I long ago bought into “teaching different”. And letting my kids get a glimpse of “the real me”. I know in my bones it’s the best way to do this job.
But how do I measure that? Letter grades? ISTEP scores? I’m not sure I meet standard if that is the benchmark.
But every now and then I get a little reminder that I’m on the right track. Last time in this space I wrote a little bit about building culture. That kids will be willing to do some pretty incredible things once the proper supports are in place, supports from me and from their classmates.
Today that got put to the test. I could tell yesterday morning that my vocal cords were getting a little frayed.
Culture of collaboration, huh? Let’s see what you got. I missed three days last week for my oldest son’s Army graduation, and we’ve got four school days until Thanksgiving break. I’m planning on a review Monday and quiz Tuesday, so I really don’t have a day to give away. And I love all our district subs, but I pondered the risk/reward last night at bedtime. And 65% of me is better than 100% of anyone else who walks into my class for one day.
If that sounds arrogant, so be it.
So I packed in some DayQuil, a couple of oranges, my water bottle, and an 80-pack of Halls, loaded the neighborhood kids into my son’s car and battled an early-season snowstorm to get to school in the morning.
I greeted my kids with this slide:
Their reaction was priceless.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Dull we got you today. Just give us the work and we’ll get it done.”
“We got you today.” My kids, you guys. <insert heart emoji>
So that’s one day. But it told me everything I needed to know about this group of kids and where we are together so far in the school year.
I’ve got a little playlist I run during passing time in late December, to fit the mood of the season. Today seemed like a good day to break it out. Some of my classes even harmonized along with Mariah.
I don’t have much of a poker face. The WSOP is not for me. But to paraphrase what an #eVillageNWI bud tweeted at me recently, “do we have the best job in the world or what?”
We’ve changed our in-school professional learning model from late-start Wednesdays to a quarterly Half-Day PD this year. The first afternoon session of the year took place a couple of weeks ago, with a triple focus:
The Canvas LMS as curriculum map and parent portal
Formative assessments driving instruction
Increased Depth of Knowledge, with an emphasis on integrating DOK 3 tasks.
Our department chair related her frustration about the fruits of a planning session with two of our teachers, putting together an in-depth activity as they try to amp up DOK: “We spent 3 hours making one problem!” These are three really good teachers, people.
You guys. Desmos. Desmos Desmos Desmos Desmos Desmos Desmos Desmos.
I totally appreciate the effort, but, damn, let’s not kill ourselves trying to reinvent the wheel when there are approximately 3 billion awesome activities at teacher.desmos.com. I told my colleagues, “I don’t know how many of you guys are using Desmos activities, but it’s a machine for cranking out DOK 3 opportunities in your classroom.”
Plus: Classroom Chef & Ditch That Homework. We ordered a set of both books for everyone in the department and passed them out at our department meeting today. Except for me. I already ownbothbooks. I offered to read along with anybody who wants to do a mini-book club.
Who’s with me?
Trying not to be “that guy” but where we’re headed with being detracked, & being 1:1… it’s the elephant in the room. We’ve got a ton of work to do. The other emphasis going forward is making sure our graduates are ready for the workforce or to handle entry-level college math. Our lower-track kids this year… aren’t. Sorry. We need to give our kids a chance to think deeply about math, to reason, to notice and wonder. We know the lower-track students have been sliding along, getting by with minimum effort and no real understanding of the math. That’s not a knock on their previous teachers. It’s what they’ve told us and what we’ve seen with our own eyes. Our guidance counselors have told us horror stories of kids trudging into the office complaining how hard Algebra II is this year.
Thing is, we owe them the chance to do this. If you don’t believe me, believe someone way smarter than me:
Anyone that still thinks that Algebra 2 shouldn't be offered in high school hasn't spent time with a college kid struggling in college algebra, while being absolutely aware that what they learned in High School mattered greatly, as they learn even more.
We’ve got the tools. We’re not the first math department to stare down this challenge. In a conversation with my former department chair, now an administrator, I said “we’re trying to change the culture of the classroom on the fly here. We can’t wait until our kids are “ready”. We need to move forward with what we know is the best way to teach, and be confident that our students will rise to the challenge.”
Indiana University has what is widely considered one of the top public-school business schools in the nation. I was working through a business minor to go with my telecommunications major, dreaming of someday becoming the play-by-play voice of the Chicago Cubs. My classmates were probably looking forward to becoming princes of Wall Street. It was the 80s, after all.
Now known as the Kelley School Of Business, it was renowned on campus for its two-year preprequisite program. 11 courses, ranging from English Comp to Stats to Business Law, all completed with a grade of C or better. That grade requirement was really just window dressing though. The B-school took 1200 students a year. Everyone with a 3.0 GPA in their prereqs was in. After that – well, you were ranked highest to lowest. Number 1201? Sorry, thanks for playing. Go find a new major.
So I’m sitting in a giant lecture hall one fine May morning, taking my final exam in Accounting. I’m surrounded by overcaffeinated frat boys who would step over their own grandmother to ace this class and build up their prereq GPA. As a minor, I really just want to pass, pack my stuff, go home and go sit in the bleachers at Wrigley.
The test is 33 multiple choice questions. Coming to the final page, I felt reasonably OK about how I had done so far. Probably not great, but good enough. Then I saw it.
Huge exhale… I mean enormous. Not six weeks earlier I sat in the Louisiana Superdome as Keith Smart hit the shot that gave Bob Knight his third national title. And gave the Hoosiers their fifth banner in Assembly Hall.
You’ve probably guessed that I’m thankful to that instructor to this day.
One of my go-to teacher blogs is Infinite Sums, by Jonathan Claydon. The dude is literally a rocket scientist – an engineer in a former life (OK, construction engineer, not NASA, but still. Engineer.). The subtitle of his blog (“Vertically Aligned Whimsy”) tells you everything you need to know.
So this week, with a quiz on Solving Systems Of Linear Equations looming, I swiped this idea without a twinge of regret. No conscience whatsoever.
I should probably point out that until we get to quadratics in May, my Algebra 1 students struggle with systems like nothing else. Neuralized daily.
Nobody does well on this quiz, ever. In 13 years of doing this, through all the various methods, I strike out swinging. Every. Single. Time.
Look, half these kids I just met. Most of them are super frustrated with math. I’m not above bribery. Or in this case, throwing out a little playful thing that might buy me a smile and help them forget they are really bad at solving systems.
Call it “The Great Equalizer”. Or at least, some easy points that all my students will pick up. Which most of them did, with varying degrees of aesthetic quality, and varying degrees of enthusiasm.
I made a decision long ago, after watching my students take a few of my algebra quizzes: no multiple choice. I’m not interested in finding out how good you can guess, or how well you can cheat. I care if you know the math we’ve been working on learning the last couple of weeks. Maybe that drives my students’ scores down. Well, not maybe. Definitely. You can’t guess how to show the work if you have no idea how to factor a quadratic, or solve for y, or write the equation of a perpendicular line.
But maybe I can vary the level of difficulty of the questions? Is that a best practice? Legit pedagogy? I’ll never forget a discussion in an Assessment class at UNLV (taught by a midwest-raised professor who not-so-secretly wanted to work for the National Storm Prediction Center. They told her to come back when she had a Ph. D. in physics. Which I don’t doubt for a second she could have completed. But that’s a huge committment for someone who is already well-entrenched in a career).
A student asked if it was fair to include a test question only her best students would be able to answer. The instructor turned it back around, asking, “Is it fair to include a question you think all your students will be able to answer?”
The student said, “Of course.” The professor then stated that yes, that challenge question would be completely legitimate, in particular as a way to separate “A” students from “B” students. True, but I also took that exchange to indicate that it was important to create test questions with a range of difficulty. Here’s how one document from Indiana University suggests planning an exam:
The easiest way to ensure a representative sample of content and cognitive objectives on the test is to prepare a table of specifications. This table is simply a two-way chart listing the content topics on one dimension and the cognitive skills on the other. We want to include content and skills in the same proportion as they were stressed during instruction. Table 2 shows a simple table of specifications; it is intended to be illustrative, not comprehensive.
Most importantly, the suggestion is that test questions match the type of exercises given as practice during the chapter.
I’m far from the first teacher to write a silly, playful question into a test. My oldest recalls a final exam in his freshman algebra class in which the stem to a multiple-choice question read “Pick ‘C'”. Another year, his math teacher asked his students on a test “2 + 2 = ?”. He resisted the urge to write “fish”.
So I can justify (to myself anyway) writing a test question that all my students will get right, that some might have fun with, and that will take some of the sharp edge off a class that many of my students find incomprehensible. Plus, it’s playful. And my students seemed to enjoy it.
Will I ask them to draw a dinosaur every test?
Nope. But I know what question I’m using come tournament time. Number 33.