Think Like a Teacher

OK, so my ego bounced this week at being named a “DABA” (Deserves A Bigger Audience) blogger. As I thought about it, my mind rolled over to all the kids I taught and the ways they reacted to unexpected feedback. They were changed people. And so I muse:

Doesn’t everybody deserve a bigger audience?

I started rewinding the reactions I saw when students absorbed just one little bit of extra recognition– even just from a quiet teacher comment. But when they approached projects with a broader audience, they REALLY became porous sponges to the flowing reactions, in turn creating better products than I ever imagined. There were kids who sweated for weeks, perfecting scripts for student-made TV shows worthy of a “Televiddy Award,” our middle school’s equivalent to the Emmys. There were kids who spent hours creating bald eagle, turkey, and vulture costumes and the accompanying “National Bird Pageant” script for a Bicentennial Minute that actually DID win a local Emmy once televised. Simply seeing it aired on TV was what they cared about. There were little second graders who, when they found out their inventions would be judged by an actual patent attorney and several high school “judges,” suddenly cared about whether their gadget truly worked (not required, but it sure mattered to them).

Is it any wonder that their achievement soared? Is it surprising that I find myself carefully revising my words in this post-DABA post?

We read the research about authentic learning, but how often do we remember that every kid is a DABA in some way. And most of us still perk up and suck in feedback from respected sources as adults. We just forget to give it as often as we should.

Whom will you dub a DABA today?

This is a story through a teacher’s eyes. This teacher was a veteran of many years and many trends over more than three decades. She was the kind of teacher who embraced each new trend as an opportunity and loved trying new things. She had discovered computers and the Internet early on and had become a techno-evangelist among teachers. More recently she had crossed over to join The Suits, the people who meet in the principal’s office wearing visitor badges, catching only glimpses of “Evan” or “Jamal” being hushed and scurried along at the end of the line and into the classroom door across from the office by a woman in a colorful sweater and “teacher shoes.” She had left the trenches to travel as an “expert.” But she savored the quick glimpses she could steal on her way into the principal’s office meetings.

On this particular day she visited two schools: one an elementary school, and one an elementary school building turned into district offices. The schools were in neighboring districts. There the similarities end.

As the kindergarten line skidded into the room across the hall from school office #1, our teacher signed herself in and printed a visitor badge from a laptop just inside the office, then settled into a wooden fifth-grader-sized chair around a table in the principal’s cluttered office. The principal pushed aside a few papers and a handmade book about a principal superhero, neatly handwritten on purple construction paper.

The small group talked about the upcoming Earth Day and a chance to use a new technology from a garden lab a mile from the school so students could stream video directly to the Web and tell about their applications of environmental science in the garden. The laptops and webcams would share the event with parents, other classrooms, and anyone who wanted to watch on the Web. When our teacher asked about any district policies that might limit streaming video, student-created content on the web, or use of web-based tools that require memberships and profiles, the principal smiled knowingly and suggested that he could get a parent release for the students involved and take care of it. Our teacher saw the knowing look as he went on to tell how he deployed new technologies among his teachers by modeling them in a staff meeting and then “letting them play for a while to see what ideas they come up with for their curriculum.”

The meeting ended and emails exchanged, our teacher signed herself and the others out and brushed past the hand-made tiles of the hallway mosaic and out into the sunshine.

Later in the day and 10 miles away, the group stopped in a parking lot and rang the doorbell as the desk buzzed them into school #2, the former elementary school. They signed in on the sheet and clipped their visitor badges into their suit lapels as they were ushered through aisles of horizontal files and name plates, finally arriving at a windowless conference room. Everyone exchanged business cards across the empty laminate table and began the conversation about that same new technology. The Gatekeepers of the Network pronounced the need for streaming video to be unproven and, yes—theoretically possible, but only available if someone could show that it was needed. The Gatekeepers declared that even wifi had not been installed in their schools because no one had shown that it was needed. But perhaps this technology could be used to track the school busses or help with emergency evacuation plans. The Gatekeepers had a Robust and Secure Network and –by the way—far better tax support than their neighboring district whom they declared to be “broke.”

On the way out, walking in the single file line of Suits back toward the security entrance, our teacher composed this blog post in her head and cried as invisibly as the ghosts of children in this former school building.

Where I am today, the wind is howling in a classic nor’easter, with snow swirling into near white-outs. As always happens to me when the natural world is doing something noteworthy, I find myself drawing analogies connected to what I witness in nature. Today’s musing: Is education the response to intellectual “whiteout,” a way to prevent students from  blowing and drifting?

A recent New York Times article underscored the pragmatic trends in education during tough economic times. Specifically they cite the priority of technological, scientific, and employment needs that have pushed aside the liberal arts into pockets within “elitist” colleges. The Times further points out that the proponents of the humanities have not successfully marketed their field as essential to the future of the U.S. and the world.

Marketing the humanities?  Hmmm.

To prevent minds for blowing and drifting, do we steer students to science and technology where their efforts can be measured and their products fill practical needs in society? If we do so to the exclusion of the study of history, literature, writing, the arts, and even philosophy, will the winds abate and the snows settle into sparkling mounds of freshness?

You can tell by my questioning where I stand. I am an unabashed proponent of the liberal arts.  Without the ability to bounce new ideas off each other, to question, muse, and say the unexpected using an unexpected turn of phrase, we cannot stop the blowing and drifting of young minds and press ahead to a sparkling world. Indeed, we NEED some blowing and drifting of thought or we risk hardened, stale, brown-grey piles of crusty snow formed by plowing those once-sparkly flakes too quickly into the places where they are “supposed” to go.  I have no problem with the value of pragmatism. I believe it is in the process of questioning and making connections and oxymorons out of the scientific and measurable that we turn blowing and drifting into the striking patterns we see on the hillsides of thought. This is blowing and drifting allowed to follow and create new patterns. And I would maintain that without the liberal arts, without people seeing analogies and wondering aloud, the scientists would be stuck in crusty snow mounds that age and melt from the underside into cinder-filled storm sewers long after the rest of the winter has thawed.

I hope we can allow education to appreciate some blowing and drifting, veering entirely neither to white-out nor plow-hedges. We need everyone’s ideas — stirred by a little blowing and drifting.

Twenty or thirty years from now, electronic libraries will be full of cyber-volumes about the opening decade of the 21st century and the confluence of events that turned the world sideways like an iPhone display: the flood of web 2.0, September 11, wars, and unprecedented economic distress. We certainly have no satellite view today. We cannot even feel the tilt well enough to know which end is up. We have all this information, and we can find out nothing.

I just finished editing another set of small tidbits to throw into the Web of information and ideas about the economy: some pages for parents on how to help children and teens cope during tough economic times and some for teachers on how to help all of us learn more about these complex systems. But even collecting and synthesizing good information from reliable sources is a slippery reality. When it comes down to it, nothing we write is any better than the reliable sources we trust — trust just because someone else we trust already trusted them. Even a savvy web user can only use the tests of reputation, references, credentials, and (gulp) Google ranking to decide who to believe. If my network says it’s reliable, I guess I can trust it.

As educators we know that we must help our students learn to compare information, assess it, compile it,  and convey it, but there are days like today when I wonder if we are simply helping them build a false sense of reality. I watch the news and I wonder which “authority” or “expert”  will fall tomorrow, which economic scheme will prove false, which report on the stateus of Afghanistan will be mistaken. I especially wonder what the state of the economy really is. No one knows. And this time Google does not help. There does not seem to be an algorithm for ranking such a total abstraction.

I am afraid I am left simply wondering what they will say in twenty or thirty years about all of us who are driven by the shepherds of the news media and the Internet. Reality is slippery, and we are supposed to help our students navigate it when we do not understand it ourselves. But someone trusts us because someone else they trust trusted us.

Scary.

Apologies for no new posts recently. Family-member health and wellness trumped everything for a bit, but things are back on track for now…and so I have time to post.

I did something new and risky last week and the week before. I ran the first few sessions of TeachersFirst’s OK2Ask: free, online, self-directed professional development sessions for teachers. I learned at least as much as the attendees did. And I am left with more questions.

The questions:

How bad is it not to be perfect when sharing in an online venue with total strangers? Does it make TeachersFirst “look bad” if I admit that the tools (in this case Elluminate) are new to me as a presenter? Is this any different from what teachers do every day  when they risk trying a new way of teaching or a new tool to make learning more personal and all-encompassing for the LEARNERS?  Isn’t it good that I model a willingness to make mistakes publicly? Granted, I did practice a lot and play with the tools over and over. But the second session was ALWAYS better than the first. Was it wrong to allow myself to do less than “nail it” the first time?

Geez I hope not.

What I learned:

Teachers are supportive, eager learners and cheerleaders, even to total strangers whom they cannot see. I knew this. I have seen it over and over for years. But to see teachers willing to get excited about small discoveries and to tell total strangers about them via text chat in a virtual “room” is very cool. Most of those involved had never done  a session like this, and they dove right in. And some came back the next week.

Nothing I did was that unusual. People have been trying out online teaching and learning for several years. There is loads of how-to wisdom out there on “best practices” in online learning. I read a lot of it. I play with the tools and imagine scenarios as I swim laps at 6 am (or lie awake at 4 am). The bottom line, IMHO,  is that the learning, online or other, goes best when we do it together. This is just as much fun as the first few classes I taught as a brand new teacher decades ago. Yes, I said FUN. I just hope my fellow learners keep on coming.

In the 1940s, a young woman with a college education was often the first in her family. If she became a teacher, she worked until marriage and was then asked to leave. In some very enlightened schools, she might have finished the school year with a ring on her finger or even worked until she became pregnant. Then it ended. After she had children, she did not return to work for many, many years, if ever.

But a few women returned to the classroom sooner. This was the adventurous generation of bright, energetic women who had much to share. These were women who shared brilliance and flexed remarkable power in the lives of both their own children and the futures of thousands of “kids” before any breath of women’s rights or feminism was heard. These were working women before the term “daycare” was even coined.

Last week I attended a memorial service for one such woman and listened to her grandchildren and children tell of the school “kids” who came to the house, even on Christmas Day, to show their affection and respect, singing Christmas carols. Many of these respectful visitors were in the congregation at the memorial service, now grandparents themselves.

Now our nation has a new leader who has declared a call to service, and I stop to think about the adventurous generation of women who heard that call not long after their soon-to-be-husbands returned from WWII. Their service went unnoticed by most, except the young beneficiaries of that gentle power and willing, brilliant spirit. These women shared not only within their own families but with year after year of their “kids” at school. They were considered strange to be working full time — probably even regarded as “bad” mothers for doing so.  But the service they paid to the next generation and the next should not be forgotten.

It is so much easier to become a teacher now. Yes, the “kids,” the testing, and the political pressures are tougher. But no one kicks them out for marriage, pays them less for being female, or criticizes them for being working moms. In fact, becoming a teacher is considered “easy” (HA!), at least compared to becoming a rocket scientist or investment banker.

So I salute the adventurous generation of teacher/moms who spawned the next generation of women who broke the glass ceilings and said things out loud. So few of them are left, but those who are around are probably still befriending teenagers at church and organizing something.

I just have to give a blog-cheer from this life-long teacher to a sixth grader in California whose science fair project discovered something real world scientists and agricultural experts did not know. Science fairs are often maligned as a chance for parents to do projects for their children and gain bragging rights, but in this case it appears that a student had an idea and was lucky enough to have a parent who allowed him to pursue it. (Of course the student also had a parent who could connect him with a real world facility in which to DO the research…). The fact that the student was the son of a professor tells me that modeling is key. If students see and hear scientists thinking aloud, they will act like scientists.  What power all adults have as teachers.

So I cheer for an eleven year old who asked a question and went after the answer. Isn’t this what we want education to be all about?

And Gabriel,  I personally prefer pistachios, too.

The greatest luxury I have in this job since leaving the classroom is permission to play. After 27 years of completely scheduled or overscheduled time, I can dedicate a morning to comparing tools in search of the ideal one for a given technology task. I can play at will and seek answers: on my own, from help screens, among online forums, or from my PLN (personal learning network). What a luxury to have “permission” to learn from play.

This week I spent several hours comparing different ways to deliver the upcoming OK2Ask sessions on TeachersFirst. I started with a desire to model entirely free tools that any teacher could use without TOO much trouble. I played with all sorts of freebies, all with jibberish names that are de rigeur these days. I embedded myself, recorded myself, shared myself, chatted with myself (on several computers at once, rolling my chair back and forth), gave myself tours, denied myself privileges, gave myself control (and took it away), took polls of myself, clicked myself, made innumerable profiles of myself, moderated myself, muted myself, dragged and dropped myself, tagged myself, explained myself, reverted myself, and even broadcast myself looking stupid as I played on Mogulus.com. (I guess that was “channeling” myself.) It was pretty funny when– for a bit — I could not figure out how to STOP channeling myself.

But I learned. And I found what I sought. In the process, I refined my search, defined my criteria, and even articulated them several times to  complete strangers. I was so glad to have permission to play and learn. And teacher-guilt made me feel bad that others are not allowed to do the same.

Our kids play this way all the time. They play with any available tool and toy. They may not be systematic, but they are comfortable. They know how to play. [At this point the early childhood people I work with would be yelling ,”Of COURSE they do. Play IS learning!]

As the OK2Ask sessions approach, I wonder if we should have named them “OK2Play” instead. I also wonder if teachers have forgotten how to play because they are simply never been given the time to do so.  I have a fundamental belief that teachers try to do the best they can for and with their students. They have been schooled in the Best Practices, research-based methods, etc. But I hope the denial of play time has not removed it from their repertoire.

I don’t really believe they have forgotten how because I have run innumerable inservice sessions where teachers have been as excited (and disruptive) as little kids as they have played with a newly-introduced technology.  I have always given them permission to play. This may not appear to be the most cost-effective, responsible, mature adult thing to do while being paid taxpayer dollars, but I would assert that these same teachers, give a meaningful mission such as I had in selecting a tool for Ok2Ask, would make permission to play into permission to learn. All it took was a focused goal.

I will find out in a couple of weeks whether my recent play time went between the goalposts or veered wildly out of bounds. Either way, I will learn from the experience.

As I write this, I am listening to wind chimes — the long, tubular, metal kind that resonate with deep tones. The late December wind gusts occasionally escalate the usual mellow tones into a dissonant frenzy. I have become accustomed to hearing them, an indicator of the invisible, weather-changing winds coming across the lake. These same winds provide a climate early-warning system on the lake side of the house quite opposite the protected, oblivious side. The wind chimes help us avoid the complete shock of stepping out unprepared into the changing micro-climate. Fortunately, we can hear the chimes’ reminders inside the house and select our outerwear accordingly.

Late December also brings the annual rite of reflecting back on a year gone by. The winds of 2008 resonate with edgy, dissonant tones of wind chimes as a front comes through. Every newscast this week has commented on the changes: political, economic, military, societal, world…. the media wind chimes are truly in a frenzied state. But the optimist in me cannot help but hear the underlying mellow tones, tones that find occasional harmonious combinations or a counterpoint of difference that somehow fits together.

My hope is that the winds of upheaval which produce so much dissonance will also escort in a refreshing front of rethinking, a permission to look anew at everything, including the way we operate the processes we call Teaching and Learning. As someone who has been fortunate enough to have had almost entirely positive experiences with Teaching and Learning in my life, I want so much for others to feel the same winds. Even more, I wish them wind chimes of their own: an awareness that the winds ARE ushering in change. And change is not bad; you just need to put on the appropriate outerwear.

Happy New Year.

OK, I am going to go completely off-topic…but I think I can pull it back in at the end.

Last night I watched A Charlie Brown Christmas for at least the 70th time (once a December since 1965, plus several repeats, VHS tapes,  and a DVD) . I can recite the entire dialog and knew the song, “Christmas Time is Here,” before the rest of the world ever heard it. I was one of those kids who was singing in the intro and during the tree sequence at the end of the show. I even got to shout “Merry Christmas Charlie Brown!” in a San Francisco sound studio late one night, having no idea that the shouts of the six of us,  fellow church junior choir members,  would be used at the moment that makes millions of people smile and an animated Charlie Brown do a double-take at least once each Christmas season on TV.

It is a long story, some of which is documented in the book Lee Mendelson and Bill Melendez wrote at the35th anniversary of the making of the show, a few months after Charles Schulz passed away. They messed up recounting the details of where our junior choir came from, but they did include portions of the letter I sent to Mr. Schulz… no matter. I just said all that to “prove” that I am not making this up.

What I noticed last night [here she goes—connecting back to the usual themes of this blog] was the community the Peanuts gang has. The absence of adults (except the wah-wah-wah voice of a school teacher in LATER specials) is a given in Peanuts. These kids do everything together: play baseball, fly kites (or not), learn about life, and even run their own Christmas play. We accept that. In the fantasy world of Charlie Brown and Lucy, kids have wisdom beyond their years and work together to respond to the needs of their own. Last night it was Charlie Brown’s need to see what Christmas is all about. Linus delivers his explanation from Luke’s gospel (no laugh track or audience sound afterward — just peaceful reverberation of silence). The gang follows Charlie Brown and decorates his tree. It is a world where kids fall down and pick each other up as they learn together and individually.

No, that is NOT the point of A Charlie Brown Christmas, but it does make me wonder whether we can duplicate even a portion of what these kids have in our own classroom community by pulling the adults  several steps back and allowing the kids to support each other. The likelihood that this would turn to chaos among real kids is high, yet the “what if” is important. The Peanuts gang has complete ownership. They still dance when they are supposed to be rehearsing their nativity play and argue about eating snowflakes. But when the snowballs hit the fan, they make sure that everyone gets what he/she needs. It might be fun to challenge a class to create the same community. Heaven knows, they have all seen the show! If I were still in my elementary gifted classroom, I might try it one year. All I’d need is a recording of “nah-nah-nah” to play when things got out of hand.