper borrowed from their friends.  It was always one of my favorite moments of the year.  And it was usually one of theirs.

Nearly every day for many years, my classes began with a few minutes of sustained silent writing.  So on the first day, I had a choice.  I could tell them they needed to buy a writer's notebook and explain what they would do with it and how it would be assessed and when I would collect them.

Or I could show them.

So I hope whatever you have planned for your first day, you allow your students to show up to the party and just jump into their learning.  Show them why your course will amaze them, challenge them and inspire them to keep that first day enthusiasm all year long.

Have a great first day and a wonderful school year!

  

Monday, September 2, 2013

Happy New (School) Year!

Tomorrow, I have the honor to walk back down bustling hallways filled with eager, nervous faces who can't wait to see who is in their classes and what the year holds.  And only teachers report tomorrow!  We have to wait a whole other week for our students!  However I have always thought of the day after Labor Day as my New Year's Day.  It is a time to start over, do something  differently, explore what might be possible.

If you know me, you know I am struggling with not returning to the classroom.  Full-time administration called, and I had to answer.  I have decided, though, this assignment will not prevent me from being a teacher.  My classroom and my students may look different and perhaps reach wider than I can anticipate while sitting in my makeshift at-home office on a Monday evening.  But I will still teach.  Because when I teach, I learn.  

So with all this in mind, I share my New (School) Year's Resolutions with you.

1.  Get out of my office.  My office can be a black hole.  There is always another e-mail to read, observation to write, or phone call to answer. Unless meeting with teachers, my office can be a lonely, boring place.  I want to spend more time in classrooms, stopping by to see teachers and students in action as much as possible.

2.  Co-teach lessons with department members.  If I am not in the classroom every day, I still want the chance to try new ideas or tweak old ones.  I know many who either co-teach or do demo lessons in their department members' classrooms, and I would like to give this a try too.

3.  Keep reading widely.  When I was a classroom educator, I read outside my genre comfort zones so that I could always make independent reader recommendations.  This practice has introduced me to unexpected surprises (I loved 11/22/63 by King).  I won't let myself get complacent now that I don't have to read what my kids like.

4.  Keep writing.  Blogging...it is going to happen this year.  As my writing teacher hero, Peter Elbow, says, "Writing is thinking."  I believe that.  So now I am going to live it.

5.  Stay positive.  This one might be the most difficult to keep, and it isn't because I don't love my subject, my schools or my teachers.  I adore them.  I am a New Jersey public school educator who is being suffocated by bureaucracy.  If I can't breathe, it can be hard to muster a smile.  But I am going to try, really hard.  And when I don't feel so happy, I am going to send e-mails to legislators so they bear the brunt of my frustrations, not my colleagues.  
   
No matter when your first day of school is (or was), I encourage you to take the time to write your New (School) Year's Resolutions.  It will keep you focused on what is important and on your goals.

Have an amazing school year!