This weekend I had a chance to chaperone a junior choir trip to perform in Detroit.
Despite living an afternoon’s drive away for my entire life, it was my first time visiting this classic American city. Driving in on 94 we passed the Ford Rouge Complex from a distance. (They don’t call it Motown for nothing, right?) My dad worked at Inland Steel for 40 years so I’ve kinda got a thing for down-and-out midwestern manufacturing cities. Looking out over the stacks of the factory complex, deep down inside me, riding in a 15-passenger rental van, I could viscerally feel what Detroit meant to the world not that long ago.
The Motown and Ford origin stories have been told a million times but we were traveling with 13-17 year olds who don’t have a solid personal grasp of that history.
For their surface-level differences, there was a common thread. Sitting at the hotel breakfast on Sunday morning, the dads who were chaperoning the trip spent time connecting the dots. Henry Ford & Berry Gordy are two men etched deeply into the fabric of the American 20th century. Visionaries, really. To the point where we speak of “Fordism” and “the Motown sound”, and build museums to celebrate them.
They’re both from Detroit
Both refined raw materials into finished product
Both found new ways around the Gatekeeper
They were in the right place at the right time: “the kids were ready”
Both marketed aspirations of better things
Both made changes with the times
The visits, and the stories we heard and the things we saw made an important time “real” for our kids. And they learned social lessons that apply even today.
From a school standpoint I’m hopeful that our kids recognized that the world needs people who can recognize where improvements can be made (or revolutions started), and then use their unique skills to make the change happen. Their job over the next few years is to identify their “thing”, and then prepare themselves to see where their unique skill applies to solve (as the Rigor & Relevance people say) real-world, unpredictable situations.
One last thing our kids learned: A lesson that hit deeper than any book, lecture, or video could:
Later on, after the plant tour, we had about an hour left before the museum closed. That meant we needed to prioritize our visit. Taking my son aside, we made a beeline for the “With Liberty And Justice For All” exhibit. We sat on the bus where Rosa Parks made her stand. A vehicle that the Henry Ford Museum spent $750k to purchase and restore.
Every stereotype you have about middle school kids is true, to a point. They are definitely free-range kids. Getting seven of them together and focused on the same thing is a, uh, challenge.
But you should have seen these kids during the presentation on the bus. They were dialed in on the museum employee who gave them the background on the situation in the south in the 50s. They hung on every word of an audio interview with Rosa Parks, relating her story. “I guess I needed to find out what my rights were, exactly, as a human being.” One of the things that middle-school kids understand at a deep level is a recognition of when other people are being treated unfairly. They got it.
I have no doubt they learned what they needed to learn on Saturday afternoon. And it happened because they got to see things they’re never seen before. They sat where Rosa Parks sat, stood where David Ruffin stood, walked past the candy machine where a young Stevie Wonder bought Baby Ruth bars with spare change, sang in a 170-year-old building, and felt the pulse of a city.
There’s a lesson in there for me as a teacher, too.
One of the hallmarks of the MTBoS is constant refinement and reflection – taking something of your own or someone else’s and making it better.
The conics unit has come and gone in my Algebra II classes, and like last year I want to do a performance assessment. Back in the day this assessment was Amy Gruen’s piecewise functions picture. With the advent of Desmos it’s now a digital version of the same project. (I wrote about last year’s here). Then in early summer I saw the tweet that let me know how much better my project could be for my students.
Dropping the image into Desmos first, then creating the equations to match the image? Brilliant! That led to a pretty productive online conversation, and to me making some slight changes to my plan for this year. My big takeaways from last year were:
my students selected some very cool but also very challenging pictures to duplicate
they needed massive amounts of support writing equations to match lines and curves
probably not everybody did their own work
Providing massive amounts of support is what Desmos does best. That scaffolding probably means less frustration, and less cheating. At least that’s what I’m telling myself.
Started before break with a functions review (Alg II (3) Functions one-pager), not only of conics but of all the functions we’ve learned this year. The day back from spring break we learned how to match equations with lines or shapes in a picture with this Desmos activity.
Then I introduced the project, and offered a carrot (it’s a quiz grade, you guys!). And away they went, seeking pictures.
They found standard-issue high-school-kid stuff: lots of cartoon characters, superhero or sports team logos, palm trees and flowers. I had them make a (rough) sketch of the image on grid paper, then try to identify equations of four functions that would be included in the final product. I wanted them to get used to the idea of seeing small sections of the larger whole, and finding ways to describe that section in math symbols. We also walked through the process of setting up an account in Desmos, opening a new graph and bringing in the image, and saving the graph so they could access it again.
By Day Two, we were ready to start getting serious about making some math art.
They were pretty excited about this project when they were googling around for images, finding their favorite characters or sports teams. They were less excited about this project when it came time to start writing equations.
I fear a low-grade panic is setting in amongst the troops as they face the challenge of the Desmos Art Project. They are despairing of ever being able to write equations to match shapes. We are headed for crushing defeat unless I can rally them. #teacherlifepic.twitter.com/W07Xuac4K3
A couple wanted to straight-up quit. I’m gonna use all my powers of persuasion to try to convince them otherwise. That, plus walking through the process, step by-step, of writing a general equation, then adding sliders and tweaking values until the curve matched up. I’m not sure it helped.
I did notice that very few of my students actually completed the reference sheet. And (in a related story) almost none had any recall of any function equations except y = mx + b. That is definitely part of the issue – a huge disconnect between a shape on a screen and the math symbols that represent it. And truth be told, that’s part of what I wanted this assignment to do – to cement that relationship.
Best-laid plans, right? I’ve got some work to do.
The morning of Day Three, the putative due date, one of my struggling students came in for extra help on the project. She left with a smile on her face, having made serious progress. Plus she agreed to act as a “resident expert” in class, helping out her tablemates when they got stuck. We made some halting progress as a class, but no one is close to done. Several of my students did say that they understood how to write an equation for a line or curve, and restrict the domain, just that it was going to take a long time and a lot of tedious work. So, similar to last year, with about 10 minutes left in class I offered a reprieve, shifting the due date to Monday. Then I’ll accept whatever they have and go from there. I set up the grading rubric in such a way that the points are weighted toward planning and less on the finished product, so the kids who laid down a foundation can still get a reasonable grade even if their final product is…. incomplete.
But I also want to be able to show them what their project could look like, with a little bit of persistence:
Just a little something I threw together over the weekend. 44 equations later…
The breakthrough for many came when they started to use vertex or intercept form for their parabolas. The ones who completed the functions reference sheet caught that first. I showed everyone on Monday, which of course was too late for many folks. Next year I’ll highlight that option earlier.
So, they begrudgingly turned in their paper/pencil planning work, along with a link to their Desmos creation, on Monday. Just like last year, some bit off way more than they could chew. Some got frustrated and quit. Some gave me a half-finished product. But the ones who stuck with it were able to turn in some pretty cool stuff:
Oh, yeah, and this from a student as she turned in the assignment thru Canvas:
My big takeaways:
I need to steer them towards reasonable images to duplicate. Avoid frustration and shutdown right from the jump.
I need to encourage my students to use the vertex form of quadratics. Anything that makes the movement of the curve more intuitive is good. I think eventually that will help cement translation of functions.
I need to enforce the preparation steps that I built in: the reference sheet, the paper sketch, and the four function equations by hand. I need to help them draw the connection between curves on a screen and the associated math symbols.
The assignment is is a keeper. But I bet you it won’t look exactly the same three years from now as it did this week. In fact, I’m counting on it.
“… he with blind faith, feeling nothing; she with visionary faith, feeling everything.”
For me it’s both. Sometimes in the same week.
I started Holy Week at my parish’s 24-Hour Prayer Vigil. I selected an intention card submitted by a parishioner who attends our Spanish-language Mass. The intentions were universal tho: Peace for the world, and prayers for the kids in the family, especially that they would find the faith.
I prayed the Sorrowful Mysteries kneeling before the Blessed Sacrament in our chapel. Meditating on the events of the Passion. It hit the depths of my soul. I was as emotionally engaged in prayer as I have been in a long time. Adoration has that effect on me in general, but this was unusually strong.
Later in the week I took my youngest son to Notre Dame for an afternoon. We’re not alums, or even subway alums, but when you grow up in Catholic schools with nuns for teachers and the most famous Catholic university on the planet an hour away, that “thing” for Our Lady’s university never really goes away. It was a popular choice for dads and kids during spring break I guess, since we were far from the only family wandering around campus, snapping photos of the Golden Dome and the Hesburgh Library.
What I really wanted to see for myself tho was Sacred Heart Basilica and the Grotto. We walked through the heavy wooden doors of the beautiful church, selected a pew, let the organ music settle over us, knelt, and began to pray together.
And I was dry. Couldn’t feel a thing. Same story at the Grotto. I’ve literally waited my entire life to kneel there and light a candle and pray an Ave, and… nothing.
Doesn’t mean the prayers aren’t useful. Don’t believe me, take the words of a saint instead:
“In you, today, he wants to relive his complete submission to his Father,” she wrote in 1974 to a priest suffering his own spiritual blackness. “It does not matter what you feel, but what he feels in you . . . You and I must let him live in us and through us in the world.”
I feel that dryness with Twitter right now. I kind of live in three worlds there: I follow a lot of sports stuff, and a lot of political/news stuff in addition to all my teacher connects. There’s some overlap, of course. Some of it lifts me up right now. The Notre Dame women winning the NCAA basketball championship, for example.
Or an epic thread of priests and lay folks pondering the Easter Vigil. (Seriously, click through and read it. All of it. This nonsense I’m writing will still be here when you get back.)
Imagining the pitch meeting for the first Easter Vigil:
“All right, first thing we do is we start a big honkin fire. Then, imagine the biggest candle you’ve ever seen. We stab it 5 times, put it in a giant gold stand, then sing a song to it for 10 minutes.”
But the Teacher Twitter stuff…. I’m scrolling right by lately. I glance, maybe. I go, “oh, yeah”, and then I move on. Or worse, I read it and go “ugh”. Truthfully, there’s a lot of stupidity out there in the Twitterverse. None of this is new by the way, just seems to be weighing on me with a little more force these days. People treat each other like crap. Political divisions are leading to derangement. Plus, unoriginal putdowns spread like dandelions. I enjoy a little snark as much as the next guy but everything is only so funny after the 100th time you read it. All of that led me to declare a one-day social media fast for myself on Good Friday. (That is a link to the past as well: tradition amongst my group growing up was all TV and radio was silenced from noon until 3 pm on Good Friday. Not a bad habit to revive, I think.)
I’m getting ready to present at a couple of Summer of E-Learning conferences in June. That has me focused. My two regular chats are always a learning experience. Those things energize me. But mild social media addiction aside, sometimes I feel like I could take or leave the rest of it.
Maybe it’s just the lull of Spring Break, getting mentally ready for the stretch run. (39 school days left, not that we’re counting or anything). Did my brain intentionally shut itself off to teacher stuff online, both to clear space for Holy Week observances, and to clear the mechanism for the fourth quarter? Maybe I’m supposed to be turning my attention outward, go “all-in” on my classes so that the world, my students in particular, can see what I’m really about.
I have the final quarter planned out. We’ve got some cool stuff coming up in Algebra II, for real. The last 9 weeks of the last required math course my students need to graduate can feel like a long march through a parched desert. I’m hoping for spring storms to hit and rush through a dry creek bed, turning everything green again.
That tweet up at the top is from a former Illinois Teacher of The Year, presenter, and all-around good guy who has an active six-year run streak. The image below is my running log for this year. He ran almost as far today as I have all year.
I’ve got six marathons under my belt, 9 half marathons, which I guess would have qualified me as a semi-serious runner at some point. The kind of guy who was up at 4:00 am on school days to train. Not no more tho.
To say my fitness and nutrition have taken a nosedive would be an understatement. Too much of the good things in life. Looking at you, Greenbush and Home Run Inn.
It’s so easy to fall out of a good habit. Not that there’s necessarily anything wrong with that. There is a season for everything, and moderation is a key in life. Plus I’m older, and slower. Circle of life, and all. But standing on the scale these days, the Steve-O-Meter is heading in the wrong direction. Maybe just a salad tonight…
Speaking of seasons, this is the Season Of Checking Things Off The List. Not big things, just tedious, day-by-day things. Things that have deadlines.
Submitting evidence for my teacher evaluation ( I actually provide links to this blog for some of the domains, so that part is relatively easy)
Gathing proof of residence and shot records and such for my youngest son’s enrollment in high school
Some documentation I haven’t needed in a while for my 1099 work so I can file taxes
Trying to do those things all at once = bad times.
It’s got to be a daily commitment. In truth, I should go to school on myself. Every quarter I make two copies of my gradebook printout, one for my records, and one that is part of the required paperwork to turn in at end-of-year checkout. It beats trying to remotely print a million pages on a day everyone is trying to get their stuff done and get out.
I wonder if there are other things that I could be doing “as I go”?
(Narrator voice: Yes, there are.)
Everyone has their “tell” for stress. I’m reading Relentless Pursuit again, if you are curious about how things have been going in my little world as of late. In the book, part of the evaluation process for the freshly-minted teachers in Watts is summed up in a Teach For America document: Teaching As Leadership Framework (One Pager)
It outlines the day-to-day actions, and long-term planning that TFA research has indicated leads to “meaningful impact on a student’s academic trajectory”. Nothing in there is proprietary. I think most teachers in examining their own district’s evaluation tool would recognize most of the same tactics. So, even though I’m not a TFA teacher, I’ve had that printout behind my desk for years.
Bad habits don’t develop overnight, and good habits need reps to take hold as well. We tell our students that on the daily, right? So maybe the thing to do is to make one positive action toward rebuilding those good habits daily. I’ve committed to getting out to run three times over spring break. And I planned out my entire 4th quarter before I left teh building on the Friday before Spring Break. (Doc here: Term Planning Grid). That’s a good start.
So it’s Holy Week and Dyngus Day and then most of a quarter left to go, including all our snow make-up days. Only days off for the rest of the year are Election Day and Memorial Day.
It’s a marathon, not a sprint. I gotta train like it. Lace up the Supernovas and get out there. Every Damn Day.
Changing culture is hard. It’s difficult to do it with one class of kids. It’s a major undertaking to overhaul “the way we do things here”. Last spring someone asked how things were going. I said I felt like I was being assimilated into the collective.
When grades are king and the college pipeline is pretty well established, Doing Things Different™ can be…wearying.
I’d much rather be the guy who creates learning opportunities for my kids. I mean, I can stand and deliver with the best of them, but Photomath and Google and good old copying makes me feel like traditional worksheets and quizzes are a waste of everyone’s time. And after all of that, if I still can’t tell who knows their stuff and who just knows someone who’ll lend them their homework for five minutes, well, let’s not, OK?
I’m sorry. There’s just better ways to do it.
One of my students today quoted "Confusion is the sweat of learning" to me – they didn't believe me that I am the original source https://t.co/fTGMbZhNOb
“Students are under the impression that when they are stuck and confused, they are doing something wrong. Think of it this way. What if you went to the gym to work out but you didn’t get sweaty and you weren’t sore or tired? You would probably feel like you really didn’t get any exercise. The same is true for learning. Confusion is the sweat of learning.
If I just tell them the answer, that would end the struggle. What if a person was having trouble doing a pull up for exercise. Instead of giving them some other exercise, I could help them by doing the pull up for that person. Right? No, that wouldn’t actually be useful. However, if I push on the person’s feet a little bit they can still struggle and still exercise. This is what I try to do in these discussions. Instead of flat out answering the question, I often ask other questions for them to consider.”
I stumbled across my teaching portfolio the other day, filled with evidence of my progression as a teacher, tools and tactics gleaned from the #MTBoS, lessons that had migrated from pencil & paper to Desmos activities. There’s a question that stands out to me from the interview process, coming from one of my assistant superintendents. He asked me: “Do you teach math like you teach PLTW?” He meant, do you give students a chance to get hands on, to discover, do you use unorthodox methods to create learning opportunities? Yes. Yes I do. As often as I can. But sometimes I feel like I’m trying to undo 10 years of student habits. Jump through hoops, give the teacher what they want, put the right squiggles on a piece of paper (even if they don’t know what those squiggles mean), get the grade.
Doing it their way has to be easier, right? Less pushback for sure.
This is the best way. I know it in my bones. But it’s a total square peg/round hole situation. Kids want a worksheet they can Photomath and call it a day. Gimme my points.
A lot of them are in for a rude awakening next year. We’re in the process of de-tracking our math classes. Everything next year is gonna be faster and more in-depth. If they don’t have a decent math foundation and the ability to think their way through a problem, it’s gonna be a long year next year. I’m a little scared for them.
It is my job to help them build that foundation and learn those skills. But they’re not gonna get either one by mindlessly copying symbols off a phone screen or someone else’s paper. I think they know by now I’m gonna stand my ground. My Twitter bio doesn’t say “stubborn jackass” for nothing. I’m priming them for Desmos Conic Section Art right now. Nothing mindless there. At all.
On the positive, the kids coming up through grade school and middle school are being trained up to think. They will have been 1:1 for half their school careers by the time they get to me, creating and collaborating and knocking down walls. I see what my fellow district teachers are sharing on social. By the time we do algebra together, the kids will have been pushing the envelope for a while. And then, let’s ride.
I teach at a school where we definitely keep score. In pretty much everything. Our kids, the ones that care, they already beat themselves up over their self-perceived shortcomings. They probably don’t need us riding them too.
If you’ve stopped by this space before, you know I am a sports guy. At this time of the year my heartbeat probably sounds a lot like the staccato dribble of a basketball and the squeak of Nikes on hardwood.
This past weekend was the regional round of the IHSAA Boys Basketball Tournament. Since 1911 kids across this state have advanced through four weeks of increasingly difficult challenges (sectional, regional, semistate, state). For the last 20 years the tourney has been split into classes based on enrollment. Thus Da Region had 8 teams competing in regional play on Saturday.
The high school where I teach was one of those eight. A school famous for its methodical approach to shooting free throws, our team missed double-digit free throws in a game it lost in overtime to a team it had already beaten during the regular season. Afterwards, I imagine our kids were pretty down, beating themselves up, thinking about this play or that play they could have made better.
This morning, our coach tweeted a link to a newspaper story about the season-long improvement of one of our top players. It was one of our best shooters, but a player who had struggled shooting free throws in that regional loss. Who was probably feeling at least a little bit responsible, like he let his teammates down. But his coach was there to lift him up.
For folks who follow him on Twitter, it was pretty easy to crack the code. In a state that probably takes games played by 16-year-olds a little too seriously, here’s a guy publicly saying, “hey, you’re good. A few minutes of one game on one Saturday morning doesn’t define you.”
The walls of the gym at my school are ringed with the dates of all 52 sectional championships in school history. That’s tied for 10th-most all time in a state known for basketball. This year’s sectional was our first since 2011… when our current seniors were in 6th grade. But I don’t care if we win another one as long as I teach here. The boys basketball coach is the kind of teacher I want to be. I want him to coach our kids here until the day after forever.
I can’t add much. Except to say that I could do a better job of not harping on people’s worst moments or days. I think I’m pretty chill, but it seems like a reminder I needed. Maybe tomorrow I make a point of thinking about everything that is positive about the people around me. And maybe for my students, letting them know that one bad day or poor test score doesn’t define them.
Growing up, every Tom Cruise character was that super-confident, super-cool guy that could bluff his way through any situation with quick wit and a smile. Who didn’t want to be Joel Goodson or Brian Flanagan or Maverick?
But I definitely also had an appreciation for people who planned every move with military precision. Who could see the downstream consequences to actions that everybody else missed. See: Jane Craig in Broadcast News. So: going by the book, or flying by the seat of our pants? Painting by numbers, or just making some happy little trees?
Is teaching an art, or a science? If you’ve been around the game for awhile, you’ve probably concluded it’s both.
Joshua Eyler of Rice University turns the question on its head in a 2015 blog post, proposing that “the most effective teaching is that which helps students learn to the greatest extent possible”.
So how might we change the art vs. science question to reflect this positioning of learning? Though we’ll have to sacrifice the nicely compact nature of the original, a new version of this question might ask whether achieving a deep understanding of how our students learn (both in general and about our fields) is more of an art or a science.
The sorts of collaborations with students that might reveal this knowledge could certainly be called creative and even artistic. I also think there is something of an art to being attuned to students’ individual approaches to learning (or their Zones of Proximal Development) and adjusting our strategies and techniques accordingly in order to ensure we are helping as many students as possible.
What about science? I have to admit I’m biased here. As someone who is writing a book on the science of learning, I lean more heavily in this direction. Because learning has its basis in the neurobiological mechanisms of the body, I think science has much to teach us about learning. Learning is also rooted in the social world as well, so the fields of sociology and psychology provide further opportunities for understanding.
Brain science and psychology and making adjustments on the fly for what our students (collectively or individually) need at the moment? Yeah, that sounds exactly like what teaching is. “All Of The Above”.
My Alg II students are feeling pretty beat up after the logs/exponentials unit. Like I'm-Not-Good-At-Math-And-I-Don't-Get-Any-Of-This-And-I'm-Crying – level beat up. Maybe it's time to switch gears a little bit tomorrow…#iteachmath#MTBoShttps://t.co/lilaxZwcSd
That was us a couple of weeks ago. I know the look I saw on my kids’ faces after the logs quiz. It’s never a good sign, but that “I don’t get this and math is stupid and I quit” feeling in February makes for a long last 13 weeks for everybody involved.
I’m hardly the first to roll out this activity. My favorite instructional coach was doing Barbie Bungee before I was even teaching, long before Twitter and Desmos had even been thought of. The great Fawn Nguyen and Matt Vaudrey have raised it to an art form.
But I gambled that it would be just the antidote for the Math Plague that was threatening to decimate my classroom. Plus, worst-case scenario, I could justify it (at least to myself) by saying that the linear concepts and DOK 3 activity would be ideal for my students in the weeks leading up to ISTEP re-testing season.
I leaned heavily on Mr. Vaudrey, who is kind enough to post his materials for anyone to use, and to reflect on his own lessons so that folks downstream might be able to anticipate the stumbling blocks for their students. I teach in the new STEM wing of my school, in what eventually will be a combo computer lab and build/makerspace. So I had some essential ingredients on hand: measuring tools, lots of space, and plenty of surfaces at a variety of heights. What I didn’t have on hand, I sought out: eight bags of #32 rubber bands at WalMart, and 8 WWE wrestling figures from my son’s collection.
Day One I tried to hook them in with an insane missile silo bungee jump, then set them up with a figure, a bundle of ten rubber bands, a data collection sheet, and let them go about the business of jumping.
Perfect world: each group of three or four students would have had about 8-10 data points. Reality: most got 4-5. Several got only 3, and one group managed to record only one distance. Those guys are gonna need some extra support.
Day Two, time for some estimates backed up by math: How many bungees would be needed to jump off the top of my projector? How far a jump could their figure make with 25 bands?
And in one of those glorious moments of teaching, I had set the hook. Students were madly pouring over their data, trying to use it to give legit estimates to the questions.
(It was about this moment that I decided that I would honor their efforts at thinking and reasoning and doing actual math on their own by entering some points for the three-day project as a quiz grade. By department policy quizzes and tests account for 75% of a student’s grade, so a good quiz grade is like finding a hundred-dollar bill on the ground outside your classroom.)
So we dumped data into a Desmos graph, let some groups with few data points share some numbers from other groups (that’s that extra support we talked about), made a trend line, set a horizontal line at 533 cm on their graph, and talked about how many bands they’d need to safely make a jump from the top of our two-story Robot/Quadcopter Arena.
Quick group huddle to compare numbers, then after a few minutes of table talk I stopped to see each group, ask about how they came up with their number, and (this is key) have them agree on one number, write it down on their page, and circle it.
Day Three, the Tournament Selection Committee has announced the pairings, and the teams are ready to jump.
I pre-assembled strands of ten bands to accelerate the assembly process, then students built their bungees and gathered, two teams at a time, on the second floor. We quickly found out that everyone in my 2nd hour class had seriously miscalculated the number of bands they needed. Fig after fig crashed to the floor. Lacking other options, and wanting to avoid the buzzkill of a six-way tie for last, we finally decided the “less dead” fig would move on.
The afternoon class seemed to have had some better estimates and we had some competetive matchups, as well as some gamesmanship as some teams attempted to scrunch two or three bands together in their hand on the railing to avoid a figurative skull fracture (high school kids, right?). The extra-long bungees in 2nd hour made a great math conversation starter (“what happened, you guys?”). I used Matt Vaudrey’s feedback form, and found out that Barbie Bungee was a near-unanimous hit.
Would this three-day activity had made more sense back in September when we were doing linear stuff? Probably. Would I have had the confidence to step back from the curriculum map for a minute when my students needed a breather if I hadn’t been hanging out on the periphery of the #MTBoS with its brilliant minds and fantastic lessons and activities? No way. Would I have tried Barbie Bungee without being able to follow a well-worn path? Not sure. I’m down with taking chances in the classroom, but I’m not sure I’d have been wise enough to add the Desmos piece if Vaudrey hadn’t blogged about it. And that made the whole project. We’d have been dead in the water, guessing a number of rubber bands for the Big Jump without it. Which means we would have missed the math altogether.
What I do know is: my students bought it, real learning happened, we all got the stress relief we needed, and I came out looking like an improv artist taking a prompt and making comedy gold.
Brian Flanagan would have been proud. Jane Craig too.
So, lots of changes in my classroom since the semester break. Seems like a good time to check in, just maybe a little sooner than Pete Alfano. How’s it going so far?
To recap, I’m trying to provide more opportunities for my students to work together in class, to have the support of their teacher as they work through practice sets. My lever is a flipped classroom. Trying to move in the direction suggested by Matt Miller and Alice Keeler in DitchThat Homework.
So they are viewing the notes outside of class, writing a 3-2-1 Summary when they finish taking notes from my video, splitting into Island/Peninsula/Land work groups based on student readiness to be self-sufficient, getting an opportunity for relearning and retakes on quizzes.
My main goal is to provide a proper level of support for all my students. I had to let go of some things like a rotating schedule of MTBoS-inspired bellringers. Truthfully, that decision made me die a little on the inside, but this wasn’t a knee-jerk decision. I weighed my options. What’s the best way to maximize the math happening when we are together in class? I want them thinking critically, but I also want them getting enough practice on basic skills to make them stick.
After 15 years of teaching I already have a good idea of what independent practice looks like outside of school (hint: not really independent), but I was curious what happens when I ask them to watch a video and take notes on their own, and then write down some questions about their learning.
I got my answer a few days ago when a scheduling crunch inspired me to have my students watch the video and take notes in class. It was actually a very efficient way to get note-taking done – way faster than direct instruction with a million distractions. I figured we could get the notes in and still have enough time for students to try the practice set and for me to get around the room and help.
I found that many of my students were focusing on the examples, taking good notes, backing up the video to rewatch certain parts, writing a thoughtful summary – pretty much the model of how flipped instruction should work.
I also saw kids blow it off entirely, playing on their phones or on other sites. And a few were just forwarding the video to a screenshot of the worked-out examples, copying them down, putting some nonsense down for the summary and checking out.
In other words, the students who cared before, care now. And the students who tried to slide by before, are still giving me their absolute minimum effort. So, can I snap up a couple from that last group and give them a nudge towards the first group? Good question.
I’m way past thinking that any of the tactics and strategies I pick up from my online PLN are going to be magic dust. They are all just tools in the hands of a teacher, for use to benefit student learning. So let’s use them.
Logarithms are killing my students, slowly, like one class period at a time. It couldn’t be less clear if I wrote the instructions in Chinese. So we’ve taken three days to review: two days with a packet to get some reps in, and one day where I wanted some collaboration and mistake-finding built in.
I’ve been dying to use Log War for a while. But I’m not sure my students are in that place yet where they can rapid-fire evaluate logs. Plus I was a little short on materials and funding to purchase more index cards and labels.
And Sara Van Der Werf’s “Add ‘Em Up” activity made an ideal Plan B.
I endorse this review method. Click through for full details and materials, but the executive summary is: students are grouped in fours, working on butcher paper or big white boards, each with his own log exercise to work out. I give them the sum of their answers as they are working on the problems. If their answers add up to the number I’ve written in the middle of the page, yay us! If not, that’s cool, it’s time to play America’s favorite game show, Let’s Find The Mistake!
This activity got my students engaged, working together and talking with each other, referencing their notes for help, and it gave me an opportunity to sit with everyone individually for feedback and help. That’s the core message of a Ditch That Anything: teachers need to get face time with students, and build relationships along with teaching standards. That’s the big payoff of flipped instruction, Island/Peninsula/Land, and collaborative review time.
Still – it’s not a cure-all. Sitting with one group, looking at the work provided by one particularly uninterested student…. it was perfect. I asked her, “tell me how you got from this step to this step”. She looked me in the eye and said “Photomath did it. I’m not gonna lie to you. I don’t know how to do this. No clue. Teach me”.
I appreciate the request for help, and I’ll be happy to teach you, but I can’t reteach this unit to you in 10 minutes the morning before the quiz.
Especially not after you’ve been playing on your phone and not doing work for two weeks. That remediation gig is gonna take way longer than 10 minutes.
The Irish, 11-point underdogs, were 3-4 and had lost their last three games, all of them in South Bend. They hadn’t lost three straight at home since 1956…. Down the schedule, Navy, Penn State and USC waited to pick over the Notre Dame carcass. Faust was asked by ABC’s Keith Jackson if he’d ever win again.
Jackson: “You have the definite possibility of a 4-7 season.”
Faust: “Yeah, but also one of 7-4.”
That exchange defines the man. “Wouldn’t it be something,” he had said earlier in the week, “wouldn’t it be ironical if it was a game with my first opponent that turned the thing around?”
Gerry Faust is an optimist. The faith we share dictates that. I’m more of an optimistic pessimist. But I still believe in the turnaround. If I can’t go 11-0 anymore, can I get to 7-4? I’m gonna keep looking for things that work, keep what’s good, giving my students what they need, and it’s gonna happen. Come around sometime and see.
There is much to be said for making a principled stand, especially in hostile territory.
There’s also much to be said for considering the possibility you might be missing something.
Basketball officiating is a rough job. In my state we’ve had a spate of veterans hang up the whistle recently, with not quite enough youngins coming up behind them. And that’s no surprise: bad pay, no home games, no appreciative crowds, not only is everyone your enemy, but everyone thinks they can do your job better than you. And God help you if you are indecisive or easily intimidated.
I’ve heard stories of young officials in their first-ever game handing out a technical foul to a veteran coach just to prove that they can’t be pushed around. Word travels fast. Every official has to earn his cred, with players, fans and coaches. The visuals are a big piece of that.
Friday night in an intense, fast-paced, physical game, I saw a relatively young official stand his ground on a game-changing call. It turns out, based on video, he was exactly…. wrong.
That was a last-second shot in overtime by Valparaiso to win a game on the road. Only problem was, the shot came after the buzzer. Shouldn’t have counted. I had the play-by-play call on the game, and that’s how I described it in real time on the air. I was as stunned as the Merrillville fans and coaches when the official emphatically signaled the basket good.
The official was roundly criticized online for missing the call. And it’s true. He blew the call. Thing is, he called what he saw. His right arm went up (signaling shot attempt) as the player pulls the trigger on the shot. Once it went in, he had no choice but to call it good. Technically speaking, in the heat of a game, he did everything right. Some folks thought he was being too emphatic with the “shot good” signal, but that’s part of having control over the game.
Did he know he was wrong as the ball was in the air? Is it possible he recognized he was wrong as he walked off the court? Could he have asked for a consult with the other two officials? Could one of the other officials come to him and said, hey, I saw it different? In a case where there is no video replay, did any of these guys have a better look in real time, conclusive enough to overturn it?
I honestly do not know what is protocol there, who initiates a consult between officials. Each official has a responsibility for a section of the floor, and the official responsible for the shot made the call. The place would have gone up for grabs if they waved it off. But at least they would have got the call right. And that’s not nothing.
Teachers, especially new teachers, fight that same battle to earn cred with their students. An out-of-control classroom is not a fun place to be. And I say this from experience. For 50 minutes a day, 180 days a year, with those 30 or 100 or 180 kids, I have to be in control, undeniably and without question.
So I make my lesson plans, and execute them, and adjust on the fly where needed, but I am the boss. The pushback from kids is to be expected. Of course they don’t like the way I teach. I’m mean. I’m not like the teacher they had last year. They can’t learn in here. The grading system isn’t fair. And and and and and and and.
Every teacher, rookie or veteran knows: If you don’t exude confidence, they’ll eat you alive. They don’t need an explanation for every little thing. All that does is drag out the conversation for half the class period, decimating your plan for the day. Again, speaking from experience here.
What if they’re right? What if they do need me to teach a different way? Am I confident enough, and do I care enough, to get the call right?
When I was doing rotating critical thinking bellringers last year, my students begged for more time in class to do practice sets. They didn’t see the value in estimating, or deciding which one didn’t belong, or pondering which of two options they’d rather select. I stood my ground, adamant that the process of thinking about these things would benefit them at some point in the future. They just knew they needed to be able to regurgitate math info on a quiz for a grade to graduate. We eventually settled on an uneasy truce when we needed to plow thru like 23 sections in the last 29 instructional days.
But what if they needed more reps and more 1 on 1 time? Would a more traditional classroom have been better? Would that make me a more effective leader of instruction in my classroom? All I know is I went to school on myself at the semester break and decided to flip my instruction. I gathered up some info from my online PLN and teachers in my building, and ran it by my department chair. Did I make the right decision? Like the referee in that basketball game, there’s no video replay. Unlike him, no one is plastering video of my classroom errors all over Twitter.
That’s a judgment call I’m going to have to be humble enough to make myself.
The stops and starts of the second semester are killing my motivation. One of my students pointed out today was our first full school day since last Thursday. We went: Power outage –> three days of school –> Ice Day –> MLK Day –> early release due to lake effect blizzard –> two hour delay.
The doldrums of the school year are here early. And I’m dead in the water.
Wise people have suggested a makeover of the school calendar:
What if we just took January off? Let’s miss all the worst parts of winter altogether.
I gotta admit, it’s tempting. It’s still butt-dark at 7:00 am these days. Cold, snow, wind, ice. Gotta build in extra time in the morning to scrape car windows and let the car heat up. Just crawling out of bed is a monumental challenge.
It’s that time of year, even if you aren’t the praying sort:
All I know is: momentum is real. Inertia too. I need a push. Maybe helping my POE class learn to code will turn the tide. There are some glimmers of hope from the move to flip my instruction in Algebra II: students who have struggled are getting some small-group attention and it’s paying dividends. More than once I’ve heard a student say, leaving class, “hey, I learned something today!” I’m about to break out DIY Kahoot for a review activity. Because the one who does the work does the learning. Also, this is definitely the kind of group that keeps score. At this point, hey, anything to turn the sails.
Because just sitting here stewing and wishing ain’t gonna move the ship.