Eduholic

I’m not going to write you a resolution, cause you asked for it… which is why I am posting this on December 31st, instead of tomorrow. Here’s my new year’s news: I’m going to write a book.

Oops, I said it (again). Last time, in this space, was the auspicious pause before the school year when teacher resolutions are generally made (“Lull Before the Storm,” August 21, 2007). On the verge then of starting my third and I did not know then final year at High Tech High, I talked about various topics including the perennial quest to be a better dude, also the possibility of writing a teacher book for an excellent Alexandria-based educational publisher.

That previous gesture at book-writing didn’t pan out, although I still think teachers would dig a guide to working smarter using student-centered methods inspired by a premise that I first heard in the Summer Institute a decade or so ago from Tidewater Writing Project director Deny Wolfe: “School should not be a place where kids go to watch teachers work hard.” I could give you a few good excuses why that proposal didn’t get writ, but instead, let me give three reasons why this one will.

An agent. I was contacted by Andrea from Long Island, who introduced herself as “a literary agent who is also a mother, a PTA President and education advocate. I read education blogs and magazines regularly and love your blog…” She had me at PTA President, but went on to outline experience with places like Random House that showed she knew her stuff. She even went back and read most of Certifiable? after our first phone conversation, proving herself to be a true gourmand of edublogs.

An idea. The notion of writing a book has always appealed to me, but the reality of it, as Lull’s litter proves, has often been daunting. Multi-tasking mom Andrea understood this, and was receptive to my desire to build on my previous published work rather than create something brand new. And so the twice told tale (this blog, a Washington Post piece last year) of the canoe with legs and my quest for Natty Boards will get told yet again. Same story, different form. The blog will morph into a canoe-paddled narrative, for a broader readership than teachers only.

This blog. Not only will I harvest the raw material from Certifiable?, I can work it out here on Eduholic. “Don’t overexpose,” Andrea cautions through the unlatched barn door. Good advice which I will observe by writing the thing offline. But what I can do, in the spirit of our ongoing conversation about the teaching of writing, is to expose the guts as I go. Just weeks ago, I talked to local teacher researchers about telling their tales in print (“We Pod,” November 3, 2008), an invitation garnered after a course I gave in summer ’07 called “Voices from the Classroom.” What I learned from both is that teachers want to be heard.

Granted, I know as much about writing a book right now as I knew about building a canoe before I did it with my students (and a lot of help from my friends) a couple years ago. So, here goes nothing. You are cordially invited to learn from my mistakes, offer advice along the way, and ask insightful or dumb questions. With your help, the book will float. I promise.

Posted by Emmet Rosenfeld at 11:37 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I was gifted when gifted wasn’t cool, or at least before it became de rigueur for every middle class kid with a parent on the PTA. My mom was a committed advocate of special programs for kids identified as “gifted and talented” when I was in elementary school in the late ‘70s and early ‘80s, to the point where she moved my twin brother and I to three different schools over the course of our primary career in order to follow Fairfax County’s local full day program.

We developed the social skills of army brats, and got what I recall as a good education along the way. I remember doing a budget in Mrs. Canny’s class, looking up ads for cars and apartments and pricing groceries to meet salaries according to professions picked from a hat. (Little did I suspect that later in life I’d draw “teacher” and struggle to do as an adult what we had done with enthusiastic ease as sixth graders.)

I reminisce upon noting a recent story in the Washington Post’s Metro section, “Montgomery Erasing Gifted Label” (Tuesday, December 16, 2008). Two fifths of the students in the affluent and perennially high achieving school system are classified as gifted under the current sorting system, the article reports, including a Bethesda school with three quarters so labeled versus another school from a lower-income area at 13%.

Montgomery’s move begs the question: Has the label lost its meaning? Statistics seem to support the practical reality that sharp-elbowed middle class parents can game special services for their kids at the expense of less savvy, lower income public education consumers.

Maybe the real question is: Can all kids be taught with “gifted” methods? If one defines this as a student-centered pedagogy based on differentiation, project-based learning, and cooperative problem-solving, I would say yes. (If that’s too jargony, think of Mrs. Canny’s budget unit).

My own third-grader is in a “regular” class in an Alexandria public school this year, which happens to be anything but regular because he finally got The Great Teacher and absolutely loves it. After a couple years of not loving it, this is really all I could ask for as a parent.

Which brings me to the truth that it isn’t the label that matters so much as the teacher in the room. Chemistry can change from group to group, but what parents know through the grapevine and what statistics demonstrably confirm is that year after year, certain teachers do better than their peers.

What makes some teachers really good? Rather than focusing on whether or not children are gifted, maybe this is the question we need to ask. Because regardless of what kids get or don’t get under the tree this time of year, every one of them should go back to class after winter break with the same sense of anticipation.

Posted by Emmet Rosenfeld at 10:31 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

The course of true love never did run smooth, and neither did my lesson plans. I’ve never understood how some teachers create a quarter calendar and stick to it down to what day the tests fall (then again, I don’t give tests either, because I prefer not to privilege my response as a reader above a student’s, but that’s another post).

Fortunately, there’s email. I’ve come to rely on it more and more as a way to continue the class outside of the time we’re all together in the room. Last week, for example, I had a lot of adjustments to make. Tweaks, really: a due date here, a change in requirements for a particular task there.

I went over the changes in class but I’m sure I lost a few as soon as I said, “Please get out your planners.” Some stay with me, but never all of them. It’s simply something I’ve come to accept: no matter how clearly I think I explain something, everyone will not get it. Don’t get me wrong, this isn’t a knock on my students. It’s the nature of communication, I’ve come to realize. Just because it’s straight in my mind and I THINK I’ve said it to them does not mean that the thought is transferred.

There are entire graduate English departments devoted to the notion that communication is impossible. For our purposes as educators, let’s take them at their word. The best we can do in our classrooms is try to get it right the first time, then repeat. Then say it again, another way, check for understanding, and be prepared to stand on our head for that last learner who understands the world in his own uniquely unfathomable (to us) way.

Digressions about half-remembered (okay, never got it the first time) literary theory aside, here’s an example (italics below) of my recent practical attempt to bridge the gap. I’ve glossed each amendment in an attempt to reveal how and why I zig and zag.

Intro. No frills, but includes an invitation to continue the conversation:

Here is a review of the announcements today in class. Some assignments and due dates were adjusted and there was new info. Please contact me with questions as needed.

First announcement. A due date for a big essay we’ve been working on for a Rotary Club contest. You’d think that’s the kind of thing I could get on a calendar before the fact, but, after a first workshop I realized they needed to hand it in to me for additional feedback, then workshop again. We will submit no essay before it’s time.

1. DUE: Four-Way Test final draft on Wednesday, December 10.

b. NEW: In addition to the standard way of handing in the paper, also submit by email. Send me the final draft named “yourname4way” so I can submit it to the contest correctly.

I added the “Revision Narrative” because we’ve gone through so many iterations of this paper, I want them to look back over the drafts and consider the evolution. The second point is pure administrivia.

Next announcement, another essay due date. We’re writing for the Daughters of the American Revolution about the Gettysburg Address. We don't have time to put a high shine on it like we did on the other, but the history teacher will help the kids out, and I hope the fact that they’ve recently read Frederick Douglass in my class will come in handy.

2. NEW: DAR draft due Friday, December 19. (That’s right, the last day before Winter Break. If you aren’t going to be here, the draft should be submitted to me before then or on time via email). The requirements for this essay contest are printed on the back of the 4-way requirements (more copies available). Minimum 600 words; see Mr. C. for feedback on topics.

Both essays are for contests. The longer I teach, the more I try to design assignments that require “publication” to a range of audiences other than me. Getting it out of the room means student writers have to think about the reader at the other end, not just me with a red pen.

The next assignment is an example of a more local audience—our own school community. The form is also different. The art teacher and I collaborated on a “visual literacy” project. Aside from the fact that I always like the chance to mindmeld with another teacher, this fit because, well, we’ve been writing a lot of essays lately. Why not use the other side of the brain, too?

3. CHANGED: Opening Doors… Visual Communication project. If you are not comfortable in Adobe, you can do this as a non-computer-based art project (good old scissors and glue). The requirements other than the use of Adobe are still the same: completely cover an 8 ½ x 11 page with a combination of images and at least a paragraph of text to capture how Congressional has “opened doors” for you. Due date is still December 15.

A “warm up” assignment in Adobe preceded this one, and it became clear that all the students didn’t remember the software as well as the art teacher hoped they might. Hence the option to do it the old fashioned way.

Next, a straightforward reading assignment. We’re bookmarking as we go, another chance for kinesthetic-- and differentiated-- learning.

4. NEW: Read and annotate To Kill Ch 9-12 due Tuesday, December 9.

And here’s an announcement that’s a heads up related to an ongoing service project inherited from my predecessor here. For fifteen years she had the kids cook and serve a monthly meal at a local shelter. We’re keeping the chain unbroken, even though it costs a couple classes a month. Totally worth it, I’d say, especially when we can connect the activity to books we’ve read or the daily news.

5. REMINDER: Baily’s next week. We’ll assign food to bring, jobs etc on Monday as usual, cook and serve Friday. Think about a special holiday twist we can add.

Here’s an individualized reminder to the four kids who missed the last workshop. Nice to be able to do when you have small classes.

6. MAKE-UP: Runi, Cathy, Dan, and Andy only. Please come on Monday with drafts of your 4-Way so you can make the writer’s workshop during 9th period. You may work in pairs. Ask me for the rubric.

End email. One more way to say it all again, yet another chance to adjust the course of the course. Because while I’m busy accommodating various learning styles, various learners also need to accept my own particular teaching style. Together we can avoid icebergs up ahead… or at least make it to a well-deserved winter break.

Posted by Emmet Rosenfeld at 3:46 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)