Day 20: Curating Student Work

Day 20: How do you curate student work--or help them do it themselves?

Curating student work is something I've experimented with--rather poorly--the whole time I've been a teacher. I keep experimenting because I truly believe in looking at work as a way for students to be mindful of their growth.

I've mostly used manilla file folders, asking students to keep their major writing pieces, which they flip through a few times a year, and then I send home with them in June, begging them to at least take them home and shove under their beds rather than trashing it on the way out of the building. (No, I do not believe this is the most powerful form of student reflection.)

And reflection is the big piece of the puzzle. Sure, collecting can be powerful when students can compare what they are capable of in May versus what they could do in October. But they have to have the TIME and a GUIDE to help them see the nuances in their writing. Very few students will do this by accident on their own.

This year, since we are 1:1 with Google Chromebooks, I thought I might try helping the kids create Google Sites, with different pages for their different types of writing. This would be an organized place where they could gather their pieces, use the "comment" at the bottom of the page to reflect ever so often, and maybe even look at again next year to remember that they actually did learn something in ninth grade.

Any tips and pointers from folks who have used this method before?

Day 18: I am an Air Traffic Controller.

Day 18: Create a metaphor/simile/analogy that describes your teaching philosophy.

I am an air traffic controller.

This makes me laugh because in eighth grade I thought I wanted to be an air traffic controller, which is pretty much the WORST possible fit for me as a person.

And yet.

Air traffic controllers are trying to guide places that are far from them, over which they have no real control. They offer guidance; pilots must choose to accept it. Likewise, we can guide, nudge, cajole, beg, punish our students in an effort to take them on the path of our choice; however, the path is theirs and if they are going to authentically learn anything, they must engage independently.

Air traffic controllers are making constant on-the-spot decisions. While my on-the-spot decisions are not a matter of life or death, each one has a consequence that I cannot predict. A choice may have no effect on a larger outcome, or it may be the tiny thing that gets a kid back on track. Or off track. Hopefully it doesn't cause a plane crash.

Air traffic controllers are managing flying objects. This is the hopeful part of my metaphor. Students really are true, pure potential. When we can bottle it up and allow ourselves to breathe it in, they are as amazing as planes soaring in the sky. We spend our days in vicarious flight.

Day 16: Superpower

Day 16: If you could have one superpower in the classroom, what would it be and how would it help?

There's a serious answer here, and a silly one.

My serious answer: I would love to stop the clock and let learning be when we are really in the flow, instead of marching to the dead beat of a bell all day long. Sometimes I need 85 minutes for a lesson so the students have time to practice, internalize, play. I would love to be able to stop the clock.

My silly answer: I would love to know when I'm really boring and no one is actually paying attention. Sometimes I know this because it's obvious. But there are other times when there are several student nodding along with me, and I delude myself into thinking that everyone is really engaged when I'm sure everyone is thinking about how I really should have worn a different cardigan or what lunch awaits or whether Jean is going to say yes to the ninth grade dance. And I love the instability and unpredictability of the ninth grade mind. But it would be awesome to just know for sure when every student in my room wishes I would just shut my mouth.

Day 15: Strengths

Day 15: Name three strengths you have as an educator.

1. I am committed. I believe deeply in the ability of education to make a difference in a student's life, and I take the opportunity I am given to be that difference very seriously. This manifests itself in me working to connect with both easy and challenging students, being willing to be the adult in the room and give every kid a fresh start every single day, and searching for the right way to help a student grasp something that is difficult. My heart is in this work because I believe that I have a moral obligation to give the best I can every day.

2. I am calm. While I am passionate about beautiful language and standing up for what is right, I am able to remain calm in the chaos of the classroom. This is true both for days that are difficult when it comes to management and moments with individual students that I'm not sure how to handle. Yoga has changed me for the better here. I am comfortable with waiting, finding my breath, pausing until I know what to say or do.

3. I work backwards. I feel really fortunate that I had a great Methods professor in my undergraduate work that helped me understand aligning goals to assessments and beginning with the end in mind. I believe that my ability to consider a big-picture goal and identify the baby steps it will take to get there helps my course feel organized and flowing toward something.

Of course, there are improvements to be made, always. But I'm not going to deal with those today. I'm just going to note what I think I do well. We should all do this more often.

Day Twelve: A Moving Target

Day Twelve: How do you envision your teaching changing over the next five years?

This is an interesting prompt because I don't know what I don't know yet.

My vision for myself in five years revolves around continuing to focus more on the learning than the teaching.

The teaching--the dissemination of information--is the easy part. The act of learning--helping students actually grow as readers and writers and communicators--is the hard part. And the deeper I go into this profession, the more I realize the vast gap between the two. This will continue to become more prevalent as technology shifts seat time and face-to-face interaction in our classrooms. I have no crystal ball to foresee what this will look like, but I have to imagine that there could be changes in the way we do business in five years--or at least that will be on the horizon. But this is okay as long as we remember that students need teachers to guide them on their paths.

This journey is not just about technology, however. It's about the evolution of fear. When I started teaching, I was so afraid of losing control, of no learning happening, that I over-scripted and controlled everything, thus guaranteeing that each student would learn at a minimal level. As I grow as a teacher, the fear shifts. I'm now afraid of my fear of losing control hindering student potential to learn in my room. This is a much better place to sit because it places student learning directly at the center.

 So, in five years, what do I see?As I become a more skilled professional, I will ask better questions that help students do better thinking. I will listen better during writing conferences because I will continue to understand that this is the way it has to be, regardless of time constraints. I will do less work for students that they can do for themselves. I will continue to grow bolder.

But the reason I say that I don't know what I don't know is that there is a strange paradox in teaching. A wise veteran teacher whom I interviewed for my masters work on teacher sustainability said something to the effect of, "The strange thing about teaching is that the better you get, the harder it gets. You just keep finding new questions and different things you could do better." This is so true. Perhaps in five years, I'll have discovered a whole new element of writing conferences that is NOT about listening and absolutely crucial, but that door is closed to me until I learn how to listen.

This is the most frustrating, amazing, invigorating thing about teaching.

P.S. In five years, I will be more gentle with myself.

Day Ten: A Few Random Things

Day 10: This is kind of fun! 

Share five random facts about yourself.

1. In high school, I badly participated in the improv troupe. 

2. I once got my head stuck in some monkey bars and had to yelp for help.

3. I love popcorn. So much. It's sort of a problem.

4. I am not going to mention dance to my daughter and hope she never learns about it on her own because I don't want to deal with the recitals.

5. I want to play the guitar or the ukelele but I won't work hard enough at it.

Share four things from your bucket list.

1. More travel: specifically; Thailand, Italy, Australia, New York City, among others.

2. Be paid in real money for a piece of writing.

3. Paint something beautiful.

4. Take a public stand on something that makes me nervous.

Share three things that you hope for this year, as a “person” or an educator.

1. Potty training and pacifier weaning and big-girl bed-moving my daughter.

2. Continuing to feel the sense of balance and calm that I have felt as the year began.

3. Allowing myself to feel and share vulnerability in positive ways.

Share two things that have made you laugh or cry as an educator.

1. A 7th grade student who struggled with reading helped another 7th grade student who struggled with English read her poem aloud. The tears came right in that moment.

2. I'd like to share a laugh, but nothing quite seems funny enough, so here's another cry: leading students through Dangerous Intruder Training. I don't get used to the idea, and the fear that grips me while discussing the prospect is almost more than I can handle.

Share one thing you wish more people knew about you.

1. I'm working on getting control of my perfectionism because I've started to see it as detrimental to my happiness rather than just "who I am."

Day Nine: An Accomplishment

Day Nine: Write about one of your biggest accomplishments in your teaching that no one knows about (or may not care).

I've sifted through old rosters to try to tell a great student story, but nothing flashy or stand-out comes to mind. I know that I have a tendency to focus on what's not going well--which makes me a reflective problem-solver, but also unfortunately means that I overlook a lot of good that happens in my classroom every day.

Here's something small. Every year, the final question on my course evaluation is "A time I knew Ms. Griffin cared about me as a human being was _________________." I tell the students that this does two things for me: 1)it's a shameless way for me to feel good about what I do and 2) it helps me see the little things I do that really make a difference.

I'm still doing paper surveys (I know!) so even though these are anonymous, I can identify 95% of their handwriting. I get some blanks, some generic responses, and some that blow me away. But what I'm most proud of is that all different "types" of kids can come up with heartfelt and meaningful responses--the honors students, the struggling students, the easy ones, the challenging ones. And this shows me that I'm doing something right in connecting with kids.