“We,” “They,” and Schools

we they picIn January I read a blog post by Bill Powers about Daniel Pink‘s “Pronoun Test” from his book Drive. Basically, the Pronoun Test is about listening to employees talk about their organization and focusing on whether they refer to the organization as “we” or “they.” Mr. Powers wrote excitedly that his school was a “we” (our) school.

Over the past few months I’ve been kicking this idea of the Pronoun Test around in my head. I’ve decided that in education, the question of whether you work in a “we” or “they” organization isn’t that clear cut; it really depends on how you define “organization.” We have grade level or department teams that function like small organizations. We have schools level “organizations.” We have districts. We have Departments of Education at the state and national level. As educators, we aren’t just part of one “organization,” we’re part of many tiered organizations.

At the grade or department level we are (or at least I certainly hope are) working with a “we” organization. And with the recent NCLB and RTTT legislation I know a lot of educators see the US Department of Education as a “they.”

Somewhere between the grade level and the USDOE, the “we” becomes a “they.” Is your school a “we” or a “they”? What about your district? Your state Department of Education?

Somewhere things go from being done with you to to you.

Where does that change happen for you?

The Five Stages of Report Cards

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Ii’s report card time again. That time of year when teachers hide away in their houses, pouring over grades and anecdotal notes in an attempt to communicate to parents the progress their children are making. In a way that can’t be misunderstood.

Over the years I’ve noticed that report card time comes in five stages:

Stage 1: Denial
Wait, what?! Report cards go home next week. No, that can’t be true. The term can’t possibly end on Friday. That means I only have one more weekend to work on them. No. No. No.

Stage 2: Anger
I hate report cards. If there was one thing I could get rid if in my job, it would be report cards. They’re the worst.

Stage 3: Bargaining
I should work on report cards. OR! I could clean the bathroom, because that would definitely be a more enjoyable experience. And if I’m not going to work on report cards, I should at least do something productive. Then it’s okay to not work on them (It’s funny how my house gets really clean right before report cards are due each term). OR, instead of working on report cards I could write a blog post about how I don’t want to work on report cards. Yea, I think I’ll do that.

Stage 4: Depression
Sigh. I probably should work on report cards soon. Or I could just sit here. I really don’t want to work on report cards. (Suddenly 2 hours have gone by.)

Stage 5: Acceptance
Ok, here we go. Friday will come, whether I want it to or not. I might as well get to work.

Three times a year I go through all five stages. I spend too much time in stages 3 and 4.

Okay, time to get back to report cards.

photo credit: kevin dooley via photopin cc

Managing iPads in the Classroom

I was fortunate enough to get to run a 1:1 iPad pilot in my self-contained third grade classroom this year. This is the first in a series of posts sharing what I have done and learned in hopes that other educators implementing 1:1 programs won’t have to reinvent the wheel. Feel free to take and/or modify any resources here.

When I begin the year, I don’t have classroom rules. It’s a practice I picked up with my Responsive Classroom training. The students come up with Hopes and Dreams for the year and over the course of the first few days we build rules that will support those hopes and dreams, and help us achieve them.

When the iPads arrived, I took a similar approach. The class talked about the fact that they were tools for learning and that they were fragile. The front is a sheet of glass. It will break. And if you drop a sheet of glass onto a hard tile floor, the glass is going to loose that battle every time. We also agreed that carrying the iPads with two hands was a good idea.

Te next few lessons were about navigating the iPad. I took the iPad Orientation Checklist that Dan Callahan at Pine Glen Elemenary (Burlington, MA) used, and modified it a little. Thanks Dan. This is my version. We explored a few core apps that I figured we’d get a lot of mileage out of. When I saw behavior/handling I didn’t feel comfortable with, I would stop the class and we’d talk about it for a couple minutes.

It was a few days into the process before we formally started talking rules.

I started with Suzy Brooks’ ipad rules (thanks Suzy). I told the class this was a set of rules from another third grade class in Massachusetts. I wanted to look at those rules, see if we wanted to keep or modify them, and see if there were any we wanted to add.

The conversation was surprising mature. The kids really seemed to understand the importance of having fair rules to keep the iPads safe. We settled on these rules.

  • Two hands on the iPad at all times.
  • Make sure the iPad is fully on a table at all times. (No corners hanging off the edge of a desk/table)
  • Do not delete anyone else’s work or apps. (We have some shared cloud-based accounts)
  • If you aren’t sure, ask someone.
  • Only visit apps or websites with permission.
  • Only one person pilots the iPad at a time.
  • Only adults plug and unplug the iPads.
  • Let an adult know when your battery gets below 25% so the iPad can be recharged.
  • No mirroring without permission. (We have a ceiling mounted Apple TV in the room)
  • No iPad passwords.
  • iPads are school tools, not toys.

A few months in the kids are doing well. They follow the rules pretty well (they are 8-years-old after all). I trust the students enough to use the iPads when I’m out and guest teacher is in. The iPad is a school tool, and it comes out every day. It’s become an essential part of what we do. (I don’t use it in every lesson – they’re one of many tools we use in the classroom, but we do use them every day).

Your Students Secretly Hate Vacations

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Roatan, 2009 (c) Ben Schersten

As educators there is a piece of us that looks forward to vacations. Sure, we love what we do, otherwise we wouldn’t be doing it, but spending the day in a room full of elementary-aged children can be both physically and mentally exhausting. A few days off to recharge our batteries is essential, so a part of us looks forward to vacations.

Unfortunately, many of our students secretly hate them. And worse than vacation is the dreaded “holiday vacation.” It’s the worst.

So, as we approach vacation and our students’ poor decision-making spikes, remember that it may not be building excitement – it may be mounting fear.

  1. The holidays bring with them new kinds of stress. As adults we do our best to insulate children from that stress, but we’re not perfect. Kids are good at reading us. They know. Many families struggle to make ends meet as they bring the holidays to their children or try to make that first big heating bill. Kids may not know why their parents are stressed, but kids certainly know that their parents are.
  2. Holidays and vacations help to draw clear lines between the haves and the have nots. Who got what gift? Who when where on vacation? Whose parents worked and who had time off? There’s nothing like a major holiday and a week off to remind the have nots that they are have nots.
  3. Holidays and vacations are very unpredictable for some students. Home with parents? The usual daycare? A different daycare? At work with parents? School is a stable place: it starts and ends at the same time every day and kids know what they are going to do and when. As adults we look forward to the unscheduled nature of vacation; our students may not. For some, that predictable routine is what gets them through the day.

So, as you watch your students approach vacation and you find yourself feeling more like a behavior manager and less like a teacher, take a moment to think about why. Are your students excited, or terrified?

And that last-day special activity where you break from routine, is that for you or for them?

The Power of Student-led Parent-teacher Conferences

It’s The December Stretch at school, which for me means Parent Conferences. Five years ago I retooled my conferences and started requiring my students (5th and 3rd grade) to both attend and lead them. At our Back to School night, I took a moment to warn parents that this year’s conferences will be a little different.

Before making the shift I wrestled with the question of why do we have parent conferences, and if I bring kids will I ruin something? I came away thinking that we have parent conferences for a few reasons:

  • We want to have face-to-face contact with the parents of our students.

    Individual student brainstorming.

  • We want to give parents information about what their children are doing in school.
  • We want to work with parents so we can support each other to ensure the success of students.
  • We want a place to share possible concerns and strategize solutions to ensure student success.

Yea, I think having kids at the table for this will be just fine. Maybe even better.

Preparing for the Student-led Parent Conference

About a month before the conferences are scheduled the students start preparing:

  1. We brainstorm a list of all the things we’ve accomplished so far in school.
  2. Students begin to select some things they think are important enough that they might want to share them with their parents.

    What can we bring to the conference?

  3. We look at what materials (such as work samples) the students might bring to the conference to help them show their parents what they are doing at school.
  4. I ask the students to select the 10-12 most important things they want to share with their parents, and what they will tell their parents about them. I require that they select at least one from each of the 5 core subject areas (reading, writing, math, science, social studies).
  5. Students set a goal to share with their parents about something they want to improve on this year. They also have to come up with an idea of how their parents and I can support them in that goal.
  6. We take some time to practice. Students pair up and give their presentation to a classmate. The goal is to have a presentation that lasts 10-11 minutes. Parents will ask questions which will make it a little longer.

The morning of the conference, I have a quick check-in with everyone presenting that day to make sure they’re all set.

The Student-led Parent Conference

What we’re going to talk about.

The conference takes place around a table. Not a kidney or macaroni shaped table I can hide behind, but a round one. This is important; we all equal parties.

The student explains that he/she will share what they are doing and that I will not be participating until they are done sharing. The student then takes off. The parents ask clarifying questions as they go; the students field these questions. I make notes about anything I think the student may not have explained well so I can clear up any parent misconceptions when I join the conversation. The last thing the student shares is their goal.

When I join, I ask the student how they felt presenting in this format. The responses vary. I also ask (if their parents didn’t) what their favorite and least favorite subjects are, and why. In addition to forcing some more higher order thinking skills, this can be very useful information for me as I try to tailor my teaching to each year’s group.

With student and parents at the same table, some interesting conversations can happen. It’s great to tell everyone what going well, and talk about strengths. And if there are concerns, having students at the table is key for a couple reasons. First, everyone is on exactly the same page; we all get to be part of the same conversation. Second, if I want change the student has to be the one to make that choice; talking to parents isn’t enough.

For the last five minutes or so of the conference the student is asked to leave. I always openly joke that, “now we’re going to talk about you behind your back.” It’s clear from before we start that there will be time for me to chat with parents without students present.

But is 5 minutes enough? Yes, it is. It’s December; if I have something that takes more than a few minutes to talk about I should have already contacted the parents about it. Seldom does anything new come up here; more often we just reconnect on the things we taked about when the student was a part of the conversation.

The whole conference usually takes 25-30 minutes.

Final Thoughts

The parent response has been overwhelmingly positive. Parents think it’s great that their kids are preparing and giving an oral presentation. They see the value in the amount of responsibility I give students in selecting what they present. And they like the few minutes at the end without students, just in case they have something they want to discuss with me, sans kid. And since it’s built into the format, they don’t have to ask for that time.

Does it take time during the day to get ready? Absolutely. It usually ends up taking about 6 40-minute academic blocks. I steal time from across the academic areas. The students get a great experience presenting in front of a small audience. They get authentic experiences using higher order thinking skills as they organize the presentation, evaluate what they want to present, make the presentation, and answer questions on the fly. It’s always a joy to watch the conferences unfold.

Sure, it takes time to prepare the students, but it’s definitely worth it.

Why I Don’t Have a Marble Jar

Like many novice teachers I started my first year with a marble jar. The idea was that when my students did something well, they would get a marble. Once the jar was filled, the class would get a reward. It was what I was taught in my pre-service program, it was the culture of the school I was in (as well as countless other schools), and it served as that thing I could hold over my students head. “You want a marble, don’t you?”

A few years into my teaching career (I was teaching kindergarten at the time) I was at a Responsive Classroom week-long summer training and the subject of marble jars came up. This was the first time that I had ever heard anyone outright challenge the marble jar idea and accuse it if begin a bad thing. I was skeptical at first. How could this be a bad thing? How could rewarding group behavior be a bad thing? The class is working together to achieve something…right?

Over the course of the training, I came to understand that my perception of what was going on was not correct. The marble jar wasn’t about group cohesion, was a bribe; it was the carrot of the carrot and stick. “If you behave, I’ll give you a reward.” I became the all-seeing eye and the ultimate judge of good behavior. My students were following the rules to earn marbles (to please me), not because it was the right thing to do. The rules were important to the class not because they helped us learn (if that’s not the purpose of your classroom rules, you should revisit why you have them), but because they were a method of earning marbles.

That fall I started kindergarten with no marble jar. Honestly, I was a little scared: how would I get the students to listen? Without that bribe, would they be motivated to do the right thing? After a few days of holding my breath and crossing my fingers I realized it was going to be okay. My class would still function just fine. My students would still learn. And since then I have learned that starting kindergarten without a marble jar is the easiest grade to start without one: since the kids are new to school, they don’t  come in feeling like they’re missing something.

Since my kindergarten days I’ve spent some time in fifth grade and third grade. There continues to be no marble jar, only now the class asks about it during the first couple days of school. The conversation goes something like this:

“Do we have a marble jar [or something similar] this year?”

“No, we don’t.”

“Why not.”

“I don’t believe in them. I’m not going to bribe you to do the things you should be doing.”

“But how will we earn stuff like extra recess or movies or pajama day?” [because this is really what that jar is about for them]

“You won’t be able to.”

“What!?”

This is followed by a week where the students go through The 5 Stages of Loss and Grief. It’s always interesting: there are some students totally unfazed by the lack of marble jar, and others are really concerned about it.

Denial: “Wait, really, we won’t have a marble jar? Not at all?”

Anger: “But we have to have a marble jar!”

Bargaining: “If we’re really good today, can we start a marble jar?”

Depression: “So we’re really not going to have a marble jar, are we?”

Acceptance: They stop coming to me to discuss the marble jar.

Eventually it settles down. We fall into our routines. November blankets us in clouds and chilly weather. When that rare nice day rolls around I tell the class I’ve noticed them working really hard and that we should line up to go out an enjoy the weather. Inevitably someone approaches me to bring up the lack of marble jar. “How can we get extra recess if we don’t have a marble jar?” I remind them, “I don’t need a marble jar to tell me when we need to take a break, head outside, and play Four Square.” That’s when they begin to have faith in my lack of a marble jar.

And think of all the important social skills we can practice on the Four Square court! I don’t tell them that last part; I don’t want to ruin it for them.

As educators we want our students to be intrinsically motivated. We want our students to do the right thing, even when we’re not watching. We want our students to truly love being at school. Carrots, sticks, and marble jars won’t get us that.

And don’t get me started on that Elf of the Shelf. That’s extortion at it’s worst!

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Note: Between drafting this last weekend and posting it now we had a class meeting about behavioral expectations (the annual Post-Thanksgiving Pre-December-Holidays Reminder Conversation) and the students brought up the lack of marble jar, suggesting they might stay on task better if it were attached to a pajama day. Apparently we’ve digressed to the Bargaining stage. No, there will be no marble jar.

photo credit: ĐāżŦ {mostly absent} via photopin cc

 

To Do List: Breathe, Play, Grow

For a long time I’ve kept lists posted on my refrigerator door: grocery lists, weekend to-do lists, don’t-forget-to-bring-things-to-school lists. Lately most of those have gone digital; my grocery list lives in Evernote now so that I am never without it. One list, however, remains on the fridge: my “things to do today” list.

The list began about ten years ago. I think the idea was to make sure I had some balance in my life, though honestly I don’t remember. The physical list has had to be rewritten a few times. It hasn’t survived every move. But more importantly, the list has become a part of who I am and how I manage my life. It’s become my day-to-day survival guide.

The list contains three items: breathe, play, grow. Sure, they’re broad and loosely defined, but they are all important. And each day the goal is check off all three items.

  • Breathe: Every day I want to take a moment to breathe, to slow down. I spend my days in a building full of children. It can be exhausting. I need a moment to breathe. And it may only be a few minutes. It’s important to have that time. Every day.
  • Play: Every day I want to do something fun. Part of life means that sometimes I have to do things I don’t want to do. And on some days it seems like I have to do a lot of those things. But it’s important to play, and have fun. Every day.
  • Grow: Every day I want to do something that makes be a stronger person. Challenge myself, learn. A good workout counts for this too. It’s too easy to coast. I don’t want to do that; I want to grow. Every day.

Of course, some activities can check off more than one item on the list. A nice easy run with friends might be both breathing and playing. Drafting a blog post during a hurricane-induced state of emergency might be both breathing and growing.

Or I might even get all three at one time. As an avid runner, an easy 20-mile run can be a chance to breathe, play, and grow. Twenty solo miles gives me time to breathe and reflect, but at the same time I get to do something I love to do, and you can bet my legs are getting stronger.

My list has three things on it: breathe, play, grow. What’s on your list? And how often is it all checked off at the end of the day?

Try Your Best or Try to Win

A couple times a year I toe the line of a marathon. I got hooked on them in college. I suppose in the grand scheme of things the are worse thigns to be addicted to.

My kids know I race. They see me leaving for and coming back from training runs after school. If I get hurt (earlier in the year I spent some time in an air cast) I share that with my students. It’s part of my identity at school: I teach third grade; if people have tech questions they come to me; I run marathons.

Last week I ran the Chicago Marathon. I took a day off to extend the trip and visit family and I shared with the class why I wouldn’t be in school that Friday. The afternoon before I left, I gave them a chance to ask questions. My kids are just outside of Boston, which is like Mecca for modern marathoning, so I believe they should know something about the race.

A funny thing happened. The same question/answer exchange occurred that occurs every time I tell a class I am going to run a marathon. The  conversation goes like this:

Student: Are you going to win?

Me: No.

Student: Are you going to come in second?

Me: No

Student: Are you going to try to win?

Me. No.

Student: Mr. Schersten, you have a bad attitude. You should at least try to win.

Me: No, you don’t understand. Some of these guys don’t have a job. ALL they do is run. I train a lot and I’m pretty fast, but they’re way faster than me. There’s NO way I’m going to win.

Student: Yea, but you’re always supposed to try.

Somewhere my students got the idea that trying to win and trying your best are the same thing. If I try to stick with the lead pack of the Chicago Marathon, I’ll last (maybe) a mile. The winner this year averaged 4:46 per mile (take a moment to let that soak in, 4:46 per mile for 26.2 miles). In Chicago trying my best meant trying not to win. It meant examining my current level of fitness, my strengths and weaknesses, and trying to cover the 26.2 miles as fast as I could (not as fast as the leaders could).

When students (or student-athletes) fail, we often try to console them by saying something like, “it’s okay, you tried your best.” But that seldom works because our students don’t define success that way. They want to win, not just do their best. In fact, one of my students asked me (she was being completely serious), “would you rather cheat and win, or not cheat and come in second?”

Apparently we need to do a better job of defining success for our students. Success is, or should be, about trying your best. It should be about improving. It should be about analyzing a situation and trying to make the best out of it. Of course, in today’s climate of high-stakes testing where scores are scaled; and students, teachers, and schools compete against each other, I guess it’s easy to see where this idea comes from.

————-

I ended finishing 207th in a field of 34,500. My students’ reaction: “we’ll that’s not too bad” and “that’s pretty good.” Sure it wasn’t my fastest race, but I wrestled with some injury this training cycle and that’s still the 99.4th percentile. But I didn’t win, so it’s somehow just “pretty good.”

Making Back to School Night More Meaningful

Success For EveryoneOver the past couple of years I’ve tried to change my back to school night. Historically it has been a night where I tell parents everything we are going to do in the upcoming year in third grade. I’d march through a curriculum summary and parents would leave with a packet of information that pretty much mirrored what I had said.

In recent years, as I worked toward my administrative license I began thinking about changing this. I began to see that I was, in essence, running the torturous staff meeting that I really wanted to avoid as a principal. You know the meeting, where you find yourself thinking “if you don’t need my input, and you can put it in an email, please do; don’t make me sit here for this.” Parents, sorry.

Last I officially changed the name from Curriculum NIght to Stakeholders Meeting. The official goal of the meeting was changed. It became to “have everyone walk away with a clear idea of how you can help your child through the experience we call ‘third grade’.”I talked less and listened more.

This year, I still wanted it to be different, so I took it an extra step. Before back to school night I sent an email to the parents of my third graders:

Parents,

Over the past few years I’ve been trying to make Curriculum Night more meaningful for parents. I’ve been trying not to make it a torturous information dump full of things that I could put in an email or you could read on the classroom website. It’s the only time of the year when I get all of you in one place at one time and I’d rather not just talk at you (and frankly, if I were in your position I wouldn’t want to be just talked to either).

So, the plan for Monday night is more of a structured conversation where we can figure out how we can support each other as we try to collectively support 24 students navigating third grade. This means I don’t plan on going through the five core subjects and talking about what topics we’re planning to cover in the next 9 months. Don’t worry, all that information is on the classroom website, dallin.benschersten.com (note, there’s no “www” in that URL). In fact, if you read it beforehand and have questions, Monday will be a great venue for that!

So, if you get a chance to peruse the academics section of the classroom website this weekend, that would be great (or you can do it later, it’ll still be there). And I’ll see you all on Monday evening (6:30pm) where we’ll figure out how to make third grade the best experience it can be, for everyone.

Have a great weekend.

-Ben

I stripped down my Keynote presentation to just conversational areas, no bulleted lists. I threw in some hand-drawn graphics (because trying something totally new and going in with little to no agenda wasn’t stressful enough, I wanted to showcase my not-so-artistic drawing abilities*).

And so I took a leap.

Thinking back, it went well. There was lots of discussion.I was able to talk even less and listen even more. A few parents approached me in the days following thanking me for the evening.

More importantly, on a suggestion from a parent, I changed something (which was really the point of the new format). I want my kids to be able to, without me, do some Internet searches for those Googlable questions that arise during the day. Alan November advocates a “researcher” job like this for students. The catch is pitching the idea to the parents of 8-year-olds. The suggestion from a parent was a robust Google Custom Search: pull together all the kid-friendly domains I could find and create an engine for that. It was a great idea; I’m working on it.

As I continue to reflect, I really liked the format. It was respectful of the parents, their time, and their ideas. Being able to take in their ideas allowed me to send the message that we’re in this together. Once a year I get all the parents in the same room at the same time; I can’t imagine a better message to send.

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*Somehow the iOS app Paper makes my crude drawings look far more artistic than they really are.