August 2007 Archives

I find myself faced with an interesting dilemma this week due to a request posed to me by one of my GT students last spring. His request is indicative of a situation that many gifted kids find themselves struggling with when they are placed in heterogeneous groupings. [We’ll cover various grouping options in an upcoming blog; today’s topic is a tangent.]

School begins for our district after Labor Day, so we here are in the midst of that energetic push we all thrive on at the beginning of a new school year. [I suppose most of you have probably already been in school for a month now, but here in the land of agriculture, state fairs, 4-H, and powwow season, we wait until later. We do our best to enjoy the sunshine before the snowflakes fly!]

Hogan and his classmates are transitioning to a new school this year, so the teachers in that school have essentially no background knowledge on the incoming kids (unlike, for example, a 4th grade teacher who is aware of upcoming students because they’ve been in the same building together for a few years). One day last spring, when I was having a discussion with Hogan’s GT group about their new school this year, he raised his hand and – out of the mouths of babes – made what he probably thought was a simple request. Yet its implications are profound.

“Ms. Fish,” he said, “Could you please not tell our teachers next year who the GT kids are until a few weeks into school? That way we can at least get called on when we raise our hands for a short time…”

The other kids in the group immediately chimed in with their agreement to his request.

Perhaps part perception, part reality, but their explanation was a bit heart wrenching. The kids all said (as it seems to them, at least) that once the teachers (not all of them, but at least some of them) know who the gifted kids are in the class, they quit calling on them when they raise their hands. The teacher has confidence that the gifted kids already know the answer to a question, but she doesn’t always have confidence that other students do. If the purpose of asking the question is to know who understands and who doesn’t – well, then, apparently some must think: why bother calling on the gifted kids?!?!

My students expressed to me the frustration they feel when they are – from their point of view – shut out of participation in their regular classes. Like any other student, these kids just want to learn and participate, too! After months (years?) of raising their hands and not being called on, some of them eventually give up on the process and they quit raising their hands in class. Some go so far as to quit trying to participate altogether. After all, from their point of view, the teacher doesn’t seem to want them to participate in the first place.

[Add a less-than-challenging curriculum into the mix and it’s no wonder some of these amazingly bright kids get turned off about school. Or worse, drop-out altogether. Those could be great topics for future posts.]

Granted, some kids can really be “hand hogs” – raising their hands and expecting to be called on EVERY time. In the society that is a classroom, it of course isn’t realistic for only one child to answer every question. But I’m not referring here to the hand hogs. It’s about those kids who are shut out of class participation because they’re perceived as being “already where they need to be.”

[Yet you can bet that when another student in the class is struggling, who is the first child called upon to help tutor? MmHm. Ironic.]

Why do we pose questions in class? Is it only to assess who has the answer? Shouldn’t we also pose questions to spur on higher-order thinking? To seek out perceptive responses? To highlight various points of view? To establish opportunities for brainstorming and creative problem solving?

If a teacher isn’t calling on the gifted students because he knows they already know the answer, shouldn’t that be a clue that those kids need some curricular accommodation(s)? Couldn’t that be a clue that we need to broaden our question-asking horizons?

So, a little food for thought for everyone as we begin a new school year… Why do you ask questions in your classroom? What are you seeking to learn from your students by their responses? What types of questions do you pose? What implications do your question-asking patterns have for student learning, curriculum, and instruction? And finally, what question-asking strategies do you employ so that the gifted students in your class aren’t shut out from participation in your classroom?

Posted by Tamara Fisher at 6:59 PM | Permalink | 13 Comments | Recommend

Wow… Thank you to everyone for such a great response to my first post on this blog ("My Yard is Gifted"). I’m thrilled to have this opportunity to get everyone talking about the issue of gifted education and – most importantly – the gifted kids in our classrooms and how to best meet their needs. While I already had many ideas for future posts before you all responded, I now have doubled my list just based on your comments/requests thus far. I shouldn’t have any trouble filling a year’s worth of blogging ;o)

In an ideal world, I would respond to each comment posted, but given that I have two jobs beyond this one and – hopefully – another life beyond “work,” it will not always be possible for me to do so. I will be able to cover many requests for information/ideas in future posts (for example: gifted programs on Indian Reservations, boredom, LD/Gifted, elitism, alternative schooling options for gifted kids, differentiation, etc.) So if you made a request (intentionally or unintentionally!) that I think many others would also be interested in reading and thinking about, stay tuned because I will do my best to get to those topics (and many others) this year.

But first, it’s pretty clear that I need to cover that loaded word “gifted!”

When it comes to “labeling” some kids as “gifted,” a variety of emotions, viewpoints, past baggage, interpretations, and misinterpretations get stirred up. Just reading everyone’s comments to my first post can give a pretty good picture of this variety. Having been in the field of gifted education for many years now, I’ve seen and heard it all. So, for the sake of clarifying just what I mean when I use that term here (and of course to get y’all thinking!), this post is dedicated to semantics.

The term “gifted” has been in use in the education field since Leta Hollingworth wrote “Gifted Children: Their Nature and Nurture” in 1926. Prior to that, it was a term used in a somewhat similar context by Francis Galton in 1869. Over the years, it has become the word we most commonly use to refer to those individuals who are, in some way, markedly different (advanced) in their abilities in a particular area. Maybe it’s not the best word to use (due to the misinterpretations and angst that come with it), but, like it or not, that is the term that has risen to the surface. Some schools do use alternative terms, like “highly capable,” “advanced,” “accelerated,” or “high ability” (among others). But really, even with those, the same issues still exist. (Some people object to “high ability,” for example, because they say it implies that other kids are “low ability.”) Whatever the term used is, we’re all referring to an individual with a rare set of abilities. [“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose/By any other name would smell as sweet.” William Shakespeare] I don’t have any problems using the term “gifted” because of the context in which I (and most in my field) use it and think of it. Knowing that I’m venturing into potentially hostile territory, I hope to outline my thinking on the term here…

“Gifted” does not equal “special.” Yet that is how many people interpret and use the term. [i.e. “all kids are gifted”] Every child ever born (and not born) is special. Every child brought into our world has something special to offer the world. Even after billions and billions of people have stepped foot on Earth, we each remain unique from one another (amazing, isn’t it?!). Specialness is inherent in our humanness. Let’s marvel in and celebrate the specialness of every child and of each other. [Yes, I know “specialness” is not really a word, but it fits what I mean and I like to invent words :o) ]

When I, and others, use the term “gifted,” we are not trying to imply that some children are more special than others are. We are not saying that “my students” or “my children” are “more special than yours.” They’re not more special. Everyone is special in his or her own way. All children are special.

But giftedness is not specialness.

And all children are not gifted. Beyond my specialness argument, perhaps this will help:

Are all children tall? Are all children short? Are all children hearing impaired? [thanks for the example, Jill Carroll] Are all children blind? Are all children athletic? Are all children musical? Are all children artistic? Are all children brown-eyed? Are all children ten-fingered?

No.

Are all children marvelous? Are all children beautiful? Are all children amazing? Are all children special? Are all children inspiring? Are all children unique? Are all children full of potential and possibilities?

Yes. Of course!

The term “gifted” as used in the field of gifted education belongs in the same group as the terms in the first set of questions. We do not mean, intend, or use it in the context that would place it as belonging with the second group of questions.

Perhaps this underlies the misinterpretation that has haunted the word for all these years. Perhaps we in the field haven’t done a good enough job of clarifying to which group the word belongs.

“Gifted” belongs in the first set because it is the term used to acknowledge that there are some among us who are markedly different intellectually. Are there some among us who are significantly taller than the rest of us? Are there some among us who are significantly shorter than the rest of us? Are there some among us who are markedly more athletic, markedly more musical, markedly more artistic than the rest of us? We can relatively easily acknowledge that yes, there are. But when it comes to acknowledging that some among us are markedly different intellectually, we stammer and “well, but” and hedge. Because we’re still stuck on “special.” [There’s a great post here (“Failing Our Geniuses”) that talks about our struggle with egalitarianism and giftedness.]

Giftedness is a learning difference. “Gifted,” as used in the field of gifted education, does not mean “having a gift.” Rather, it means that there’s a significant learning difference present in that individual. Everyone has gifts – that something special we each can offer the world - but not everyone learns as a gifted child learns. [Those of you who are really into this will tell me that that’s technically what Galton meant – having a gift – and that giftedness is the presence of a gift, and I do see that point, but for the sake of those who are still stuck on special, can you see the distinction I’m trying to lay out for them? Thank you :o) ]

For those who need a specific example: All children can learn their multiplication tables. Most learn them around third grade and master them by 4th or 5th or 6th grade (hopefully!) But it is the gifted child, who at age 3 or 4 or 5, intuitively develops an understanding of multiples and “discovers” (or figures out) multiplication all on her own. All children can learn to read. Most learn their letters in Kindergarten and begin reading simple books in 1st grade, progressing from there. But it is the gifted child, who at age 3 or 4 or 5, somehow just begins reading without having ever really been “taught” how to do so.

(Disclaimer: Those examples do not apply to all gifted children all of the time! I use them here to help make my point.)

“Gifted” is the term we use to refer to those children whose learning is dramatically different. Yes, if you get right down to it, we all do learn a bit differently from each other, gifted or not (“learning styles,” if you will). But we’re talking here about the significant differences that set these kids apart. They can learn two (or more!) years’ worth of Math in one year. They can read as well as children eight years older than they are. They have built their own science laboratories in the basements of their homes. They use words most adults have to look up in the dictionary. They can spell words most adults have never even heard of! These kids are out there… possibly in your classroom… And they ARE different! The word we use to refer to them just happens to be “gifted.”

[Another side note for those of you who are really into this: I know “giftedness” is more complex than just being a learning difference. But stick with me! I can’t write the whole book in one post ;o) Hopefully, through the course of this year, the complexities will become more apparent for those who are coming here to learn them.]

A final note: I think it’s VERY important that we have this discussion with our kids, too… the gifted ones and the non-gifted ones. And certainly with all of the special ones ;o) As a matter of fact, I discuss this very issue with my students beginning when they are very young. [I tell them, “You know how some kids go to work with Mrs. Zupinsky? And other kids go to work with Mr. Holt? Well, those teachers know special ways to teach and help those kids because they learn differently. And it’s the same here. You learn differently (usually faster), and I know special ways to help and to challenge kids who learn like that.” (The discussion evolves as they get older).] They WANT to talk about this. “Why am I in here?” “What does gifted mean?” They sense the elitism [will cover that topic in more depth in a future post] that many seem to assign to the term “gifted”… this term that has been applied to them. The perspective outlined in this post is a refreshing one for them. It helps them to accept and explain themselves. It helps them to realize that “gifted” isn’t elitism or “more special,” it’s just a different way of learning, it’s just a piece of who they are.

Posted by Tamara Fisher at 7:07 PM | Permalink | 24 Comments | Recommend

Rather than begin my blog here at Teacher with the necessaries of who I am and what I'm all about (there's plenty of time for that later), I'd like instead to kick it off with a hopefully-thought-provoking analogy. Given that the anticipation of a new school year is energizing the coming weeks, my aim with this post is simply to generate some timely thought, reflection, discussion, and questions.

Teachers are among the most amazing people I know, and as responses to Jessica's recent "Why do teachers stay" post showed, we all teach for some rather inspiring, optimistic, and altruistic reasons. Teachers are talented, curious, hard working, and very caring. Because of that, I know you are up to the challenge I offer today.

Take a moment and ponder which of your current or former students come to mind as you read the next few paragraphs:

In March of each year, I marvel at my lawn. Unlike most other yards, it remains relatively green throughout the winter (when it is not snow-covered). When spring arrives, and without any prompting from me, it rapidly grows into a lush carpet. I don’t water it. I don’t weed it. I barely manage to mow it (we all know how hectic spring is for teachers!) Yet even lacking my help, my yard is amazingly gorgeous and healthy in springtime. As others struggle to green up their lawns in spring, mine (seemingly) needs no attention.

My yard is gifted. It’s the soil… My neighborhood used to be a dairy farm and my particular lot was a holding pen. The soil beneath my yard is pretty much well-aged manure. No wonder I don’t even have to try and yet still end up with a gorgeous lawn when the snow melts!

I take it for granted, though. As the summer heat comes and I jaunt off around the country to various conferences or to visit relatives, my yard still doesn’t get watered. It still doesn’t get weeded. It still barely gets mowed. And despite the fact that its soil is second-generation manure, the neglect now clearly shows. My lawn isn’t anywhere near what it could be. It DOES need attention; it does need the nurturing I often neglect to give it because I am otherwise occupied or because I think it will be okay without my help.

It is inevitable that we teachers, at one point or another, will have students in our classrooms who somehow ended up with great soil. Academically and intellectually, they often seem to blossom all on their own. They are “where they need to be” (or, more often than not, are well beyond) according to state standards for children their age. With – let’s admit it – sometimes very little effort on the teacher’s part, they learn everything they’re supposed to learn that year, or they already knew it before the year began. They are easily overlooked because it’s a safe bet that they will test as “Proficient,” while so many others are in the danger zone.

I’m not saying that we shouldn’t put forth every effort to help our struggling students. Of course we should! Part of the beauty of America is that we believe in the possibilities within everyone.

And I’m not saying that there are no teachers out there who do their best by the gifted students in their classrooms. There are many, many amazing teachers who do everything they can to challenge the highly capable kids in their charge. And there are many others who want to do what’s right by them, but are at a loss as to where to begin, or are overwhelmed by all of the need in their classrooms and the requirements of their jobs.

But, to generate thought and discussion, I ask: Generally speaking, do we (as a nation, as a profession) put forth every effort to stretch the students who are already “there”? Do we take for granted the fact that some students, without much assistance from us, will be (supposedly) “just fine” academically on their own? Are they really “just fine” or “where they need to be” if we haven’t truly challenged them to stretch and grow academically and intellectually? Do they not deserve to be s t r e t c h e d also? Do they not deserve to learn and grow academically as much as possible, too? Are they really reaching their potential if we haven’t even tried to find how far their potential reaches?

Perhaps I can predict what some of you are wondering: “But where am I going to find the time to challenge those kids when I’m already swamped getting everyone else up to speed?” “But if I move that child ahead in the curriculum, then what will his teacher next year do with him?” “Isn’t it elitist to target only certain students for special learning opportunities?” “If I let her do something ‘special,’ then won’t I have to let all of the other kids do it, too?” “If they are already learning [or already know] what they’re ‘supposed’ to be learning, then why do I have to worry about them?”

This is just one post, and the topics of gifted students and gifted education are too big to cover all at once. We shall get to those concerns, those questions, those issues, too. For now, I only hope to prompt some thinking about the students with great soil, the ones whose lawns are green in winter, the ones whom we believe to be “already where they need to be.” What thoughts, questions, worries, ideas, epiphanies, and concerns do you have in regards to them?

Thank you for joining me and I look forward to interacting with everyone over the course of this year!

Posted by Tamara Fisher at 1:39 AM | Permalink | 74 Comments | Recommend