So I’m sharing it with you.
Not sure if it’ll translate without the visuals – so the slides are below if you’re curious.
So I’m sharing it with you.
Not sure if it’ll translate without the visuals – so the slides are below if you’re curious.
Earlier this week, I had the honor of giving a talk in the CSU Literacies of Contemporary Civic Life speaker series. With my time, shared below, I talked about some of our work around professional learning and agency, as well as some of my thinking on the essential actions/literacies/habits that should be in our schools. I probably tried to cram too much into a fast talk, but I think it got some thinking going, which was my goal in the first place1. Below is a Google Hangout video of the talk, and below that is the slide deck from the talk, which is rather hard to see in the video.
I’d love to hear your response to these ideas and where and when you’re fitting in make/hack/play in your teaching and learning.
The talk starts at nine minutes into the recording.
Earlier today, I sat in on a meeting of the St. Vrain Blended Libraries Action Research Group. That’s a big name, but the group is a group of teacher librarians, school and district folks, and administrators who are rethinking the role of the library in our 21st Century schools. They’re standing up an action research project and a prototyping and design process around their explorations, and will be sharing their work as they go.
The conversation this morning was infectious. A suggestion about space led to talk about task and inquiry about the way that students will ultimately use the spaces that these dedicated professionals want to design and fiddle with. The excitement was visible.
I was reminded that this work was another generation or iteration of the work that my colleague Michelle and I started together quite a while back as we set out to redefine what it meant to “do instructional technology” in the St. Vrain Valley School District. It felt good to know that our hard work lives on in conversations like this one. I really enjoyed watching a colleague who was once a participant in that professional learning environment shine as a facilitator in the group.
And this meeting seemed the right push for me to tell you about a transition I’m making right now.
On May 1st, pending some logistical and contractual details, I’ll be leaving the St. Vrain Valley School District to become the IT manager of a public library district here in Colorado. I’ll be managing a great team of folks to support the information infrastructures of a wicked progressive library. I’ll also keep my hands in some curriculum projects and some other educational partnerships.
Somebody told me, when I made the announcement to some current co-workers, that I’d really enjoy “switching careers.” I pushed back on that. I’ve been in the learning business for fourteen years now, be it in schools, libraries and community spaces, public, private, or otherwise. Now, as I head to a public library, I’m heading to a new sort of classroom, and students who all have chosen to do some learning.
That should be pretty darn fun.
I’m looking forward to the move. I hope those of you who read my blog, my teachers and co-learners, will continue to follow along. As I said when I left the classroom:
I’m kind of counting on you. This blog and the connections that I’ve made through it are a big reason why I’ve learned enough to be a viable candidate for this job. In some ways, this space is my own personal professional development school. As I get acclimated to my new position, I’ll probably be asking lots of questions and seeking information and guidance.
So here I go again. Here we go again. Let’s go figure out the next great thing.1
The title of this post will likely bug some folks because it’s a fairly obvious statement. Except I see plenty of teachers, well-meaning and kind-hearted every one, requiring students to post work they do in class online. Without exception or choice in the matter.
They require this work to be posted publicly for a number of reasons, but they all seem to involve the power of authentic audience, and the sense that students putting their words in public will magically create citizens who get the power of civic discourse.
The thing is, there’s nothing authentic about being forced to speak in public.
No one attending a city council meeting is forced to speak during the meeting. Folks reading newspapers never find themselves compelled to write letters to the editor.
The power of public is in the choosing of it. There’s no agency in required speech.
Writing in public is hard. Really, really hard. And it requires a mix of bravery and determination and gumption and a sense that the words one is about to share are IMPORTANT. It also requires the ability to walk away and abandon the words at any moment.
You don’t just shout to the world because your teacher says you have to. Or you shouldn’t find yourself in that position, anyway.
If you’re in the business of helping children develop their public voices, then I sure hope you’re giving them choices about when and how and what (and IF) to publish. And sometimes, “I choose not to post today,” is the most important choice you can offer.
Otherwise, I’m thinking you’re doing it wrong.
One of the really difficult things about giving students meaningful choices is that they will sometimes make horrible ones. This isn’t a school problem, so much, as it is a democracy problem. And I’ve met plenty of people who don’t feel that all adults are able to make good choices, either.
People don’t always make the choices that we want them to. But honoring freedom and liberty means that we allow them to make bad choices. And we don’t stop folks from making choices just because we wish they would’ve made different ones.
I was reminded of this today as I was listening to a teacher lamenting the fact that some of his students sometimes don’t complete their schoolwork.
In class or at home. They just choose not to do the work. It’s a struggle to figure out sometimes when to acknowledge and when to struggle with doing something about that.
There’s a school of thought in education that suggests we cannot allow a student to make the choice to not do things, to choose to fail. This gets expressed in plenty of ways, but one of my least favorite of those is the ways that lock students into situations (lessons, projects, readings, or even devices) over which they have no meaningful control.
I don’t find myself aligned with that school of thought so much. Real choices mean real consequences – but also they mean that we can’t undo the deal of every bad choice a student <ahem> chooses to make.
I noticed tonight that an Alfie Kohn essay I fawned over when I read it in English Journal four years ago was recently re-posted on the Answer Sheet. The whole thing is worth your time (and related to the above), but here’s a choice bit:
The sad irony is that as children grow older and become more capable of making decisions, they’re given less opportunity to do so in schools. In some respects, teenagers actually have less to say about their learning – and about the particulars of how they’ll spend their time in school each day — than do kindergarteners. Thus, the average American high school is excellent preparation for adult life. . . assuming that one lives in a totalitarian society.
When parents ask, “What did you do in school today?”, kids often respond, “Nothing.” Howard Gardner pointed out that they’re probably right, because “typically school is done to students.” This sort of enforced passivity is particularly characteristic of classrooms where students are excluded from any role in shaping the curriculum, where they’re on the receiving end of lectures and questions, assignments and assessments. One result is a conspicuous absence of critical, creative thinking – something that (irony alert!) the most controlling teachers are likely to blame on the students themselves, who are said to be irresponsible, unmotivated, apathetic, immature, and so on. But the fact is that kids learn to make good decisions by making decisions, not by following directions.
Conversely, students who have almost nothing to say about what happens in class are more likely to act out, tune out, burn out, or simply drop out. Again, it takes some courage to face the fact that these responses are related to what we’re doing, or not doing. And the same is true of my larger point in this essay: A lack of opportunity to make decisions may well manifest itself in a lack of interest in reading and writing. Were that our goal, our single best strategy might be to run a traditional teacher-centered, teacher–directed classroom.
If you only let1 students make choices where the stakes are irrelevant and the options are, too, then you’re not really in the choice business, are you?
It’s probably a month or two ago now that I was talking with my friend Ben about programming and some of the work that he’s exploring and that I’m involved in.
There’s a project in my school district, folks working to figure out how to encourage computer science as the “fourth r” alongside reading, ‘riting, and ‘rithmatic. We are looking to see where computer science and programming live in our district habits and practices while we encourage teachers to incorporate principles of CS into their daily work.
And Ben’s all over top of projects that seek to bring programming as a skill and a habit to students from early elementary through high school.
But if you know me, you know I spend a lot of time wondering what’s new about the new stuff, and why the foundations we’ve already said we value are insufficient to incorporate the flavor du jour, whether it’s apps or programming or STEM or whatever. Most of the new, I’m certain, is covered in what we claim to value already.1
In talking with Ben, I wasn’t quite able to articulate some of my beef with programming and computer science as a new collection of knowledge that we already emphasize and value. Let me see if I can do a better job here.
Alan Turing, more than fifty years ago, made a case for how and when we’ d know that computers were thoughtful. Instead of asking “Can we tell if computers can think?” he fiddled with the question a bit. His question was something like “If a computer is talking to us, and we can’t tell it’s a computer, then that computer is clever enough to be confused with a person.” 2
If the singularity is fast approaching, and if the computers we grow closer and closer to are able to both respond to and decipher voice commands, how far away from a time and place are we when programming (coordinating and sequencing a series of steps that leads a machine to perform some work we’ve asked it to do) is really not at all functionally different from us asking someone to step into the next room and bring us a glass of water (coordinating a person to perform some work we’ve asked them to do)?
Is programming a new task, one of teaching oneself to speak an entirely alien language? Or is it an old skill – one of persuasion? How about a hybrid – language learning and linear thinking? Are we better served to distract attention from these old skills we say we value, or to find room for the new stuff in the middle of the old we already have too little time to work with?
And is programming itself a transitional skill? How long before it’s truly a persuasive task, rather than a language one?
I dunno. But I do know that an “hour of code” is a tease and not a rich, fulfilling experience. And that “covering” programming isn’t really enough.
How are you finding room for the best of the old and new in your work? And do you find programming to be a new set of stuff, or more of the valuable old?
Tonight, we held our first in a series of informal meet ups intended to help build collegiality and shared expertise around being a 1:1 school district. Michelle named these events iPad Geekouts, or, for short, iGO.
During tonight’s event, I was responsible for facilitating some sharing and conversation around shifts and issues relating to technology and classroom management. In the group who came to the session was a seventh grader who is working on a design project intended to help the district think about our technology planning and implementation process from a student perspective1.
To close the session, I asked her to share some advice to the group about what she wished her teachers either would or wouldn’t do when it comes to technology in the classroom.
She thought for just a second before she said, and I’m quoting from memory:
Don’t use the iPad just to use the iPad. Have a purpose behind it. Have us use the technology to be interactive. Or to do something we couldn’t do without it. But not just because you want to say we used the iPads.
That’s pretty much the best advice ever. Our students can tell when we are faking it, so let’s make sure we’re not faking it.
How are you working to make sure that you’re using the right tools for the right jobs in your teaching and learning?
Maybe it’s the cold, or this time of year, as they days grow darker and the workload grows heavier. Maybe it’s the number of plates I have spinning right now, no more than ever, but no fewer than ever, either. Or maybe it’s the last couple of weeks, some unexpected home repair, appliance trouble, and extended family illness.
Whatever it is, I’m certainly feeing something a little bit not quite right. A little bit funky. I’m off my game.
As the 1:1 I’m working on implementing turns from novel to habit for several schools and staff in my school district, I think many of them, and certainly I am, beginning to feel less ecstatic and more resigned to the grind of the day to day.
And certainly some folks have begun to wonder about the bad and possibly risky pieces of our plan to allow for more access to technology and the Internet to students as everyday habits in teaching and learning. I do hear some people who are certain that things and networks will be used for evil rather than good. “Let’s lock stuff down,” they say, “because students with too much ability and opportunity are bound to go astray.”
And I hear them. And I don’t want to promote the worst of what could happen.
Surely, when I’m off my game like this, when I’m second and triple guessing pretty much everything that I and others are up to, I could find it easy to be lured into believing that the worst of us is all there is, that we should be locking things up and shutting folks down. That it’d be best for everybody to find a lockstep path of compliance for everyone and always.
Moments like these, I could sure use a pep talk from someone. Might as well be me.
So what of all the talk of what might happen, of mistakes that could be made, of errors and missteps and failures imagined? It might be, just might be, that when we give folks opportunity to do well, to dream big, to step forward and offer something big, bigger than we knew we could, to dream hard for something better and more beautiful than we knew we could be, well, maybe we can.
We’re all struggling the best we can to do right by children, and the conflict sometimes is not because we don’t all want to succeed, but it’s because we’re afraid we might. And when we stumble, it’s not because we don’t mean well, but because we get stuck on the way to greatness. Distracted, even. Maybe it’s the cold, or this time of year.
But we can do hard things. Of course we can do hard things. Look at how far we’ve come.
That’s what I’ll bet on. On hope. The hope that we can be better. Let’s do good. Let’s bet on someone being great.
And let’s let that someone be us.
For quite a while now, I’ve been concerned that not enough writing is going on in our classrooms1. It seems as though we really want our students to write, but we never seem to give them time or models of writing.
Now that devices are going into our classrooms, I regularly see concerns raised that without keyboards on those devices, our students will never be able to write either fast enough, or correctly, or in the same way that they’ll be expected to in an assessment. So they never write.
Might it be that we are stuck on the notion that writing happens when keys are touched and that the only way words go into computers is via keyboards?
What did we do before keyboards, and is it possible for the first time we are in a world where we can think about what will do after them?
It might be a little premature to think about a post-keyboard world, but I sure think we’re getting close.2
Earlier this week, I was in conversation with an administrator in the district where I work. She was asking some really good questions around some of the cultural issues she’s been seeing in her middle school which, like all of our middle schools, has just gone 1:1 iPad. At her school, she observed, many of the problems that have emerged as “iPad problems” are ultimately larger issues about behavior. One stuck with me.
Lunch, it seems, is taking too long at the school. A parent, too, had complained that their child hadn’t had an opportunity to eat at all one day. The administrator has been investigating to see what’s going on.
Turns out a couple of things. For one, some students are grabbing their lunches, taking trays to table, and then pushing food aside to focus on whatever they had on their iPad screen. She didn’t elaborate, but I guess that sometimes that’s a game, other times a book or piece of reading. But the iPad’s getting in the way of the meal, in a sense.
Another thing that’s happening is that some folks in the lunch lines are moving slowly, faces down on screens, and perhaps not paying attention to the questions from the staff serving food. It takes longer to get through the lunch line, so lunch takes longer.1
She asked a colleague and I what she could do about that. What, she wondered, might the consequences for this be? How could we fix it?
I pushed a bit. Because I don’t think distraction is necessarily a middle school problem. Or an iPad problem. Distraction, I think, is a culture problem. Everybody’s distracted lately. And there’s plenty of shiny, important stuff to be distracted by. So possibly, instead of needing to develop consequences for behaviors resulting from distraction, her school needs to think about how to collectively discuss what to do about attention and a lack thereof. She agreed. I’m looking forward to seeing how she tackles the conversation.
Other middle schools in our system have decided that lunchtime isn’t device time, because the staff there wanted to value the role of face to face talk around a table with friends. And recess. Running around is pretty important sometimes, too. Our district doesn’t have one answer for places like these, because school culture decisions should be made, appropriately, at the school level.
It’s not just middle schoolers who have problems managing their devices and attentions. I’ve worked with, for, and in meetings with folks who aren’t there with us, but are somewhere else, checking email and other things. In my home and work, sometimes, I’m present but absent, too.2
Howard Rheingold has been arguing for a while now that attention might be one of our most precious nonrenewable resources. And he’s developed some good tools for helping folks to think through attention. Focus will become more important as we continue to have more and more opportunities to learn about/from/through/with more and more things. Our students, and the rest of us, need to be able to focus on the right stuff at the right time.3
Rather than label behaviors as “bad,” and attempting to correct them through punitive measures, shouldn’t we instead engage the cultures and deeper issues that these behaviors manifest?
I wonder how you’re helping to create conversation and attention to culture building in your schools and classrooms, and how we can all do a better job of managing our attention.