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?"
Wednesday, April 30, 2014
Monday, April 21, 2014
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.
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.
Friday, April 18, 2014
The Power of Clarity
http://goo.gl/FPXVH7
To begin, I love Meredith's analogy for lesson clarity: it is, essentially, a recipe for student success. The steps need to be explicit and clear. Directions need to be offered in a variety of ways and desired outcomes need to be presented, not to be copied for the sake of appearance, but rather as something to which we can aspire.
Often times, it is easy to rush into a lesson for the sake of allowing students more time to work, at least in the English setting, with texts or grapple with difficult and cognitively challenging writing tasks. The sacrifice is usually the clarification of what it is we want students to do. I cannot tell you how many times I used to begin to give directions and find myself on step ten, wondering how in the world my students would accomplish the task assigned. By slowing down, I realized that students were listening only to the first two or three things that I said, and then were eager to begin, some out of desire to achieve, others because they were likely afraid that they would forget what was required.
One of the most sobering contributors to my epiphany of the necessity of clarity came when I began to take on the bulk of my school's special education population. Many students have visual or auditory processing issues as the primary "diagnosis" and area of need. Because of this, I have become critical of the way I deliver and offer instructions in class. I always provide a visual on my Promethean board, a written copy for each set of partners, I verbally provide directions, portion by portion depending on the pacing of the task, and I ask students, strong and weak alike, to repeat directions.
I know that simply asking, "Any questions?" when I finish with directions is not helpful. Of course there are no questions. Students are processing at a slower rate than I am delivering my requests. I typically circulate the room and ask students to explicitly describe what they are doing, which I hope matches the instructions that I have given.
As Meredith says, "The majority of your class will take these instructions and soar. Then step back and let them work. There will be a few who need your support to stay on task, but with everyone else doing what they need to do, you will have the time to help." With the time crunch and massive amounts of content needed to be covered as required by the burgeoning list of standards, it is easy to attempt sprinting thought coursework. However, teaching is a marathon. It is far better to do things correctly the first time than to ask yourself, "Why aren't they getting it?"
Clarity is key, and students need it just like we do. The results, like our recipes, will turn out just as directed.
To begin, I love Meredith's analogy for lesson clarity: it is, essentially, a recipe for student success. The steps need to be explicit and clear. Directions need to be offered in a variety of ways and desired outcomes need to be presented, not to be copied for the sake of appearance, but rather as something to which we can aspire.
Often times, it is easy to rush into a lesson for the sake of allowing students more time to work, at least in the English setting, with texts or grapple with difficult and cognitively challenging writing tasks. The sacrifice is usually the clarification of what it is we want students to do. I cannot tell you how many times I used to begin to give directions and find myself on step ten, wondering how in the world my students would accomplish the task assigned. By slowing down, I realized that students were listening only to the first two or three things that I said, and then were eager to begin, some out of desire to achieve, others because they were likely afraid that they would forget what was required.
One of the most sobering contributors to my epiphany of the necessity of clarity came when I began to take on the bulk of my school's special education population. Many students have visual or auditory processing issues as the primary "diagnosis" and area of need. Because of this, I have become critical of the way I deliver and offer instructions in class. I always provide a visual on my Promethean board, a written copy for each set of partners, I verbally provide directions, portion by portion depending on the pacing of the task, and I ask students, strong and weak alike, to repeat directions.
I know that simply asking, "Any questions?" when I finish with directions is not helpful. Of course there are no questions. Students are processing at a slower rate than I am delivering my requests. I typically circulate the room and ask students to explicitly describe what they are doing, which I hope matches the instructions that I have given.
As Meredith says, "The majority of your class will take these instructions and soar. Then step back and let them work. There will be a few who need your support to stay on task, but with everyone else doing what they need to do, you will have the time to help." With the time crunch and massive amounts of content needed to be covered as required by the burgeoning list of standards, it is easy to attempt sprinting thought coursework. However, teaching is a marathon. It is far better to do things correctly the first time than to ask yourself, "Why aren't they getting it?"
Clarity is key, and students need it just like we do. The results, like our recipes, will turn out just as directed.
Thursday, April 17, 2014
One day in the life of a teacher
There are days as a teacher where we have victories. Contrastingly, there are days when we suffer heartbreaking defeat. When we have "average" days, what are the takeaways? As teachers, we are so pre-programmed to celebrate the highest of highs, and spend countless hours engaging with "reflective practice" and crunching data to cope with or plan for advancing the most struggling of learners.
Everyday, I come home and my wife asks me, "How was work today?" My response, everyday, verbatim: "Fine." Perhaps a portion of this answer is due to me being male and uncomfortable with generalized emotional intimacy. On the other hand, maybe it is the fact that her question lacks inherent depth and precludes a lack of actual interest. Either way, even when considering this question seriously, I am hard-pressed to determine a better response.
Most days are fairly similar, but when I think about what we actually do as teachers, it is difficult to imagine explaining the details of the depth and complexity of my day to someone who does not do the same thing occupationally. I spend, on average, close to eight hours with students. From the minute I arrive, one hour before the bell, usually, there is someone who is in my room. My one hour of reprieve is during my prep period, but rather than be a hermit, I often exit my room and save my planning for later. I use my prep period as an opportunity to stretch my legs, check in with office staff, or to observe peers.
During my lessons, I keep a fast-past and dynamic schedule that requires massive amounts of energy and engagement for both my students and me. I expend the energy that I have in order to give a good teaching performance. After school I usually tutor or have some sort of staff-related meeting due to my many self-selected duties on campus. So, when I get home, I am not sure how to answer the question, "How was your day?"
My day was a educational, challenging, long, exhausting, rewarding, celebratory, heart-breaking, a roller coaster, entertaining, unnerving, patience-requiring, dynamic, and engaging experience.
At least now, when I think about it, I may lack emotional intimacy, but one thing I do not lack, is the usage of adjectives.
So teachers, I ask you, how was your day at work?
Everyday, I come home and my wife asks me, "How was work today?" My response, everyday, verbatim: "Fine." Perhaps a portion of this answer is due to me being male and uncomfortable with generalized emotional intimacy. On the other hand, maybe it is the fact that her question lacks inherent depth and precludes a lack of actual interest. Either way, even when considering this question seriously, I am hard-pressed to determine a better response.
Most days are fairly similar, but when I think about what we actually do as teachers, it is difficult to imagine explaining the details of the depth and complexity of my day to someone who does not do the same thing occupationally. I spend, on average, close to eight hours with students. From the minute I arrive, one hour before the bell, usually, there is someone who is in my room. My one hour of reprieve is during my prep period, but rather than be a hermit, I often exit my room and save my planning for later. I use my prep period as an opportunity to stretch my legs, check in with office staff, or to observe peers.
During my lessons, I keep a fast-past and dynamic schedule that requires massive amounts of energy and engagement for both my students and me. I expend the energy that I have in order to give a good teaching performance. After school I usually tutor or have some sort of staff-related meeting due to my many self-selected duties on campus. So, when I get home, I am not sure how to answer the question, "How was your day?"
My day was a educational, challenging, long, exhausting, rewarding, celebratory, heart-breaking, a roller coaster, entertaining, unnerving, patience-requiring, dynamic, and engaging experience.
At least now, when I think about it, I may lack emotional intimacy, but one thing I do not lack, is the usage of adjectives.
So teachers, I ask you, how was your day at work?
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