If you, like me, have ever waffled on the debate of whether we “just teach them the trick” for math before, take a careful look at this side-by-side comparison of students showing their math thinking.
Example A:
These two samples are from the same student. Makes me think about what we prioritize, and about who else is hiding. pic.twitter.com/ePCfiEVVWK
My question is this: even if teaching the trick gets students to pass the test and ace the class and get into the college–have we, as educators, truly done our jobs?
If we’ve never heard their creative approaches to making sense of math because we’re too busy telling them the right way to “borrow,” have we joined them in their learning journey, or are we scripting it?
If we just keep focusing our energy in helping them memorize, are our students ever going to see themselves as competent mathematicians?
“What I’m saying is, when we treat grades and scores and accolades and awards as the purpose of childhood, all in furtherance of some hoped-for admission to a tiny number of colleges or entrance to a small number of careers, that that’s too narrow a definition of success for our kids.” (Julie Lythcott-Haims from the TED Talk below)
This quote comes to mind as I review my 6 year-old’s first academic report from the first month of school. I look at the paper and wonder what I should with it (besides discussing it with my daughter, as per the instructions at the bottom).
Should I high-five her or take her out for a treat because she has high scores in literacy? If we did that, what exactly would we be celebrating? The scores or the literacy? And if we celebrated scores when she has only ever read or written because she loves reading and writing, would she start loving the scores more than the reading and writing?
Should I have her stop writing so many stories after school to make way for more math practice because her scores aren’t quite as high there? If we did that, what exactly would we achieve? Raised math scores? Lowered writing scores? A sense of pressure associated with mathematics?
All these thoughts swirled as I obediently reviewed the report with her, when suddenly, she stopped me and asked, “Why are you telling me all these numbers?”
So far, scores don’t mean anything at all to her. She simply sees herself as a reader, writer, mathematician, scientist, thinker, and artist. Why should I should I get in the way of that by pushing her, when there is already such a strong intrinsic pull toward learning? As Edna also so eloquently shared years ago,
“School is often about push. Push to succeed. Push to get high grades. Push to achieve. Push to fit in. Push to participate. Push to comply. Push to work harder.
But the above might not be the most motivating ways to engage students and promote learning…
Learning is about pull. A strong provocation that awakens curiosity. A powerful central idea that excites interest. Essential questions that draw students into meaningful learning. Learning experiences that encourage wondering, exploring, creating and collaborating. Opportunities to construct meaning and transfer learning to other contexts.”
Don’t get me wrong. I do appreciate the report and I deeply appreciate all her teacher’s efforts in conveying her progress. The comments regarding her behavior were especially valuable in our discussion. And had her numbers conveyed concerning trends (ie, consistently low scores and signs of significant struggling), I would be anxious to be aware in order to work with the teacher for interventions and support.
But for now, she learns because of her intrinsic love of learning. And I’m happy to continue to provide opportunities at home (and hear about those that occur at school) that continue to help pull that interest and enthusiasm.
I want to start this week’s provocation article by re-sharing a quote from Paul Solarz that was included in Adam Hill’s post on launching Genius Hour with his students:
“Too many children today go to school only to bide their time until they get home and do something that truly interests them.”
Paul Solarz, Learn like a PIRATE
The more I think about this, the more it makes sense that those same children grow up to continue to spend large blocks of their lives–even careers–“biding their time until they get…to do something that truly interests them.”
Meanwhile, they might never truly learn what their own passions are, let alone practice them.
To me, it all comes down to assumptions. How we should spend our time, our money, our relationships, our energy, our intelligence–it’s all dictated based on preconceived notions from, well, almost everyone around us.
Today, I want to share two resources that rock that idea to the core. The first is a beautiful autobiographical comic by Zen Pencils from a speech by Bill Watterson–a man who turned down millions of dollars to authentically pursue his passion and craft.
The second is a video entitled “The Millennial Rebuttal” by Welzoo & Column Five.
You might take a look at these provocation resources and think, “Yeah, but tomorrow, I need to teach fractions, phonics, and the anatomy of an apple. What place does this have in my instruction?”
The answer is, the highest place. Untraining students from the dependency on others’ assumptions will help them better familiarize themselves with their passions, develop their critical thinking, unlock their ability to problem-solve creatively, and own their learning process. We have trained our students to sit passively and wait to be told what the priority is long enough. It’s time to help them look at the big picture, and to discover what matters most.
Provocation Questions:
Why are cultural messages (“they say”) often at odds with reality? Where do they come from?
What are other cultural messages you’ve heard that don’t line up with your experience/values?
What does it mean to “invent your own life’s meaning?”
To assume means to act like you know something about a person or how something should look based on your experiences. How do assumptions impact individuals and societies?
I feel a pang of annoyance. Parent follow-up every day? I wonder if I should feel insulted by a lack of trust. And doesn’t that parent know I have 25 other students to monitor? And what if all of their parents requested the same level of communication?
Sadly, such was my attitude when I first started teaching whenever a parent asked for more frequent communication on their child.
Fortunately, over time, I started to recognize just how important it is for parents to have a better window into their children’s learning–not just because of the fact that they have entrusted them to my care for 7 hours a day, but also because I came to grasp just how really terrible grades are at conveying meaningful learning.
Student-led conferences helped me take one of the first leaps forward in creating that window. The student ownership, the authentic conversations, and the overall sense of meaning facilitated unprecedented parent/student/teacher communication. (the link above will take you to that process, along with a lot of pdf resources)!
Student blogging came next in furthering the communication cause. I knew I wanted my students to be able to showcase their learning journeys in ways their parents could more easily access. The students loved commenting on one another’s blog posts, but the real joy came as parents started leaving responses, too–words of encouragement, support, and love.
Here are just a few of my what ifs for now. I would love to hear your feedback, especially if it’s something you’ve tried/dreamed about as well!
What if teachers and students regularly coauthored learning reports (do you think something like this would work–I was thinking that notes could be added in each relevant category as learning developments worth noting arise, not as a chart to be completely filled each week)?
What if teachers openly discussed our anecdotal notes with each student and asked for their feedback?
What if parents were able to write and respond to notes with what they are seeing at home with regards to specific learning goals?
What if students were able to write and respond to notes with what they are experiencing with regards to specific learning goals?
What if we completely eliminated surprise “grades” and moments like those illustrated in the meme below?
Because student accountability is tough. But it’s also one of the slipperiest slopes in education.
On the one hand, we have a desire for/belief in students’ ability to grow, and expectations for responsibility.
An example of the reasoning in this camp includes when author Jessica Lahey says with regards to the above parent stop sign, “Childhood is a continual, long-term process of learning how to make our way in the world, and parents who short-circuit that education by rescuing their kids are not doing them any favors.”
On the other hand, we have a desire to both exemplify and show compassion, patience, and developmental understanding.
Outspoken advocates in this camp include Alfie Kohn when he states, “A pair of studies by researchers at the University of Texas and New York University confirmed that parents who “attribute greater competence and responsibility to misbehaving children” are more likely to get upset with them, to condemn and punish them. Such parents become frustrated by what they see as inappropriate behavior, and they respond, in effect, by cracking down on little kids for being little kids — something that can be heartbreaking to watch. By contrast, parents who understand children’s developmental limitations tend to prefer “calm explanation and reasoning” in response to the same actions.” http://www.alfiekohn.org/blogs/high-low/
Amid the missing papers, messy desks, and forgotten lunch ID numbers, it’s easy in our exasperation to want to point across the table at that little human’s deficiencies. To implement stricter consequences. To put up more posters on students taking responsibility. In other words, it’s easy to put it all on the children in front of us, sitting across from them instead of “sitting next to” them (see Engaged Feedback Checklist below) to look at the issues together.
I don’t necessarily believe there’s never a place for the sentiment or action displayed in the above photos in specific contexts. BUT at the same time, I wonder how the culture in our classrooms would be impacted if these kinds of posters plastered our schools instead.
Like Brene Brown’s Feedback Checklist (this one had a significant impact on my attitudes and practices the year I decided to display it in my classroom):
Or this profound reminder to us all:
Or even just:
Yes, student accountability is messy. But I think we do a better job navigating it if, instead of trying to create one-size-fits-all zero-tolerance policies, we choose to simply accept the messiness and focus on the relationships.
On Monday, my first grader came home from school and announced, “Mistakes are for learning.” Throughout the rest of the day, she repeated the mantra in various contexts–including sharing it with a restaurant manager helping us out when we found wax paper in a burger.
Pleased though I am that she seems to finally be grasping this essential element of the growth mindset, I can’t help but marvel at how long it took for this concept to sink in. After all, having studied Carol Dweck’s growth mindset, I’ve made it a point over the years to try to help her celebrate failures and recognize opportunities for growth.
But it wasn’t until a first grade teacher shared it in such simple terms as “Mistakes are for learning” that things clicked. And I couldn’t be more grateful for the timing. First grade is packed with pivotal moments for learning, failing, and growing. With a fresh school year, she’s still dazzled by every aspect: practicing spelling lists, listening to audiobooks, participating in a computer math program that advances users as they demonstrate mastery.
But I know that it won’t be long before the novelty will wear off. The tasks will become more challenging. The routine will become less enchanting. Mistakes will always be for learning, but that will not make them frustration-proof.
The key will be to help her maintain her understanding of the positive outcomes even amid the discomfort. To recall previous moments of victory as a result of repeated effort and failure. (Like when she recently wrote a book title, and when she asked me to read it, and I read aloud phonetically, “The Kumfee Kav,” she dashed off saying, “OH! I forgot ‘cave’s’ silent ‘e’ to make the ‘a’ say its own name! I can fix that!”). To remember that though progress may be slow, as Khan Academy’s video below emphasizes, “[She] can learn anything.” Most of all, to celebrate the journey along the way.
So to all the teachers currently in the classroom, thank you. Thank you for stepping in, shedding light, and reaching our kids in ways we parents can’t always do.
When Netflix announced their film rendition of The Little Prince, I’m sure I wasn’t the only one who worried whether it would do justice to the literary masterpiece.
Creative license was certainly taken to help weave the original ideas through a more chronological narrative, but I found it to have a complementary rather than competing effect.
But for reasons beyond simple enjoyment of a beautiful piece of art, I found myself repeatedly thinking what a marvelous watch this would make for anyone involved in education. I’ve listed the reasons I found most significant below.
#1: It reminds us to see the world through students’ eyes.
Amid a tense plot point when the Aviator’s fate hung in the balance, the protagonist’s mother told her, “Remember, tomorrow is a very important day.”
My daughter promptly said, “Not to her. The only important thing to her is that old man.”
It seems ironic that the very standards/hopes/priorities that are supposed to be about our students are the very fog that can prevent us from truly seeing those students: their learning, their hopes, and their priorities.
#2 It reminds us not to take too much stock in one solution, program, or set of standards.
“How can everything that is essential be in one book?”
When we depend entirely on one boxed program to “cover” content, we will absolutely miss out on what is most essential. After all, it’s in the little, messy moments that we find the real thinking and learning (not, as those boxed programs would lead us to believe, in all the “right answers” that students regurgitate).
#3 It reminds us to honor the present…
“You’re going to make a wonderful adult.” (Protagonist’s mother)
With all the pressures on “readiness,” we can all use a reminder to see the child in front of us right now.
#4 …While also reminding us to consider what matters most for the future.
“You’re going to make a wonderful adult.” (Aviator)
I found it significant that this same line takes on different meanings in the two contexts. The same is true when we consider our children’s futures in general. Allowing our actions to be driven by fear of failure (theirs and de facto ours) just yields more stress and panic. Acting out of optimism for who our children are now and their worthwhile developing qualities produces more hope and confidence.
