Quality, not Quantity...

A colleague of mine ambushed me at lunch (mostly because she knew I would help her and then some) concerning an inquiry question she had to develop for that evening’s class. She had some up with one, but her instructor had told her (very last minute) that it wasn’t specific enough. So she was stressing over how to revamp her question, as to make it more specific, more measurable, more number-y...

Now, I am fully in support of quality educational change, and am at the forefront of data collection and analysis at my school (currently charting our school wide math data). Yet, I always have bucked at this data-eagerness, because I truly believe anything that is truly worth something within our schools, is not quantify-able (that’s a word, isn’t it?). I believe that we need to set goals within our schools, where everyone is working towards the overall student achievement. I believe we all need to work towards improving our own practices, thereby increasing student success (I even sound number-crazy!). Yet, not everything can be reduced to a percent, nor should it be.

Case in point: As part of our math committee’s initiative, I wanted to put problem solving as an INSTRUCTIONAL method at the forefront of our school’s math thinking. Research has shown that this instructional method works, and the benefits far out-weigh the traditional lecture methods. So, in my manipulating way, I demanded that all the teacher’s collect data on their students’ ability to problem solve. Tests were drawn up (by my committee), administered, data collected and returned to me. I then graphed the abysmal results which I will then present at our next meeting (Monday). However, the crucial step has not been made yet - the translation of our efforts towards ensuring that problem solving is truly ingrained within our daily instruction, not as some add-on at the end of our lesson.

The numbers are not what is important here - yet it is what will get all the attention. "Oh my!" they will say, "Only 17% of this class can problem solve at grade level! Whatever shall we do?" I do not anticipate the conversations to lean towards deep change in our instructional approach, but in remedial support to those poor, affected students. No one will say how unnatural it is to apply a quantity (number) to a judgement call like assessment. No one will say that perhaps my idea of grade level-appropriateness isn’t the same as yours. No one will deeply question this "data", because as we all know: numbers don’t lie (he says foolishly).

I do this because I see it as a way to enact change. I do this because I think it is important that we teach in better ways, and I’ll be damned if everyone else doesn’t see that. I’ve seen the research - and the way we do things isn’t working. Change needs to come quickly, in an institution notoriously slow to change. We need to understand that all that we do is a quality judgement call, and that nothing worth anything can be merely reduced to numbers.

We’ll see on Monday.

PostScript: Un(*frickin’*)believable!

Well, we are in the building for one day when our fear(ful)less principal calls a staff meeting before school. So on Tuesday morning, bleary-eyed and feeling hung over from our triumphant first day, we stumble into the staff meeting. There, our leader of a day has the audacity to announce that she has been promoted to superintendent.
Now - we all knew this was coming. She is driven in every sense of the word, yet I still had my money on her leaving us in September. Couldn’t she at least see us into our building for the year? Yet time (and I guess positions) wait for no man, so as of Monday, we have a new principal.

The funny thing about this is how little emotion I feel about this. There were a couple of people who were weeping openly during the meeting, speeches were made, promises to return were given, yet I could not muster up that emotion. I did feel the sting of the freshly-made foot print on my back, as she discarded us to further her career.

Now what?

I touched base yesterday with a couple of staff who had worked closely with her at the other site, and they were NOT emotional - good riddance I think was the thought. The point was made that as we come together to form this new school, it would be the perfect time for a new administrator. This person could start us fresh, without the obvious favourites and pre-determined scoundrels. We could be together.

She came by yesterday to announce to my class that she was leaving. She seemed emotional, yet my kids were all thinking: Who is this lady, and who the hell cares? She’s only been our principal for 3 days now. So what?

I couldn’t help but laugh.

So maybe we will get our lives back.

So maybe we will start to teach in a positive atmosphere.

So maybe we will begin to get our breathe back.

So maybe the footprint will go away.

It’s Good To Be Home!

Well, we made it. I secretly held out, only believing it when I saw it - when the kids past the threshold and sat down for the first time.

It was a day of firsts - first time ever someone had sat in the desks, first time we used our hooks, first time a Gr. 3 used the bathroom, etc. We celebrated all of it - even to the point to clapping in the first boy and girl into the bathroom (though somewhat inappropriate to celebrate the riddance of bodily waste, we still did it!).

It was an interesting time too as it was the first time we had seen big kids. At our rental site, the Gr. 3s were the oldest, and so were given various responsibilities reserved for the older students. Yesterday, we stopped at marveled at the size of them - like we were on some sort of safari.

We also were getting our first taste of bringing the two staffs together. We started the delicate dance around each other, trying to get our own way without offending, as neither of us knew how to deal with the other. That will break down soon, as we have our first together meeting today where we iron out the details of who goes where, when, etc.

Regardless of the bumps ahead, my god it is good to be home!

T-Minus 11 Hours and Counting...

I spent the large part of the past week thinking, planning, unpacking and setting up my new room - and I cannot get over how ridiculously excited I am about starting at my new school tomorrow morning. I was in for the day today, and was literally bouncing off the walls with excitement. The parent group has put red ribbon across the door for us to cut before we enter. I plan on getting all the kids to sit at the same time and celebrate how they are the first to sit in these desks. The day will be filled with firsts: the first time to line up, the first to use the bathroom, the first to use the fountain, etc... Very little curriculum will happen tomorrow, but so much learning will happen. They will be creating memories that will last for a lifetime. This is exciting stuff!

I don’t think I will be able to sleep tonight. I know I will be wound up - but I am prepared. The room is set up. The day is planned. I am good to go.

I do think I will be emotional tomorrow - just so damn proud to finally give this brand new school to my kids. Finally, we made it! We survived the experience, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

We did it!

I [heart] Books!

Yesterday, as I was unpacking my 10th, 11th, 12th box of books, it slowly dawned on me: perhaps I have too many books. In my rough estimates, I must have over 2000 books for my classroom library, culled from the 8 years I’ve been teaching, a steady addiction to book sales, a shameless promotion of Scholastic book orders, and plugs for gifts at Christmas. So yesterday I did something I had never done before: I threw some out!

Even as I write that I have an urge to justify it, saying that they were old, irrelevant, broken, etc., all in an effort not to be equated with the book-burning fanatics that disgust me. I also put a whole box of books away - those that weren’t appropriate for my Grade 3 class.

What is it about books that has me so enthralled? I love teaching literacy. Along with numeracy, it is the key skill that our students must master before leaving school. I passionately read, write, speak and question, and I expect that from all of my students. In order to do this, they must read, write, speak and question. Every teacher of literacy needs books. Every teacher of literacy needs a well maintained and thoughtful classroom library, where books are read daily - and independently. Children need to make their own choices, regardless of levels. I believe that leveling books is the greatest injustice we can do for our students - if we keep them fenced within these levels, and only progress in a lock-step manner. Children need to choose books that are "Just Right" for them, based on interest, topic, ability, etc. They need to be empowered to read, not as a chore thrust upon them.

My students have made HUGE gains this year in their reading because they’ve been reading! They’ve been reading in an authentic and real way, not mindlessly pouring over worksheets then answering a series of questions based on the reading. They have been taught what good readers do to understand the books, and we’ve all worked on this. They’ve been taught how to make sense of the book. They’ve been taught how to love reading, because reading makes sense to them! They’ve been taught in a social, supportive and safe environment. My kids can read because their teacher loves books.

So maybe it is time to look at quality, not just quantity. Maybe it is time to spend money elsewhere - but who’s kidding who? This is a full on addiction! Bring on the books!

The Clash of the Righteous

Well, it is 4 more days and counting (only 40 more periods of school left, only 26 more hours) until we officially move into our new building - and boy is it going to be interesting!

Let’s start with a little history. Almost 2 years ago, the "best and the brightest" were recruited to open this new school in our district. The principal, who had made a name for herself as an up and comer, was serving in an administrative leadership position (she over saw a group of schools, dealt with issues, mentored principals, etc) and had been selected to open this school. Her vision was nothing short of spectacular. She wanted this school to be a flagship school in our area, hiring those who are willing to go the extra mile in the name of student achievement. Our school is divided up into PLCs (professional Learning Communities), each working towards goals that promote student success.

This has been an amazing experience, not only for the PD, but for learning how much we are actually capable of. Because we started our school with no building, we divided up into 2 campuses, renting space out of two other schools (both radically different than our philosophy). However, what has been truly fascinating about this process is the relationships developed among the staff. The kindergartens and primaries are at one site, led, in part, by our fearless, if somewhat de-clawed vice-principal. The juniors and intermediates (gr. 4 - 8) are at another site, (over)driven by the principal.

Since we’ve been in operation for a year and a half now, both sites have lost perspective on what the other side is all about. Case in point: Yesterday, we had a snow day. All the buses were cancelled, but the school remained open. This meant that if your child was to come to school, all the teachers would be there, but you would have to drop them off and pick them up. I had 16 out of 22 show up, an average number for classes at our site. In total, the rumor had it, the other site had 40 kids show up. Part way through the day, they started calling parents to come pick up the kids. We valiantly taught on. Not such a big deal in and of itself. Yet the reaction from our staff was explosive! How dare they! They can’t do that! Why can’t we send our kids home? We work so much harder than they do! ... and on and on.

The general theme of resentment runs along the lines of "We work harder than they do because...". It manifests itself in so many subtle ways. An email will go out - how about everyone meeting for drinks Friday after school? The response from them? We can’t - we work late on Friday - we have so many after school commitments, we all coach, we give, we give, we give.... And we don’t? And of course, our site staff get so fired up - how dare they, we work hard too, come teach my class... and on and on and on.

Come Monday, it will be fascinating to see the two sites/philosophies come together. Not sure if it will be traumatic, but dramatic it will be. Having been apart for so long, I think we all have forgotten how the other half lives. There definately will be an adjustment period, and I think it will be bumpy - and I wonder if student achievement will suffer? I guess we’ll see.

Measured in Whispers and Shuffles

I’ve been reading a couple other teacher blogs, and in particular has stood out for me: Teaching in the 408. This guy writes with passion and integrity, yet manages to "keep it real" about the harsh realities of teaching. By no stretch of the imagination do I picture him as the teddy-bear-sweater/holiday earrings type of teacher, but as the down-to-earth, passionate teacher you always wish you had.

In a previous post called (dis)quiet, he spoke passionately and bluntly about the deep melancholy that so often descends upon us within the trenches. That got me thinking.... (here it comes... wait for it!): What is it that keeps us teaching, when there are so many reasons not to?

I’m reminded again of Teddy (see previous post), and how deeply I bought into his propaganda, so readily patted myself on my back like I was the teacher who changed his life forever and was invited to his wedding, blah, blah, blah. I am NOT Teddy’s teacher, yet I secretly yearn to be. Why?

We are in a profession where success - deep, meaningful, daily success - is often measured in whispers and shuffles along a continuum. Rarely, do I think, do we come across a Teddy in our career - someone who’s life we deeply affect, and who we can truly say we put upon a successful path. No, deep within the trenches of daily life, success can be seen in the small, minute things that our students do: they chose a book that they can actually read, they solved an unknown word by themselves, they stopped for a second before writing down an incorrect word (at least they paused!). These things aren’t life altering, let’s shine up the Teacher of the Year Award, call Hollywood for another inspiring drama/Oscar opportunity - I’d be played by Patrick Dempsey, but that’s neither here nor there.

It is so easy to get down on ourselves because this is, in large part, a thankless job. Not only that, it is a job that everyone feels they have the right to criticize, because everyone has been through the educational system - everyone had that teacher that sucked so they know what good teaching must look like. Plus we’ve got a kick-*ss vacation plan... so...

Yet not only is success small, it is often few and far between, largely out-weighed by the sliding-backwards, the regressions that occur, and certainly paling in comparison to the success that WE see within each of our students. I have huge plans for my Grade 3 kids, and continually get disappointed (deeply, personally disappointed - almost betrayed) when they don’t live up to these expectations I’ve foisted upon their little lives. I want so badly for my students to do well. Though, tempering that is the newly-found realization that I only have 10 months with them. It has taken 7, 8, 9 years to get them this way. In the grand scheme of things, I can do what I can, but can I work miracles? Sometimes! Yet that is rare, but sometimes is enough to keep me going....

... even when I want to give up.
... even when I feel largely unappreciated.
... even when I am continually disappointed with the profession at large.
... even when I am frustrated by my fellow colleagues lack of motivation.
... even when my parents are upset with my methods.

Yet this Sometimes is what we cling to. It is these myths of excellence, these fictionalized stories of success, these Chicken Soup for the Soul moments that we feverently grasp, latch onto, to tell ourselves that we do good work.

We do good work. That will have to be enough.

I Hate The Bell Curve

I "came of age" in my teaching career in Ontario when the new curriculum came in. With it came a new way of marking, which still holds true for today. In Ontario we are on a 4 level system (numbered accordingly), with a Level 3 meaning that the student has met the expectation, Level 2 has some difficulty and Level 1 means they have significant difficultly. Originally, I interpreted a Level 4 to mean that the student has exceeded the expectation. They have gone above and beyond what was expected. These 4 levels have corresponding letter grades, ranging from an ‘A’ to a ‘D’.

I still don’t know who exactly told me about the bell curve, but it was made very clear that these levels can be place on the bell curve, with the majority of the students (who are average) falling in the Level 3 range, which is fine. They have met the expectation. Following the logic of the bell curve, there shouldn’t be too many students with a Level 4, and if there was, there was suspicion that you are marking too easily and inflating the student marks. If that was the case, administration would look critically at your practice and change it accordingly.

Being involved in the opening of a new school who has taken to heart the research on effective schools, we know (almost chant, like a Wal-mart greeting) that every child is capable of high levels of achievement, though not on the same day nor in the same way. This flies in the face of the bell curve. If every child is capable of demonstrating a Level 4 demonstration of knowledge and understanding, thinking, communication and application, then why do we cap the successes of our students?

I’ve beginning to see cracks in the thinking about these levels. No longer do we hear that a Level 4 is exceeding the expectation, but that they are demonstrating a THOROUGH understanding. Well, that changes things completely.

To our benefit, my kids have been working really hard (and myself, doubly so to ensure that no child is left behind) in demonstrating all that they know. We are readily sharing what good work looks like, and there are many opportunities for us to practice before given the opportunity to show our very best work.

I didn’t realize until this year how incredibly limiting it is to have only a few students achieving a level 4, and conversely believing that there are certain students who are a ‘C’ student and that was okay. Truly, it is not okay. If our teaching is to be effective, then we need to look carefully at how we are going to get ALL our students to achieve.

Isn’t this what teaching, and Learning For All is all about?

Teddy Can Kiss My *SS!

Every few years, I get forwarded the same sappy email meant to re-affirm all that we do as teachers, a shameless self-promotion of sorts reassuring us that we are indeed doing good work. Mine came yesterday again in the form of a movie telling the Teddy Stoddard story (any teacher with any experience knows this story and all its cheesy glory!). If you haven’t, then check out this link: www.teachermovie.com. In a nutshell, it reminds us (as teachers) have that unmistakable power to touch our students and change their lives forever...

Well...

I really don’t know why I feel so powerful about this. On the one hand, I have to stifle the immediate gag-reflex, overdosing on the saccharine-sappiness of it all. My God, get a grip! We are teachers, not UN Ambassadors/Mother Teresas/Doctors Without Borders!!! We have it pretty good and don’t need this shameless self-promotion. On the other hand, choking back tears, I so easily slip into the role of humanity’s savior: I can indeed change this world!
I do know that part of my resentment of how simply I was "got" - and how easily I am overcome with emotion over my job, my passion. I liken this to my resentment of Nicholas Sparks. A few years back when I still rode the bus to work, I would devour novel after novel. In desperation for something, I grabbed The Notebook by Sparks, and even though I could see how cheap and obvious it was, I could see it coming a mile away, I was still weeping openly on the bus on my way home. Damn you Sparks!

So it is this feeling that I direct towards Teddy. But I am also comforted in my decision to care.
I have always been really program-focussed. My teaching is amazing, as I am always tuned into my student success, squeezing every possible moment of "time on task" out of my kids, all in the name of success. However, I have been lacking in the caring department.

I went to a workshop this year on successful schools, and the speaker (Wayne Hulley) spoke of effective schools setting two types of goals for their kids: success in competence, and success in character. I rock in the competency area. Character, not so much... that is, until this year. I have vowed to teach this year from a caring perspective. I look deeply within each of my students, and regularly tell them how special they are. Interestingly enough, it is this year that I have seen the greatest growth and change throughout my whole career. I have a couple of "Teddys" in my room, and I can honestly say with conviction that they are successful because of me - not parents, not development, not any other outside factor, but simply because as their teacher, I care deeply about them.

Teddy, thank you again for your message and your reminder of how important our work is. Even though you got me again, I forgive you.

Just Like Mom

Well, I’ve survived another Christmas. Our house is currently bursting at the seams, both from the load of loot I’ve hauled home from school (God, you gotta love being a primary teacher) and from the RIDICULOUS amount of gifts my two daughters got. My oldest is 2 and a half, and my youngest is 10 months old - I say that because both are really happy getting a box and some noisy paper to play with. Instead, they had to be bribed and cajoled into opening all their gifts. In fact, there are still two gifts that aren’t opened yet.... yet my offense over our opulence is neither here nor there.

One memorable gift my oldest got from a friend was a set called "Just Like Mom". It has an apron and a series of cleaning utensils (booms, mops, sponges, "cleaning bottles, etc.). Ironically, it isn’t mom who cleans in our house - it is dad.

This got me thinking (a phrase which makes my administrator nervous): how do I address gender stereotypes in my class?

I’ve been doing a lot of reading lately on Boy’s Literacy - reading David Booth’s book "Even Hockey Players Read" - not incredible, but has some interesting points. The biggest point that stands out for me (and I’m not even sure it is his point) is that when we, as teachers, complain amongst our colleagues about our classes, we would never say: "I’ve got lots of black kids", but we so easily say that we’ve got a class full of boys, and immediately we get knowing and empathetic reassurances not to worry, as it too will pass.

One of my most hated host-teachers (the person who let me teach their class while I will doing my B. Ed) saw herself as the epitome of progressive/feminist/new wave thinking - but dismissed her as being weird (not because of her "feminist" thinking, but because she was weird - she thought she was very cool for having a sand centre in her grade 2 class...). One thing she did leave me with was when picking people to move furniture, she made me think about who I was picking, not always and only boys.

This came back to haunt me on the last day of class. We were showing "The Polar Express" to the entire Primary Division (gr. 1 - 3) and I was bringing my stereo system to hook up to the movie. I picked people sitting close to the stereo to move it and the speakers - and before I caught myself, I had picked 3 boys to carry the system. Not to be sexist, I chose a girl (who was sitting far away) to carry the last piece - the cord. In the end, I felt cheap and a promoter of tokenism at its best.

It is funny how these beliefs and values can (mis)inform our practice, and despite our best efforts we just end up re-affirming all that we dread.

Learning For Al

Throughout the school we are currently renting space in, there appear these posters - directed towards whom, I’m still not sure. These posters have current education slogans and sayings on them. There is one in particular, posted just outside of the bathroom I ritually haunt, that is entitled "Learning For Al". Either it is a typo, or it is promotional piece outlining the school’s plan to educate Al - lucky him.

Under this (mis)leading title is the 4 critical questions as outlined by the Effective School’s Guru Richard DuFour:
1. What is it we want our students to learn?
2. How will we know when they have learned it?
3. How will we respond when they haven’t?
4. How will we respond when they have?

These questions have huge implications for our teaching, and many a staff meeting at my school was spent exploring how to successfully implement this philosophy. Truly we live this philosophy, it is embedded so deeply within our practice that our teaching pracitcally breathes it. We are entirely committed to student achievement: For God’s sake, our school motto is "Learning for All" - Al needs to look elsewhere for his personal plan of action.
My issue is this: do parents really care? Is this who these posters of self-congratulatory pomp is for? We know it - we live it. So what is with the posters?

I’ve long been thinking how deeply entrenched we are, as teachers, within our own little world. We spend many an hour congratulating ourselves for how hard we work, and how the public truly doesn’t get that. Yet we, as a profession, make little effort to bridge the gap of public perception. I’m thinking of how hard it is for parents to come in an volunteer at the school - they need to fill out a form, get a police criminal record check and participate in a short in service before stepping inside of the school - but not their son/daughter’s classroom. Apparently we fear the gossiping and spying that would occur.

We behave as a profession that have something to hide, yet make it so difficult to show the truly amazing things we do. Why do we post these posters of edu-speak, yet don’t show how we truly live this message?