Establishing Competency: back to the middle ages

Yes, we all think of the middle ages as being, well, dark….full of the unwashed and uneducated. True, there were plenty of people without opportunities, but medieval academics set up a system for areas of competency that still hold pretty strong for today.

They called them the trivium (three things) and quadrivium (four). The trivium covered skills we usually hope to develop in Language Arts: grammar, logic and rhetoric (more about these in a moment). The quadrivium consisted of arithmetic, geometry, music, and astronomy. 

Most of us would have no problem with arithmetic and geometry, especially since geometry makes it possible to create real-world projects. Perhaps the idea of studying  only astronomy gives us pause, but if we expand it to include the sciences of the world, how things work, the life sciences, physics, all that fascinating stuff about the way the world works, it makes sense.

But what’s this about music?

I think there might be an argument for every kid to learn music. The kind of focus and discipline required to read and perform music has been shown to improve academic skills and that is a pretty strong argument…and then there’s the delight of singing and playing in ensemble, the aesthetics of the thing. Learning to read music is a lifeskill that can last throughout your life.

We could also expand the idea of music to include applied arts generally–I’d have to say so, being an art teacher.

As for the trivium, it goes to what students seem to be lacking in their reading/writing: real comprehension, the ability to form and express a coherent argument, and the ability to write clearly and correctly. The British model of university curriculum has included writing across and within the curriculum in all subjects.

Most of today’s teachers may not necessarily want to go there. When I see the writing of some teachers, sometimes, I realize that they don’t know how to write and perhaps don’t like to. It’s too bad, because clarity of thought and clear writing can be one of the greatest gifts we can give our students.

Trivium, quadrivium: practical applications, yes. Standardized testing, not so much, because it doesn’t really prove mastery at all.

Writing Support for Teachers and Students

A new writing support for students just appeared in the last couple of days that I thought many teachers would find helpful. Here is the link to it http://www.shmoop.com/essay-lab/

It is the kind of support that you as a teacher can feel comfortable sending student to because it well done and can actually help them with their writing. Would be interested in knowing what other teachers think!   Please comment.

The Clipboards After Christmas

The clipboards came around again. One teacher was written up because there was no evidence of writing in her classroom. It was just after the Christmas break and the clipboard saw all these new unused, still wrapped, writing journals on the teacher’s desk. Why aren’t these journals in use, the clipboard demanded of the principal? The principal immediately and verbosely chastised the teacher.

As it turns out the journals were purchased by the teacher with her own money, to replace the ones that were all used up and inside the students’ desk, while their work was hanging in the hallway, on display for all to see, except the clipboard, who didn’t know which room the work in the hallway belonged to.

Two questions here: 1. why did the teacher have to purchase student journals with her own money?

2. Do clipboards know how to ask questions?

End result, the teacher is no longer purchasing her own student journals. The principal will have to supply them (which we know won’t happen). Now the burden is on the principal as to why there will be no evidence of student writing. Who really suffers though are the children, all in the name of school improvement.

My final question: When will we teach people skills and why aren’t we hiring administrators who have them?

No Excuses Editing

My students are tremendous writers.  They have voice, are well-organized, and write compelling, thoughtful pieces.  In short, they have content in spades.  The editing and presentation, not so much.

The pronoun I isn’t capitalized.  Homophones are used as if their meanings are interchangeable.  Their papers often haven’t been spell checked or proofread with the eyes.  Sometimes it actually looks like someone has bitten off a chunk of their final paper.  I’m not fussing about advanced skills like comma usage or parallelism; we’re talking skills they learned in third or fourth grade.

A fifth grade teacher at our school a couple of years back used a strategy called No Excuses; essentially, she wouldn’t accept any work that any No Excuses errors in them.  I decided to try it with my seventh and eighth graders, and it works like a charm.

I don’t introduce the list until the beginning of second quarter.  I don’t want the beginning of the year to focus on grammar or spelling, though we do discuss editing.  I want the beginning of the year to be about the heart and soul of writing, and too many of my kids think good writing is writing where everything is spelled right and the grammar is good, however lifeless and bland the content is.  No, first quarter is for helping them find topics and pieces they care about.

Second quarter, however, becomes about understanding the reasons for conventions and holding kids accountable for editing on their own with skills they already have.  Right now my students have a list of ten items they are accountable for, but we will add more to the list as we learn more advanced concepts.  Work that has No Excuses errors is handed back and is not considered turned in until it’s fixed.

Today my students discovered I meant what I said.  I had them switch papers and look for No Excuses errors for their partners.  As papers were turned in to me, I quickly scanned them and handed them back immediately to fix with the numbers of the errors from our list affixed to the paper on a sticky note.  They were shocked and a little upset, especially my eighth graders who are held to a rubric that allows only a certain number of late assignments to be eligible for an A.

It is a lot of work upfront.  After all, I end up reading each paper at least twice, and often I have to help kids “see” the errors.  And then there’s the loud, screechy whining to listen to, but that’s just the sign that the strategy is working.

All of the extra work is worth it, however, as I know that the next piece will have fewer people turning in mistake-ridden work and the one after that will have only one or two holdouts.  Ultimately, it saves me grading time, and my students learn to pay attention to detail in an authentic way.

What do you mean, revision?

I had the experience earlier this month when a kid looked at me and asked, “What do you mean, revise?  Do you mean fix the spelling?”  I was dumbfounded.  After all, I know what and how my colleagues teach, and I know they talk about revision.  And yet, I had the clear sense that most of my kids really did not understand what revision looked like in practice.

I finally realized no one had connected the dots for them or led them through how we reenter our drafts.  They’d had craft lessons, they knew what good writing looked like, but no one had ever showed them how to take those ideas and rework drafts based on those criteria.

In response, I have been doing craft lessons that I label as revision strategies and used my own and students’ writing as models for how we could reenter and revise a draft based on that information.  Not all the light bulbs have clicked on yet, but it’s considerably brighter in the classroom than it was just a few weeks ago.

It’s not enough for us to tell kids what to do, we have the hand hold and show them the process in action.  But only if we want them to get it.

Group Critique

All English teachers have experienced the frustration that comes along with peer conferencing.  Either kids veer off task and socialize, or they make comments like, “Your piece is good,” or, “I liked it!”  Getting kids to have deep conversations about writing seems elusive, and more than one of us has wondered whether it’s worth our time.

I mean, we do a mini-lesson or two about conferencing, right?  We put together sheets to fill out, protocols to follow, questions to answer, so what is the problem?

The problem is they really don’t get it, and when we get frustrated with them, they don’t understand what our problem is.  Afterall, they’re following the steps we laid out, so what’s the issue?

I finally got wise and decided that if I believed in this strategy as a way for kids to be analytical about writing, then I had to devote a good chunk of time to teaching, practicing and modeling the process.

Although my kids may peer conference at any point they wish, I require all of them to participate in a similar structure I call group critique with their rough drafts before working on a final copy.  Kids assemble in groups of four or five and help each other analyze their drafts.  The process is as follows:

1.  The author passes out copies of his/her draft and tells the group what specific feedback s/he would like as well as any background information on the piece.

2.  The author reads the piece aloud, and participants follow along and make notes.

3.  The group discusses the following:

• What’s working in the piece?  What are the strengths?
• What specific advice does the group have regarding the feedback the author requested?
• What are the lingering questions or other observations the group has to share with the author?

Now, the process alone doesn’t create the magic, it’s only the vehicle.  What allows these conversations to become rich and successful is the amount of time I devote to our practice and modeling of the process as well as my early facilitation of the groups to help guide the conversation.  Eventually kids catch on, and I become more of an observer of their process than director.

Right now we’re taking one day a week to practice this strategy with student writing pieces I’ve collected over the years.  In roughly 15-minutes, we can go through the process and have amazing conversations about writing.  I see the lightbulbs turning on, and I know that our next round of group critiques will run even more smoothly.

Writing Camp

What does it say about public education when kids and their parents comment that “real” writing has to happen outside of school?

I spent the last week with nine kids ages 10-14 eager to go deeper in their writing practice.  They spanned from novice to accomplished, “my mom talked me into it,” to “FINALLY I get to work on what I want to write.”  We worked four hours a day with minimal pre-planning by my partner and I, and we delved into the topics and needs of our participants.

No, there was no pretest.  No, we didn’t have an agenda, other than to give our kids the experience of real, not school, writing.  What did we do then?

We started by a look at what I fondly call “The Muppet”, and constructed our own.  You can visit my co-teacher’s blog to read about this and see some of the kids’ artistic representations of their muppets.  Muppet is just my term for that judgmental voice in our heads when we attempt to write or act authentically; it’s often known as “The Critic.”  We then moved into what each kid wanted from the camp–what their particular writing needs and questions were, and how we could serve them.

Every day we checked in with the kids and looked at some aspect of writing they seemed to want or need.  We looked at strategies for getting unstuck, how great writing has to “Say Something,” and helping each other move past sticky writing problems or needs through group critique.  Every single day we had large chunks of time to write and work together on topics of our own choosing.  When I say our, I mean all of us, including me and my co-teacher.  Personally, I worked on developing an idea for a book to help teachers find their own teaching voice, and I brought my own thoughts and problems to the group to get input along with them.

I was struck how all of these middle school aged kids were so focused and on task, even the ones who’d come uncertain about being there.  We really didn’t direct them all that much, and yet, they set their own agendas, even breaking for lunch on their own schedules and returning to work in a timely manner.  I found myself wishing school was more like this…relaxed and focused on helping kids find their own paths, interjecting lessons as it was clear they needed them and were receptive to them.

I try to make my classroom like this, but I fight the school structure all the time.  The further I proceed down this path, the more I am convinced school needs to be radically different if we really want to meet the needs of all of our kids.

Today we had a follow up session to support our kids on their writing projects, and it was phenomenal.  More group critique, more writing time, and the use of a new tool via TappedIn.org to continue the collaboration between meetings.  And the writing these kids are doing?  Powerful.  Filled with depth, topics they care about, and a complexity I don’t think you’ll ever find in an assigned writing topic.  More on that later.

Locked-Up Freedom Writers

We write in detention, in juvenile corrections. I give open-ended assignments and they write. We print, and I pencil in corrections, and then we print again, clean. Then we read aloud.

In DT, which is our term for juvey in Utah, we have certain restrictions. We can’t glorify lawbreaking, which means we can’t write positively about drugs, violence or sex. We can tell the truth about our experiences but we can’t make them seem glamorous or desirable.

That doesn’t stop us from some powerful truth-telling about our lives. When we tell the truth without bluster, it’s easier to tell how that party really was, and for the most part, it wasn’t all that fun to throw up or get raped or get busted or pass out or get in a fistfight.

Everyone listens when we read aloud–including the facility staff, but we aren’t listening to find fault. Indeed, my class instructions are to listen very carefully for at least one specific thing that you liked. Most of us already know where we make mistakes, where we are weak. We don’t need people to find fault with us. Because I’ve already read through the papers and made corrections, that’s negative feedback enough.

Kids need positive feedback anyhow, especially when locked up. They already know where they’ve screwed up.

Facility staff always comes in to hear the stories, not to censure or correct, but because it’s so interesting, touching, and fun to hear the stories. The kids reveal the truths about their lives, how they fell in love–how their baby was born–what the gravel felt like on their faces when the police forced them to the ground–how their mom died on the living room couch–how they just knew they were doing wrong when they ran from their foster homes–and more and more.

We listen, we laugh, we cry, and we listen more. Everyone feels safe enough to read their stuff aloud. It’s not always sad. Sometimes it’s about hitting the home run that wins the tournament. Sometimes it’s about building a bike from scratch. Sometimes it’s about being released from custody just for Thanksgiving with the whole family.

We laugh, we cry, we listen, and we listen more.

I have some secret techniques for getting this good writing. I will share them with you.

• Make sure you shape the writing by the assignment. I take a lot of time setting up comparison/contrast, or description. For example, when I ask for a description of a person, I ask for a paragraph each on how they move, how they dress, how they talk, how they are at work or school, how they are with their friends and family, and one on the “other side” of the person. This is very structured instruction, but gives much freed0m in fleshing out the details.
• I ask for specific details from the five senses, usually two per sense: two things smelled, seen, touched, tasted, and heard. This again may seem like overinstruction, but you would be surprised at how powerful the writing is when students follow the simple instruction of using sensory details in personal writing.
• I require that kids write about stuff they really care about. When we do a process paper, no instructions on how to make peanut-butter sandwiches! Give me how to build a bike from scratch–how to make a Mexican dinner with chicken enchiladas and mole sauce–real stuff that kids know and care about.
• I ask that the papers be a certain length. We type on those oldie-goldie machines called AlphaSmarts, which are pared-down keyboards for writing papers. We don’t use computers in lockup so we write on these keyboards. By having the papers be a certain length, it requires some thorough thinking about details and anecdotes.
• And yes, anecdotes are the way we flesh out the papers. I teach anecdote as the stuff of personal writing. Anecdote is the supporting evidence in personal writing.

What happens to kids with this kind of writing is very interesting. Sometimes a student who can’t produce a paragraph at the outset learns to produce the requisite page and a half (especially after several incarcerations ). Sometimes we find kids with such a narrative gift that we fall gladly and headfirst into their storytelling. Sometimes kids who seem hard and hardcore have terrifying or poignant stories to tell about their lives. Most times, kids leap into projects with energy and enthusiasm.

For example, yesterday we read a few essays aloud, from kids incarcerated over time, reading to kids newly brought in. Many of the kids wanted to tell similar stories that happened to them, so we spent some time just hearing each others’ tales. Then I set up the assignment:

Write about one or more things you never want to forget.

The kids didn’t want to take breaks and they didn’t want to do art. They wanted to keep writing, and most of them almost finished their essays. Today we finish, print, correct, and get ready to read aloud.

I can’t wait to hear the papers.

What’s Happening With Writing?

I’m currently reading Boy Writers: Reclaiming Their Voices by Ralph Fletcher. It’s essentially a text about why boys tend to dislike writing and how to make writing instruction more effective for boys.

This is not a blog about boy writers, however. In Appendix A on page 169, Fletcher includes a table of student Writing Achievement Levels differentiated by gender and grade according to the National Assessment of Educational Progress 1998 and 2002 writing assessments. As expected, boys are less proficient and achievement declines as kids get older. What is more horrifying to me is that only 14% of males and 33% of females scored proficient or above in Grade 12 in 2002. That, my friends, is pathetic.

Now, I am not a great fan of testing and I do not generally place a lot of weight on results. However, despite the lackluster prompts of most writing assessments, these assessments carry more weight with me that the standard multiple-choice tests because they look at what kids can actually do in a more process-oriented manner. Kids had to write, and most of them failed to score proficient.

I believe our system sets teachers and kids up to fail. There is often the sense that we need only teach kids a form, give them feedback, teach grammar, punctuation and spelling, and that will result in quality writing. English teachers are blessed if they only have 100 students they are responsible for, and I know many of them have 200 students or more on their roles. Thoughtful feedback on student writing takes time, so the frequency of writing assignments decreases because it is impossible to score that many papers too many times during a quarter.

How do I improve my free throws?  I practice.  How do I get better at art?  Hmm…practice?  What about making my mom’s amazing macaroni and cheese?  Yeah, practice.

But it’s not just extended time and practice writing.  Having kids write frequently about topics they don’t care about or composing analytical essay after analytical essay won’t create amazing writers.  It’s in the space where kids are engaged and pursuing their own pieces, sharing their own voices, that the magic happens.  When kids write about what they care about, when they get clear on their intentions, take risks with their writing, and truly go for it, we witness Great Writing.   Writing with life, with purpose, with oomph.

The only rules about writing in my classroom is that we do not use it to attack each other or any group.  I am so fortunate that I teach at a school that is in opposition to censorship–we believe that’s the role of the parent.  Therefore, my kids are free to write about whatever they choose, in whatever form makes sense for them.  My kids write about love, war, hate, feeling left out, zombies, the British Invasion of the 1960′s, the bands they love, friendships gone wrong, and even the nature of reality.  It is writing that gives us goosebumps, that leaves us exclaiming, “I wish I’d written THAT line!”  And yes, sometimes my kids use profanity  in their pieces, but we have had the best conversations together about what serves their writing and what does not.  In fact, my favorite conversation took place this year during group critique while I was being observed by my principal.  The boy who was sharing his writing pieces had used profanity twice in his piece; one of his requests of the group was feedback on whether the profanity was working for him or against him.  It was amazing to hear the comments of his peers as they pointed out the one instance where it made sense and the other where it seemed gratuitous.  The author confirmed he’d been thinking in the same direction, and the final piece cut the unnecessary swear word.

It is amazing what happens when we give kids the opportunity to write for real.  I can say with 100% certainty that probably 95% of my 8th graders would test proficient or advanced, mostly advanced, in writing.  That’s a far cry from the national average, and all I’ve done is given them time and the freedom to say what they want to say as powerfully as they can say it.

We need to get over ourselves, stop being scared of what others might think If we let kids write about scary topics.  We need to trust our kids–and ourselves–to think critically about what’s working and what isn’t.  Ultimately, if one of my kids wants to write about poop, I say Go For It.  Just write the best, most descriptive, most meaningful poem/story/article/report about poop you possibly can.  Don’t be ordinary, don’t bore us, don’t trot out the dumb jokes we already know.  Write something special.  In the end, it’s the writing that matters.

Relationships: The Heart of Teaching

I sat in an I.E.P. meeting today where the itinerant hearing specialist running the meeting made the comment over and over about how welcoming, safe, positive, and passionate our school is.  As a charter school, we contract our special education services from San Diego Unified, so she only has her brief experiences with a couple of our kids to inform her about the type of school we are.

Truth be told, people from outside our school make the same types of comments after time with us.  Though we certainly have our issues, I cannot imagine teaching in a more supportive environment for teachers, students, and their families.

Ultimately, I think it’s about our emphasis on relationships–among staff, with families, with students.  We cap class sizes at 20 K-5 and 25 in the middle school.  Each grade only has two teachers, and we all own all of our kids.  As an eighth grade teacher, I know most of the middle schoolers by name and a large number of our elementary kids.  My 8th graders are writing buddies with the 1-2 multiage kids, and you can see the little guys high-fiving my big guys on the playground in the morning.

Right now, I only have 47 eighth graders to teach English and history.  I probably have another 20-ish sixth and seventh graders in the two electives I teach:  Writing & Art and Book Club.  I know these kids:  their strengths and weaknesses; their home lives; their interests; who is on Myspace at twelve in the morning instead of in bed.  I have the time, space, and support to know them.  They trust me, they respect me, and they know ME as well.

I couldn’t do this as effectively back when I had 100-students I was responsible for, a number I realize is still a luxury for many teachers.  How could I possibly be an effective teacher with 200 or more students on my caseload?  How could I possibly know each one as a unique learner?  How could I adjust my instruction to their individual needs?  And how could I expect 200 kids to turn in four published writing pieces each quarter–800 papers to read and give feedback on, let alone feedback that the individual is most ready to apply?

Kids are not widgets.  Learning does not happen by assembly line.  Telling isn’t teaching.  Relationships are at the heart of teaching; without that, you have kids like one of last year’s 8th graders coming back to express her hatred of high school stating, “My teacher doesn’t even know my name.”  This after a semester in someone’s class.

Yes, it costs more, but it’s doable and quite worth it.  If we can do this at my school, we can do it anywhere.  It’s about districts putting their money where their proverbial mouths are.