The Death of the Five-Paragraph Essay

J               When thinking about my beliefs related to teaching writing, I consider the damage that was done to me as a developing writer. Reflected in the words of one of my colleagues, was this wrongdoing. She shared the journey of her writing experience, recounting that she feels she as though she never learned to write as a thinking process and, as an adult – as a teacher – she is relearning, rising from the ashes of the phoenix of her writer’s past. “The five paragraph essay,” she explained, “really made me question everything I ever wrote. I never felt like I could write anything else once I learned it.” She was trapped by ghosts of writing teachers past.

Maya Angelou’s memorable poem, “I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings,” compares the attitudes and sentiments of two birds. The free bird that “leaps,” ”floats,” and “dips his wings“ as he “dares to claim the sky.” Reveling in his freedom, the bird exercises his option to choose, daring to achieve avian greatness. The caged bird, by contrast, is not so lucky. He “stalks down his narrow cage” and “can seldom see through his bars of rage” with his clipped wings and tied feet. As a result, the bird can only sing – his lone form of self-expression. As a writer, which bird are you? My colleague, I would argue, was certainly the caged bird. We as teachers have the responsibility to empower students’ voices, encouraging them to sing in a variety of voices, not as a response despair or captivity. Analogously, student writing should be an expression of their individual skill and creativity, a product of inquiry and experimentation, not a regurgitation of a strict, cage-like structure.

                If the caged bird stops singing and a hush falls upon the classroom, you can actually hear the sound as the papers graze the tables: the dreaded essay assignment. Glancing at your students faces, the looks of consternation, anxiety, and dread spread like wildfire from student to student. Like a well-choreographed dance, a hand shoots up from the center of the room, eagerly waving, awaiting a prompt response. Pouring forth comes the question you knew was coming: “How long does it need to be?” This question is quite annoying to me, as a teacher of English and writing, behind only a student asking if they can go to the bathroom in the middle of some important conversation or teaching point. The need for parameters when writing – how many paragraphs, words, or sentences – the cage - comes from years of imposed standards, some teacher’s determination of what “good writing is.” An imprisoning threat to a student’s understanding of what good writing could be is the pesky hindrance of overly-formulaic prose, with perhaps the biggest perpetrator of this unhealthy paradigm being the often-taught five-paragraph essay – a proverbial quicksand to the developing writer, sucking him or her in, and trapping them.

There is a relationship between the caged bird, singing for freedom, and the student writer. Teachers are too often the oppressors – the “cagers”; students are restricted to the five-paragraph essay, either by teacher suggestion or through self-imposing, because it is seen as an easy-to-master format.  Teachers hold their students captive and have too readily accepted a complacency when teaching writing by insisting on the use of the five-paragraph tool which aims to guide students through the purported structural perils of essay writing, but rather stunts and hinders the “freedom” needed to demonstrate academic growth and achievement. In fact, it is arguable that the five-paragraph essay (FPE) reinforces mediocrity, a status quo for students to reach, but rarely surpass. A go-to standard for essay assignments in the English classroom and across the various content areas, the FPE fosters a flippant attitude from students who become content with producing formulaic essays that require no critical, innovative, or out-of-the-box thinking. In her article “The Ill Effects of the Five Paragraph Theme,” Kimberly Wesley suggests that “the only kind of writing considered ‘good.’ the only kind of essay that would earn an ‘A’ from the teacher must have a thesis with exactly three points, no more, no less,” (Wesley, 57). This cancerous way of thinking boxes students into a category of essay-writing automatons playing the game of school, aiming at doing the bare minimum to receive a desired grade rather than learning. These caged birds refuse to fly the coop where they feel safe behind the constraints of their FPE bars and do not explore the rhetorical opportunities that exist beyond.

By definition, the FPE format is predictable, providing a false sense of security for blossoming writers soon the fly the nest. A common understanding of what the FPE format requires is:

(1) an introductory paragraph moving from a generality to an explicit thesis statement and announcement of three points in support of that thesis, (2) three middle paragraphs, each of which begins with a topic sentence restating one of the major ideas supporting the thesis statement, then develops the topic sentence, and (3) a concluding paragraph restating the thesis and points. (Nunnally, 67)

There is security in the inherent predictability of the FPE. Like a pair of smelly, worn shoes we refuse to throw out, we continue to use the format because it is comfortable, even if it lacks proper support and we know they reek. We have all seen the hamburger model, either as teachers or as students. Heck, I even used it at one point in my career. Arguably, it may still have its place in a younger setting. It is a familiar image, and we know what the bun, meat, and toppings all represent. The problem is that this “hamburger” is too simple to deal with subjects that require deeper thought and investigation, the FPE inevitably hinders students as they advance beyond compulsory education to universities. Furthermore, some people just do not like hamburgers! Wesley notes, “The five-paragraph essay theme actually dissuades students from practicing rhetorical analysis necessary for them to be critical thinkers,” (58). A checklist approach to writing leads students to accomplish tasks, one at a time, constructing knowledge from a writing rule book rather than through thinking critically. Understanding the dramatic changes demanded by the implementation of Common Core Standards, it is crucial that a paradigm shift takes place, one that supports student development of strong rhetorical approaches to writing, and detaches them from dependence on cognitively-undemanding approaches. Katie Ray Wood notes:

When children are given a graphic organizer and a few simple guidelines to follow, they sometimes produce tighter, more polished-looking products… but when this happens, the very nature of what is being taught has fundamentally changed because writing doesn’t exist like that in the world outside school … When teachers give students a simple way to write something, not only are they not true to the product, they aren’t true to the process either. (Ray, 243)

What Ray implies is that writing is not arithmetic and no formula truly applies in every scenario. In other words, one size does not fit all and the application of the formulaic approach to writing does not directly correspond to a student’s writing achievement and creates birds that will never fly beyond their cages.

Teachers do stand to benefit from the enforcement of such rigidity. Five-paragraph essays are easier to grade. Arguably, this is because of their predictable format that allow for check-list rubrics that promote completion of tasks, an end-run around analysis and critical thinking. Essays are flavorless and lack student voice or creativity – they distort the view of what good writing can be. Although the grading of such essays may be simpler, “The emphasis on organization over content squelches complex ideas that do not fit neatly into three boxes. Students’ mere awareness that they must mold a topic to the five-paragraph theme style inhibits their learning,” (Wesley 59). Overuse of patterned writing limits the intellectual risk-taking that encourages growth as writers. In fact, it may stifle students who arrive in our classrooms with prerequisite skills, but from other cultural backgrounds. In some cultures, students organize their paragraphs to build toward the main idea at the end of the paper. This does not mean an essay is not logically or efficiently organized, but it would not fit the typical prescriptive writing patters of the five-paragraph essay whose stringent arrangement leaves no room for diverse learning experiences.

From my own curiosity, I decided to survey my little writers at the end of the school year. The topic: none other than the FPE. By June, my students understood my contempt for the structure, the sanitary pre-scripted form, the bane of my teacher existence. The survey was composed of short questions related to the FPE, two of which were: Have you ever been asked to write a FPE? When did you learn to write the FPE? As I would have assumed, every student answered yes to the first questions, and about 75% percent of my 143 students learned to write the essay in fourth grade. Now I know who to blame! Actually, I applaud them – it’s the fifth, or sixth, or seventh grade teachers – with whom I should pick a bone. Moving students away from this structure still hadn’t occurred – until they came to me, but this only comes after years of forming a habit.

                Perhaps the most telling responses came from a question that I thought would produce a different snapshot of my students as learners. The prompt read: When asked to write an essay, I: A) Have no idea what to do, B) Immediately try to write five paragraphs, or C) Consider my purpose and audience and go from there. The results? Painfully, over half of the responses were B) Immediately try to write five paragraphs. I died a little inside. Maybe my students were trying to ruffle my already ruffled feathers. Perhaps they were responding in a way they thought I wanted them to respond. Is it possible that my students were admitting to taking (what I think is) the easy way out? Either way, I felt that much of what I had been working against that year was shattered in that moment of reflection and analysis. What continues to perpetuate the need for the FPE if I crusade so passionately against it? Let me point fingers (or hypothesize) for a moment.

At my school site, the majority of the content area teachers bury their fingers very deep in their ears and chant “I can’t hear you!” when it comes to teaching literacy – especially writing. Rather than get in the mud with me and do the dirty work, those same teachers give a very formulaic FPE at some point during the year. One history teacher makes an FPE, complete with plug-and-play graphic organizer, the final assignment of the school year. I die - again. Students that we share come bouncing into my classroom, taunting me with this, in my mind, sacrilegious, assignment. In my fury, I burn red. Then it hits me – it’s not his fault for “teaching” this way. As a teacher, he may not have had the mentorship or development in the teaching of writing. The new standards demand “content” teachers become literacy teachers, but do not offer support. This is another issue for another time, but it brings clarity to my students’ responses.

If not the FPE, than what should be taught instead? Students need to develop voice and a clear understanding of who they are as writers and can do so only in environments that create safety to learn and take risks, opportunities and time to write, and teachers who serve not only as motivators, but also mentors through the writing process. A prescriptive approach to writing, one that focuses on rules and structures rather than process and choice, should be replaced by a descriptive approach. In this approach, students will generate writing from an authentic place, considering how writing actually functions: with a clearly defined purpose and with respect to a targeted audience.

A logical place to begin “reprogramming” our students, to open their cages, is by locating texts that make clear decisions for a clear purpose – in more or fewer than five paragraphs. An understanding must be formed: not everything can be accomplished in five, seemingly-neat, forcibly-organized paragraphs. Organizing points should be played with, and students must demonstrate flexibility. Realizing the various rhetorical patters in these mentor texts, students should consider where each pattern has its place within their writing. Whether it be narration, problem/solution, exemplification, cause and effect, compare and contrast, or one of the other rhetorical patterns, students need to be taught how making writer decisions leads to quality writing. Dispensing writing formats like candy does nothing to encourage students to live as writers – it creates students who play the game of writing. Seeing real world examples that directly contradict this “standard” of five paragraphs is a good starting line. Katie Ray elaborates:

When teachers give students a simple way to write something, not only are they not true to the product, they aren’t true to the process either. Outside of school, when faced with tasks that require composition, writers have to figure out how to write things. No one gives them a formula, and the struggle to organize and make everything work together is there anew every time. It is an essential part of the writing process. (Ray, 243)

Writing is an art form, or at least it can be, but removing the artist’s choice from the process leads us to a world of boring, sanitized writing. It becomes literary white bread – devoid of flavor. When students see examples of writings as part of their process, they may begin to move away from the idea that a simplified structure to writing is the only way to proceed. It is my job as a teacher to encourage children to play with writing.

                Regardless of the “other” teaching my students receive, the discomfort with making “writer decisions” comes from this purported indoctrination of formulaic writing.  Take, for instance, the student perception of school uniforms. They are often rejected by students because, as many are prone to arguing, uniforms “limit self-expression.” Who wants a plaid skirt “box” in which to live her fashion-conscious life? Analogous is the FPE, the polo shirt and khakis of academic writing. Teaching students to see writing as an authentic product of choice and self-expression, not a predetermined, uniform structure, gives them ownership over the writing task and the ability to self-express. This is not the easy way – we can expect rejection and eye rolling, sighs of disbelief and grumbles – any time we make something more difficult creates this natural reaction for students.  The more opportunity to become accustomed to this freedom, this liberation from the proverbial academic cage, will allow students to experience a shift and thinking. This discomfort creates a space for growth and learning.

Growth and learning, the goal of a teacher diving into the deep waters of inquiry, making students think rather than regurgitate or forcibly connect to a format that is not one-size-fits-all. I have found that students have become so attached to the FPE as a standard for writing that they are unable to truly feel comfortable even imagining another way to write until it is suggested. Likewise, they need opportunities to experiment and ask questions about their own writing process, in order to understand that they do bring something to the tables as writers. Students can still have authorial control without giving way to predetermined structure, thus engineering their own product. When given choice and adequate support, the ability to collaborate and interact with writing as a social experience, my students have begun to show signs of developing as writers as they simultaneously mature as people. Let the liberation begin!

Rather than think of the end product of an essay, let’s start smaller, build from there, think about and honor the process. Instead of asking for traditional essays, we can incorporate music, art, poetry, narrative – virtually any form of expression, as part of the process. We should coach students to be comfortable with discomfort as they vacillate from thinking to drafting, revising, to drafting more. Be the teacher who leads students and share your process.  Celebrate victories and mistakes. Let’s build communities of writers who want to share, connect, and eventually, celebrate writing. Let’s write a lot, and often, bending and breaking the rules – once we learn them, of course. Give students opportunities to practice with writing and revising in all subject areas, not just English. Remember, most of all, that we don’t teach five-paragraph essays, we teach students, and more importantly in this context, blossoming writers, with pens in hands, thoughts in heads. Let’s lay the five-paragraph essay aside, open our tool boxes, and build something different, together. Let’s open the cages and let our students soar to newer and greater heights.

An Open Letter: Why I Became a Teacher.

As adults, when we encounter new adults, either when introduced by a friend or in some other social setting, a common question is, "What do you do?" Granted, that is a loaded question, but usually it is targeted at learning an occupation. I am never surprised at how warm and welcoming most people are when I respond that I am a teacher. Many people thank me, as though I have had some direct impact on their life or the life of their children. A few people, in my career, have even made the sign of the cross or said, "God bless you" emphatically.

I did not become a teacher because I wanted praise. Certainly I did not become a teacher because I planned on becoming extremely wealthy by way of my profession. I became a teacher on accident. I will admit, it wasn't my first desire to be a teacher. I graduated college a semester early and was bent on going to law school. I was a good student my whole life, but I didn't think working in education was where I wanted to be. Maybe some day, I'd think to myself, but certainly not at twenty. 

I worked a job for a year that was in a field completely unrelated to my college major and was unhappy. About five months in to this new career, I got wind of an opportunity to apply for an internship program, and a few months later, I was doing my pre-service teaching.

At this point, I didn't become a teacher because I really wanted to be a teacher. Sorry to say, it got me out of my position in a field I didn't enjoy. I was changing careers to teach bilingual elementary, which was something I already knew I didn't want to do for the long-term. Seven years later, I know why I'm a teacher. 

Actually, I knew pretty quickly on that I may not have chosen teaching: I am a teacher because teaching chose me.

I believe that teaching is a vocation for some and a job for many. I feel that the career is not nearly as respected by our society as it is in others because many teachers can get by doing relatively little "extra" and by recycling old lessons or projects. In order to truly fall in love with education, it requires going above and beyond the same old lessons and takes many additional hours beyond our contract. On the other hand, teachers may be protected by unions and contracts and be the most immovable of people, but that's where I fall in to the educational puzzle. 

Originally, I thought I became a teacher because I wanted to teach content. Within a semester, I realized that I wanted to teach students, to make a difference in the lives of young people who may not otherwise have their own educational champions at home. I needed to impact their futures, and, correspondingly, my own. 

My students of today are the leaders and citizens of tomorrow. They will vote, hold jobs, own businesses, serve our country, or, at best, become teachers.

According to the Huffington Post (article found here), the United States ranks ninth among the world in teacher pay. It is difficult to be a teacher here, especially when most traditional teaching programs require many unpaid hours and starting pay for teachers is relatively low when compared to other fields with similar years of professional training. If our profession desires to attract young and innovative minds, we must offer new teachers competitive wages, especially when the implicit responsibilities and modicum of audiences a teacher must reach.

In order to think about why teachers are different from many professions, outside of the obvious differences in occupational requirements, is the overall lack of upward mobility for teachers. Most classroom teachers accept that our role, from day one of year one, to the final day preceding our retirements, will be as a classroom teacher.

An uninformed perspective would be that teachers have vast opportunities to become principals or other administrators. The truth is, as we teachers know, is that administration requires an entirely different skill set. Administrators unfortunately deal with many top-down mandates and middle management issues. Administrators must handle budgets and human capital as well as be lead spokespeople and disciplinarians at school sites. At this point in my career, none of that sounds particularly appealing. 

Allow me to digress briefly. I had a colleague throughout my internship and master's program that, upon five years of teaching, said he would start looking for an administrative position. In fact, he became a teacher with the mindset that it was a stepping stone to the glorious status of principal. I asked him one day, "If you want to be in administration, why did you start teaching?" His answer was not because he wanted to change policies, demonstrate management or leadership skills, or because he felt compelled to help parents or students. His answer was: "Administration is where the money is and I can't do it without being a teacher first."

I didn't become a teacher to be an administrator. Teachers have many roles, just like administrators, but I know that, every single day, my career allows me to put students FIRST.

With the impending changes related to Common Core, now more than ever, teachers must rise up and defend our profession. We must remind everyone that we do our jobs because everyday, regardless of pay, respect, or supports, we will still teach students because they will show up everyday. Education, compulsory as it is in our great nation, is still a gift that we, as teachers, are entitled to share unto our captive recipients.

I am a teacher, but I am a change-maker, a mentor, an example, a champion, a confidant, and a supporter of students in my classroom and beyond.

In Response to "8 Ideas That Will Permanently Break Education As We Know It"

In response to "8 Ideas That Will Permanently Break Education As We Know It" by Terry Heick:

It is proposed that education, due to modern adaptations and advancements, will change drastically. As a teacher, my response must be swift if I want to preserve my career and livelihood. 

1. Connectivity is replacing knowledge.

Connectivity, in my opinion, cannot replace knowledge because it is simply not the same thing. Knowledge builds capacity and autonomy, whereas connectivity breeds a potential dependence upon a collective group of others. This, to me, does not imply collaboration.

Wouldn't it be safe to say that SOMEONE has to have the knowledge? The premise of connectivity only works if the information we want is out there and accurate, appropriate, and adequate. If we do not teach the knowledge to evaluate for accuracy, appropriateness, or adequacy, connectivity is a moot point. We must not blindly connect, but be informed and critical learners who seeks to connect for the purpose of building knowledge.

2. Student are clients.

Here it is stated that education and schools must compete to be more compelling, creative, and interesting to appeal to audiences. Traditional public schools are not backed by the public sector and can not yield nearly as much capital to entice students and parents. Charter schools are sometimes filled with false promises and impractical ideals that do not meet the needs of their clients. Others are among the top schools in the nation, driven to succeed and adapting the best educational practices and technologies to meet students in the classroom.

Perhaps the message to receive here is by schools and districts. Teachers will always to seek to make content engaging, interesting, and allow students to flourish creatively, but as we are beholden to standards, it is a distinct possibility that we may slip and thus, displease our "clients." As long as we as teachers always strive to advance our pedagogical skills and improve our practice through our professional learning networks, we can evolve with the culture of our schools.

3. Adaptive software can replace 75% of what a teacher does.

Technology is to be used as a tool, not as a replacement for what we do in the classroom. Many teachers use the newest and most advanced technologies to support teaching. Teach-nology, as I would like to propose it, cannot and never will, replace human interaction and sensitivities developed through relationships and rapport-building.

4. YouTube is way, way more engaging than reading and writing.

I always say I must be entertaining and engaging as a teacher. I must be more entertaining, in fact, than mobile devices in the pockets of my students. Yes, YouTube is way more engaging than reading and writing, but YouTube is not a lifelong skill. The question becomes: how do we integrate web 2.0 tools and mega-sites like YouTube into our curriculum and classrooms, not how we use it to replace the irreplaccble skills 

5. Reading and writing should be social.

I cannot argue with this. My classroom is collaborative, talkative, and active. We as adults don't work in a vacuum, so why should students. It is imperative that students learn how to be citizens of the global community. I blog and share my writing. I have Facebook, Twitter, Google+, blog, etc. I'm looking int

6. The disruption of mobile technology will be complete.

Again, I cannot argue here. This is my teachers need to be on the forefront of developing a knowledge for these technologies. I refuse to let my students become more advanced than I am. Moreover, just because students understand how to use what we'd consider "educational" technologies does not mean they know how, will, or will choose to use them appropriately. The disruption doesn't have to be a disruption.

7. Parents don’t understand teaching and learning.

I do not think this has ever been more true than it is now. I remember how active my parents were in knowing what was going on in my classes, but it didn't mean that they understood what it meant to teach me. I was a gifted learner, I suppose in may ways, I still demonstrate the traits that designated me as such years ago, so my parents learned about what it meant to have a gifted students.

Now, parents with students, whether gifted, English-learning, or special education, tend to place the complete and total responsibility onto the teachers who they trust as the "experts" in education. On the other hand, these same parents fail to receive the education, either through their own efforts or through outreach.

Teachers and parents need to work as allies to ensure student success, especially with the diverse and complicated distractions and varying needs that now have proliferated our classrooms.

8. Universities are decaying.

This is the sad truth. Maybe I'm old-fashioned, but I like human contact. Many universities are switching to online courses or hybrid courses that blend in-class interaction with online learning components. I have to say, in my experience with all three courses, traditional, hybrid, and online, I favor the traditional route, but could be convinced to partake in more hybrid course study. Online classes, however, have to appeal because interaction in real time is becoming more and more available through mediums such as Skype and Google Hangouts. The question remains, should we throw the baby out with the bathwater?

Sure, online courses appear to on-the-go students, maybe those who are going back to school. Online courses also offer flexibility and diversity, especially as they gain popularity. There is something to be said, however, for the college experience. Although universities may see decline in enrollment, I highly doubt they're endangered. I hope I'm correct.

All of this being said, as a teacher, I hope there can be a balance in the force. We are being forced to adapt to a world that is quickly changing, and maybe only the strong and most adaptable will survive in the Darwinian world of education.

Creating Your Personal Learning Network

Reflecting upon a Twitter chat from last night, May 7, 2014, I am considering the implications of creating a personal learning network beyond my own school site and district.

I joined a Twitter chat with #ntchat, New Teacher Chat, and found that the dialogue was open, welcoming, and extremely beneficial. The topic of the conversation was "Creating Your Personal Learning Network" as a new OR veteran teacher.

I have found myself very frustrated the past couple of years at my school site. I am not what I would consider a "veteran teacher" as I am completing only my seventh year, but I have taken on roles and responsibilities at my site and district level that have given me valuable experiences that some more senior teachers have not had. The issues that I have had surround the flexibility and willingness to collaborate, especially when considering Common Core. Regardless of how we currently, in this moment, feel about Common Core, as of right now, it's happening. We cannot immediately close our eyes and blink them away. Knowing this, the unwillingness to acknowledge and adapt will be extremely detrimental to school sites.

In order to adapt to the changing current of education, I have taken to the internet to satisfy ny cravings for professional development, collaboration, and personal growth. I have committed to using Twitter to participate in the educational chats that exist. Interestingly, in my short but very active time on Twitter, I have found "edchats" trending. Moreover, according to Edsurge, teachers dominate the Twittersphere. (Click here to read the article.)

The people I have met on Twitter have already got me to think about all of the potential there is out there. You ask a question, it gets answered. You get a change to get feedback on practice, lesson ideas, and challenges. I have begun to follow educational leaders, tech gurus, educational theorists, reformers, and administrators. Comments, follows, and retweets have been validating and exciting! I feel like social media has tuned into - wait for it - my PLN!

Don't be afraid to follow and tweet people who have created great content. Ask for resources and permission to use website data or other information. Do not be afraid to join chats from other states because good practice is GOOD PRACTICE, period.

Google+, my newest and emerging foray into the world of my web PLN, will allow me to join communities of like-minded individuals, network, and participate in hangouts where the dialogue is rich, engaging, and endless. Whether your interests lie in pedagogy, educational technology, administration, or just education in general, the proliferation of content is overwhelmingly abundant, but so very valuable to a teachers, new and experienced.

My frustration is this: I want to be the teacher is takes twenty years of work and experience to make, but I must also accept that this process takes time. Although the immediate interactions and connections occur, building my PLN is ongoing and fluid. It is similar to building a clientele in a client-based business. 

How to Use Twitter to Develop Your PLN.

I depend upon my PLN to answer the questions that my site and district, damaged by recession and decisions, cannot answer. Putting yourself out there is tough, but be willing to share, ask questions, provide feedback, find a diverse group of individuals, and be patient.

Stay connected locally, if you can, with your PLC. Grow digitally with your PLN. Create a community of learners that facilitate your personal growth and educational betterment.

Power Up Your Personal Learning Network
The Connected Educator: Building a Professional Learning Network

Digital Natives & The Digital Divide

I do not want to fail my students. I want them all to succeed. The old adage that "all kids can learn" is certainly true, but I do not believe, that under current circumstances and school climates, that all students will.

There is such pressure on students today to succeed in a world that will require more skills than they currently possess. Much of the emphasis has been placed on teachers to make up the gap that is created between educational standards and real-world need.

Many consider an easy fix to our achievement gap to be the use of technology and costly programs geared to "individualized" instruction and "highly engaging" curriculum. As a teacher, I resent the thought that I do not present my students with either engaging or individualized support. That, however, is not the largest issue; technology-based "remedies" are not as practical as one would think.

Students are often referred to as "digital natives" because they have never known a world without quick access to information through the pathways of numerous technological devices. Digital natives are more immersed with technology than previous generations and are more dependent and connected. The highly misguided presumption of the educational mega-companies and cooperatives is that being a digital native and being digitally literate are connected.

Take, for example, those people who grow up in households that speak a language native to their parents, but enter our public schools with no knowledge of how to read or write that language. Rather than being given fundamental language skills, the "primary" or "home" language is not developed enough to enable a student to better adapt their newly acquired "school" language. Following a similar thought process, understanding that technology exists and being able to appropriately employ this technology are two different things. Using the internet and other digital resources is simple enough, but to use these resources accurately and appropriately requires more skill and education. To believe that students will acquire lost knowledge through the use of self-guided educational products seems illogical.

Although being digitally proficient is a dangerous presumption, students do have a higher level of interest when using technology for educational purposes. I would advocate for using educational technology when beneficial, supportive, and for the advancement of knowledge, but to include it within lessons as bells and whistles or to allow students to self-guide themselves through remedial curriculum is unacceptable. Educational technology cannot exist without the education of technology. Twenty-first century learners cannot rely solely on twenty-first century technology, but rather must be taught the valuable thinking skills that will allow them to better navigate the digital world and bridge the divide created by the tumultuous educational climate.

How My Instructional Minutes Have Been Sacrificed for Testing

At the beginning of our school year, we were informed that, due to the roll-out of Common Core Standards, there would no longer be the state-mandated standardized tests. Teachers, parents, and students all rejoiced, even if for different reasons. Teachers looked forward to extra time to do what we are paid to do: teach. 

This was, of course, too good to be true.

When we were informed that our site was "selected" to pilot the Smarter Balanced (SBAC) tests, teachers were certainly discontented. Testing meant a shift in schedule, instructional minutes, and thinking. The pilot test, as we were told, was not to be offered to all schools. I believe we were told this in an attempt to promote a feeling of being elite or exclusive. Teachers, however, were not fooled.

Since the notification of the piloting of SBAC, we have had to sacrifice important instructional opportunities for the sake of the pilot test. We have had multiple meetings and professional inservices dedicated to the facilitation of the test. Administrators and classified staff alike have been asked to leave their posts in favor of trainings. To make matters worse, we were asked to "practice" the pilot tests - practice the practice, in other words.

Because the testing is being facilitated through technology, we needed to test our sites bandwidth and capabilities to withstand the assessments demands. Prior to this, our site's IT guru spent three days in my classroom sure my netbooks had the appropriate, secure browser installed (I have a one-to-one netbook to student ratio, for which I am very lucky). Of course, that wasn't perfect, and impacted my ability to use the netbooks with my other classes. Moreover, our site has some rooms equipped with netbooks and others with iPads, so the uniformity issues were already problematic.

Upon the practice days, we, ALL teachers, were asked to give up TWO days of instruction to test the test. My biggest complaint, beyond those already implied, was that we had no support. A vice principal, a secretary, and our tech person, were the only ones trained. After the many, many, MANY issues we had in class on the practice-practice day, I was already consumed with my dislike for the new testing.

Our testing schedule for the practice includes FOUR days of testing time. Testing is scheduled as a three-hour block of time. Our other class periods? Just over twenty minutes. For a week. That's all I get with my students. I take that back - today we have to teach a lesson to help them take the test the next two days, so we are on a normal schedule, but I don't get to teach my content. Ridiculous.

But wait - there's more! Next week, we are going to take two days of block schedule in which I only see three classes a day to accommodate the previous California standardized science test. This is yet another schedule that will take time away from TEACHING.

Perhaps what is the most distasteful aspect of this testing experience is the hierarchy of commands:
1. SBAC trains district
2. District disseminates demands and minimally trains site's designee.
3. Site is trained by the aforementioned staff.
4. Teachers give test.

Who discovers the issues with the test? STUDENTS.
Who copes and struggles through issues? TEACHERS.

What's even worse (I know, it can't possibly get worse, right?) is that SBAC has the nerve to ask sites to submit detailed accounts of errors and issues during the test. Who is expected, no, commanded, to do this?TEACHERS. So, let me get this straight: SBAC sends NO support directly to the pilot sites and expected student guinea pigs to discover issues and teachers to relay this information for the betterment of THEIR (SBAC's) tests? You heard correctly. I am responsible for conducting market research and facilitating feedback for a multi-billion dollar industry that would see my value, evaluation, and compensation tied to THEIR test. 

All of this work and we, as teacher, receive nothing. My students are not actually evaluated. We receive NO feedback or test results. Not to mention, the tests assume that students have had previous years of Common Core instruction. I teach eighth grade, so, presumably, the test requires knowledge of previous years of Standards that students have not received. 

Something is rotten in the state of California - and beyond.

Students ask, "Will this count?" or "Will we be graded on this?" 

I reply, "No."

They then ask the multi-billion dollar question to which I have no answer: "Then, what's the point?"

Introducing Poetry with Inquiry

I don't know if you know this, but students either seem to love the idea of studying poetry or they hate the thought.

I realized that students do not necessarily know how to read poetry. So, I tell them, "I am going to teach you poetry like you've never seen poetry before. Any notions or ideas you have, I am going to ask you to set them aside and embark on this new journey with me." I usually get a few sighs of disgust or the students that gaze at one another, both confirming that the teacher must be absolutely off of his rocker.

Before class, I prepare a selection of six to eighth poems, including a range of forms and structures, difficult to simple. I tell them that in their envelope (where I have cut and placed the poems) or digitally (I have had is uploaded as a bundle OR PowerPoint) they will find poems. Yes, every single one is a poem.

I introduce the lesson with three inquiry questions:
1. What, based on your investigation and analysis of these poems, is poetry?
2. How do these poems differ from prose?
3. What do poems have in common?

I require that students work collaboratively to:
1. Read the poems out loud
2. Write their observations on the Promethean Board OR as Post-Its

I circulate and ask some probing questions, but students invariably always have frustrations with certain poems and ease with understanding others. Sometimes, particularly when reading something by E.E. Cummings or William Carlos Williams, I get the question, "Is this even poetry?" I also go back to my board and look at what students are adding, sorting through all of the ideas and making sure to weed out any that are completely off the mark. Usually, I immediately address "poems rhyme" because it is a particularly basic approach to poetry.

After students have plenty of time to discuss, I ask them to independently address the original three inquiry questions. The students get an opportunity to share and dialogue afterwards. I usually ask a student to share a particularly insightful observation made by a peer, and add it to my growing chart at the front of the room.

I always find this to be such an interesting way to introduce poetry because students get a chance to work with poetry before someone else tells them what poetry "is." Poetry is so varied stylistically and without a doubt, students will not always connect with all poems. 

I have a particular approach to teaching students how to read poetry, but for me, it is all about engaging them and teaching them that poetry is not the scary monster under the bed; poetry is one of the most wondrous and challenging content to read, and students' critical thinking skills can be sharpened through the reading thereof.