A Few Words About The End

balloon-2697686_1920 you run holding your breath to meet it

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and the exhale that follows is both public and private.

At some point the air is out

the bright balloon that you were that bounced through the last days

so visible, animated and claimable

is suddenly inert, deflated, floppy.

There I am on the sofa

There I am in bed

in the middle of an afternoon

wrapped in a coma-like sleep where the tensions fall away from my body

one after the other

layers sliding off and dissolving into nothing.

What it means to be done.

Finished.

Released.

Into the summer of my independence.

Adept Dodgers and Other Tales

Kids together in jumping competition

Teaching Kindergarten.

We’re working on dodging today. Philippe defines: “Dodging is what you do when someone throws a ball at you and you jump out of the way” (jumping as he speaks to illustrate).

“Right, and not only that but when you’re walking on a busy sidewalk, (I walk as I talk here) do you do this?” (I imitate bumping into people every few steps, complete with sound effects.) They laugh. “No, right? You don’t walk around bumping into people on purpose, do you? What do you do?”

“You walk around!” they shout.

“Exactly, so dodging means that we move out of the way instead of bumping or crashing into other things, even without touching them.” I use lots of arm motions to illustrate this.

So we practice crossing the gym space using different locomotor patterns and different pathways. And they manage it all really well without bumping into each other. Cool.

I introduce a new tagging game: safety base dodge. Long story short: 8 safety bases are scattered on the floor. Players can rest on these for 5 seconds at a time but then must move and avoid being tagged. If tagged, players go to the edge of the play area and perform a wall walk for 10 seconds. 2 taggers and each holds a shortened swim noodle for tagging.

We play a few rounds. We stop after the first round to clarify some understandings.

“OK, friends. For a first go at a new game I thought you handled it all very well. However, at the end (you can tell they knew this part was coming) I stopped the music and said, “Freeze!” Then what happened?

“The game stopped?” one student ventures.

“Did you see everyone stop on the signal? I didn’t. I said, “Freeze!” and here’s what I saw: (I get up and run from one base to another with my hands in the air).” They laugh. I come back to our huddle. “Is that what a freeze looks like?”

“No.” They giggle as they say it.

I show it again. “A freeze looks like this (dramatic freeze), right? Not like this (more running around). There’s a difference. So now on the count of three, show me a freeze pose. One, two, three!”

Great moment, excellent poses. I pick two new taggers and we start a new round.

We finish the game. We come back together. I congratulate them on a job well done. I tell them that I can see that they are adept at dodging.

“What’s adept?”

“It means you’re good at something.”

Adept dodgers. Could be a rock band.

During another break in the action one student revealed that she had owies on her leg and hand. I answered back: “You have owies on your hands and leg. Are you also telling me that this will impair you ability to participate in our upcoming game?” She scrunched her face up and I suppose making her best guess about what I was saying, shook her head and said “no.” She played all rounds without complaint.

I relate all this I suppose perhaps above all to remind myself of what it’s like when I interact with small children. On the one hand, it involves considerable theatrical investment and display. On the other hand, a fairly firm commitment to remain true to my own character. I like to use a broad vocabulary. I enjoy acting out ideas for children to get my point across. I appreciate the relationships we develop over time that allow us to have these kinds of conversations where we both learn something.

Yes, I’m teaching content. Dodging. And we are learning about how to play well with each other. We are practicing remembering rules and making decisions about how we’ll apply the rules in the way we and others play.

Two students had a crash near the end of our game. After apologies were offered and each recovered, I asked them in our large group about their crash. “What kind of pathway were you using when you crashed?” (We practiced this earlier in our warm up activity.) They both answered, “straight.” After that both were ready to describe the crash in greater detail, illustrating for the rest of us how it came to pass.

My young students each offer a world of experiences. Part of my job involves inviting those worlds into our classes and providing them with air time and stage time and activity time. All the time we have to be and become so much more than adept dodgers.

image: CC0 Lukas via Pixels

 

My 100 Words,Twisted

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This is an opportunity to write about why I love teaching but I am already stumbling over that phrasing: “Why I Love Teaching”. I cannot claim a wholesale love of teaching just like that. There are parts that I love but rarely the whole package and certainly not all the time. So what’s an edublogger to do?

True to form I want to change the premise. I don’t feel comfortable writing about “Why I love teaching” but I do like considering “How Teaching Loves Me”, so here goes:

I arrived here from somewhere else. Teaching welcomed me early on, said, “stay a while,” so I did and over time we developed a relationship: interesting, fraught, full of misunderstandings and oddly compelling. Teaching has always challenged me, confronting me with my angels and demons in the same hour on some days. Yet I’ve never wanted to leave outright, only to take some time away in order to come back better and spicier. Teaching knows my name and sings it like no other. She shows me who I am again and again. Teaching forgives but rarely forgets. I am hers.

 

Thanks to Justin Schleider who turned me on to the original challenge posed by Jesse Boyce and taken up by Dene Gainey.

 

 

The Whiteboard Speaks

In my classes I rely a lot on my whiteboard. I put up an agenda for each grade level. Maybe agenda isn’t quite the right word. It’s a list of what I have planned. It’s some words and sometimes a few numbers that lets kids know what they can/should do, what’s next and what comes after that. Even my very young students learn to recognize “Tag” or “Awesome Gym Day” pretty quickly.

I use the whiteboard plans for a few reasons:

  • My students feel informed.
  • Having a written plan keeps me on track. (Even if I change my mind about something, my students can call me to account.)
  • Both I and my students do better with a common structure as a reference point.
  • I can assign independent activities.
  • Written directions keep me from talking too much.

Today in 4th grade I had the following on the board:

Jog 2 laps

Long Jump rope warm-up (4 per rope)

Stations: 1. Balance beam, 2. Climbing wall, 3. Ball balance, 4. Cartwheels, 5. Bear walk/forward roll

That means students arrived from the changing room, read the board, jogged the 2 laps and then looked for a group to begin jumping. Later arrivals may have needed a reminder to read the board and to do the jogging first but easily found their way. Groups formed, long jump ropes were turning, kids were jumping and I had said very little. We were 15 minutes into our 40 minute class before I called them all in to talk a bit about jumping in the rope. I gave each group the assignment to see that each person in their group jump 10-15 jumps in the rope to get a sense of where we are. They completed that task, put orange tickets in if they completed the assigned number (or more) and we moved on to the stations.

I don’t think there’s anything revolutionary here but I experienced this lesson and others like it as a tremendous relief to have helped students (and myself) through a lesson where I didn’t need to talk that much. And even better I think my students appreciate it if I keep my whole-group word interventions down to a minimum. This system allows us both more mental bandwidth for action, observation and individual exchanges which typically feel much more rewarding and valuable.

I guess this is part of a longer process in my teaching journey – learning to turn matters over to my kids. Most often they get it. They have fantastic ideas, creative and unusual ideas and they need space and opportunities to test them out. When I remember to open up that space, the results speak for themselves.

We started basketball in 5th grade this week and after having kids arrive, do some dynamic flex drills and shooting on their own (for about 10-15 minutes) I called them in and asked them what they wanted to learn about, what they considered most important to cover in this unit. Of course they were on it! Shooting, ball handling, how to defend, lay ups, rules… Based on that I then suggested that we focus on one of their priorities first (i.e., lay ups) and then return to mine (chest passes) a little later.

Afterwards I realized that I simply don’t do this enough. And that led me to this tweet which sprang from a challenge to capture our pedagogy in a haiku:

I definitely do not have this teaching game figured out. And that’s also the fun part. Me talking less is a plus. It appears that making space for student input is never a mistake. Student independence in class is worth cultivating.

Odd to put the whiteboard out there as my go-to teaching resource. It’s not an app, doesn’t require a subscription or even electricity but for my purposes it works a charm.

 

 

Keeping Kids in Mind

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Two posts I want to recommend off the bat:

Jesse Stommel: Why I Dont’ Grade

Pernille Ripp: A Call For Common Sense Reading Instruction

Teachers who actually teach and also engage on social media often have plenty to say about what they do and how they do it and also why. There is no shortage of resources in the form of tips, videos, or printable lesson plans to choose from.

Not so long ago, blogger Jon Andrews raised this question on  Twitter:

I am still thinking this over. I read a lot but this question asks about what happened as a result. This question reminds us as educators what purposeful reading can do for us. I have yet to respond directly to Jon’s question but the responses generated are a fantastic starting point for fresh perspectives.

When I read Jesse Stommel’s essay on why he doesn’t grade student work I found myself both nodding in agreement and pausing to ask myself how much of this I can/would/try to actually practice. Grading is a practice we teachers tend to assume to be a non-negotiable in schools at all levels. Thus, the very suggestion that we can leave this practice behind sounds radical which Jesse insists that it “doesn’t feel like a radical pedagogy for me.”

Well, that’s fine for Jesse, you say, but listen up (and please read the entire post):

I have previously condensed my own pedagogy into these four words: “Start by trusting students.”

My approach to assessment arises from this. While I’ve experimented with many alternatives to traditional assessment, I have primarily relied on self-assessment. I turn in final grades at the end of the term, but those grades usually match the grades students have given themselves.

If trusting your students sounds radical to you, then there’s a different conversation we can have at a later date. If, however, you take it upon yourself to first know and then learn to trust your students in the space of a semester or year or years, then perhaps the idea of engaging your students directly in the conversation about their work does more than appeal. Perhaps the option of not grading or using alternative assessments emerges as a real-life, can-do-in-many-little-ways-that-really-add-up possibility.

In response to Jon’s query I see that Jesse’s essay invigorates and bolsters my own thinking about the kinds of learning experiences I am creating and designing for my young students (PK-5th grade). And it opens me up to investigate new territory – handing more of the assessment process over to my kids.

Next, I happened upon a wonderful post by Pernille Ripp who has a significant body of work advocating for developing joyful readers and willing writers. A tweet by John Spencer, who moved from middle school to higher ed teaching, drew my attention. I mention this because these connections matter. How we come to read a blog post or article often has a lot to do with who is referring whom. Here are 2 edubloggers I have come to trust and who, despite growing audiences, have remained true to some fundamental messages about what matters for the kids we teach.

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It’s interesting to read a call for common sense in education practices that in the current political moment almost sounds anti-establishment. Pernille laments the degree to which we seem to have lost our way as profession to do what we know works well for and with children:

It appears that in our quest to make sure students can comprehend what they read that we have lost our common sense. That we have started listening much more to programs, politicians, and shoddy research than the very kids who the programs are happening to. That we have pushed the ideas of teachers aside, of best practices, and solid pedagogy, and gotten so lost in the process that we turn to more experts to tell us what we used to know.

In this eloquent post she offers us reminders of “what we used to know”:  that students, all students, need choices as to what they may read, and time to read in class; they need access to books in their classrooms and those books should offer the representation of diversity that exists in the world at large. She encourages us to get to know our students as the readers that they are rather than as the readers we tell them they ought to be and to trust them when they tell us what and how much they’ve read (or haven’t).

We have reached a point in time where advocating for student agency and choice have become radical ideas in education. Even if you don’t inhabit that mindset, rest assured there are plenty who do and in Western late capitalist societies, the likelihood that those who hold these beliefs also hold the primary purse strings and political power is high. Do not underestimate their will to counter and muffle these initiatives where they crop up.

Resistance means finding ways to help our students take themselves seriously as advocates and partners in their own learning. What both Jesse and Pernille offer us are avenues for making that happen all along our students’ paths. There is no single method. As teachers we can cultivate our ability to see varied options and recognize that our students have ideas. We need to be brave enough not only to ask them but also to listen.

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In closing, Pernille gives us this piece of wisdom that is worth holding onto:

Ask your students how you can be a better teacher for them. Ask them what makes reading amazing and what makes it awful. Question your own practices and admit when you need to grow. We are only as good as our last decision to change.

This is what our education world can look like. And we need to make those decisions to change – always keeping our kids in mind.

 

Stretch Yourself

It’s surprising but I have more to say about my teaching this week. Well, perhaps not exactly about my teaching, rather more about my students’ doings. I guess this is likely going to be a post about what students do with the directions I give them.

Typically, in most of my physical education classes we spend a few minutes on stretching – hopefully building our flexibility and movement vocabulary as we go. At the beginning of the year my colleague and I usually introduce this routine in a traditional teacher-at-the-front, all-kids-follow-along arrangement. That’s fine for getting things started, for setting up routines and providing everyone with a basic stock of stretches they can use. But it doesn’t take long for this ritual to become boring for a number of kids.

(This is also a fine opportunity to discover who my more divergent thinkers in the group may be – they tend to resist teacher-led whole group stretching with remarkable consistency and I get it now.)

So within a couple of weeks we try to release kids to lead their own stretching in a few different ways:

  • in 1st grade selecting 3 leaders who each share 3 stretches with the whole group
  • in 2nd – 5th asking students to make small groups of 4-6 and be responsible for completing a total number of stretches (8 -12).
  • At any grade level, partner stretching for the length of a song. (We use a lot of Kidz Bop).

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The main thing is that kids learn to organize themselves. They decide who will begin, they learn to offer each other ideas, and sort out their own disagreements. It also means that I can step back and observe, give pointers and a few reminders. They are not reliant on me to deliver ideas but I’m visible enough to provide the occasional nudge.

The quality of the stretching can vary widely which it would in any case, I suppose. But I no longer get hung up on those kinds of details. I may temporarily join a group and demonstrate a more accurate version of a stretch rather than say something. More important is that students can show me that they understand what kinds of movements count as stretching, that they have their own internal repertoire of these movements to draw upon and can work with others safely and cooperatively.

My colleague have been using this method for a few years now which means that we also have an increasing number of veterans who take up a lot of the slack in helping new students figure out how it all works.

Again, stretching is just a short episode in a whole lesson – maybe 5-6 minutes tops. At the same time it’s another space for student choice and autonomy that still requires negotiating with others! Every time I watch a group of 1st or 2nd or 3rd graders accomplish this task successfully, I imagine one less soft tissue injury in the world is suffered on that day. And my teacher hear does a little victory dance to Kidz Bop tunes.

Open for Tweaking

Veteran teachers, have you ever suddenly decided to put a little twist on something that you have been doing for a long time more or less the same way and have it feel like you just rediscovered fire?

*pause*

No?

Me neither.

I did, however, recently notice that by tweaking my approach to certain things I might make my teaching life a little more enjoyable and my students’ experiences a little less teacher-mandated. Here’s what I did:

I like to set up fairly simple obstacle courses that include things like speed ladders, benches, maybe a couple of tires, and a soft balance beam. I try to insure when I plan it that there is always ample space for us to do other things like stretching or tossing and catching with a partner before or afterwards. For most of my students, this kind of activity is familiar and many of them already have some ideas about what they will likely be asked to do.

Today, instead of going through and demonstrating what needs to be done, I offered a few parameters to students and let them make it up as they went. I told them:

  • in the speed ladders you should stay on your feet at a high level and aim to hit the spaces between the rungs. You can skip, run, grapevine, hop, jump or move in another way as long as you stay upright and use the spaces.
  • On the benches, you can decide which movements you want to do but you need to put your hands on the benches. You might try a bear, seal or crab walk; or jump side to side, or pull yourself forward on your tummy. It’s up to you.
  • You may step into the tires or on top of them.
  • Be sure to leave space between yourself and the person in front of you. You may have to wait at some points.
  • You may start wherever you like and we’re all traveling counter-clockwise.

Guess what?

My students knew what to do. They had ideas and tried things out. Different children made different choices. Some hopped while others skipped and tiptoed through the ladders. I saw a few kids change their movement every time they arrived at a ladder or a bench. No one was bored. No one complained. And aside from the occasional safety warning (usually about maintaining space), I spent much more time and energy observing than policing behavior and jogging memories.

Which grade levels?

Here’s a surprise – I used it with Pre-Kindergarten through 4th grade today! It worked for each group because 1) all groups had some previous obstacle course experience and 2) all children have ideas about how they want to do things and many are only waiting for a chance to show and try and experiment.

So, while I didn’t rediscover fire in my classroom, per se, I did reconnect with some creative energy in myself that let me give up some control and recognize which gifts my students are dying to share. The obstacle course piece didn’t take up a whole lesson but it provided that middle ground for me and my students to meet each other halfway. By letting them go rather than constantly applying the brakes, my brakes, they showed me how much farther they are willing to go.

Kids are awesome!