Bud the Teacher

At the recommendation of Gary Stager and Chris Lehmann, one of my summer reads is A Schoolmaster of the Great City by Angelo Patri.  Truly, there is nothing new under the sun. The book was written by Patri in 1917. It rings true, though, with much of what I worry about in our schools today. Patri faced the same problems and shares many of my passions. That’s both troublesome and reassuring.  I’ll be seeking out more of his work.  In the meantime, here are some of the lines that jumped out at me as I read today:

• The antagonism between the children and teachers was far stronger than I had ever seen it before. The antagonism between the school and the neighborhood was intense. Both came from mutual distrust founded on mutual misunderstanding. The children were afraid of the teachers, and the teachers feared the children. (p. 14)
• As each day went by, cautiously I put the problem of school discipline before them and they responded by taking over much of the responsibility for it themselves. (p. 15)
• In this restless, uncertain sea of motion, noise, color and goings; of constant goings upstairs and downstairs, one learned to ‘go slow’ and watch and wait for his opportunity. (p. 19)
• The rod idea was at work. Books, benches, crowded rooms, sitting still, listening; talking only when called upon to recite, teaching where the teachers did the thinking; these conditions have meant and always will mean an imposed discipline, an imposed routine, whereas real discipline is a personal thing, a part of the understanding soul. To replace discipline of teacher-responsibility by the discipline of child-responsibility is a long, slow process. (p. 27)
• It was difficult to get teachers away from subject matter, from machinery, and toward children. How could it be otherwise? (p.30)
• I wanted ideas  expressed in color, movement, fun and not lines, ideas and not perfect papers, every one alike . .  .  . I wanted nature that would make the child’s heart warm with sympathy .  .  .that would make him laugh to feel the snow and the rain and the wind beating on his face. (p. 30)
• The feeling for the things that I wanted was rather more definite than the knowledge of how to attain the desired results. (p. 30)(Karl - that quote was just for you.  We all get stuck.)
• (On teaching robins) ‘Suppose you meet the class under the big oak tree in the morning and look for robins. Watch them until you and the children know as much about them as one can learn by looking  .  .  .  . Then talk over what you’ve seen and learned. Let everybody say his say sometime or other.  .  .  . Then when you have all the facts about him select those that are most worthwhile, and present them as the robin story.  You’ll find you’ll need very little drill.’ (p. 32)
• I felt that we had to win the parents as well as the taechers if the changes we were making, our emphasis on the ‘fads and frills’ of education, were to be accepted in the homes. (p. 33)
• Many parents believe that this is education. .  .  . They fear freedom, they fear to let the child grow by himself. (p. 37)
• I wanted opportunity for the masses, the best schools for the crowds, the best teachers for the heaviest load.  I thought in terms of service, they in terms of tradition. (p. 41)

Plenty more good stuff within.  I’d encourage you to read the book.

Tomorrow night, the folks at Teacher Teaching Teachers will be having a conversation with the authors or the book I mentioned in my last podcast.  How timely.  Here’s the info:

Many of us are planning to use Reinventing Project-Based Learning in our Writing Project Summer Institutes and elsewhere in our work with teachers.  The researchers, teachers, and authors, Susie Boss and Jane Krauss will be joining us on Teachers Teaching Teachers tomorrow.

Join us at http://EdTechTalk.com/live at 9:00pm Eastern / 6:00pm Pacific USA Wednesdays / 01:00 UTC Thursdays World Times

Suzie Boss
Suzie is a veteran journalist who writes about teaching and learning in the 21st century. She and Jane have authored a book on using technology to empower teaching and learning called Reinventing Project-Based Learning. From interviewing and observing hundreds of teachers in both formal and informal contexts, she has seen how innovative approaches to education can engage learners and transform communities. The book is a unique educational resource that integrates interviews with leading experts, storytelling, and suggestions for putting research into practice. She has been an editor for the Northwest Regional Educational Laboratory, a freelance writer contributing to wide range of publications, and a community college instructor.

Jane Krauss
Jane is a long-time educator, curriculum writer, and expert in professional development. An innovative teacher and early adopter of instructional technologies, Jane and her elementary classroom were showcased in a video case study that thousands of teachers have used to learn about authentic, project-based learning. As former director of professional development for the International Society for Technology in Education and a consultant for Intel’s education initiative, she has helped educators around the world improve their practice. She recently co-authored a book with Suzie Boss on the effective use of technology in education, entitled Reinventing Project-Based Learning.

I suspect it’ll be a good conversation.  You might want to join in live.

Clay Burell’s challenged me (or tagged me, or whatever) to engage a meme that he’s passing along.  I might.  I’m bad about memes.  I don’t mean to be.  (And I am thinking about a good passion quilt image and will post one.  Eventually.  Thanks to all who tagged me.) But I did want to encourage you to read his post.  Mostly because of this idea about teaching Lolita:

I think I can say they all love it. I also think I can say they can handle it - and if they can’t, they should learn to, now more than ever.

As a high school language arts teacher, I encouraged my students to pick many of their own books in consultation with me and other trusted adults.  I would encourage you to do the same.  But that’s another post.

But when you do decide to read a book together, I’d ask that you never insult the intelligence of your students, emotionally or intellectually, by hiding the world from them through picking “safe” books.  Safe choices are pretty much always about you (or your administrator, or your school board) and not about your students.  They live in the worlds being represented in literature.  Many educators live in these worlds, too.  Let’s not pretend otherwise.  Instead, let’s challenge students to engage ideas and concepts that are weighty, essential and enthralling.

Let’s ask them to dream and to dare and to risk by talking about difficult ideas in safe places.  Let’s ask them not to agree with the stance of a particular author or book or teacher or administrator or board policy, but instead to struggle through finding their own way.  With help, of course.

Most good teaching is all about finding balance.  Safe and scary.  Old and new.  Today and tomorrow.  Child and adult.  Easy and hard.  Choice and “have to.” Too often in schools, we lean way hard on one side of the teeter totter and completely avoid the other side.

What fun is that?  And what good is it for anyone?

One of the frustrating bits about working in technology rather than in language arts for the last ten months is that I haven’t really had a good reason to keep up on all the great YA literature out there.  I’m not in a position to recommend books to students at the moment - so I’ve gotten a little bit out of touch with the YA world.  I was reminded of this this morning when Phil tweeted that he was headed off to a teen literature conference. I love going into the libraries in our schools and spending time with the displays of new and popular books.

But I really miss book talks with students. Those conversations in front of bookshelves where we try to match their interests with the right book or books are wicked intense and always a fun challenge.  Talk about a rush.

While I can’t necessarily meet my need to talk books with teens at the moment, I can at least catch up on my reading.  I happen to have a book store gift card and a desire to make a donation to a school library (after I read the book, of course).

So, dear readers and teachers of reading, what should I purchase?  I’m looking for something newish - the last six months or so - and I’m aware of Twilight and the Uglies.  I’d love something a little unconventional, perhaps ARG-ish (And I know that the sequel to Cathy’s Book, Cathy’s Key, comes out in May - so I’ll be getting my hands on a copy of that, too, I hope.), or a good graphic novel (I really enjoyed the Invention of Hugo Cabret, as did the students I shared it with.).

Please share your recommendations.  What are you reading with students?  To them? For you?  Can’t keep on the shelves?  Wish you had a copy or two of?  I’ll buy the book that I like the best and tell you how it goes.  Thanks!

Last week, I received a review copy of Relentless Pursuit: A Year in the Trenches with Teach for America.  Thought it was worth taking a minute or two to say that I’m definitely a fan of the book.  I’m impressed with the way the author, Donna Foote, has captured the different teachers, students,  administrators, and classrooms and painted them as actual human beings dealing with complex issues and feelings as opposed to one-dimensional cogs in the educational machine.

While the book’s set in Los Angeles, I recognize many of the folks, or at least the types, she’s written about.  Kids who disappear.  Teachers who will do anything to see their kids do well.  Teachers who burnout.  Administrators who try too hard - and aren’t successful.  The folks who show up because they’re supposed to, but who’ve given up.  I appreciate the portrait.  It’s real and honest and captivating and certainly not pretty.  A fine example, one with which I’m more familiar than I’d like to be, is this paragraph, a stream of consciousness from one teacher struggling to figure out how to help a student he noticed was cutting herself:

Who am I kidding?  I don’t know what I’m doing.  The fact that it’s left to me to identify a girl who is on the verge of killing herself is ridiculous.  You can fake the teaching, but when it comes to this stuff, you can’t.  How can it be that I’m the one diagnosing or even realizing that this girl is in trouble?  I don’t even know who her guidance counselor is.  If something happens, I could be held liable.  I don’t know who to go to.  And if I don’t write it on my hand, I won’t remember to even report it.  It’s crazy.  Oh God, I hope she’s okay.

I’ve been there.  Ignore the TFA aspect of this book - it’s an eye-opening account of what it means to be a teacher in a dysfunctional school in the United States.  Or maybe in any school in the United States.

As for TFA - any alumni out there want to comment on the program?  While I dig their goals, it doesn’t seem to me like the program is necessarily going to result in systemic education reform.  Although, I might be getting cynical on the whole idea of education reform - small group of committed citizens, right?   And perhaps TFA, as only a 20-ish year old organization, isn’t mature enough yet.  Foote, in this interview with U.S. News & World Report, talks about the “two-pronged” approach of TFA as a reform group:

TFA has a two-pronged theory of change. In the short term, it will send smart, energetic, committed young people into these terrible schools. But the longer-term vision, and the one that is most likely to bear fruit, is the idea that, because TFA has culled so carefully for leaders and because these young teachers will be so informed by this unbelievable experience of teaching in underperforming schools, they will go out and make big changes.

Now that the early corps members are approaching their early 40s, we’re starting to see signs that these leaders that have been embedded in society are starting to rise up. If you troll the education reform movements, the big nonprofits, and philanthropies, you’ll see TFA alum[s] in their ranks. I think a real marker was laid down last spring when TFA alum Michelle Rhee was named chancellor of the D.C. schools.

I’d be curious to hear from anyone with TFA experience.  And I’m looking forward to the rest of the book.  Not because I suspect the ending’s a positive one - but because I so appreciate the humanity of the story.

This collection of articles, published as Threshold Magazine - New Directions Spring 2008 by Cable in the Classroom and the KnowledgeWorks Foundation is one of the finest “think bombs” related to education and coming changes that I’ve seen printed on paper. I received a copy by accident, as my predecessor was on just the right mailing list.

There’s a great think piece on open textbooks, and Stephen Downes has a piece in the issue, too, on educational choices and virtual options. Also included is a handy copy of the Future Forces Affecting Education map by KnowledgeWorks. Might be worth getting some extra hard copies to share with your favorite administrator, teacher, school board member, etc. (Here’s the reprint inquiry info. I’ll be calling on Monday.)

It was about a year ago that I wrote a piece for English Journal on teaching “blogging” vs. “writing with blogs” that was pretty much a re-hash of some blog posts that I thought were saying something. The trouble is, I wasn’t sure what they were saying. I’ve been fumbling at this one for a while.

I’ve always found something particularly special about writing online, or at least I’ve learned that there’re more options, more possibilities, and plenty of challenges that make writing online much more complicated than cutting and pasting a Word file into a text box and hitting “submit.”

But most folks that I see beginning to use digital writing spaces aren’t treating them any differently. And I can’t quite figure out why. I also can’t quite figure out how to articulate the differences, even though I think I get some, if not several, of them. And if I can’t articulate them, perhaps I can’t teach them. (Not sure about that, actually - but work with me.)

I think one good way to articulate some of the differences is to tell you a story. Here goes.

Tonight, I’m sitting in a local cafe, enjoying a cup of wicked sweet coffee and some tunes. As I wrote that last sentence, and added the links in, I wondered how you would read it. Are you someone who clicks on any link you see in a blog post? Or are you more like me? I use a browser that shows me the URL of the link I’m pointing to, saving me the trouble of traveling here if, after reading the URL, I see that I don’t need to follow the link, perhaps because I already know the site, or I don’t want to go to the site, because I’m worried about pop-ups, or a virus, or something that I don’t actually want to see. I love that browser, except when it leaks memory.

I could continue, but I think (hope) I’m making my point. I could have written that paragraph without the links - but I would’ve need an awful lot more details to tell you as much as I did with the links. And you each will have worked your way through that paragraph differently. Some of you read and clicked and fiddled. Others of you read differently. (Oh - and here’s a minor nit - but how many of you, in that last sentence, read, ahem, “read” in the past tense? Present tense? Language is hard. But anyway.)

I don’t know what my students do/did when they see blocks of text with links. And I’m 98 percent sure that there wasn’t another teacher in my school who was thinking about how to explain that to students, much less about how they read that text themselves.

Digital texts have the potential to make a big, juicy mess of a linear experience. Or to turn a so-so piece of writing into a masterful collection of references, linktributions, and pointers to other good stuff. My hunch, a rough one, but one I’ve held for a while, is that reading and writing that way makes you (ultimately) a better reader and writer. I just don’t really think I know how to teach that way yet, or at least, I don’t know how to teach other people to think about teaching that way.

Will Richardson asked me recently (well, it was two weeks ago - but that counts as recent if you forgive me the week I spent sick. And I do.) about connective writing, and what a course on it might look like. I blame him for the frustrated typing that I’m up to right now. And the posts that I suspect are forthcoming. (And I’m thankful, too. I needed a push.)

What would such a course look like? What would it cover? How would it differ from a “regular” (I know - bogus term.) 9th or 10th grade high school writing course? How would it be the same? (Why wait until high school? I’ve been thinking through blogs as science or inquiry notebooks at the elementary school level.) What happens when we add video(s)? Pictures? Embedded widgets? I’ve got to believe that some analysis of what links do and how they do it would be a necessary piece of any such course. So, too, would be copious quoting and linking to others, building a network of classroom texts that would be added to the greater networks of the world.

I’d kill to teach that class.

Perhaps I’ve stumbled across another thesis idea. Again. Nuts.

_______
Postscript - I had thought that perhaps I’d dig into the research on hypertextual writing a bit before I started down this post. I know these ideas aren’t new. But I couldn’t help myself. I made it four pages into this fascinating article before I started writing. Worth a read, I think.

    I don’t think for a moment that blogging is going away.  In fact, I’m surprised by how quickly some folks seem to embrace that.  (I wonder if it’s because blogging is hard.  I’d like to give up plenty of hard things - but I won’t because they’re good for me.)    Ryan Bretag writes that, unless "blogs evolve" then they’ll drift away.  I don’t agree with him.  In fact, in the spirit of constructive debate, and because I’ve got lots swirling around in my head at the moment, I’m happy to provide the constructive criticism that Ryan was seeking in his post. 

    In his piece, Ryan argues, on one front, that blogging is dying because we as a blogging community were never able to all agree on goals and objectives:

There are times when I ponder what the goal is for the edublogger
community. Obviously, there will be those that immediately move to the
power of blogging is that it is about the individual; it is about
whatever that person wants it to be about. While this is true, I would
hope the end goal for edubloggers is improving education and that the
goal of individual blogs or community blogs will focus on how they are
helping to achieve this larger community goal.   

    There are multiple problems here.  The same assumptions that inform Ryan’s argument above are present in many of the important and interesting conversations taking place within my personal learning network now and in the past.  Mostly, the assumption that’s troubling me so much is that there’s one group (community - whatever) out there that exists for educational conversation via electronic media, and that we should all try to engage and involve everyone in that one (fallacious) group so that we’re all friends and reading and commenting each other.  And that we’ll all agree on where that group should go, when they should meet, and what we’ll all do when we get there.  Or that we ever agreed in the first place.

    Ain’t going to happen.  Not now, not ever.  Never did happen, in fact.  We all construct our blogrolls, our Twitter friends, or our other social networking relationships for our benefit and to meet our own unique needs.  That leads some folks to add everyone as a friend.  Others, no one.  And whichever way you want to go is fine for you - but please don’t require that I or anyone else goes with your system to meet our own needs. 

    However folks decide whom to add as a friend, a trusted source, or whatever, dictates to some degree which bits of the "conversation(s)" one receives.  (And maybe it’s not even a "conversation" in the sense of the word that we’re all most familiar with.  Bakhtin’s a good guy to get cozy with to follow this conversational, or dialogic, view of blogging.  If there is such a thing.  Yet.  I’m still wrapping my head around this stuff - have been for a while.)  So context itself gets funky in a network situation, leading to instances where, in my friend group, something would be totally okay, flattering, in fact, and in another, the same act would be a serious social violation.  And different readers, responding to different network contexts (because every one of our networks is unique), will react differently to the "same" information.   Add in the fact that a piece of my network exists inside of a piece of yours,  or vice versa, or used to, or soon will, and things get messy pretty quickly. 

    Despite the fact that this makes for some seriously complex audience(s) analysis every time one puts fingers to keyboard (or at least, I hope that it does for you - sure does for me), I hope it’s pretty clear that there is no such thing as "one" edublogosphere.  I used to think that perhaps there was - probably before I started blogging in 2005 - but there’re too many of  "us" and so it becomes more than impossible to keep track of it all.  That’s a good thing, once we recognize the reality.

    It’s actually dangerous to believe that we can stay on top of all of the information.  Some do better than others, of course, but I don’t know that there’s any one person that’s got all of the necessary information for world domination at their fingertips.  (Sorry, Steve. - And that’s a reference to an inside joke that you’d only understand if you’d been reading Steve Dembo’s Twitter stream for the last several months.) One stance I’d urge folks to consider, if they haven’t already, is that we can and should accept that there’s plenty we’re going to miss, lots of it quite good, but that we’re doing no one a service by trying to read everything or make declarations about the "proper social norms" of the "edublogosphere."  Since there’s not "one" and we’re all a little bit different, then lots of the "we musts" only make sense in particular contexts. 

    And there’re plenty of contexts to go around. 

    Other people, smarter people than myself, have attempted to explain this before.  Stephen Downes, for one, continues to be helpful to my understanding of just how wicked complex such a simple act, that of blogging, is.

    But I certainly don’t get it.  At all.  I’m still fumbling along, as best as I can - and that’s a good thing.

    This will sound horribly selfish, and I’m overstating it just a bit for emphasis, so I hope it’s taken with the grain of salt that it deserves - but I’m not writing or reading or thinking for the benefit of all mankind, no matter how selflessly I say otherwise.  I’m doing it for me, for my personal learning and attempt at understanding.  Now, there’s a certain benefit for others if I’m able to better teach, to better serve my students, or the grown ups with whom I work.  But they are not the primary beneficiaries of my labors. 
    I am.   
    Like I said - that sounds selfish, and there’s certainly a large piece of me who works in this space because I believe in the value of sharing and collaboration.  Heck, I’m a teacher because I believe that education helps to make a difference in peoples’ lives.  The paradox of  "the edublogosphere" is that sometimes, the best thing I can do to build community/group/network capacity  is to serve me, myself and I and trust that such self-service will be of use to others.  I’ve seen time and time again that it can be. 
     (I’ve also seen that Ryan’s probably right about folks’ desire to be in agreement with people rather than in conflict about ideas, but that’s another blog post.) 

    I always hate being at technology conferences that focus too much on tools and not enough on learning.  I’m pleased that this conference wasn’t one of them.  I attended one "tools focus" session, and that seems like the right ratio for me this conference. 

    Over the past three days, I’ve had some great conversations with folks from my district about tools and strategies and learning and teaching and "21st Century Skills" and lots of other buzzwords and whatnot.  But the big takeaway reminder for me at this conference is the reminder that most of what I want to do with students, and most of what I think the folks that came with me want to do, too, is to promote the progressive ideas of the 19th and 20th Century and (hopefully) the early 21st Century.  Conversations with Chris Lehmann really helped me to re-focus that in my own head (Thanks, Chris!).  We might not say it that way, but really, amidst all of the talk of computers and interactive whiteboards and Internet access, I think we want to create rich spaces full of relevant information for our students and teachers to be able to interact with and contribute to and ask questions of and be in awe of and concern about.  Sometimes, that means using computers.  Other times, it means using paper and pen(cil).  Still others, crayons, or perhaps clay or chemicals.  Or guest speakers.  Or whatever. 
    I think we just want to be able to offer teachers and students and administrators options for how to make their learning goals happen. 
    I was talking with one colleague this morning about textbooks and why we can’t yet get rid of them.  I was having this conversation in whispered tones during a keynote speech, so I wasn’t able to articulate my points as well as I’d like.  Since I know that he’s now a subscriber of this blog (Hi, Jeremy!), as well as a soon-to-be new blog author himself, I thought it would make sense to further elaborate here. 

    I’d like to shut down the textbook flow tomorrow.  Textbooks are un-authentic ways for us to distribute information to teachers and students.  But, rightly or wrongly, they’re the tools that we have.  In our current paradigm (I know - buzzword - but work with me here), they are also the tools that are not considered frivolous or unessential.  In a better paradigm, we would have ubiquitous access to the information streams around us.  We’d have a meaningful 1:1 program for every student.  We’d not have to beg, borrow and steal to provide sufficient bandwidth to all of our classrooms.  But we’re not there.  Yet.
    As a language arts teacher, I preferred to use real-world, authentic texts with my students.  Newspapers, novels, magazines, literature anthologies and many other authentic texts are far better tools for helping students to navigate the information of the human experience, as well as the world of the media and popular culture.  These texts are real and not specifically designed for educational purposes - and I think that’s a good thing.  We need to teach and learn about interacting in the world. 
  Specifically, as I think about providing the most information to students as possible, I think about the Internet.  (I bet that’s no big surprise.)  The Internet is a full-on fire hose of information that I would much rather be using with students.  That information can be authentic, at least more so than a textbook can be. And we can take that information and fiddle with it before, during and after it hits the classroom in ways that maximize the authentic-ness AND the educational value of it.  Our students can and should be a part of this process, too.    1:1 shouldn’t even have to be an argument.  But it is. 

    So when I say that I want to get rid of textbooks, but that I can’t say let’s get rid of them yet, that’s more of what I’m trying to talk about.  We need to provide lots of good raw information to our students so that they can do all of the wonderful things that we want them to do.  Then we need to help them connect to and with that information and each other in some really authentic ways.  But since we can’t provide that information authentically, for too many logistically complex reasons, we’re stuck with textbooks, at best an inefficient information delivery system.  For now.  I hope we can change that soon.  I really don’t believe it’s that hard to do - once we decide we should be doing it.

    This is a little less timely than I would have liked, but I’ve been working through quite a hefty "to read" pile.  (You can check out my online "toread" pile, if you’d like - if anything on there’s no good, let me know so I can save myself the trouble!)
    I’ve quite enjoyed reading and re-reading Stephen King’s piece "The last word on Harry Potter" from Entertainment Weekly, where he writes a regular column on pop culture.  In the piece, he speaks to the successes of J.K. Rowling’s series as well as her strengths as a writer.  (One big one, according to King, is she allowed her characters to get older.)  He also writes about how strong many kids’ reading habits actually seem to be, and closes beautifully:

But reading was never dead with the kids. Au contraire,
right now it’s probably healthier than the adult version, which has to
cope with what seems like at least 400 boring and pretentious
”literary novels” each year. While the bigheads have been predicting
(and bemoaning) the postliterate society, the kids have been
supplementing their Potter with the narratives of Lemony Snicket, the
adventures of teenage mastermind Artemis Fowl, Philip Pullman’s
challenging His Dark Materials trilogy, the Alex Rider
adventures, Peter Abrahams’ superb Ingrid Levin-Hill mysteries, the
stories of those amazing traveling blue jeans. And of course we must
not forget the unsinkable (if sometimes smelly) Captain Underpants.
Also, how about a tip of the old tiara to R.L. Stine, Jo Rowling’s
jovial John the Baptist?

I began by quoting Shakespeare; I’ll close with the Who: The kids
are alright. Just how long they stay that way sort of depends on
writers like J.K. Rowling, who know how to tell a good story
(important) and do it without talking down (more important) or
resorting to a lot of high-flown gibberish (vital). Because if the
field is left to a bunch of intellectual Muggles who believe the
traditional novel is dead, they’ll kill the damn thing.

Worth your time.