Think Like a Teacher

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…

Few of us remember the first time we jumped into water over our heads.

I do not recall figuring out that I could not swim. I do not remember discovering the power of  water. I try to imagine how it felt.  I could not get my feet to touch the bottom at the same time as I opened my mouth to gasp above the surface, and I had no idea what to do about it.  But some kind parent or bigger person reached under my armpits and supported me, laughing and congratulating me for a great jump. He or she likely placed my hands on the pitted concrete of the pool’s edge and told me to “kick big kicks and blow big bubbles.” Trusting, I must have done so, because eventually I learned to swim.

Swim coaches describe a knack their best swimmers have to “feel the water.” Watch the good ones: the feel, the ease, the awareness. Witness their flips, their streamlines as they push off walls, the faces they make to keep water out of their noses during those quick flipturns.

Water is not a natural place for human beings, but we can gain a feel for it. Some gain it faster that others, but even the nervous child who falls in by mistake will learn to move about using a comfortable stroke to get where he wants to go, given the right encouragement and support.The swimmers among us owe our time and support to those less comfortable so everyone can find a “feel” for the water. Stop and try to recall the panic you felt at falling in. Remember watching your child or a neighbor who genuinely believed that he/she would NEVER be able to move through water. Think about those you know (maybe it’s you) who swim only with their faces OUT of the water, safe and dry. Their head-out style wastes energy,  but it is what they know. They can change it, but each one’s needs will be different and each will require encouragement, time, and a chance to “feel” the water.

As we go to NECC, edtech-swimmers all, we should remember the swimmers’ obligation to share the feel of the water and find ways to make it part of our “swim practice.”

I am participating in this “meme” thanks to Louise Maine, a fellow techno-junky teacher and contributor to TeachersFirst. I love the fact that she and I have never even met face to face, though we “talk” often in email, on Twitter, via webcam, in the OK2Ask “classroom,” and occasionally on the phone (how mundane). The very fact that we work together is a case study in professional/personal  learning networks and the power of the web. I will finally meet Louise at EduBloggerCon and NECC later this month.

As someone who went over the wall from full time teaching to twelve month work at a non-profit three years ago, I miss the annual cycle of a school year and the summer change of pace for professional development (see my post on summer growth). But I can give this one a shot.

BTW, here are some definitions of  meme for those who may not know the term. In this case, a meme is simply a way of using people’s blogs to pass along this summer professional development idea and to use the power of “tags” or “categories” to connect what all of us are doing so you can find the ideas easily. Think of it as word-of-mouth-follow-the-leader-copycat-gone-internet-viral thanks to little packets running around telling each other things. I have this vision of kindergarteners on the playground when one of them tells a secret…

Directions

Summer can be a great time for professional development. It is an opportunity to learn more about a topic, read a particular work or the works of a particular author, beef up an existing unit of instruction, advance one’s technical skills, work on that advanced degree or certification, pick up a new hobby, and finish many of the other items on our ever-growing To Do Lists. Let’s make Summer 2009 a time when we actually get to accomplish a few of those things and enjoy the thrill of marking them off our lists.

The Rules

NOTE: You do NOT have to wait to be tagged to participate in this meme.

1. Pick 1-3 professional development goals and commit to achieving them this summer.
2. For the purposes of this activity the end of summer will be Labor Day (09/07/09).
3. Post the above directions along with your 1-3 goals on your blog.
4. Title your post Professional Development Meme 2009 and link back/trackback to http://clifmims.com/blog/archives/2447.
5. Use the following tag/ keyword/ category on your post: pdmeme09.
6. Tag 5-8 others to participate in the meme.
7. Achieve your goals and “develop professionally.”
8. Commit to sharing your results on your blog during early or mid-September.

My Goals

• Sort through all the “check this out” items I have thrown into Delicious, tagging them and USING them rather than having them just sit there
• Stop and spend some time with my feed reader, organizing it and paring it down so it is a welcome friend to visit with each day instead of another item on my to-do list
• Successfully pull off a live video streaming event that any teacher COULD do (OK2Ask LIVE from NECC)- and have teachers join us!

I tag Melissa Rivers and Ollie Dreon (I hope….if I can find his blog URL!) and Jim Gates, all fellow PA folks in “different” teaching positions these days. What do you want to learn this summer?

This is the time of year when weather fronts spawn nasty thunderstorms or stall out over my part of the world, sending gray-green clouds across  a calm lake, whipping up whitecaps in five minutes like one of those television chefs creating meringue. At the same time I hear from teacher-friends about how they have “had it.” They are stressed, can’t sleep, want to resign every activity that has brought them joy, and just can’t be very nice to each other. I call it “crabby season.” As the final weeks of school stall over them, they spin off storms of their own, whipping up waves over what would have been a pebble-drop in January and turning gray-green from their own exhaustion.

But there are good things that come of thunderstorms and unstable weather: the grass really gets growing, and the annual flowers so tender at planting are suddenly three times the size. The release of that “pressure system” explodes into summer’s best growth, both for the plants and for the teachers. There are high winds for a short while that kick up the white caps, but — in surprisingly short time — the waters calm. The silver maple leaves turn back right-side-out and flutter calmly where they had been bashing into each other a few moments before.

Teachers often ignore TeachersFirst for about three weeks while the winds (and their crabbiness) subside. The exact timing varies, depending on their school calendar. Soon they turn themselves back right-side-out and find green growth that lasts throughout a long, hot summer. After mid-July, they are back, prowling through new beds of ideas, admiring new blossoms and tossing together summer thinking-salads. Many of them have other jobs, but these are often a sort of brain-refreshing Miracle Gro to their real gardens of thought. Somehow the crabby season seems to disappear as if it never happened.

If your hallway seems filled with the crabbiness, close your eyes and remember that  these storms pass quickly. Join me on the covered porch to watch the thunder and lightning across the lake, knowing how beautiful the garden will be tomorrow.

I’ve always been fascinated by creativity. What makes it come so easily for some people and as such a struggle for others? Why do some teachers ooze creative ideas and respond to every student question with a different angle on the topic (flexibility) while others can only restate the concept over and over, perhaps in paraphrase? I really don’t think it is an issue of motivation, since many of the latter group of teachers truly admire those who generate new ideas so painlessly. Kids are the same way, especially after about third grade. Some of them go through school with a firehose full of fresh thoughts and project ideas while others follow patterns and templates very well, but — at best — elaborate  or “hitchhike” on their classmates fresh thoughts. It isn’t hard to be pushed by the force of a firehose, though one can only “ride” the stream very briefly.

I have always thought that school freeze-dried most student creativity, except perhaps in those who have veritable “firehoses.” Those with a garden hose or a drinking fountain of creative idea-flow seem to dry up once they have followed rules and procedures long enough to be successful in school.

Yesterday I ran across this article on the brain chemistry of creativity. Apparently neurobiologists have isolated something called  NAA, a chemical that correlates with divergent thinking when found in a certain part of the brain, the “anterior cingulate gyrus (ACG), which regulates the activity of the frontal cortex – implicated in higher mental functions.” So very intelligent people can also have this chemical and be highly creative, as well.

But it’s much more complicated than that. Apparently there is some interplay between intelligence, creativity, and NAA. As a fictitious friend of mine would say, “Holy Idaho!” The scientists have a lot more work to do to sort out this complex interaction.  And I now have even more questions:

Why are some engineers and scientists brilliant in solving things by scientific method (and able to think of alternative paths of scientific inquiry) but look awkwardly stunned when asked to imagine an alternative way to use a spoon (one of the basic creative brainstorming exercises I used to use with second graders).

Why can some people elaborate –adding many, many different and even beautiful versions of an idea, such as different designs and “twists” for using a spoon as a “dipper,” but never get outside of the “dippiness” of spoons to see them as mini-mirrors or vehicles or hair ornaments?

What implications does NAA have for teaching and learning? If we are to differentiate for different approaches to learning, how do we adjust for NAA?

I can’t help thinking that all the web 2.0 tools for creating products could help, especially since there are usually ways for  the spoons-as-dippers-only  types  to start from someone else’s dipper prototype and create a variation while the spoons-as-vehicles students can start from scratch to launch their spoon to the moon or under the sea.

Once again, creativity wins as the most powerful teaching tool. And we should never respond to a brainstorming suggestion by saying “NAAAAAA!”

That’s exactly what it is: NAA!

If you have ever eaten leftovers from a marvelous recipe for many days in a row, you know how it feels to cheer as you finally cram the empty Gladware into the dishwasher, the first serving lost in distant memory.  Those of us with empty nests, still learning to downsize the recipes we used with a household full of teenaged swimmers, know the meaning of “more of the same.” Even the best homemade ziti or sausage risotto does little more than fill a rumbling void the third or fourth time around. We cram it in, swallow, and do the dishes out of habit, but find nothing memorable in the overly soft pasta or rubbery sausage.

I worry that current efforts to extend the school day/school year for all U.S. students may be as mushy and meaningless as old risotto.  MoreOf TheSame, i.e. more hours of time with a numb backside in a plastic chair, does not equate to more learning, more challenge, or more competitiveness. If we are to extend the school day or school year, it should be with something different: different experiences in different places with different people. Imagine adding an entirely new dish to the menu in place of leftovers: spicy time (thyme?) creating meaningful projects from ANY chair, fragrant discussions with a professional or a mentor, savory stints arguing with classmates about real content — online, instead of on-schedule. If we are going to “extend” the school day or year, the extension should be anything but the same.

What an opportunity we have to open new kitchens. Imagine having school be a “reality” show: real experiences with real people (though not contrived a la Hollywood, please). Throw the kids into a Hell’s Kitchen of learning where they must cook up their own recipes and answer to the judges. The prize: your own “restaurant,” i.e. lifelong opportunities to keep on learning. What a magnificent alternative to MOTS.

Now if we can just listen to the true gourmets in education’s kitchens, and avoid short-order cooks with timers…

David Brooks column on genius leaves me gesticulating and arguing aloud at my computer screen. Once again someone has attempted to quantify a magnificent phenomenon into something measurable and, in the process, created a well-organized data set that, at best, partially describes the topic at hand. Just as “Advanced” and “Proficient” on state tests define academic success, so does  Brooks’ description of “genius” as a function of repeated and highly-focused practice.  There are enough points unplotted on his graph to generate an entirely separate curve.

My argument draws on years of  learning as the “teacher” of gifted kids. While many of my students had very talented minds and exactly the drive and perfectionism  Brooks describes to “develop a deliberate, strenuous and boring practice routine,” a series of intriguing others showed entirely different patterns of genius. Some vaulted over practice routine to perfection on the first attempt. Others dove into disconnected ventures inside diverse idea-caves. Brooks’ description (with all due credit to his sources,  Colvin and Coyle) ignores both the Intuiting Vaulter and an Intellectual Spelunker model of genius. Yet both have sat in my classroom, dropped by my house after college, or emailed me a generation later to tell me what they have wrought. Their genius moves like spring white-water, making it far more difficult to describe or quantify. The only point on which I can agree with Brooks about their genius is that it was only remotely measured by I.Q.

The Intuiting Vaulter just KNOWS how things work without hearing it, seeing it, or watching YouTube explain it. She does not need practice. After only slight exposure to the venue and powered by a run-up of her own ideas and the grace of exceptional understanding, her vault takes her high over the bar in a parabolic leap past those practicing hard to achieve lower measurements of genius. Her ideas simply hit the mark the first time, though she cannot tell you why. She rarely boasts of the heights she reaches.

The Intellectual Spelunker  explores and tries out too many ideas, including those far from the main stream. She hears about and explores a never-ending series of new idea caves with no apparent pattern or map. She practices within none for more than a moment before she moves on to another twisted passage into murky, wet thinking. Occasionally she plays in the mud at the bottom of the cave, then leaves her finger marks for the water to wash away. One day she emerges with a book of poems or a concert that only hints at  connections between the caves  at some level far below the ground. But before she finishes reading the poems or singing the songs, she leaves at  intermission, lured by another cave. We stay behind, marveling at the words and music she leaves. The only things  she “practices” are changing direction and asking questions.

Brooks, Colvin, and Coyle, your vision of genius robs the world of  immeasurable wonders. In today’s connected world of user-generated information and understanding, the Intuiting Vaulter can land in soft cushions after a soaring blog post that stuns the rest of us. The Intellectual Spelunker has many more caves to explore, places to “play,”  and tools to express unmapped connections beyond our understanding, thanks to the web. This is an age to unleash and appreciate genius, not quantify it.

I talked this morning with a representative from a university where I earned a graduate degree, and he asked me to describe my dream scenario for an event I would like to see happen on their campus, something that would follow my passion. Always willing to brainstorm and dream on a moment’s notice, I spun a scenario on the spot, and I continue to allow the idea to incubate. So here is how it looks so far (incubation time: 2 hours, ten minutes). Feel free to add to the dream. Of course, this might someday become a reality, so please don’t rip off my ideas without at least talking to me first. Think of this as Creative Commons with attribution and limited distribution for ideas (I know…you can’t copyright an idea, anyway…).

When/where: one week, summer — sometime (indefinite year), on the university campus but simultaneously via virtual experience from anywhere on the web

Who: a combination of classroom teachers (K-12), teachers-to-be, articulate high school and middle school kids, maybe some kids involved in on-campus summer programs for K-12 kids, people from TeachersFirst, people (ANY level) who infuse technology well in their teaching and learning, anyone who wants to join in online

What: A replicable “Infusion Project.” Modeled loosely after the National Writer’s Project, teachers come to learn together. The special feature of this project: they collaborate and learn alongside kids who could be their students, other teachers, and quasi-experts: people who are excited, experienced, articulate, and supportive about effective use of technology as a tool for learning. In a non-threatening environment, teachers can learn about tools and learning from students who are comfortable with the tools and eager to use them. The experienced “experts” can share and support other teachers who are just feeling out new ways to teach (and learn). In small groups of mixed expertise, the project can use good theory and practical knowledge and experience to let new ideas explode into the curriculum of local teachers and those at a distance. Groups would include: a K-12 student (or two), a teacher who wants to learn, an “expert” (teacher who has had some success), a teacher-to-be,  and one or more other teachers who join in virtually. That’s as far as I have gotten, but I am thinking about how we could structure the tasks and exchanges so the whole  experienced in each group is greater than the parts and how the same experience could be replicated all over the world.

How: I need to think more about this part… money, stakeholders, politics, all that fun stuff.

Why: Here is a start on a bulleted stream-of consciousness (is that an oxymoron or what?) of reasons so far…

• Kids are comfortable with the tools but can benefit from hearing how teachers make decisions about teaching….and they can contribute their “side” of these decisions.
• Putting different points of view on ways to learn together can force all to talk about the “why” as well as the “how”
• Teachers uncomfortable with “looking stupid” might be willing to learn from students who are not in their own classes
• Including people from other locations allows the spread of ideas and injectsideas outside the local experience
• Creating a model that blends F2F and virtual collaboration will let teachers experience it wihtout being forced to plan it themselves

and more…

But I need to get back to today’s Tasks. I will let this one incubate a bit more (total incubation time now a little over three hours). Feel free to add to the dream.

Parents enjoy seeing their kids grow up and then reacquainting with them as adults. What about teachers? After 27 years of teaching, I can honestly say that I still enjoy reading what former students are doing and what became of them as adults. I don’t know if this is true for all teachers, but it is an important part of me and how I view my worth on this earth.

I suspect that my interest is in proportion to the number of years I shared learning with a student. In my case, I had students for multiple years as their teacher of gifted or as a middle school media center teacher during that magical(?!) span through puberty and growing taller than my five foot three. In other words, I witnessed them as they grew up — for more than the usual nine or ten months. In some cases, I witnessed and participated for as many as seven years from grades 2-8. As many continued in high school, I had continued contact as a technology person team-teaching with their teachers.

As a child of two teachers in boarding schools, I grew up believing that students become lifelong members of a teacher’s extended family. I am sure that this assumption cements my feeling of connection to former students. My network of “siblings” came back to our house at the oddest times, and my parents welcomed them just as they did me when I arrived unannounced from college with a carload of hungry friends and laundry.

Enter Facebook into the world of former teachers, and an interesting phenomenon occurs. If  I see former students among friends of friends, do I “friend” them? Is this unprofessional on my part, an invasion of their world by someone from childhood, or a sign of respect for them as an intriguing adult? As I click “add as friend,” I worry that they will think it odd to hear from this lady who made them build inventions or peristently asked them, “what to YOU think?” I am a blur from life before high school, a name that sounds familiar, gummy with old sticker-adhesive on a “log book” they threw away years ago. I am cursed and blessed by an exceedingly good memory for their projects, panics, and even parents. Now I simply would like to meet them again as adults. Should I risk the click to “add as friend”?

I am probably taking this decision far too seriously. Facebook sticks people together with as much adhesive as old stickers. Not a big deal. Except to the former teacher who saw them grow up.

Reading has definitely changed. Trent Batson and Nicholas Carr both know it, and so do all of us who pass through places like Think Like a Teacher.  Batson’s response and the original Carr piece, ‘Is Google Making Us Stupid?’ have me ready to click “write a post” before I finish bouncing between them. As soon as one piece has my attention (I found it on a trusted RSS feed),  I mentally highlight favorite quotes a la English major  and look for juicy bits to read and re-read. Carr is right that I am “power browsing,” but Batson is also right that the “loss” of books is actually a gain for critical thinking. I would go even further and say that reading has become an invitation to DO something.

When I taught elementary gifted kids, there were two distinct groups that emerged during independent project season each year: the Tell-alls  and the Sponges. The Tell-alls wanted to tell everyone everything they read and could not enjoy learning without the telling. During quiet research time in class, they called out, narrating each new discovery as they read or browsed the web. It wasn’t new knowledge until they shared it. The Sponges worked alone, never speaking a word, often so absorbed that they lost all their notes and personal belongings as if transported to an entirely separate location, living among the subjects of their research. When called back to our world and asked to prepare their choice of presentation to “show what you know,” the Sponges were at a loss and uttered malformed bits and pieces until I squeezed the sponge of their awkwardness with many prompts. The Sponges saw no need to DO anything with what they learned. The pleasure was purely personal.

I see the new way we read– thanks to technology — as a cure to both. The Tell-alls are web 1.0. They get their pleasure from the suck-in-and-spit-out of info, but the rest of us gain little from their pleasure. The Sponges are stand-alone processors without a network. Only with the evolution of multiple-tabs (I still have Carr and Batson open right now), feeds, blogs, and doo-dads can I have the very real pleasure of reading until I feel I must DO something. I once had a prof who always asked, “Now what will you DO with it?” as he handed back a good paper. The web (and email and RSS feeds and Facebook and cell phones…) ask that every time we READ.

Now what will you DO with this?