14 Jan 21 – I’ll Let You Know When We Get to the Opportunity

It has been suggested by several folx in education – most working outside the classroom – that we may be missing an opportunity to dramatically re-think, re-imagine, re-design, re-create learning, schools, and public education during the pandemic. We are not missing this opportunity, and hearing people say this makes me want to box their ears.

In a conversation with some teachers a couple days ago, one commented prepping for yet another return of students felt like she was in her fourth September this school year. Imagine, had I suggested in that moment that she was missing the opportunity to dramatically re-think her teaching practice.

It would not only have been tone deaf, it would have been uncaring.

We will get to the opportunity phase of all this, but we are not there yet. Right now, we are still in the survival, compassion, and empathy stage of this. We are in the place where everyone who is going to work is showing up with the knowledge they could unwittingly become infected by those in their care and pass that contagion on to those they love.

In one of the most deeply human professions, people are still required to be physically distanced and masked when interacting.

My attempt to re-imagine public education right now would start and end with me imagining it without the fear of catching a plague.

It does seem, as we settle into a very strange sense of routine, that we have gotten past the limitations of only solving those problems directly in front of us. Room is opening up for us to begin to think about the After Times. These will be the times of re-imagining.

I would posit, before we get there, we can carve out time for pausing and reflecting. Not time for planning, but time for asking as faculties and school communities, what we are learning and what’s working or not. Our schools and school systems have been in literal survival mode for nearly a year. One would hope school and district leaders are starting to hold space in meetings to return to listening to the people in the room.

Learning cannot happen unless people feel a sense of pyschosocial and physical safety. With all that has transpired this past year, we must build those senses of safety before we can hope to re-build learning and teaching.

The opportunity now is to listen. If we miss that opportunity now, when we arrive at the opportunity to re-create, we will miss it as well.

13 Jan 21 – Once a runner

This is the longest I’ve gone without running since I started running 18 years ago. I’ve taken breaks. The couple of times I did two marathons within a couple weeks of each other I was off my feet for a few months. It worked out okay because that was a stupid thing to do (twice) and my brain would have no more of that nonsense.

Not running wasn’t a thing I’d registered I’d be giving up on the road to single parenthood. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it. But, both kids are too young for me to head out for any decent distance. We all get anxious when I tell them I’m taking one of the dogs on a walk around the block. We’ve tried going on a run together – one on a bike, the other running with me. We made it a mile in about 20 minutes. I wouldn’t say it was running so much as moving quickly in short bursts with bickering in between. So, not exactly what I was looking for.

Plus, there’s a pandemic on. Combine that with my first full year of parenting and I’m always exhausted. I’m not, it turns out, too exhausted to snack. The steps and stamina required to snack are well within my much diminished capabilites.

What I also knew clearly but hadn’t registered was the break that running gives me. I’m not an athlete. I have no interest in lifting heavy things. I cannot dribble anything other than hot soup. I was on the losingest t-ball team in our league the year I played.

When I found running, something worked. It was time to myself. I couldn’t do anything else. In the last 18 years, when I had something I needed to process, I went for a run.

I’ve needed running this year, and it’s been just out of reach.

Tomorrow, at lunch time, I’m going for a run. It won’t be long. It’ll kick my ass. Two days from now, I’ll curse myself. For two miles tomorrow, though, I’ll be a runner again. I’ll let you know how it goes.

12 Jan 21 – What I’ve Been Working on the Last Few Years

In October, I wrote a bit about the Essential Questions a team of teachers got together and wrote in our district almost two years ago. They were the first step as our district started to develop our own secondary ELA curriculum resources. At the end of this year, the pilot of those resources will be concluded, and we’ll (hopefully) be gearing up for full implementation.

Screenshot of the curriculum homepage.

Piloting all-new resources in the midst of a pandemic when teachers have been asked to put into practice no fewer than four instructional models since the year began isn’t ideal. I’ve come to think of it as more of a consumer reports lab where context and reality have repeatedly beaten my plan for the pilot with a hammer to see how much the spirit of this project can withstand. Turns out, quite a bit.

If you’d like to see what we’ve been cooking up, you can find it here.

A few notes for context:

  • Our state has rolled out revised academic standards for ELA classrooms.
  • We have licensed all the materials under Creative Commons in hopes that other districts might leverage what we’ve created and share back their own work.
  • The approach is tight/loose. Tight on summative, on-demand writing, types and numbers of experiences, and themes/essential questions. Loose on how teachers use the resources to get students there.

I’ll go into more details down the road. For now, I wanted to share what we’ve done and where we are so far.

11 Jan 21 – Feedback in English Classrooms

Over on the professional twitter account, I mentioned this piece from Dan had me considering what possible corollaries exist in how we give feedback poorly in English classrooms.

Dan replied with a few questions:

and

Let’s take them in the order they rolled in. Dan contends the average ELA space as “richer” in feedback than most online math. Parsing out richer, I’d guess he’s thinking more meaningful. I would label it as more verbose. The average ELA classroom has a lot of words coming at students for feedback. Certainly, I’d argue the feedback on a short essay is full of more words than the feedback on a daily math assignment – online or in print.

But those words aren’t usually saying much, and their meaning is often more for the teacher than the student. These are the not quite sins, let’s call them sinlets I committed when grading such work.

  1. A cheat sheet. There were certain error types or weaknesses in writing that came up over and over again across multiple students’ work. So, I had a file open as I responded that allowed me to copy and paste identical feedback when I encountered a version of that error.

I don’t think ELA teachers are alone in this, but I would argue it does a greater disservice in the ELA classroom than in other disciplines. If students are working to create an artifact of their learning and thinking unique to their own minds, then copying and pasting my feedback where that thinking falls shorts fails to connect in a way that is constructive to growing those students thinking. It’s like trying to connect an off-brand LEGO to the real thing. It’ll stick, but it won’t hold together.

This particular sinlet was born out of a want to avoid repetitive grading injuries. I falsely thought I couldn’t let these “errors” slip by, so I pasted the relevant comments on everything. This brings us to…

2. Hyper commenting. There’s an principle in writing instruction that sets review and revision as a conversation between the writer and their editor. With this sinlet, my students were trying to have one conversation, and I responded so prolifically that it felt as though I was having 20. Even if the feedback was more specific than that mentioned above, where were students supposed to focus in the conversation with my hyperactive suggestions bouncing from comments on tone to grammar to evidence to structure? If they had been real conversations, I can’t imagine my students would have stuck around for long.

Again, this was often born out of a sense of needing to teach everything in each essay. The cumulative effect was that it taught nothing or very little.

3. It was already dead to begin with. When did I look at student writing? After they had written it and written it off as being done. For this sinlet, I was giving advise on pieces of work that, in the students’ minds, were now etched in stone. And, no matter how much I encouraged them to set goals for the next writing assignment based on that feedback, the bridge between the two was always too far.

With the exception of math courses where re-takes are allowed, I know feel there’s strong overlap on this one. Most non-computerized feedback comes only at the end of an assignment. Where ELA falls short is the bigger assignments cannot be graded in terms of individual pieces like math problems. We could give grading paragraph by paragraph, but there are issues there as well.

Those were my 3 annoying sinlets of teacher feedback. I have visited and worked with enough English teachers across the country to know they’re playing out right now in hundreds of classrooms and piles of grading.

As to Dan’s contention around meaning and artifacts of thinking, this is still the exception and not the rule. In some studies of practice in ELA classrooms, findings are that very little reading or writing are happening. Instead, it’s the stuff. Faux writing to prepare for constructed response items. Grammar exercises. Graphic organizers. So, when they encounter the rare soup-to-nuts writing experience, students are still shooting for the right answer in terms of a way of writing or particular content that will appease their teachers. Yes, the page may be blank, but there are unspoken expectations to fill it with the right words in the right order. And, like math, the possible combinations are infinite.

Because of this game of Guess What the Teacher is Thinking, peer feedback can also be paralyzed at best or apathetic at worst. If the teacher is going to come in at the end and render a verdict based on what they expected to be included, then no peer comments or suggests are going to make any difference. This is where we get the inspired, “I like the words you used” and their ilk as comments.

So, Dan, to answer your questions, yes, the possibility exists for these things to hold true and set ELA spaces apart. For myriad reasons, though, that is not how the average ELA space functions. Additionally, and for another post, moving these creative acts into spaces where the feedback is automated is an even bigger killer of the work.

10 Jan 21 – This is who we are, and it need not be

This is who we are.

We always have been.

It is not all of who we are.

Pretending it is not who we are means it festers underneath.

Pressure building.

Spreading.

Surfacing in rage so antithetical to the face we’ve been presenting, we can’t admit it’s a mirror.

This is who we are, and it need not be.

9 Jan 21 – Oh yeah, I’m a dad.

So, I realize I haven’t really talked about the fact I’m a dad now. I am. I have two kids – an 11yo daughter and a 9yo son. They are tremendous.

My pathway to parenthood was foster-to-adopt. I’ve known forever I want to be a dad. Forever. Figuring out the how was a little trickier. For a while, I anticipated I’d be married and we’d either adopt or go through a surrogate. At some point, though, I either got tired of waiting or didn’t like the idea of my parenting being dependent on another person. (It’s possible I’ve been single too long.)

So, I attended an informational session organized by Raise the Future, outlining the numerous pathways to adopting. While I love babies, I didn’t need the newborn experience to feel like a full parent.

From the informational meeting, I found a local adoption agency, set up a meeting and got the process going. I’ll write more about the process throughout the year. Suffice it to say, I’m a dad now. It’s part of the reason last year saw two posts on the blog. Parenting is hard. Adopting is hard. My kids moved in Dec. 4, 2019. Over the Christmas holiday, our dog was diagnosed with cancer and put down just after the new year. In March, the pandemic started. Parenting and adopting during a pandemic that requires social isolation is very hard.

This has been the hardest year of my life. I have felt more alone than ever before. I have felt unsure of every option in front of me. I have felt deep sadness grieving the life I had before. I have wondered how I will get to the other side of this.

I love it. I choose it every day, and I love it.

Last week, my daughter ran up to me when I arrived to pick her up from school. She was distraught, sad, near tears. A friend who’d said she’d play with her had decided, instead, to play with another girl. My daughter hugged me as we walked and told me how sad she was. A year ago, heck, three months ago, that wouldn’t have happened.

Now, though, more often than not, they both look for me when their worlds get heavy or scary.

They are also starting to share their joys more.

My son has reported two new best friends at school this week. This morning, he told me they were his bosses, “Like you have a boss.” His understanding of bosses and friendships not withstanding, he’s connecting at his new school, making friends, feeling safe. He’s finding his people.

When I was younger, my mom was constantly telling others about my sister and me. It always struck me as odd. Her job was an important and busy one. Why would she bring up her kids to colleagues or take time to tell stories about us?

I get it now.

I have told no fewer than 1 billion people my daughter can solve 3-digit by 3-digit multiplication problems. When my son read a story by himself for the first time, the video made its way to his entire teaching team, my moms, my sister, my brother-in-law, and several friends. Frankly, now that I’m a parent, I can’t believe my mom ever shut up about us to get any work done.

I live and breathe with their every win and every loss. I want to shield them from every hurt they could possibly feel. And, I want them to live big, bold lives feeling all things deeply.

Most of the time, I know I’m doing it wrong. Every once in a while, I have a brief moment of thinking I’m doing it right.

That, I’ve been told, is parenting.

8 Jan 21 – 10 things I have done to stop watching, reading, scrolling the news

  1. Re-subscribed to Marvel Unlimited – A couple years ago, inspired by the AMAZING Jay & Miles X-Plain the X-Men, I started a subscription in hopes of reading every X-Men comic starting at the very beginning. I have re-subscribed and begun again.
  2. Re-activated my Headspace account – While I’ve never been able to “imagine liquid sunlight pouring into” me, I am all the way back on board with Headspace. I need someone to remind me to close my eyes and breathe.
  3. Daily (at least) living room dance parties with the kids – They have no idea how on-the-nose it is that they choose Rachel Platten’s “Fight Song” as our first song every time.
  4. Coloring – I don’ have a description here.
  5. Reading Hank Green‘s second novel – I loved An Absolutely Remarkable Thing. I am hoping to equally love A Beautifully Foolish Endeavor. (Side note: Endeavor is a cruel word to have to spell.)
  6. Taking down Christmas decorations – This is, admittedly, a one off…unless I decide to put them all back up and take them down again. We live in a world without rules.
  7. Laundry – But we’re talking EVERYTHING. I even took down the shower curtain to be cleaned.
  8. Trying all the teas I’ve stockpiled over the years – I live very close to the Celestial Seasonings factory. Once I found this out, it became a go-to move for visiting family and friends. Did you know they make more than 70 types of tea? I’ve got work to do.
  9. Writing here.
  10. Watching TV – The latest seasons of Star Trek: Discovery and The Expanse both portray a pretty bleak future, and they’re still preferable to reality.

What about you?

7 Jan 21 – Have Them Write

Whatever other tools and resources and lesson plans we are using right now, we must have students write. Before class conversations. Before pretending we can just move back to in-person learning or beyond watching white supremacists parade the Confederate flag through the U.S. Capitol, have them write.

There will be time for biology, calculus, Spanish II, world history and the lot. Yes, we’ve already lost so much time, so it won’t make much difference to give 10 minutes to providing space for students to pause and put whatever they’ve been holding down on paper.

And, while they’re writing, let’s write with them. Use the time to put down some pieces of the load we’ve been carrying.

It doesn’t need to be graded, shared, discussed, or edited. It needs to be written. Each word put to the page is a brick removed from the walls we and our students have built to keep the world out and ourselves safe this past year.

We are foolish to think they or we will be able to do school until we’ve laid down what we’re carrying.

And, yes, we can have morning meetings, advisory, crew, and whatever other support mechanisms we’ve built. They will be a salve as we return to communities of learning and teaching. Even then, have them write first. Have them take the time to unjumble their thoughts and emotions in a way that doesn’t require sharing with anyone.

And then, tomorrow, have them write some more.

6 Jan 21 – Why I didn’t tell you today happened

A few months ago, deep in pandemic isolation, you pointed to the Abraham Lincoln salt and pepper shakers our family made sure remind us of Illinois and asked who that guy was. That was the first time you really heard about a president.

I was happy, in these times, Lincoln was the first one you would learn about. Imperfect, certainly, but more often than not, a man to listen to his better angels. The conversation turned to where Lincoln lives now. I explained his death. I told you the name John Wilkes Booth and you both had huge eyes.

For what seemed like an hour, you took turns asking some version of, “But why would he do that?”

“He was angry,” was insufficient to such an act of violence against someone you were understanding was a good human.

I knew, once you knew Lincoln was gone, the question was coming.

“Do we have a president now?”

“Yes.”

“Who is he?”

I told you his name.

Since I knew we would become a family during his presidency, I’ve been bracing for the questions, planning how I would respond. Telling you what to think is not in my DNA, but presenting any piece of these last five years as anything akin to a neutral narrative would be lying. And, we don’t lie.

So, I waited for the tough questions. You only had one.

After I told you his name, one of you looked at me and asked, “Is he kind?”

I felt a surge of relief and sorrow. I knew the answer, and I did not want you to know it.

“No,” I said, “He is not kind.”

You had many follow-up questions. Instances where you wanted to know if he’d chosen kindness. For each, I could honestly tell you no.

“Does he have kids?” you finally asked.

“He does,” I said.

“Is he kind to his kids?”

“I don’t think so, no.”

I can see both of you staring at me. Brown eyes as wide as I’d ever seen them. Taking it all in.

After a pause, “But if he is not kind, why did people vote for him to be president?”

I still don’t know how to answer that question in a way you would accept. That people might pick someone unkind to do a job as important as you were beginning to understand the presidency to be was inconceivable.

Neither of you needed the world to be any more fragile or unpredictable. When one of you became obsessed with the election as it drew near, I knew it was because you needed a wrong to be righted. You didn’t need a unkind adult in power over you. You started having trouble sleeping. It broke my heart the day after the election not to ease your mind. I felt myself willing the count in Pennsylvania more for what you needed to be true than for what we needed as a country.

Your cheers in the car after I told you it was decided…

So, today, when I collected you from school, I did not tell you what happened. I could not make your world seem anymore unsteady than it already has been. I could not tell you. I will not hasten your understanding of the ugliness in this world.

Instead, we talked about kindness. As I always do, when I tucked you both in, I asked how you were smart, how you were brave, and how you were kind in your day. Then, as I always do, I asked what you would do to make tomorrow a little bit better.

Not telling you about today was not turning a blind eye to the world. It was a decision not to let the ugliness of that world dictate how we think about our own ability to create beauty.

We will continue to talk about the content of character, love being love, and what to do when faced with those who would tell you color and orthodoxy matter more. I will challenge your proclivities to like things because others like them. I will do my best to respectfully reply to your questions each time you challenge my authority. I will work to model what it looks like to stand up to bullies, cruelty, and liars.

I didn’t tell you what happened today because there will undoubtedly be more days like today, and I want to use the time we have now to help you be prepared to face them in ways that are smart, brave, and kind.

5 Jan 21 – What Did We Learn Online?

My kids go back to in-person learning tomorrow. Aside from all the health fears wrapped up in that, I have a larger looming existential fear we are going to miss a key learning of being forced online.

We saw into kids’ homes. We saw how they would choose to present themselves if they had even more tools. We saw how they would hide if they could. There’s learning there.

Some kids never turned their cameras on. Others made sure a digital background was always present when their cameras were on. Still others arranged their learning spaces in precise ways to share their worlds. There’s learning there.

Some kids showed up in pristine rooms and silence. Others showed up with muted microphones because they were saving their classes from the din constantly surrounding them. There’s learning there.

Some never said a word on camera but dropped mad knowledge in chats. Others begged their classmates to stop sending emojis in the chats because they were doing their best to focus on what they were supposed to be seeing, hearing, and thinking. There’s learning.

Online learning has meant daily home visits across all demographics. Kids we thought lived in stable spaces don’t. Kids we thought were without familial support aren’t. We were way off the mark on some of the kids we thought hung on our every word. And some kids we’d written off as writing us off, showed us they were counting on us to keep investing in them.

There’s learning in all of this. In some ways, we’ve been afforded an uncurated look at who are students are outside the context of classrooms and schools. In others, we’ve seen whom they’d like us to see them as when given powerful digital tools and the comfort of their own spaces. None of it is simple and all of it has powerful potential for our learning and theirs.

I don’t exactly know when, but I hope we get just a couple minutes in the coming weeks to stop and reflect on what our students showed us – intentionally or not – through these online portals into their worlds. There’s learning there.