Everything Counts

Strings Attached

2012-02-14T16:41:00.000-08:00

(Image from http://www.orthocuban.com )

Yesterday, our class started out differently from any other class. I'd previously rearranged the room so that half the desks were inaccessible. After that, I wrote on the board that only students with desks were allowed to speak in class. When students arrived to class, they were greeted with stern instructions to follow the directions on the board. Every other student was given a red string to tie around his/her wrist, and those with strings were told that they were not allowed to sit in desks or speak. I received curious looks from them when they heard this, but I did not answer any questions.

Once class began, I reminded the students that only those with desks and no strings were allowed to talk at all. Those in desks were not allowed to talk to those without. I proceeded to hand out candy to those in the desks, asking about their weekends, and hearing their stories. If someone with a string spoke, he/she was quickly and sternly upbraided. "You have a string on your wrist. You're nothing. You have no privileges in this class." One can imagine the consternation with which these remarks were met!

After a few minutes of this, I directed everyone to get a chair and take out a piece of paper to reflect upon the previous several minutes. I allowed students to share their thoughts, feelings, and questions, and I was surprised and amazed by what I heard:

"I felt segregated."

"It was awkward to be treated better than our friends."

"It was funny at first, but then I felt sorry for the people with the strings."

"I had candy, so I was okay."

"I wanted to hide the kids with strings under my desk and give them candy."

"I wouldn't wanna be a person with string, but in the end, I don't really care."

"The string didn't change who we were."

In the end, students came to the conclusion that this was an object lesson about the experiences of Jews, sympathizers, and many others during the Holocaust. Later on in the class, we watched a video based on Dr. Seuss' The Sneetches, and we discussed the comparisons between the Sneetches' experiences and their own.

Every time I do this activity with a class, I learn something new about my students and how they perceive the world. While they have much to learn from the accounts of Holocaust survivors over the next few weeks, I have a feeling I have much to learn from the wonderful human beings who grace our classroom every day.

Have you done something similar with your classes? If you have, or if you decide to try this, please comment below and share how it went!

Telling Their Wrath

2012-02-02T18:19:00.000-08:00

I was angry with my friend.

I told my wrath; my wrath did end.

I was angry with my foe.

I told it not; my wrath did grow.

William Blake

My English 1 classes just finished a comparative study of "A Poison Tree" and Amy Lowell’s “Fireworks”. As I always do when I teach Blake’s poem, I wanted to give the kids a chance to “tell their wrath” in a safe setting. What happened as a result was truly humbling.

Teachers, if you would like to use this in your class, feel free to steal the idea.You'll need an artistic student from another class to draw a bare, dying tree on the board (in previous years, I’d had them on paper).

We discussed Blake’s poem, particularly the consequences of not telling our wrath. I reminded my students of Ephesians 4:26 and how the Bible commands us to live in peace as much as we are able. (We are a Christian school, so we are free to incorporate Biblical principles into our lessons.)
I distributed paper cutouts of leaves, one to each student in the class.
I asked students to think of a situation about which they had not told their wrath for whatever reason. Perhaps a friend had ditched them, someone had died, or something else happened, and they still needed to get some things off their hearts.
Students wrote their names on one side of their leaves, and on the other side, they wrote out their “wrath”.
I stressed to the students that what they wrote would be completely confidential; that no one else could read their leaves without their permission.
Once each student finished writing, he/she came up to the board, picked up a piece of tape, and taped the leaf somewhere on the branches of the tree, with only his/her name showing.

My class was amazed when they recognized the symbolic nature of their actions. We talked about how that once-dead tree came alive as we let go of our anger and hurt. After letting the tree stay up there for a few minutes, I told the students they could take their leaves down and keep them if they wanted. However, I said that if they wanted me to read their leaves, they could leave them up as a silent permission (we have a solid enough relationship that I knew they would take them down if they really didn’t want me to read), all with the understanding that I would not share what they wrote.

All of my students left their leaves on the tree. Every single one.

As I read their writing, I was enlightened and deeply humbled, both by the situations in their lives and by their trust in me. These kids peeled off their masks and shells and let me see who they really are. Through this, I was able to understand them better and have more insight with which to deal with them daily and with which to pray for them.

Today was one of those days when teaching made sense, when I really felt like I’d gotten somewhere, at least with a few students. We teachers often give off the appearance that we have it all together and that we always know what we are doing, but in the back of every teacher’s mind is always the nagging question, “Is what I’m doing day to day really going to make a lifetime and even eternal impact on these kids?” (Come on, teachers. It’s okay to nod your heads in agreement.)

Yes, teacher. It is.
Yes, teacher. It is worth it.
Yes, teacher. THEY are worth it.

Everything counts.
Everything.

Eyes

2012-01-07T13:40:00.000-08:00

This poem is far from polished. I wrote it today after listening to an audio version of Eudora Welty’s “Where is the Voice Coming From”, which took me back to my days of teaching in public school. Four students of mine ended up being tried and convicted for involvement in murder. This poem is not written to excuse their actions, but rather in hopes that we will look deeper into the hearts of those my mom has always called “the lost boys” and see things from their point of view. Constructive criticism is welcome in the comments.

Photo from enduringamerica.com

Eyes

You saw my eyes.
My retinas reflected
trouble,
my sleeping and bad attitude spoke
volumes.

You showed me a mirror.
It looked back at me and said,
“Keep walking this way,
and you’ll end up in
trouble”,
but I closed my eyes and covered my
ears.

I saw her eyes.
Her retinas reflected
terror.
My gun and white-hot rage spoke
with a bang.

They showed me a cell.
It looked back at me and said,
“Twenty-five to life
for one moment’s
actions”.
I walked inside and hung my
head.

You saw my eyes,
but not my
heart.

You weren’t there those nights I
heard my mother scream
and my brother cry.

You didn’t have to fall asleep
to the drum beat
of gunshots every night.

You didn’t see your father disappear
after telling you that all you’ll ever be
is nothing.

You didn’t grow up
not knowing where your next meal
or next night’s bed would come from.

You didn’t walk my streets,
seeing pairs of shoes on power lines
watching dope deals happen everywhere you turn.

You didn’t grow up
with no one showing you any other way
out.

So, see my eyes,
my retinas reflecting
pain.
My hardened heart and hollow voice speaking
hopelessness,

and then look into another’s eyes
and tell him,
“I see your heart.”

(cross-posted on my personal blog, etchedroots.wordpress.com )

Manage Paperload with Google Forms

2011-11-02T15:45:00.000-07:00

I teach ELA, and three of my courses are composition courses, so I have multiple essays to grade at any given time. It's often difficult not to feel overwhelmed with the paper load. Google Forms came to my rescue this semester, though, and using the forms as rubrics has changed the way I grade.

Why might I want to use Google Forms instead of grading on paper?

Accentuate the positive; eliminate the negative. Using Google Forms helps teachers and students focus on the big picture, emphasizing good qualities in student writing and pin-pointing gross errors.
You might bleed grammar, but your students probably do not. Have you ever received a paper from a professor or teacher, only to be dismayed at the amount of red ink "bleeding" all over the page? Google Forms rubrics collect all comments/editing into one place, eliminating the frustration students feel (and reducing your compulsion to mark every single tiny mistake). See what Carol Jago has to say about effective feedback and reducing the paper load.
You can use them on a computer, iPad/other tablet, or smartphone.
Save time. Students need feedback that helps them grow as writers. You need the time to provide that feedback.

How does it work?

Log into your Google account and go to docs.google.com .
Click "Create" and choose "Form".
Enter the fields you would like to use. Make sure that all fields are marked as "Required". Save when you finish. This will take you to the spreadsheet.
You can choose to print data off the spreadsheet once all papers are graded...OR, if you want to be completely paperless, Michael Milton suggests that you have results for each student's paper emailed to you so that you can forward those results to the student. To do the latter, click "Tools" and go to "Notification Rules". Choose the option you prefer.
Google Forms work like an online survey. While reviewing papers, you can comment and mark points on the form. Make sure you put the student's name in the form!
Once you finish grading a student's paper, click "Submit".
You can click "Go back to form" to keep grading subsequent papers.
To see all the results in spreadsheet form, go back to your Google Docs account and open the original form.
To print, go to "File" and then "Print", where you can download the form to print out. You can then cut each student's strip of data out and staple it to the paper.

Could I see an example?

Here's a sample form I've created to show you how it works:

&lt;p&gt;&amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;gt;Loading...&amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;gt;&lt;/p&gt;

Other uses for Google Forms:

Project rubrics
Student data collection
Quizzes

You can set the form to email results to you each time a form is submitted. What this means for you is that every time you grade a paper, you can have an email with the results sent to your account (if you want). Then you can just forward that to the student--instant, paperless feedback!

I'm still new to using Forms for grading, so I'm sure there are things I've not thought of or tried yet. How might you use a form to lighten your paperload? What suggestions or ideas do you have? I'd love to hear your ideas!

More of a Guide...Less of a Source

2011-10-18T19:32:00.000-07:00

Photo © Jon Matthew | CreativeCommons

The elevator conversation this morning reminded me of many things I've learned recently through my fantastic PLN on Twitter. A teacher was frustrated about having to create more and more Smartboard lessons, so I suggested she have students learn the material and create them instead. She expressed the concern that students might not do the assignment well, might not complete it on time, or that it might not live up to her expectations. I sensed a fear of losing control.

Understanding that fear well from my own experience, I shared with her how my eighth grade students created their own mythology project as a class, setting the parameters for what they should research, how it should be graded, and what tools they could use for publishing. The end result was a beautiful thing to see--I encountered excellence at every corner and even learned a few things myself!

Well, I carried that conversation with me throughout the day. Fast foward a bit to my fourth period English 2 class. We needed to review the parts of speech. However, knowing that many times, students "learn" things via mini-lessons and forget them half an hour later, I decided to approach this concept from another angle. What happened helped rekindle the wonder in me and in my students for learning even the basics.

Each group was assigned a part of speech and told to spread out around the room. Using the (*cough* VERY boring *cough*) grammar text, groups studied their parts of speech, taking notes about the definition, examples, types, etc. They created their own instructional guides and then created their own worksheets with answer keys. I set up my computer and a laptop in the room, and once students had finished writing their notes down, they compiled them into documents on the computers. I was then able to take their work, check it for accuracy (99% of what they did was right!), tweak the formatting a little, and create a parts of speech handbook. Next week, each group will teach their unit, and the class will go through the handbook together.

The overwhelming response from students was that this task helped them learn the parts of speech much better than sitting down and working through worksheets, and by reviewing what they created, I concur. They said that having to come up with exercises/questions on their own forced them to work and think harder about what they were doing. All said they preferred doing this over lectures and book work. When I shared the experience with the elevator teacher, she couldn't wait to try it herself! I'll be setting her up this week to get started.

Loosening the reins in the classroom is a scary process. I'm still working on it, and my Type-A personality doesn't help much. However, I've found that more often than not, the rewards of letting go far outweigh the risks. When I as the teacher become more of a guide and less of a source, my students step up to the plate and excel. What more could a teacher ask for?

Have you had an experience recently with letting go of the reins in class? How did it go? What ideas do you have for letting go more and letting students step up? What concerns you about the process? Share in the comments--let's start a conversation!

Rekindling the Wonder

2011-10-10T18:31:00.000-07:00

Photo by Phil Rosenburg; Creative Commons

It all started with a question from a student last week: "Miss K, why do we have to study and learn all [the little stuff] that may have nothing to do with what we will do with our lives? What's the point?" Like a good teacher, I told her that the little things build up to the big things, that it all leads to a diploma, that the Bible tells us to study, that it builds character, that we never know what we might use later on. To be honest, though, I found myself wondering the same thing as my student.

This afternoon in my sophomore English class, we worked on literary analysis for a Ray Bradbury story. While I found the themes and writer's craft to be important, I couldn't quite put my finger on the real application the students could find for studying allusion, imagery, sound devices, etc. Sure, they can use those things in other classes, but what's the life application? What happens to the sheer delight in reading, in discovering, in finding their stories inside Ray's story?

As a teacher, I understand the importance of conveying how skills acquired and practiced in the classroom can be applied in everyday life. As an English teacher, I certainly appreciate the fact that reading, writing, and analysis are skills my students will use almost daily. However, the more I consider the state standards' requirements, the more I fear that we have broken down the joy of a story into pieces in order to meet a quota for each year. The more I reflect on requirements for writing, the more I wonder whether or not we are taking away the excitement for creating and exchanging it for a template, a mold. The more I talk to my adult students, the more I see how our testing culture has stripped the joy of reading and writing out of them because of the overbearing focus on picking stories apart.

And through all of this, I find myself losing the wonder of a story, grasping at straws for the adrenaline rush of creating something new for others to read. As I ponder all of this, I can't help but think, "What have we done to our children?" In a race to standardize everyone and in an attempt to deepen analytical and critical thinking, we've actually fallen behind in many ways.

This all may seem convoluted and nonsensical, and if so, please accept my apologies. But what can I do as a humanities teacher to ensure that, despite all the standards and requirements imposed upon teachers, my students discover and rediscover the wonders--the joys--of what reading and creating have to offer? How can I stop the testing (for my public school students) from killing their itch to explore?

What are you doing as teachers to kindle and rekindle your students thirst for real, relevant learning? Comments welcome.

Gallery Walk

2011-10-05T21:06:00.000-07:00

Photo: Writing Exercises by Witheyes on Flickr Creative Commons

I'm always on the lookout for ways to get my students out of their seats and comfort zones throughout the learning process. Perhaps it's a bit of a fault I have, but I can't stand a whole class period where everyone sits quietly in a chair, copies notes, and acts like a robot. Today, I tried something new and was quite pleased with the feedback my students gave.

We'd just finished writing rough drafts of a fictional story in my 10th grade Composition and Research class. While we often trade papers or post to Canvas Instructure for peer feedback, I wanted to do something out of the ordinary during class time. Students posted their stories on the wall around the room and were given each a mini stack of sticky notes. Their task was to walk around the room in whatever order they chose, read each story, and offer constructive feedback on the sticky note. Said feedback was then posted on the wall around its designated story.

Once everyone had finished, students were asked to collect their stories and feedback, read over them, and reflect in writing by answering the following questions:

What did you like about this task? What did you dislike?
What did you learn through this process?
What suggestions could you offer for future gallery walks?

My students' overwhelmingly positive response was a highlight of today. Here is what some of them had to say:

I really like the idea of everyone reading all the stories because it gives us a chance to apply what we learn in class to an actual piece of work.

The feedback kinda drives me to do better.

I liked it because it gave us a chance to stand up and move around.

I really liked it because it gives me a chance to show off what I can do in my writing.

They suggested a few things for improvement, including separating the gallery into two time segments so they don't get too tired and begin skimming papers.

The key part for me was having them reflect afterwards, offering me both their thoughts and their suggestions. I learned quite a bit from my students today, particularly through their feedback. I can't wait to do something like this again!

Teachers who would like to try this activity could use it for artwork, writing, or any number of different tasks. If you try it out, leave a comment here and let me know how it worked for you!

Frameworks and Freedom

2011-09-24T11:24:00.000-07:00

They definitely deserved the Krispy Kreme doughnuts I'd bought them the day I returned to school after High School Retreat. I couldn't wait to tell them how proud I was to be their teacher.

Each year, the school where I teach takes all high school students and teachers on a retreat for a few days. Teachers and students build relationships with each other through outdoor activities and through worship. We always come back having a better understanding of our students--and our students of us--as people, which has a tremendously positive impact on our classroom management and instruction.

The day before I returned, my eighth-grade students had the opportunity to demonstrate a level of responsibility I'd never before seen amongst a group of young people. Due to an emergency, their substitute was a little late. When my students got to class, they sent someone to get a teacher. Within a few minutes, a teacher arrived to find that the rest of my students had taken the class into their own hands and continued with class as if a teacher were present, doing vocabulary lessons and working on their essays! I couldn't have been prouder to be their teacher than I was this week.

I believe that students need to be given the opportunity to show responsibility in challenging situations, and I believe that communicating clear expectations plays a big role in their ability to succeed. My students knew ahead of time what to expect for class that week, and when given the opportunity, they took ownership of the class and worked together to accomplish the goals for the week. The Krispy Kreme was just the icing on the...doughnut. (Yes, I said it.) Their personal pride was the greatest reward.

I learned from this experience that my students can and are ready to take more ownership of the class. With guidance, they can handle designing more of their own assignments and assessments. They want to learn, and they want to be challenged. My aim as I begin a new cycle of curriculum units is to give students a framework and then begin to allow more freedom for them to choose.

I know they can and will step up to the plate. I can't wait to see what they'll accomplish.

The Responsibility of a Teacher's Response: A Reflection on 9/11/01

2011-09-09T21:03:00.000-07:00

We were in the middle of Beowulf when it happened. I still remember my teacher stopping our reading, answering the door, and coming back into the classroom with a look of shock on her face. She then relayed the details of what she knew about that morning's events, all the while demonstrating a fortitude and calmness that must have required much of her to muster.

It was 8:46am on Tuesday, September 11, 2001--the day that changed modern America entirely. This was the day we formerly carefree seniors learned what national vulnerability feels like. This was the day we would remember for the rest of our lives.

The first plane hit in English class, and as we students changed classes, rumors spread like wildfire in our small town school. Everyone was afraid, and few of us knew what was coming next. I made my way to my American Government class, where I saw images that will forever be ingrained in my memory. A paradigm shift had occurred in our nation, and many of us were quite shaken. My teacher turned on the television to watch the events unfold. She let us see what happened without cushioning the truth or making it easier for us to swallow (for which I am grateful). I saw the second tower being hit while in that class. I sat in horror, listening to Peter Jennings' shocked reporting and watching the tower crumble to the ground, and I wept.

I don't remember much about the following two hours of school, but I do remember quite well what happened once I arrived at my Army JROTC class. We all walked in with questions, fears, misconstrued facts, anger, and a hint of bravado, most of which were assuaged by the calm, commanding demeanors of my instructors. We watched the news at first, but after a while, knowing that all we'd see would be repeated images of the horrors of that morning, Colonel turned the TV off. I'll never forget him taking out the chart paper and beginning to write. Both instructors explained the history behind the extremists' previous, smaller-scale attacks, and they discussed the recent conflicts in the Middle East. Though we left school with the same feelings of dismay and consternation, we cadets were finally given a context with which to process all we'd seen that day.

Unspeakable tragedy can take many forms in a school community, and it often happens when we least expect it. A teacher's response to tragedy can make a tremendous difference in how students are able to process and deal with it. I'm grateful to have had such calm, level-headed teachers on the day America turned upside-down. Without their calm guidance, insistence on letting us see the truth of the events with our own eyes, and explanation of how we could process it all, I don't think I would have been able to handle what happened on 9/11 as well.

When tragedy strikes in our nation, our communities, or even in the lives of individual students, our response is crucial. We may be the only person in a child's life to help him/her sort out what he/she has just experienced or witnessed. Students likely won't remember much of what we say during those times, but they will remember our actions and, as the saying goes, how we made them feel.

Let us reflect and remember those lost on 9/11. And let us remember what a precious and weighty responsibility we have to our students in times like these. Let us not sugarcoat the truth, and let us be prepared to answer their questions in the best way we know how. Those are the things that matter. Those are the things they will remember for the rest of their lives.

Everything Counts

2011-09-07T18:06:00.000-07:00

"Is this assignment going to be collected, Miss K?" the daring ones sometimes ask, expecting to hear a "Yes" or a "No". I chuckle at the groans and rolled eyes when they hear neither response.

"Everything counts," I say, pointing to the bulletin board on the wall.

When I was in high school, I realized that everything I did actually mattered--it actually counted for something. Every test, reading assignment, term paper, attitude, connection, and effort counted towards the day I would walk across the proverbial Jordan river of the high school stage, crossing over from high school memories to college opportunities. I studied hard, built solid relationships with my teachers (several of which are still strong, eleven years later), and sought to be a positive influence among my peers. When I became frustrated at the workload ahead of me, I would remember the phrase I now repeat to my students nearly every day: "Everything counts."

Every assignment my students do or fail to do counts towards not only their grades, but also towards their overall learning experiences. Every relationship established affects their overall well-being, both in positive and negative ways. Every act of kindness, sideways glance, and spoken word counts towards their witness and influence. Everything counts.

As teachers, we must remember the same thing in regards to our students and colleagues. It all really does matter. Every minute of planning, lesson "on the fly", flash of brilliance, inspirational slump, lesson taught, lesson learned, relationship built, relationship broken, word spoken, word unspoken--it all matters. It all counts. Everything counts towards our part in students' success or failure. Everything counts towards us fulfilling our roles--and callings--as teachers. As Henry Brooks Adams said, "A teacher affects eternity; he can never tell where his influence stops."

What are you doing to model excellence and inspire greatness? What are you doing to "[affect] eternity"? Everything counts.