c.stutz.learn

This week, my students are responding to Sir Ken Robinson’s TED Talk about creativity’s place (and current absence) in public education. In his talk, Robinson asserts that we have made it so that mistakes are the worst thing you can make and now people in all aspects of society are afraid to take risks for fear of being wrong.

This morning, I watched an ESPN analyst, Trent Dilfer, deconstruct Brett Favre’s career after showing clips of the last night’s interception, something that another Sportscenter anchor called a “colossal mistake.” While most people chalked it up as a typical, sloppy toss by Favre, Dilfer spoke of his great admiration for Favre because he is always willing to take risks, even though that puts him on a fine line between greatness and catastrophe. If last night’s throw was caught by Rice, Favre would’ve been hailed as a brilliant risk taker. Instead, Troy Aikman deemed it a pass Favre will “regret for the rest of his life.”

This, of course, got me thinking about the Robinson speech and about the state-mandated New Jersey tests that require students  to include “successful compositional risks” in their writing. Is it possible to plan for a successful compositional risk? I mean, is it really a risk if they know it is successful? And, is it so bad to have an unsuccessful risk?Students should be able to try their hands at true creativity and innovation in their writing by throwing a Hail Mary every once in a while. If they try something new and it doesn’t work, it shouldn’t be something they “regret.” Why don’t we celebrate and admire students for breaking some barriers? If we allow them to walk that line, they could have moments of unbelievable greatness.

The trick is to learn from mistakes and encourage people who make them to face that possibility again and again.

I am a runner. Despite my many injuries and ailments over the years, running is comfortable for me. It’s so easy that I can multi-task while I run. If I need to think something through, I run and think. When I’m seriously training for a race and I’m out for several hours, I plan my classes, I listen to football games, I solve complex life problems, I make new friends, and sometimes I even develop short poems–all while I run. Unless I’m really pushing my pace or the length of my workout, I never have to think about my arms, or my breathing, or even where I’m going. I just go, and the running part comes naturally.

My good friend Marci pointed out that some of my honors English students describe reading in the same way. They can begin a novel, and get so sucked in that they no longer see the words on the page or even realize that they’re reading. Instead, they feel like they are watching the novel like they watch a movie– they hear the characters’ voices, and they experience the emotions the characters describe.

However, when those same students read Shakespeare or Tolkein’s criticism of Beowulf, they struggle. They need to focus on every word (and sometimes on every syllable) to make any sense of individual sentences. They then need to piece together small understandings to develop an overall meaning for a passage or a page, and then eventually for a chapter or a whole text. But, that is what struggling readers go through all the time.

So, several questions come to mind:

What happens to students when they go beyond decoding? How do they make that happen? I remember learning how to breathe and move my arms when I run, but I don’t remember how I learned to do those things without thinking about them. Is it a habit of mind or some inherent quality, and if so, does that mean it is not teachable? Or, is it a practiced skill that can be improved with practice and occasional steps outside of our comfort zones? If I improve every time I push my running pace or extend the length of my workouts, will the same thing happen if students are constantly challenged in school?

My guess is that students who hate school or particular subjects are the students who have never or rarely felt successful. So, my last question is, can we provide constant challenges without taking away the possibility for accomplishment?

When I boarded the 4:36 train in Atlantic City and headed toward Philadelphia for the NCTE conference, I didn’t expect an enlightening conversation, but I met a graduate from Bordentown Military Institute who made me appreciate and rethink the education profession. In his 60s now, David told me about each of the teachers who changed his life. He was quick to admit that he was a real trouble maker as a kid, and he thought that most of his teachers hated him. In fact, he succumbed to the idea that it was his job to torture them on a daily basis. But he did say that despite their sometimes harsh discipline, he knows now that they were instrumental in who he has become. Miss Burr was at the top of that list. She made him copy the dictionary when he misbehaved, which he hated, and then she would expect him to teach her the words he learned when he was done. Telling me his story, David’s vocabulary was better than anyone’s I’ve ever heard. When I complimented that (always the nerdy English teacher), he said it was a direct result of a realization he had after months of copying the dictionary in Miss Burr’s office–education is something that no one can steal away from you. His vocabulary, his ability to express himself, was something that would define him for the rest of his life, and he knew that no matter how low he got in any other area of his life, he would always have that.

David’s outlook hit me hard. He reminded me many times during our conversation that education, even in its most inconspicuous forms, is one of the most valuable assets anyone can acquire if he works hard enough and has a teacher with enough insight to help him reach his potential.

Two weeks ago, I went to see Pearl Jam, a band I had long admired, but never seen live. From a friend who has seen them many times (4 times that week, in fact), I had heard that they have a certain je ne sais quoi, an indescribable appeal unlike any other band she had ever seen. I remained skeptical. I have been to my share of concerts, and I couldn’t imagine that they would be much different from other bands of similar genres.

This particular show was at The Spectrum in Philadelphia–the legendary, but archaic stadium that was home to the Flyers and the Sixers . The Pearl Jam crowd were its last guests before its scheduled demolition. My seat was 14 rows behind the stage, so I had a great view of the back of Eddie Vedder’s head, but I was still immediately impressed by the fact that my view was not completely blocked by enormous screens and light show paraphernalia. Those gadgets were surprisingly absent; the focus of attention was on the band and their instruments. In fact, I felt very much a part of the show. Eddie and guitarist Jeff Ament frequently turned around, acknowledged those of us in the back, and even walked to the back of the stage to play to us a few times.

My friend was right; Pearl Jam was putting on a good show, and despite the bearded, high-fiver next to me, I was enjoying the whole experience. In fact, the fan’s enthusiasm was contagious, and even though I didn’t know every word to every song, I was moved by the music. Then, about half-way through the show, I heard that unmistakable opening guitar riff of “Alive,” my favorite Pearl Jam song. The Spectrum erupted, and all of the lights went on.

We were all exposed. I saw the looks on people’s faces in the front rows, and I saw everyone’s outstretched hands. I saw what my friend Andrea later described as a great energy surging through the tens of thousands of people in attendance. No one was talking, but everyone was singing, as if entranced by the music. We were the show. This screaming, swaying, unified mass was it–the indescribable factor, what I could never put into accurate words here. That is what Eddie Vedder sees when he looks into the crowd, I thought. The lights remained on for the rest of the show and the audience continued to be the focus, not the band we had initially walked into the stadium for. We all felt part of some larger vitality than what we could have ever felt alone.

Looking back on that experience now, I wonder how often we let our students feel that energized, that simultaneously powerful and connected. How often do we let them run with the lessons we teach?

Often times I think we get caught up in the stuff of education. As many musicians’ talents are lost among flashing lights and video backdrops, I fear that some educators allow knowledge, creativity, and curiosity to be overshadowed by the jazz hands and spirit fingers of technology in the classroom, just as learning has traditionally come second to covering content and prepping for standardized tests. Instead of getting caught up in that trap, we need to consider how we can best use technological tools not just for the sake of using them, but to illuminate our students’ learning and expose them to the potential global resources at their fingertips, maybe even help them create their own PLNs to continue their learning outside of our classes.

Additionally, we need to allow our kids to become part of the show–to see the lesson as a teacher does. And, we need to allow ourselves to see a class as a student does. How often do we work together to create the learning process, refine objectives, teach each other? How often do we allow students to question what we do and the approaches through which they gain understanding? Too often in my own class, I’ve felt the urge to move on, to get to the next skill or prep for the next standardized test,  rather than allow the students to enjoy what we can all accomplish and develop their enthusiasm further. And, I rarely get a chance to stand back and watch the looks on their faces when they work together to create something new.

So, now I have to figure out how to make that happen in my class. I took the first step this week by conferencing with my kids. We talked about their perceptions of class, what they can do to improve, and how they think I can help them learn. Their comments were enlightening. They spoke about motivation, reflection, reading, writing, group work, and technology. We all set goals for improvement, and we made plans to accomplish them. My charge now is to research and better implement differentiated instruction through reading and writing workshops. As we begin a new marking period on Monday, I am determined to enliven my students and get them to see their learning as something they can take responsibility for.

Anyone out there who is experiencing a lot of success with reading and writing workshops or differentiated instruction/assessment, I would love to hear about your successes and struggles and about your methods for accountability and equity.

Today I was walking my dog while involved in a fierce text messaging word game I play with my friend, Eric. I don’t really know how this game originated, but now, whenever one of us sends a single word text, the other one responds with something that creates a phrase beginning with the word the last person texted. This goes on and on until one of us is stumped. Yes, we’re nerds. Today’s particular game had been going on for a while: “first,” “base,” “jumper,” “cable,” “guy,” etc.

Anyway, the dog walking had become completely subconscious at that point. My only reminder that I was even with Wyatt was the leash around my wrist that sometimes pulled me away from my texting. I know, I sound like one of the kids who blindly meanders into people while infatuated with a cellphone. Looking back, I can’t believe that I was aware of my surroundings at all, but when I saw a tree trunk out of the corner of my eye, I stepped up. I somehow knew, without consciously thinking about it, that there was a slight raise in the next sidewalk block. It hit me when I stretched to make that step up that I had been programmed. I no longer had to think about where I was in order to successfully navigate my typical walk with my dog.

Taken aback by my body’s subconscious reaction to a memory, I thought about other associations I have made in my life and how they might have affected my actions. And to further prove my nerdiness, I thought about learning and wondered how much programming is associated with it.

Last week, Wesley Fryer wrote about Clay Shirky’s argument that today’s media is like a triathlon. It requires consuming, producing, and sharing. Fryer wrote that there is a discrepancy between today’s students, who Marc Prensky would call “digital natives,” and the approach with which we teach them:

“This audience” online wants to participate, and EXPECTS to participate. These are the same students sitting in desks, arranged in rows, in our classrooms each day.

I worry how much we program our students to be “consumers” of information rather than allow them to be participants, especially when that creates high school students who become reluctant to participate or see each other as valuable resources in their learning. Last year, during my first attempts at inquiry units, I had some honors-level students asking, “can you tell me if I’m right?” That means that the students can’t discern important information, they can’t tell if they’re producing something of quality, they don’t know how to find answers, and they aren’t thinking. I’m sure their reliance on me as the teacher and their perception of me as the giver of knowledge had been programmed into them–students had learned at some point that if they simply absorbed my words and spit them back as the “right” answers, they could get an A. They had learned that they could avoid tripping by following a learned pattern. And I think that, sadly, those habits are more than programmed. I believe they are reinforced year after year.

What’s more disturbing to me, however,  is the same behavior from some faculty–a reluctance to participate, to problem solve, to think. When faced with the challenge of teaching the 21st century generation of tech-savvy kids, I hear time after time teachers ask for the way to do it. They want ready-made lessons and unit designs; they want the answers. So, maybe the question we all need to address is how can we teachers participate if we are programmed to be media consumers? How can we think and problem solve? If we can’t discover a solution, how can we possibly expect students to truly learn, not just parrot? Furthermore, how can we possibly provide students with support and guidance as they move toward media literacy in a globally connected world? How do we unlearn what we’ve been programmed to do?

How can we answer this text: “participate”?

This semester we embark on a learning experience together–one unlike any I’ve ever had. And that’s not because you have those fancy shmancy netbooks. This summer I discovered how much information I have available at my fingertips if I use my laptop and the internet to help me understand and transform my discipline and my teaching practice. Every day, I communicate with a personal learning network of other educators, readers, and writers from around the world, and every day they make me rethink some aspect of my teaching.

Now, as we begin our learning journey together, I look to you as a resource–someone to collaborate with, to challenge me, and to help me develop my understanding of myself and the world around me. Perhaps more importantly, I want you to see each other as valuable resources and guide each other in these discoveries. Ask questions, discuss interests, make suggestions, and evaluate ideas. To paraphrase Kelsey, in order to learn, we need other people. So build your own network here. Provide guidance with your own unique perspectives. Read, view, and listen to what your classmates have to say; then, just like in a regular conversation you have with a friend, give something back. Don’t just absorb information; become a part of the conversation.

This comfort takes a while. I know that. And it can be really nerve-wracking for people to put themselves out there. I know that too. I can tell you, though, that once you do, the benefits are innumerable. I spent the summer building a group of critical friends from whom I continue to learn every day. But I figured out ways around my initial discomfort. I got friends like Ms. Hersey to critique what I wrote before I posted it (that even includes 140 character tweets that I wanted to put on Twitter!), and I used friends’ blogs as models like Will Richardson’s and Damian Bariexca’s.

Already in this class, you have learned how to create blogs, navigate stoneware, access RSS feeds through netvibes, and share ideas through back channel chats. Now I want you to use those tools to learn. For the first time, the information is at your fingertips every time you have a question. Ask!

Reflect on your learning, figure out what you still need to know, and set goals to get that information or those skills. Then, ask questions that can get you there, and find people who will help you answer them.

Lia started us off on a great foot yesterday with her thoughts and questions about life, love, religion, war, money, and revenge. I want to know now, what do you think, how do you think, what genuinely interests you, and what do you think will make our class even better?

Shelly Blake-Plock, whose blog I follow consistently, wrote on Friday, “I blog and what I blog — and how that message is received by others — tells me what I think.” Brilliant.

Like many of my students, I am self-conscious and maybe even scared to put myself out there in a medium that anyone can see, and worse yet, a medium through which anyone can dismiss my thoughts as worthless, misguided, or flat out wrong. However, as I have been trying to convince my sometimes skeptical students (and my sometimes skeptical self), this could also be a great way to find critical friends and, in turn, get an honest assessment of your ideas.

It took a variety of factors to lead me to this growing realization, though.

Almost 4 years ago, I started meeting with 3 other teacher friends to discuss problems we were seeing in our classrooms. In an attempt to resolve those issues, we did some horizontal and vertical articulation, and we discussed possible interdisciplinary connections. Without knowing it, we were studying and researching what has since been titled “21st Century Skills.” By voicing my concerns and by sharing my thoughts with respected peers, I was able to begin a shift in my teaching.

Then came the opportunity to help introduce 1-1 computing at our school. As part of the pilot program this summer, I got to work with teachers from Chris Lehmann’s Science Leadership Academy, I got to talk with Will Richardson (a former colleague and now weblog guru) about the benefits of a PLN, and I got to experiment with social and professional networking sites. Perhaps equally importantly, I found out I was supported by my school’s administration and by the State of New Jersey.

And finally, I felt a lot of support from my professional friends to jump in to the blogosphere. We got to learn about these technologies together, and I continue to learn from them every day.

This week I asked my class to continue on this learning journey with me. They read an excerpt from Margaret Wheatley’s “Willing to Be Disturbed,” and we discussed all that we would need to put into this project. After three days with their new school-issued netbooks and about a day and a half  to experiment with some web 2.0 technologies, they blogged about their experiences for the first time. They put their thoughts out there for all of the world to see, and I can’t describe how much I admire their courage.

I know that they are nervous and slightly frustrated, but they all sound excited about the possibilities ahead. Perhaps, like Shelly, we will learn through our blogs that “to fully live and to fully know one’s self is to fully live and to fully know one’s self in the public conversation.” I’m curious to see what I will learn about myself, about my students, and about learning itself. One thing I’m glad about for sure: we’re all in this together.

Today begins my experiment with Web 2.0 technologies. In an effort to explicitly teach 21st Century Skills in a meaningful, authentic way, a media specialist friend and I are embarking on a learning quest with my students. We will be creating individual online portfolios that answer the question, how do we learn? This semester, my students will each have a school-issued netbook, through which they will reflect on their learning in their own blogs, study  literary examples of learning in Beowulf and Grendel, research the learning process and post their findings to a wiki, and help each other through a learning progression by providing feedback to their peers. With a twist on the traditional Atwell and Kittle models, I plan to “write beside them,” even if that writing sometimes takes place asynchronously through blogs and backchannel chats.

Right now, I am feeling slightly apprehensive going into Wednesday’s class. Heather (the information media specialist) and I have spent all summer growing more comfortable with the technologies we will expect our students to use in the first week. But there are so many things I’m sure we don’t even know we don’t know. That’s both exciting and terrifying to me. I’m definitely stretching well-beyond what I thought I was technologically capable of, and I’m definitely outside my comfort zone. Because this is a project-based, inquiry-driven unit, I’m not sure how each class will go; that’s the scary part. I think I’m up for the challenge, though. And, I can’t wait to learn even more about my own thinking and about the way my students making meaning.