Eduholic

Turns out there’s a name for all that weird stuff I make my students do like creating games about the Odyssey or reviewing their writers’ notebooks to make observations about their own learning. It’s called formative assessment.

This is not to be confused with summative assessment, which, like a summary, occurs at the end. The very end, as in, after all the learning has taken place. It tends to look like a standardized test. There are right and wrong answers, and it is meticulously scored. Bubble tests may, in some cases, measure learning. But they certainly don’t promote it.

Formative assessment, on the other hand, means kids grow even while the teacher gains valuable information about their skills or understanding. This kind of assessment fosters a student-centered classroom, as opposed to a standards-driven classroom.

Here are some characteristics of a student-centered classroom.
1. It’s fun. Playing games, performing skits, and low-stakes competition get kids engaged. They laugh. They take ownership. They’re ambitious and creative. Time flies.
2. It’s interactive. Kids feed off one another’s energy. They collaborate. They share, revise and compromise. The give and take of the group produces something greater than what one kid alone could do.
3. It’s multimodal. Information is being delivered on all channels: verbally, visually, musically, whatever. There’s often a kinesthetic element: kids and desks move. It can get noisy.
4. It de-emphasizes grades. There are lots of chances to get it right. Big tasks are broken into smaller ones. Process is valued as well as product; every student who is productively engaged gets rewarded.

Here are some characteristics of formative assessment in a student-centered classroom.
1. It’s ongoing. Kids don’t always know it’s happening; and teachers aren’t always trying to distill it to a number.
2. It’s dialogic. Evaluation is characterized by dialogue; standards are often negotiated, rather than handed down. The discussion about value is as important as the assigning of value; and even that is a task frequently done by self- and peer-assessment.
3. There is a feedback loop. The teacher often assumes a coaching role. Low-risk practice leads to perfect.
4. It’s metacognitive. Self-reflection is cultivated so that a learner can understand how he learned, not just what was learned. Every student becomes their own teacher.

An old saw in education goes, “We should spend more time feeding the baby than weighing the baby.” This wisdom has been lost in today’s test-mad climate. To survive and thrive, babies need food, sleep, and a loving touch. Weighing is just one way for parents and doctors to monitor growth. Certainly, the weighing itself is not the goal of raising the child. Want a classroom full of happy, healthy kids? Let’s put away the scales and concentrate on their needs, not our own.

Posted by Emmet Rosenfeld at 5:49 PM | Permalink | Comments (8)

You know that amazing feeling of sitting at a picnic table on a riverbank with a light spring breeze, a cup of coffee beside your open marble comp book, and letting it all flow out through your pen onto the riffling pages? Or even being transported to the same sort of zone but under fluorescent lights and acoustic tiles in a standard classroom?

Your students don't.

At least, it's highly unlikely that their "peak writing moments" occur anywhere except in front of a qwerty keyboard, I've concluded, after doing a writer's notebook assessment recently with my ninth graders.

The process left me thinking that most kids will never have the sort of fundamentally tactile relationship to writing by which notebook hoarders like me learned our craft. Writing by hand, for many of them, is a lost art.

First, let me explain the "notebook check." It really wasn't as punitive as it sounds. I frequently ask kids to "open their writer's notebook" in class, and respond in writing to whatever we're doing, be it a literary discussion or reflecting on an activity. The time I allow for writing ranges from 3 minutes to thirty, depending on the task.

The shorter bursts I call "quick-writes," and constitute an essential part of my writing-to-learn arsenal. Instead of asking a question to the class and calling on the same old hand-raisers, I ask them all to write briefly, then share with partners or the class. Everybody writes, everybody thinks.

The longer sessions generally earn the moniker "freewrites." The basic rules, a la Elbow, are keep the pen moving and don't think too hard, at least in the sense of editing or organizing. Follow ideas where they lead. Discover.

Short or long, I always ask students to date their writing and put an entry in the table of contents. The first part of my assessment was, therefore, to ask them to list entries related to certain topics we'd studied over the past months: The Odyssey, Myers-Briggs, and creative nonfiction. At a basic level, this assesses their ability to hold on to a piece of paper and retrieve it when needed. "Organization" isn't an end in itself or just a nice life skill; I think it's crucial as a writer to be able to return to your work over time.

The second part of the assessment was a series of reflection questions that drew on the entries they'd collated (full text below). Some of the questions required synthetic thinking (Make connections between The Odyssey and [the book you’re currently reading] with particular attention to theme. Cite your own journal as well as specific passages or moments from both works.).

Others required self-reflection (In reviewing your strengths and weaknesses as indicated by interim and quarter grades and group project work, discuss your Myers-Briggs type.). One question is a pre-writing for the next writing project (Now that you’ve explored the genre of creative nonfiction more deeply, revisit writing territory #2 and think about how it would lend itself to creative nonfiction. Write a one-paragraph proposal for a creative nonfiction paper that you will write in this class including at least 3 possible sources.).

I collected the writer's notebooks themselves to leaf through, and kids went home to work on their questions, which they submitted via digital dropbox on blackboard. Here's where I noticed the rub.

In reviewing their handwritten work, I kept finding myself jotting comments, or at least thinking to myself, that it was hard to read. Fact is, a lot of their handwriting looks like a 4th grader’s (I wonder if that’s the grade they started composing primarily on the keyboard?). Most printed, for one thing, rather than using cursive. And often in large irregular letters and with excessive margins announcing the desperation to reach the bottom of the page and stop.

Along with more illegible handwriters than I remember encountering in previous years, there was damning evidence from the typed evaluations in the dropbox. Lo and behold, the same kids who seemed unable to achieve fluency by hand had typed responses that were generous and well-formed. They typed far better than they wrote.

Even messy handwriters, it’s worth noting, consistently saw value in in-class writing. Bart was one of the most enthusiastic: During class, I usually benefit from “quick-writes”. Usually, because I am so busy writing, I write at least as much as most of my peers do, if not more. They help me get my mind starting thinking and help me get some of my thoughts straight. The WNB entry that I felt I did my best job was my ENFP response. I got so much good information down when I was writing that one. I talked about my dad, my mom and tons of other things, things that signify a good WNB entry. I think that I have gotten better at free-writing now and because of the WNB, I can think about events relatively faster now. Overall, the WNB has really had a positive effect in all that I do, not just English class. Just think one WNB can really do a lot for a person.

Jason was another scrawler who gushed online: During class writing time I used to feel stressed and frantic. I felt like I didn’t write enough or fast enough. However I have become more fluent and faster at writing during quick writes. My entries no longer hide on just a page but flourish and span over several pages. They are becoming more in depth and detailed, and are, in my opinion, becoming more enjoyable to read, they are no longer boring. I feel that an entry that shows my increased writing ability is Odyssey themes books 7-10. This entry was a seven minute quick-write. In those seven minutes I wrote a lengthy work that conveyed my understanding of the Odyssey. I felt comfortable when writing that entry and I felt that did a good job with my writing.

The gap between what I see and what they see in their work makes me wonder if I should I should adjust how I teach in the future: Do I need to incorporate more direct instruction in freewriting? Should more generative writing sessions occur at computers?

I’ll keep tinkering, but it seems that my own kinesthetic memories of writing in a journal on a riverbank may be a daydream when it comes to giving my students the best chance to express themselves as writers.

Questions for evaluating the writer's notebook

Make notes here to answer the questions. Your typed responses will be due in the electronic drop box before spring break. Please note: you are leaving the writer’s notebook with me, so your only resource in answering the questions will be notes that you make now.

Part I. Make connections between The Odyssey and your storm book with particular attention to theme. Cite your own journal as well as specific passages or moments from both works.

Part II. In reviewing your strengths and weaknesses as indicated by interim and quarter grades and group project work, discuss your Myers-Briggs type.

Part III. Now that you’ve explored the genre of creative nonfiction more deeply, revisit writing territory #2 and think about how it would lend itself to creative nonfiction. Write a one-paragraph proposal for a creative nonfiction paper that you will write in this class including at least 3 possible sources.

Part IV. Writing to learn

a) How do you generally feel during in class writing time? Do “quick-writes” help you think? Has your fluency increased? What is one entry in the WNB where you felt you did a good job, and why?

b) Our goal with the class blog this quarter was to deepen the entries, rather than just writing a summary of what we did in class. Discuss the degree to which you did that in your own post. Also, discuss a time when you either wrote or read the blog that helped you learn.

Posted by Emmet Rosenfeld at 9:16 AM | Permalink | Comments (7)

I confess I’m tapped out at this point with writing about the Boards. My recent Post article was cathartic and now I want to move on. For example, a good topic today would be the six-figure teacher.

Imagine that. A charter school in New York that gets rid of all the administrators so it can pay teachers closer to what they’re worth, at the same time paring things down to the basics: 3 R’s plus Latin and music. Beautiful. I hope it succeeds with flying colors.

But I will drag myself away from this attractive shop window, for now, and return, despite my ennui, to my own unflagging attempt to increase my income by achieving National Board Certification. After your flood of letters and comments, you deserve an update.

I ended the Post piece on an ambivalent note, you’ll recall. Something about feeling like Macbeth, halfway there and covered in blood. The bottom line, after all the drama: I’m going for it.

By that I mean I’se paid my $365 and am going to take my second chance by redoing one portfolio entry, Entry 4 (pronounced in the tone Jerry Seinfeld used on his TV show when greeting his apartment-building nemesis: “NEW-man”).

I almost missed the boat. It was probably just my silly subconscious that led me to sign up for the retake on the NBPTS website one day after the deadline, which resulted in me having to write a letter to petition the NB powers-that-be for permission to register late.

Now that I’m on the boat, again, I’m fishing the same waters with different bait. In other words, I’m using the same accomplishments (building a canoe, being a Teacher-Consultant with the writing project, and bloggin’ for Teacher), but taking a different approach.

For instance, I started with evidence of student achievement first, and am writing my entries backwards from that. And instead of being creative with documentation, I’m going to use the Board-provided validation forms and parent contact logs.

As far as the endless peer-review and revising, I plan to keep that to a minimum. Dozens have offered their help as readers, for which I’m grateful. But frankly, my goal at this point is to raise my score from a 1.0 to a 1.8 (on a 4-point scale), which is all I need to git ‘er done according to the handy dandy score calculator on the NBPTS website.

Ironically, bonus money in my district is drying up as I type, thanks via Rube Goldberg complexity to the mortgage crisis, or something like that. So, if I do manage to pass next year, the $64,000 questions with which I started this quest, oh so many moons ago—Can I do it? Am I nuts?—may have cheaper answers than I bargained for.

Until then, if you promise to keep reading, I promise I won't write again about you-know-what. After all, if I'm bored writing about it, I can only imagine how you feel.

P.S. My subconscious weighs in. Click on if you want to read about an Eduholic dream I had at 5 a.m. the morning after I wrote this.

I Dream I’m Turning Japanese

I’m at a table with four Japanese men. It is an examination—I am being tested. One man is clearly in charge. We are all given a passage to read; I remember clearly the act of reading it, but I can’t say now what it was about. Then we are all given questions. For some reason, they are printed on the lining of blue down parkas.

Three of the men start discussing the questions sequentially, talking rapidly and poking their fingers at the parkas, then eventually arriving at answers they agree on. I follow along, silently. I know all the answers that they say, but am under the impression somehow that it would be impolite to speak.

Finally, I decide to interject. I answer one of the questions, but in a very different way. Instead of referring directly to the parka, I speak more broadly, more synthetically. It is a question about a character from the story, and I offer an exegesis on the forces that acted upon her.

I remember thinking, in the dream, that the head examiner, the one who has been observing us, is either very impressed or thinks that I am bullshitting. I think to myself, in the dream, that this is some Harvard stuff I am laying on, and maybe I should answer the questions more like the others.

So, I decide to dive back into the discussion and do a parka-based answer. The group is on question 32. I run my finger along the lining of the parka, searching for 32. The group has fallen silent; the head man is looking at me sternly through his glasses.

In a flash, I realize that somehow a piece of white fabric has been pinned or sewn over the question, obscuring it. There’s an awkward moment of silence as my finger scratches at the fabric. I know I could answer this, I remember thinking, if I could just read the question.

Posted by Emmet Rosenfeld at 4:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Readers of a certain age will remember a catchy Paul Simon tune with the chorus, “Well, I'm on my way, I don't know where I'm goin' / I'm on my way, I'm takin' my time, but I don't know where… “. I’m not sure why Simon’s carefree narrator is so desperate to say goodbye to Rosie, the Queen of Corona, or even exactly what he Julio are doing down by the schoolyard.

But I do know the hook captures something essential—and increasingly rare in schools today— with its refrain about aimless wandering and the openness to discovery that comes with it. Anyone in or near 21st century schools is painfully aware that they are ever more regimented, with teachers scrambling to administer backwards-designed lessons and districts working even harder to administer tests that measure exactly how many of these lessons have been learned.

Walking past a schoolyard these days, one is less likely to see a bunch of kids clustered around a butterfly bush identifying local species than a forlorn soccer field near a brick building that displays a banner proclaiming, “This school is fully accredited.”

Which is exactly why I have chosen to dedicate today’s post to a review of a current publication from Stenhouse by Herbert W. Broda, “Schoolyard-Enhanced Learning: Using the Outdoors as an Instructional Tool, K-8.” (Also, I agreed to review the book for TLN , a group to which I belong that promotes dialogue among teachers and thinks we deserve a seat at the policy table. Full disclosure: TLN gave me a hat to write this).

Broda is an Ohio-based university educator active in experiential learning. Pictured on the back cover, he looks like that special granddad who captivates the kids on nature walks in the backyard. And, let’s face it: unless you’re the type of teacher whose idea of an English class involves building a dugout canoe, this might not be the first book you’d pick off a shelf of recent publications related to education.

Thus, Broda’s first task in a book like this is to assert the relevance of his topic. He does so in part through the equivocal title. “Schoolyard-Enhanced” learning, after all, is still learning. Broda spends much of the first chapter clarifying how to make lessons relevant to standards-based curriculum, in part by arguing for its effectiveness at increasing student engagement and hence achievement.

Broda makes the soft sell. “Getting the Support You Need,” is discussed in Chapter 3, which offers “The Nuts and Bolts” of actually leaving the classroom proper. He offers ideas about how to get administrators on board, acknowledging, “The days of justifying a method by saying, ‘This is good for kids—look how much they are enjoying the experience,’ are gone. Mandated curriculum and standards-based testing have made it essential that there be clear linkages between activities and standards.” (61) Use of the word “linkages” alone should appeal to wary administrators.

When he’s not clearing the brush, Broda’s experience as a real-life teacher taking squirrely groups of kids into the wilds of the school yard becomes apparent. The book is full of hands on how to, regardless of proximity to national forests. For example, one subsection (also in Chapter 3) sagely instructs, “Use Outdoor Time for Doing, Not Telling.” Basic management tips like setting up groups, defining vocabulary, and going over ground rules in advance provide a reassuring framework for even the most deskbound teachers.

As an inveterate day tripper with kids myself, I appreciated the common sense reminders about management as much as the ideas about how to weave the lessons into my curriculum. “Wear long pants on a hike” sounds like a no-brainer. But I confess that on one trip by the riverside with 4th graders a few years ago, a student wearing shorts got what we thought then was a beesting. When the area on her leg surrounding the bite went necrotic a few days later we realized she’d encountered a brown recluse spider.

Chapter 4, “Developing Process Skills in an Engaging Environment,” is rich with ideas that promote observation and analysis, like having younger students match shades of green found in nature to paint chip samples, or having older students do tree bark rubbings and then, after mixing them up, attempting to identify each tree by the crayon rubbing of its bark.

Chapter 5, “Teaching Content-Area Concepts Outdoors,” gives specific examples of how teachers at a range of grade levels have successfully incorporated experiential lessons. TLNer Cossondra George, for example, is cited for taking advantage of Michigan’s abundant snow. Her kids learn to handle data by charting its depth, predicting melt rates, and estimating how much water is in a given amount of the white stuff covering the playground.

The book suffers a bit from being broader than it is deep. The last chapter, for example, covers GPS activities, initiative games, and residential camps. But rather than focusing on what it is not, let me stick to what it is. Covered in ivy and never once departing from its avuncular tone, this book does something essential, and in today’s environment, almost radical: Broda argues that test-stressed teachers can take video-game addicted kids into the outdoors for a meaningful natural encounter within the framework of school.

Many of us in schools and beyond are starved for this and don’t even know it. Educators who get it can join me and Herbert down by the schoolyard.

Posted by Emmet Rosenfeld at 11:20 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)