...that just because I've spent a full year in an algebra course doesn't mean I've proven I can apply those concepts to the world outside the classroom walls.
(I might have caught on to the deeper principles of algebra by the end of the 1st semester--let me prove it to you so I can move on to the next level)
...that just because my school gives me a laptop doesn't mean I'm going to be a better learner.
(My teachers will need to continue the evolution into assigning more project-based and deeper conceptual activities instead of simply being excited about having worksheets online. They're still just worksheets)
...that just because I have a master's degree in leadership doesn't mean I am a competent leader.
(The staff, students, and parents ought to have the opportunity to provide data that shows how well or how poorly I lead. A principal's evaluation that lacks these components is incomplete, and a teacher's evaluation that lacks achievement data is incomplete, as well)
...that our education system needs to be the highest priority in our nation, and that this kind of prioritization doesn't always mean more money.
...that our work is too important to be making excuses.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Monday, January 17, 2011
The 1:1 Environment--A Couple of Lessons Learned
- When students teach each other how to solve problems, they're working harder and are more engaged, and the teacher is freed up to do other work.
- Students who had been the quiet, in-the-background kids are now finding a time to shine and step forward as student leaders (in groups, with tech support, with online publishing of their work).
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Testing the Fence
I'm a hobby farmer. Lord knows I'm not good enough at it to make a living, but my wife enjoys her chickens (I enjoy the eggs); she enjoys her cows (I enjoy the beef); and she enjoys her miniature horses (I enjoy...well, I'm still working on that one).
The cattle, in particular, have been an exercise in "experiential education" or "project-based learning." From designing a feeder the bull won't tip over to figuring out how to catch them for vet work, every time we need to do something new with the cattle my mind is tested. I suppose it's this intellectual (and sometimes physical) challenge that I appreciate the most. I've learned a lot.
Calves are the most challenging of all, because with them it's all about boundaries. When they're born in the summer and learn to walk--usually when they're about 15 minutes old--the first thing their mamas do is set up boundaries. We can get up close, and we can handle the calves, and we can even pick them up and carry them around. But once we reach that invisible boundary their mama has established and walk TOO far away, we hear about it! She comes running and grunting, and we put that calf down in a hurry.
And once the calves get about a day old, they start sneaking through the fence. Like, all the time. Like, every couple of hours. So, out we go in search of a baby calf, usually curled up in the tall grass and sunlight, just on the other side of the boundary WE established--the fence.
The most challenging time, however, is when they enter the equivalent of their teenage years; then they're constantly testing the fence. And once it's off--either because of a downed branch laying across it, or because the snow is so high the electricity runs into the ground instead of along the wire--they're out. But now they aren't content to wait on just the other side of the fence, but they're off exploring the machine shed, the grove, the neighbor's grove; you name it.
So what does a challenged farmer do? Shoo 'em back in and hope they won't find their way out again? This is clearly ineffective, because the calf has learned that if he can get out once he can get out again. Do I give up? No, I can't give up because I have too much invested in his development.
The only solution is to come up with other solutions to the challenge. I can confine him to another pen. I can build more fence. I can beef up the voltage. I can re-string it to avoid the snow banks. I can lower the wires so there's less room to sneak through. Whatever it takes to accomplish my goal with that calf, I need to try and try until I find the solution that works.
Thing is, I know that in a couple of weeks, that calf will have found a new way through the fence, and my new solution no longer works. The cycle starts over again.
The analogy I'm trying to make with educating students and raising kids should be clear: adjust, change, refine, evaluate your teaching/parenting methods until you find something that works. With a much more diverse body of students coming to our schools, the factory model of education no longer works for as many as it used to. We're much better off if we provide multiple avenues for students to engage with the content in our classrooms.
But there's another lesson in this story that I don't want teachers to miss, if any are reading: I need YOU to be the one pushing fences, exploring new areas of education, learning about what the world outside your classroom has to offer. Worksheets, study guides, chapter tests alone will simply not cut it. And with every student using a laptop to learn, the world of educational opportunities has grown for us at N-K exponentially. Climb your way through the fence, explore project-based learning in your classes, for example. "Traditional education" is a boundary you should be testing and pushing against, every single day.
The cattle, in particular, have been an exercise in "experiential education" or "project-based learning." From designing a feeder the bull won't tip over to figuring out how to catch them for vet work, every time we need to do something new with the cattle my mind is tested. I suppose it's this intellectual (and sometimes physical) challenge that I appreciate the most. I've learned a lot.
Calves are the most challenging of all, because with them it's all about boundaries. When they're born in the summer and learn to walk--usually when they're about 15 minutes old--the first thing their mamas do is set up boundaries. We can get up close, and we can handle the calves, and we can even pick them up and carry them around. But once we reach that invisible boundary their mama has established and walk TOO far away, we hear about it! She comes running and grunting, and we put that calf down in a hurry.
And once the calves get about a day old, they start sneaking through the fence. Like, all the time. Like, every couple of hours. So, out we go in search of a baby calf, usually curled up in the tall grass and sunlight, just on the other side of the boundary WE established--the fence.
The most challenging time, however, is when they enter the equivalent of their teenage years; then they're constantly testing the fence. And once it's off--either because of a downed branch laying across it, or because the snow is so high the electricity runs into the ground instead of along the wire--they're out. But now they aren't content to wait on just the other side of the fence, but they're off exploring the machine shed, the grove, the neighbor's grove; you name it.
So what does a challenged farmer do? Shoo 'em back in and hope they won't find their way out again? This is clearly ineffective, because the calf has learned that if he can get out once he can get out again. Do I give up? No, I can't give up because I have too much invested in his development.
The only solution is to come up with other solutions to the challenge. I can confine him to another pen. I can build more fence. I can beef up the voltage. I can re-string it to avoid the snow banks. I can lower the wires so there's less room to sneak through. Whatever it takes to accomplish my goal with that calf, I need to try and try until I find the solution that works.
Thing is, I know that in a couple of weeks, that calf will have found a new way through the fence, and my new solution no longer works. The cycle starts over again.
The analogy I'm trying to make with educating students and raising kids should be clear: adjust, change, refine, evaluate your teaching/parenting methods until you find something that works. With a much more diverse body of students coming to our schools, the factory model of education no longer works for as many as it used to. We're much better off if we provide multiple avenues for students to engage with the content in our classrooms.
But there's another lesson in this story that I don't want teachers to miss, if any are reading: I need YOU to be the one pushing fences, exploring new areas of education, learning about what the world outside your classroom has to offer. Worksheets, study guides, chapter tests alone will simply not cut it. And with every student using a laptop to learn, the world of educational opportunities has grown for us at N-K exponentially. Climb your way through the fence, explore project-based learning in your classes, for example. "Traditional education" is a boundary you should be testing and pushing against, every single day.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
"What's left to teach them?"
There's a saying, "Small men talk about people; mediocre men talk about things; great men talk about ideas." This is quite true of my friend and colleague Dan--when we talk we talk about ideas, which is what I've always appreciated most about Dan: his habit of thinking deeply and critically about ideas.
Now I'm not referencing the quote because I am claiming Great Man Status; somehow I don't believe truly great men enjoy chips and jalapeno cheese dip like I do, and their clothes probably always match, and I know for certain that great men have no time for the other things I enjoy like watching Ax Men on television. I use the quote because it illustrates the kinds of discussions Dan and I often find ourselves having.
So the other day, we're having a discussion about educating kids, and how to best invigorate student learning, and ways technology influences education. He posed the question shared by many cutting edge educational theorists: with the ubiquitous nature of the internet and the instant availability of information via iPod, cell phone, laptops, etc. he posed the question, "What's left to teach them?"
In our discussion what we concluded is this: that at the heart of quality learning and teaching is inquiry, that age-old human urge to find the answers to challenging questions, to pursue the acquisition of knowledge, and the innate fire within that we call curiosity. A teacher does NOT tap into these vital forces when he asks students to memorize facts that they can acquire instantly through a Google search. A teacher does NOT ignite curiosity with study guides and worksheet packets.
But a teacher DOES spark inquiry when he poses a challenging question that exists in the real world. Imagine the mathematics and science a student could learn if asked to solve a problem like, "How would you determine the cost effectiveness of hybrid vs. gas engines?" To do this successfully, individuals or teams of students--using their trusty laptops, of course--would determine the qualities of the electrochemical cells that power today's hybrid vehicles, compare their efficiency to gasoline engines, filter this information through an economic comparison of the two systems, and finally develop their theory into a presentation of some sort--perhaps a website, Keynote presentation, or other method of publication.
This is the kind of teaching Dan has decided to do with the students he works with. (I would argue that his methods have always challenged students.) He, and other teachers in our 1:1 environment, now have a renewed commitment to change and adapt and refine how they challenge students when it appears there's "nothing left to teach them." What we can teach them--what we have always tried to teach them--is not what to learn, but how to learn. This is the idea to which we should be committed.
Now I'm not referencing the quote because I am claiming Great Man Status; somehow I don't believe truly great men enjoy chips and jalapeno cheese dip like I do, and their clothes probably always match, and I know for certain that great men have no time for the other things I enjoy like watching Ax Men on television. I use the quote because it illustrates the kinds of discussions Dan and I often find ourselves having.
So the other day, we're having a discussion about educating kids, and how to best invigorate student learning, and ways technology influences education. He posed the question shared by many cutting edge educational theorists: with the ubiquitous nature of the internet and the instant availability of information via iPod, cell phone, laptops, etc. he posed the question, "What's left to teach them?"
In our discussion what we concluded is this: that at the heart of quality learning and teaching is inquiry, that age-old human urge to find the answers to challenging questions, to pursue the acquisition of knowledge, and the innate fire within that we call curiosity. A teacher does NOT tap into these vital forces when he asks students to memorize facts that they can acquire instantly through a Google search. A teacher does NOT ignite curiosity with study guides and worksheet packets.
But a teacher DOES spark inquiry when he poses a challenging question that exists in the real world. Imagine the mathematics and science a student could learn if asked to solve a problem like, "How would you determine the cost effectiveness of hybrid vs. gas engines?" To do this successfully, individuals or teams of students--using their trusty laptops, of course--would determine the qualities of the electrochemical cells that power today's hybrid vehicles, compare their efficiency to gasoline engines, filter this information through an economic comparison of the two systems, and finally develop their theory into a presentation of some sort--perhaps a website, Keynote presentation, or other method of publication.
This is the kind of teaching Dan has decided to do with the students he works with. (I would argue that his methods have always challenged students.) He, and other teachers in our 1:1 environment, now have a renewed commitment to change and adapt and refine how they challenge students when it appears there's "nothing left to teach them." What we can teach them--what we have always tried to teach them--is not what to learn, but how to learn. This is the idea to which we should be committed.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)