Certifiable?

With my next few mouthfuls of elephant, I’ll masticate the three standards associated with Entry 4: XIV. Self Reflection; XV. Professional Community; and XVI. Family Outreach. (For newcomers or those who may have “missed a post”-- and at this point, I’m not even sure my editor is reading this thing-- I’ve taken a bite-by-bite approach to the year long task of creating the four-entry portfolio that is one of the elements required to achieve board certification).

A digression related to my extended metaphor: eating an elephant actually occurs near the end of a short essay that I recently discussed with a “second-semester” AP English class (read, less than engaged with learning for its own sake). George Orwell’s “Shooting an Elephant” is a narrative about his experience as a British police officer in Burma at the time when imperialism was beginning to fray. A rampaging elephant killed a coolie and the young Orwell, called to the scene, felt compelled to destroy the creature to satisfy the expectations of a village crowd. The older Orwell looking back turns the visceral memory into an analogy for how imperialism corrupts those who wield it as surely as it does their subjects.

As I was unraveling this essay with seniors, a colleague with whom I share the classroom tiptoed in to gather some papers. Hearing our topic of conversation, she gingerly asked if she might share a story, and of course I welcomed her. Milde told us that around the turn of the century in a small southern town, an ornery circus elephant was lynched to appease an angry mob. Literally hanged, with a chain raised up by a derrick. While this sounds utterly preposterous, Milde swore it was true, and later sent me a news clip that described the event (one account that seems as reliable as any of the others is at http://www.blueridgecountry.com/elephant/elephant.html). The story certainly made me look at Orwell’s piece in a new light; a couple students even raised their heads from their Norton Readers to listen.

As this episode might suggest, Milde is the sort of teacher next to whom you can sit in the computer lab during a free period and become embroiled in such a fascinating and obscure conversation that before you know it, half the time is gone and you haven’t even opened your electronic gradebook. Her repository of knowledge is vast and various, and her enthusiasm for inquiry infectious (case in point: she and I have won a grant for next year to have tenth graders build a Native American canoe with traditional tools). These are some of the qualities that make her an inspirational teacher and a valued colleague.

And I can’t help but think that her wildly associative logic and diviner’s instincts for finding what’s beneath the surface of the most unlikely landscapes are also qualities that would not necessarily “register” on the teacher-assessment instrument of NBPTS.

Certainly, Milde has other qualities and accomplishments that would allow her to do well in the board certification process-- she’s a leader in our school and nationally, an author, a master practitioner, etc. But she’s not by-the-book, and certainly not by-the-standard. I wonder if her best moments would “fit” the criteria, or, if they did, if she would feel like it was worth the time and effort to document and describe them with catch-phrases.

Maybe I’m just being petulant. Here I am, stuck at my keyboard on a Sunday afternoon in front of a plate of lukewarm elephant, and Milde’s probably out frolicking in the gardens of her imagination, not the least bit concerned with Standards XIV-XVI. Come to think of it, at this moment, neither am I. And, oh look, we’re out of time. Zounds, Milde’d again. Next week, then, I promise. I will definitely parse those standards, and after that begin to figure out exactly how my work as a teacher fits them. Say, can you nuke this stuff?

Posted by Emmet Rosenfeld at 2:18 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Spring break sprang, kids’ soccer is rained out for the third weekend in a row, and I retreat to my basement office to slog on towards the base of the mountain. This week, as promised, I’ll address how to describe and analyze “accomplishments that contribute to student learning” as required in Entry 4.

We begin by cracking the bible to a section called “Get Started.” (Unlike Deuteronomy, this is not in the beginning.) Here it is written that description is “retelling... what happened in a classroom situation,” analysis explains the “significance of the evidence” one takes from that situation, and reflection tells how you would do it next time.

There is quite a bit of qualifying and the passages are sprinkled with bolded words, each seeming to supersede the last in importance. Reading here I am left feeling that a strict schoolmarm is at the head of the class glaring out over her pince-nez at a bunch of us rather dull students. Here’s an example:

“Analysis” and “Reflection” overlap, though they are not identical. “Analysis” involves interpretation and examination of why the elements or events described are the way they are. “Reflection,” a particular kind of analysis, always suggests self-analysis, or retrospective consideration of one’s practice, in the terms of this assessment. (EA/ELA 2006, page 62)

And so on. Following this didactic bit are samples with labels in the margins to show where each sort of writing occurs. Example 3 is by a math teacher in a rural school who has learning disabled 3rd and 4th graders play a card game called “snap” to review multiplication. Fortunately, this sample and the others seem to be composed by regular every day teachers who (gasp) often include description and analysis in the same paragraph.

Next, practice activities are provided to help the hapless separate the strands. The first, about description, has you choose an assignment and ask questions like: What was the goal? What concepts did the student need to know before doing this? How do you think this will extend student learning?

Activity 2, about interpretation, asks questions based on work from the lesson, like: How can you interpret the response from the student? What “frame of reference” do you draw upon in interpreting it? And this whopper: “Using what you know about the connections that need to be made in order to understand ideas in particular domains appropriate to the content area, what does each student’s response tell you?”.

Practice activity 3, about reflection, gets you to ask if the students learned what you thought they would learn. You glance back to “prior instruction,” too, and forward in terms of strategies for each student and for you as a teacher.

My keen research skills lead me to another relevant passage in the bible, this time in the part about Entry 4, titled “Description and Analysis.” Here it says in two pages more or less what was said before, with the bolded words boiled down to three that would make a newspaperman proud: what, why and how.

My last resource for information on how best to present accomplishments are my notes from the prep class. About description, our instructor offers tips to give us a sense of audience: “They won’t know you or where you teach-- only your i.d. number.” They’ll probably be moon-lighting teachers, but gauging how much to “set up” is important for any writing task (reminds me of a discussion I had this past week with seniors getting read for the AP exam).

For analysis, Patrick stressed the reliance upon hand-picked evidence, i.e. student work or the video tape that you provide. Doesn’t need to be perfect, but don’t be so naive as to send the lesson that bombed.

Last, for reflection, he gave the analogy to the job interview trip wire, “What’s your greatest flaw?”. We all agreed that the safest answer to that one was something like, “I’m a perfectionist,” rather than “I leave my nail clippings on the bathroom floor.” I’ve got a better answer now: “I tend to overanalyze my contributions to student learning.”

Posted by Emmet Rosenfeld at 9:44 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Not to mention Passover and Easter. Which is why I will delay, for a week, my plunge into Entry 4 as laid out last post. Instead, here is a list of things I did and did not do on my week off.

THINGS I DID THIS WEEK
1. Go fishing. I didn’t actually catch a fish at Lake Accotink, but I saw several anglers pull out recently stocked trout so I know the fish were there. I shared stream-side conversation with a man who’s son had graduated from TJ (where I now teach) before it was high tech (about twenty years ago). His piscatorial history of the lake, a man-made reservoir soon to be dredged, was remarkable. My own ninth graders, earlier in the year, had been to this lake to learn water sampling techniques. The fellow said he’d be glad to share his biological and engineering stories with my students on future field trips.
2. Build a fence. Who knew that a few ill spent summers years ago would lay the nearly sound foundation for lifelong adventures in backyard carpentry? The 16 foot stretch replaced an ungainly privacy fence at the end of the driveway, opening up the yard and allowing passersby to see the shed in the back that is my true pride and joy. Building sheds and fences is a welcome diversion from grading papers and preparing lessons, with the added bonus that at the end of each project, I thank my stars I didn’t chuck it all to become a carpenter when I had the chance.
3. Design a syllabus. Similar to number 2, but setting the boundaries of study rather than a yard. The course I will be teaching is English 111-09 at Northern Virginia Community College, two nights a week starting in May. This is a composition class for ESL students or others who need a boost before doing college writing. I’m eager for the boost in income, myself, not to mention the chance to work with a different sort of student than the TJ whiz-kid. Don’t get me wrong-- teaching literature at “M.I.T. Jr.” is stimulating and wonderful. Teaching working moms and dads who may have sacrificed their own dreams for their childrens’ will be wonderful in a different way.
4. Plan a canoe. A colleague and I recently won a grant for next year to build a Native American dugout using traditional tools. We met with some of the others involved in the project over shrimp and iced tea at a little bar a stone’s throw from the Potomac River (named after the warring tribe that once lived on its banks). There we discussed logistics like when to fell the tree and how best to work our hundred students into the building process, as well as themes for the curriculum and available resources. About a year from now, I hope to be able to write that a group of my students are chipping away with axes as part of an exhibit at the National Folklife Festival on the mall. Stay tuned for ongoing reports, as this project will no doubt become a centerpiece of my NBPTS bid as well as my teaching year.

THINGS I DID NOT DO THIS WEEK
1. Grade papers.
2. Read standards.
3. Go to Cancun.
4. Get up at 6 a.m.

Posted by Emmet Rosenfeld at 3:43 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Four entries will eventually be due. In my recently completed intro class, they recommended we first tackle Entry 4, “Documented Accomplishments: Contributions to Student Learning.” I present this and more verbiage to come in quotes. If I were talking to you, the pointer and middle fingers on both hands might get sore. Paraphrasing this stuff just doesn’t do it justice.

This entry tasks us to “demonstrate [our] commitment to student learning” by documenting more or less recent accomplishments in three areas: in the current year, with families and the community; over the past five years, as a learner; and, also over the past five years, as a professional leader or collaborator. Unfortunately, there doesn’t seem to be a chance to demonstrate our commitment to student learning by submitting bank statements and pay stubs.

Specifically, we need to provide no more than ten pages of “description and analysis” about eight accomplishments. Along with this, we need no more than sixteen pages of documentation. A two-pager at the end called a “reflective summary” wraps it all up. Let’s see, that’s... twenty-eight pages! Certainly output equivalent to what might be required in a graduate class. Maybe this whole thing should be thought of as a five-course Master’s degree.

One instruction that seems to deserve note is that accomplishments “must demonstrate an impact (direct or indirect) on student learning.” Test scores are not needed, apparently, but we must show in the writing “how or why improved student learning is a likely result.” I will report back when I have discovered a good way to do this, or at least a list of useful buzzwords.

The entry will be evaluated based on a rubric which will look for “clear, consistent and convincing evidence” based on three standards: XIV. Self Reflection; XV. Professional Community; and XVI. Family Outreach. Did I write in a previous post that there were twelve commandments? In my certification area, Early Adolescence/ English Language Arts (henceforth EA/ELA), there seems to be XVI. One effect of this process may be that I will become a more adept viewer of old Super Bowls on cable.

So, back to the question at hand: how does one eat an elephant? In my case, post by post. Fair warning: I intend to use this space to process and draft the material that I will eventually submit. Keeping myself honest, the way I see it. Without this weekly date, now that the class is over, how on earth would I achieve the motivation to keep this process moving forward?

As for you, dear reader, if you are not a teacher pursuing or considering pursuit of this certification, be forewarned. I cannot guarantee that this blog will remain, um, interesting. Not excruciatingly boring may be the best I can promise. While I reserve the right to digress freely, for my next few posts I will explore how to describe, analyze and document according to the rules, and then address the three relevant standards. In the manner of one who cleans his desk (whole office? house? that old rusty bike in the back of the garage?) before starting to do any work, by then I should be ready to actually select and write about my accomplishments.

Does anyone have a very large fork?

Posted by Emmet Rosenfeld at 9:11 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

My ninth graders, a class I hope to “use” in my portfolio, have just finished a poetry unit. They created booklets with wonderful covers, selected poems by and analyzed the work of both dead and live poets, and composed three original poems.

Now I have to grade them. The scene from “The Dead Poet’s Society” comes to mind, where Robin Williams as the maverick English teacher first has kids read a traditional critic’s theory on how to evaluate a poem using a graph, then encourages them to tear the page out of the text book.

I, however, can’t bring myself to rip out the pages of orthodoxy and stamp every kid's packet with an A. Call me a slave to the culture of achievement, but I feel a sense of obligation to put as much heart into evaluating their work as they put into doing it. That’s slavery of a different sort, perhaps, especially at a pressure cooker of a school like this one. Freshmen in particular don’t just go through the motions. They put soul into these things. That makes me want to go a step beyond letter grades in responding.

As a younger teacher, I might have felt the need to write a full page to each student. A weekend would be spent getting hand cramps as I cherished each assignment for twenty minutes. Now, I do things differently. Plus, it so happens I’m going to an inn this weekend with my wife. I want to think about fish and good food, not grading.

I’m not lazy. But I teach smarter than I used to. Now I see evaluation, even of poetry, as a means to keep the ball in play. Instead of putting a grade on things dutifully and with the full blown authority of the Teacher With Gold Stars, I like to make the grading process itself reinforce what we’ve studied. Eventually, a grade is required. But if we tease the process a bit, they learn more and I avoid martyrdom.

And so, with apologies to Robin William’s inspirational prep school teacher, I have created a rubric with which I will ask students to evaluate poetry. Along with assigning points, they’ll write comments, of course, reconsidering the concepts we’ve discussed along the way. Here's the section for the poems they wrote.

_____ Original Poetry (30)
o If formal, follows conventions of selected form (if free verse, does not have a rhyme scheme or rhythmic pattern)
o Line and stanza contribute to meaning
o Expressive, original, evocative
o Seems workshopped, shows the effects of revision and sustained effort
o Plays with language and sound to achieve freshness or a pleasing effect
o Uses rich imagery and other figurative language effectively
o Patterns of sound or layout enhance meaning
o Apparent control of language (mechanics, usage, grammar, spelling)
NOTE: See comments.

Earlier in the unit, seniors from the creative writing class came to visit with their own poetry portfolios and shared their work with my students. I’ll shlep the crate of booklets up to them, and I bet they’ll write even more comments. If they use the rubric as a guide, all the better.

The result? My students’ work has been received. They know that someone beyond the teacher’s desk has heard their voices, breathed air into their words. They’ll get a grade, at the end, but I think they’ll be more interested in what their readers have to say.

On my side of that desk, I’ll be able to plug a number into the computer grading program just in time for the end of the third quarter. But first, I’ll enjoy my weekend escape with the wife, returning rejuvenated for next week’s final push. To me, that’s sheer poetry.

Posted by Emmet Rosenfeld at 4:21 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)