Think Like a Teacher

For the past 18 months or so, I have been a big fan of a certain web 2.0 tool that allowed students to create online books that could be viewed interactively and shared by URL. In a big email push this past week, they revised their user agreement. I read it carefuly, but even my skeptical eye did not catch the fact that they had removed the capability to see the book interactively unless you are actually logged into that “personal” account. No longer can teachers have students create books and share them electronically with family and friends at no cost. No longer can teachers create interactive ways for students to understand new content. No longer can all the teachers to whom we have “plugged” this tool use it with their classes in any functional way.

Some of the other changes related to content ownership are even more disturbing, but this one is the deal breaker right up front. If it is not free, TeachersFirst cannot review and recommend it. The sad thing is that I thought their business model MIGHT actually work: provide the tool for free, but ask parents and teachers to pay if they wanted a printed copy of the book. In an ordinary economy, it should have worked. Seeing your child’s (or grandchild’s) clever writing would be enough for parents to shell out the bucks. The school library or a teacher  might select the very best books created by a class for actual printing and permanent display on school shelves. Even in an era where reading has become more and more electronic and less tactile, people can be overcome by the urge to make a moment in a child’s life “permanent.” It should have worked.

But the economy strikes again. So we will be removing mention of this once-amazing tool for scaffolded or open writing experiences from over 80 reviews on TeachersFirst. Instead of recommending that students create online books, we will recommend another content-authoring tool…until that one dies, too. Let’s hope the economy improves before it sucks all creativity out of learning. There are enough forces at work trying to do just that. Economics should not be one of them.

I am far behind at checking out all the good things in my Google Reader. This one is weeks old, but as I read it I hear myself let out a satisfied “Mmmmm” as if I were eating a chocolate truffle:  “Schools Adopt Art as a Building Block of Education.” I especially like picturing a little girl explaining that her class is outside learning about lines from the artworks built into their school: ““We’re looking for a slanted or diagonal line.” Life does not imitate art, nor art imitate life. Art is life.

Wait. Adopt it? Isn’t art a building block of learning already?

I think visually. I make visual analogies in my head for any new concept. I have secretly done this as long as I can remember. I just never told my third grade friends how I “pictured” things. A new idea is visual art to me. So sad that the verbal world of school forgets this. I have a decent mastery of words, but chose to use them — whenever possible — to create pictures to help others see what I “see.”  It frightens me that we must ask for extra funds or special initiatives or “differentiate our curriculum for visual learners” just to keep visual stimuli, the chocolate truffles of the eye, in our learning environments.  We would never think to have schools without words everywhere…and a lot of numbers, too. How, then, is it necessary to “adopt” art into schools?

One thing the web has done is spread visual ways of seeing new ideas. YouTube, Flash, Flickr, all the Flickr toys, even  comic creators have made the visual a preferred vocabulary for so many. But we seem to forget that when we go to school. Art is a “special,” a frill, a poor, distant cousin who comes to visit during holidays.

Not everyone needs to be able to speak or study art (though I hope they will). Art is not a foreign language with its own grammar. Images and texture and lines should just be there at every turn like the neatly printed signs for “door” and “Mrs. Smithson” in a first grade classroom.

Please, don’t forget to share the art, even if you do not like it or understand it. Your students will.

Relationships. Chad Sansing writes a great post about the value of relationships in the classroom. Even the links are a good read. Isn’t that the point: the links are as important as what is said. The links are person to person, person to thoughts, person to words. Chad underscores the importance of relationships with some great articles — connecting in my mind to what I was trying to say about  teachers “worrying deep,”  i.e. CARING deeply and at an intuitive level: forming relationships. His words link to my thoughts and my words as I read. That is what good readers do,  they say. But more importantly, that is what good thinkers do. They keep on linking. Chad has links about linking, too:

relevant content fits right into comforting and enjoyable patterns and connections of prior knowledge

But, Chad asks, how do we define the role of “teacher” in this fully-linked, relationship-oriented, new classroom?  He draws an analogy to a learning republic. I gravitate to something that removes the hint of bureaucracy entirely. My analogy:  microwaving hot marshmallows.

Hot marshmallows, fresh from the microwave, stretch and stretch. They are enticingly sweet and smell of vaguely of cotton candy. The stickiness is the connection, the linking, that we experience during those warm moments of connection and understanding. The sweetness is the taste of  “aha” moments. It may be cliche, but it does feel good to “get it,”  to form a new connection. As saliva floods into your surprised mouth when it senses the sweetness, so do you savor moments when you taste a connection of your own: person to thoughts.  The smell lingers even after the taste, and the smell of other hot marshmallows lures you back, looking for more.

The “teacher” is simply a microwave to the molecules of lumpy, white marshmallow blobs, stirring them into hot stickiness.  And the teacher is not the only microwave. Everyone in (or connected to) the room is capable of pushing “Start. ” The “teacher” simply pushes it over and over, then steps out of the way to be sure everyone has access to the microwave.

Yes, it’s messy. Once you touch a hot marshmallow, your fingers stay sticky. You cannot resist the urge to lick your fingers and repeat the rush. And 25-30 stretching, hot marshmallows quickly spread stickiness on the desks and every surface in the room. Faces get sticky. Hair gets sticky. Minds get sticky.

And just think: With enough hot marshmallows, we could go for s’more…

Have you ever found pieces from two different jigsaw puzzles that actually fit together, one a blue piece of a geometric design and one a scrap of sky from an entirely different puzzle box, yet surprisingly an appropriate “match”?  Two posts from separate feeds in my Google Reader today interlock for me into a new idea. One was from the New York Times, a post about today’s young parents and the need for them to turn off their cell phones, iPods,  and Blackberries and just talk to the stroller set. Nothing in that post was new to me, but it got me thinking about thinking out loud and its importance for learning. The other post was elementary teacher Brian Crosby’s post about allowing students time to process what they have done and learned, even (especially?) when the learning is project-based. Whether toddlers, elementary kids, or even adults,  we need time to think out loud about what we have done. Those around us understand us better and learn from us when we do. Young ones grasp our language to build their own language of understanding. Peers and elders appreciate what we have done when we can stop and explain it.We find our own meaning better when we do it out loud.

But the world does not like to grant time for thinking aloud. Brian Crosby bemoans the fact that  end-of-day recap time has slipped away in his classroom. Most of us who take the world with us via iPhone or Blackberry use that once-precious think-back time to check email now.

Maybe we need an app for that. I’d like a “thinking aloud allowed” app that lets me record my thoughts aloud at the same time that it blocks email with autoreplies telling others that this is my time for thinking, so go away.  The same app would turn OFF young parents’ iPhones, etc. until they had conversed about red stop signs, sidewalk cracks, and at least twenty-five other topics with their stroller-bound munchkins. How could the app help Brian’s students? Maybe it could ask them to record their reflections, prompting and saving their comments so they could store them up like Bandaid box treasures (do you remember metal Band-Aid boxes and their treasure-holding capacity?).

No one would make money on this app, but they would make learners and thinkers. Thinking aloud allowed. There’s an app for that.

In today’s data-driven life, everyone wants a way to measure (and perhaps pay) a good teacher.  Parents have always wanted a way to “know who the good teachers are.” Administrators want a way to put a quantitative label on what they know (?) is happening in their schools. But the only measure anyone has offered so far is student achievement. In a non-widgetmaking process as slippery as learning, finding a measure of what makes a good teacher is as elusive as a second grader on his way out to recess.

A favorite quote in my family is, “Moms worry deep.”  The core-level angst of a mother is what makes her a good teacher and nurturer of her children. When something is wrong with one of her children, she just knows it. The level of stress this can cause her may not always be healthy,  but that mom-deep worry is essential to her effectiveness.

Some doctors worry deep, too. I once had a pediatrician who called me, the mom, because what he had seen at my child’s morning appointment so gnawed at him that he could not wait for my post-naptime call to find out whether things were better. He had not been able to diagnose the problem and had sent us home. But he knew something was not right so called us back in. He eventually did diagnose the problem, driven by a level of involvement with his patient that went beyond the norm.

I would hypothesize that it is a similar involvement with students that makes a teacher effective — even stellar. I have seen some teachers agonize over  the students who “gnaw” at them.  When these students struggled, the teacher struggled more. When the student did not seem “right,”  the teacher wanted to get to the bottom of it. When the class  bombed a test or sat like cinder blocks during a lesson, the teacher had to figure out why. These teachers have a level of involvement, a “Teacher Involvement Quotient” (TIQ) that makes a difference far broader and more lasting than a single test score. There are even some ways to assess that TIQ. When faced with a scenario, those with the higher TIQ would respond differently:

Think of the last time a student failed a project or test in your class. What did you do?  (score based on the response)

Or, instead of asking, WATCH what he/she does, note it, and measure it. Yes, we need to develop a scale, but would it be any harder than designing high-stakes tests?

There are those who see teaching as a series of steps they follow in a certain room at certain times.

There are those who see teaching as designing well-marked trails for students to follow,  waiting to see who comes out at the other end.

There are those who see teaching as the trail their students forge for themselves while the teacher watches and lures them uphill, worrying deeply for those who trip and fall.

Can’t we assess TIQ? Wouldn’t it be worth a try?  This is the learning I agonize about these days.

More education happens over warm Diet Coke, cold coffee, and chocolate than the experts ever realized.  A recent study, discussed in this Edweek article [I hope this is the correct link for the free access version], demonstrates the positive effect that “top notch” teachers have on peers, especially in informal, side-by-side teaching relationships. The full study will be published in the October  American Economics Journal: Applied Economics. Not surprisingly, good teaching not only rubs off on teaching peers but also extends to improved achievement by the students of those teachers.

I can hear teachers nodding their heads as they read this. The comments from teachers in Edweek are a palms-up “Well, Duh!” Ask any experienced teacher to think back on the best teacher-peer he/she* ever knew. Now ask her to close her eyes and picture that teacher’s class in action. Though she likely was never actually in that teacher’s class, she will tell you what must have happened there. She will describe the kids’ reactions, the sounds she heard emanating from that room, the projects hanging in the hallway, the conversations overheard on the playground or between students as they left for the bus or came in from THAT teacher’s class. Watch her eyes pop back open, then glaze over, as she tells you about what THAT teacher’s kids DID. Then she will probably tell you which ideas or lessons she borrowed from THAT teacher and how grateful she is for the additions to her repertoire.

The study does not delineate the how and why. I love the comment by Linda NBCT Science about the first 15 minutes after the kids leave as precious professional development time. She underscores the real “stuff” of teaching. It is that “stuff” that experts may have discounted until now.

So I venture some hypotheses on why elbow-to-elbow exposure to teaching excellence permeates like the smell of burnt coffee in the faculty room:

Misery loves company? To some extent, seeing how somebody else copes helps you cope. But it is more than that.

Competition and not wanting to “look bad”? If this is all that motivates a weaker or novice teacher, he/she will not last long in the profession.

Providing a concrete vision of what learning can look like — over time and in empirical, visionable, practical form so it can be absorbed and verified? That’s it. If you see the evidence every day, you notice it gradually. You tune in and learn from observing it because you are curious, not because someone made you have a meeting or attend a workshop about it. A motivated teacher may not have the inherent vision to imagine these new ways of teaching and learning, but she knows it when she sees it. Like our students, we each hit that teachable moment at a different time. The prolonged and low-key exposure to teaching excellence, along with a little shared chocolate and warm Diet Coke, goes much further than any graduate course, inservice day, or external motivator. 

If you are THAT teacher, pick up a bag of Hershey Kisses or M&Ms this weekend for the faculty room. If you are the teacher still looking for inspiration, you might want to share your Diet Coke to go along with that chocolate.

*I use the feminine pronoun simply because I am too lazy to use both he/she. No gender assumptions or implications intended here.

For those of us accustomed to being told when to talk, walk, eat, and even go to the bathroom (in 41 minute increments with 3 minutes between), the shift in culture between our familiar schoolworld and the broader e-world is as difficult as right-brain/left brain shift. Forget the digital native/immigrant thing. All of us are living a tectonic shift in time/space reality.  This may sound like an easy excuse for the life-by-the-bell set to claim disability, but envisioning a lack of time definitions and physical locations is hard on the brain. We can accept them when we see and experience them, but moving counterclickwise to IMAGINING the potential experience of tools such as Skype and Twitter is much harder when we have spent most of our daylight memory since age 5 in school-scheduled time (a time zone of its own, for sure!).

This post is an informal exercise to help your brain, much like drawing with your non-dominant hand or covering one eye to see how it changes your vision. I start by giving a few thoughts on the shifts in time and space envisionable via just two vehicles: Skype and Twitter. As you read, close your eyes and picture each of them occurring.  See the faces, hear the voices and words. Then, after experiencing a few,  add your own visions in a comment on this post.

For those who find this easy, add as many as you can. For others, read more and add only a few. The goal is to help your brain shift back and forth in time and space enough that it MIGHT even start to do so on its own. All of a sudden one day, you and your class might spontaneously shift without thinking about it in advance. And this shift will cause neither earthquake nor cerebral hemorrhage. You might end up late to your next class, but you won’t even notice.

What Skype is Really For:

a two year old trying to make sentences when he sees his deployed daddy during brief shore leave

an octogenarian in Vermont telling stories to a grandson in Dubai- landline to Skype connection

a former student co-presenting at a conference with a former teacher - both colleagues far from home, one in person, one not

a humor break for a grieving parent from their child’s long-long  friend

Tehran to CNN eyewitness reports

witnessing a lab experiment

sharing the first picture of the baby on ultrasound

What Twitter is Really For:

hashtagged #skool2day mentions of what is new in “morning meeting” in classrooms (where?)- popping up on multiple Tweetdecks (where?)

quotes of the day from people you know only as @thinkr or @ideaman

cries for help with a software program or scary error message

a quick idea for a substitute from someone she does not know

debunking…anything

telling disembodied anybodies about the cool idea you just read

singing a thought in 140 characters

playing “telephone” in the modern day (if U R old enuf 2 know what telephone game was)

telling people you are from Alaska when you really live in Mississippi

deciding who you trust

This one has been hanging in my head during swimming-thinking time for a couple of weeks.

What is the true value of teachers’ graduate work, in particular Master’s Degrees?  A recent study decided it is a poor use of school funds to underwrite teacher graduate degrees by increasing their pay simply for the additional degree. As often happens in education, determining a “bang for the buck” factor for academic achievement invites all sorts of statistical mumbo-jumbo. What is the value of a graduate degree? I can hear the wheels of my quantitative friends spinning as they determine a means to assess “value” of a Master’s degree: What is it worth in private sector HR? What value does it add to productivity (as measured by…)? What additive difference can be demonstrated by the aggregated affect of Master’s degrees in country X as compared to the U.S.? We could spend the day generating ways to evaluate the $$ value of the Master’s degree to a U.S. school district,  fueled by the self-assured procedures for research that WE learned in graduate programs.

I take a different approach. Though not scientific, I prefer to assess the true value of teacher graduate degrees in terms of two things: rigor and passion. Neither is measurable, so bean counters can start laughing now as I venture once more into an analogy.

True Value is what we seek when we visit the hardware store (thus the chain’s trademarked name). We seek fasteners with solid strength, paints that will last, and the right tools to accomplish the task. If we are committed to having our hard work last, we may opt for the paint that costs a bit more or for the stainless steel screws to use near water. The true value often comes from the bit of extra beyond the minimum.

We all want teachers who model passion and entice students into a rigorous love of learning. In the case of the some Master’s degrees, that passion and rigor are the true value of the degree. The teacher who completed it did so out of excitement for at least most of the work. He/she read, wrote, researched, explored, argued, created, and wondered through a series of academic courses and a thesis. That actual thesis may never have a place in his/her second or tenth grade classroom, but the true value of the degree lies in the passion and rigor that do not end with the degree.

We teachers also must admit that not all Master’s degrees are alike. We know people who sat and paid their way through 36 credits and received the special letters after their names. They found programs that were easy and needed their tuition dollars. They worked the system.

Going back to the hardware store, what is the true value of a a sit-and-pay degree vs. a rigorous, passionate graduate degree? It’s the same as the difference between a weak wrench that looks OK in the boxed set but will fail under torque and the one that is guaranteed for life. The latter can be returned after abuse by neglect, water, and greasy hands, but it will be replaced if it bends even a few degrees (sorry—pun).

If there is a decision to be made about paying for graduate degrees, it should be based on the true value of the degree in terms of rigor and passion that will last. If there are weak degrees on the shelf of our academic hardware stores, let’s pressure the suppliers and vendors to change their offerings. Why do some of you offer  inferior merchandise?

And teachers, let’s be honest. By purchasing the degrees without true value, what values are we modeling for our kids? Demand true value. Then expect that you should be paid for it.

We have all been there. You are in a session with teaching peers, learning (or teaching or collaborating) about a new way to envision learning and the many tools that can put learning in the hands of the students. Two of the others in the session clearly do not “buy in.” YOU are excited about the possibilities of the topic at hand, but you are aware of the “back-channel” that is going on between your less-positive peers. They are not rude, just disengaged. They are very subtle. You may be the only one in the room (real or virtual) who is even aware of their behavior.

As one who feels strongly that teachers take too much bashing from the media and the general public, I HATE being in this situation. I watch my “peers” embarrassing the teaching profession as a whole, not by being blatantly rude, but by passive-aggressively avoiding really good stuff: the real red meat of learning, right here on a platter in front of them. They are so busy (figuratively) criticizing the outfit the server is wearing that they cannot savor the rich, new flavors on the menu of learning.

I am frustrated twice over: 1)  that their behavior might be cited as representative of All Teachers and 2) that they are missing such great ideas and palpable swell of enthusiasm among all the others in the room. I am incredulous, yet not. And I must decide: do I Retry engaging them in the conversation at hand by whatever means or do I Ignore their behavior and hope it will either go away or fade as they miraculously join in on their own? I am reminded of a similar decision I  faced as a first year teacher with a sixth grader who was partially off-task. The difference is that these are my PEERS. As a leader and peer, the choices are tough. I do not want to violate my peer role or the positive forces in the room by scolding. I really do not want to believe that these two are representative of the profession I respect.

Retry?…Ignore?

I have not answered this question. The one thing I will not do is Abort my efforts to both teach and learn among my teaching peers. So my options are Retry or Ignore. Your thoughts?

Here we are in DC! EdubloggerCon has grown from about 45 people in Atlanta to over 200 here. The topics for discussion range from web 2.0 tools (and these are THE adopters who know the doodads!) to school reform…the most exciting part is that these are educators who takes the time, pay the extra night in the hotel, and bring together serious passion and deep concern for the future of kids and the adults they will become. There is not a person in the room (or hallway, sitting on the floor) who came here to maintain what is. They are all interested in what can be, will be, and should be. There are some who are “consultants” or educators morphed into other roles, but all are here talking about the “what if” and the “why not.”

That is what makes EBC different. I am sitting in a session about the K12 online conference, an “unconference” that has happened for a couple of years and is being planned IN THIS ROOM for later 2009. How do we get teachers to pay attention? How do we avoid overwhelming people who have never heard of it?

What I wonder:

1. How do we help teachers prioritize which things they MUST know, since there is so much to learn, with more every day. How do we talk about tools entirely in the context of their application and USE for learning? I am listening to people make suggestions for “packaging” new ideas and technology USES in a context that is meaningful and personal to a teacher’s situation.
2. How much bigger will the gap between Group Know: those who dedicate significant time to personal prof dev and are NOT afraid to appear as a learner in from of their student,  and Group O (for overwhelmed): those who are concentrating on day to day survival in an environment with little professional support, unreasonable bureaucratic demands, and personal lives that are less than “perfect”?? I see the gap growing and growing. The marvelous people who hang at EBC are often those who spend ALL their time on this stuff–and GREAT stuff! They have also  continuously paid attention to new developments in both technology and in learning. Group O is like someone who has had their TV off for six months or suffered a traumatic brain injury. They are not just behind on today’s news or weather forecast. They may not even know who the president is…
3. Do the people who make it to NECC and EBC have more time in their day/week to continue exploring or do they just skip sleep?
4. I wonder whether the Facebook idea would help… Teacher apps: Which teacher is more like you? What is your edtech IQ? Take the quiz now… Send an edtech Bravo to your favorite teacher.
5. Can we embed ongoing learning into everyone’s life? What’s the code?

Just a few thoughts (unedited and without my usual metaphors) as I eavesdrop on session 3 of EBC09 and reflect back on the day so far…