I had the privilege of hearing Dr. Willard Daggett speak at his conference in Atlanta, Georgia. As often as we hear stories in the mainstream media about failing schools and low national standards and the decline of quality in our classrooms, it is refreshing to hear his thoughts about what is great and good about our public education system, Northwood-Kensett included.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Sunday, February 13, 2011
This Isn't Your Father's School System Anymore
"People cannot be expected to learn one expertise and just apply it routinely in a job. Your expertise is in steadily renewing your knowledge base and extending it to new areas. That lifelong cycle of learning really is the foundation of the new information organization and economy."
George Gilder, American author and founder of the Discovery Institute
"Why can't I just be left alone so I can shut my door and teach?" I hear this all the time, and used to say it myself sometimes. It's a phrase that tugs at the heartstrings of every teacher, and it's usually used in response to the news of another federal mandate, or another "flavor of the week" from the AEA.
Instead of this surface-level emotional response, I support the notion that we need to carefully evaluate every initiative, every grant opportunity, every available training to determine whether or not it warrants an investment of time, resources, and personnel.
Using wisdom, intellectual honesty, and cooperation, educators and administrators need to sometimes abandon the materials, strategies, and thinking of the past in favor of what we know works in the present, and what we believe will work for the future.
Case in point: our language arts teachers have decided on their curriculum for the next seven years, and in doing so have given up printed books. No more eight pound textbooks to lug around. That's one change.
More significantly, they have agreed to give up the explicit teaching of grammar. Lessons centered around predicate adjectives, for example, will no longer occur. "But THAT'S what you teach in English!" cry out the folks at the coffee shop.
Truth is, it's been proven that traditional grammar instruction not only produces almost NO improvement in skill-building in writers, but it DIMINISHES reading comprehension skills. And that's the last thing we need.
So, they're giving up an institutionalized but ineffective practice in favor of contextual writing and other strategies. Will this trouble some of our students' parents and grandparents? Probably. But we're not educating them--we're preparing their children and grandchildren for the future. And as educators, we must stay focused on our duty to the "lifelong cycle of learning" that Mr. Gilder speaks of.
If we consistently apply this concept of lifelong learning to our own professional growth, and actively pursue and implement ways to improve our teaching, our students will reap great benefits. This will require abandoning materials and strategies we like in favor of materials and strategies we're unsure of. But we aren't in the business of Yesterday; we're doing the work of Tomorrow.
George Gilder, American author and founder of the Discovery Institute
"Why can't I just be left alone so I can shut my door and teach?" I hear this all the time, and used to say it myself sometimes. It's a phrase that tugs at the heartstrings of every teacher, and it's usually used in response to the news of another federal mandate, or another "flavor of the week" from the AEA.
Instead of this surface-level emotional response, I support the notion that we need to carefully evaluate every initiative, every grant opportunity, every available training to determine whether or not it warrants an investment of time, resources, and personnel.
Using wisdom, intellectual honesty, and cooperation, educators and administrators need to sometimes abandon the materials, strategies, and thinking of the past in favor of what we know works in the present, and what we believe will work for the future.
Case in point: our language arts teachers have decided on their curriculum for the next seven years, and in doing so have given up printed books. No more eight pound textbooks to lug around. That's one change.
More significantly, they have agreed to give up the explicit teaching of grammar. Lessons centered around predicate adjectives, for example, will no longer occur. "But THAT'S what you teach in English!" cry out the folks at the coffee shop.
Truth is, it's been proven that traditional grammar instruction not only produces almost NO improvement in skill-building in writers, but it DIMINISHES reading comprehension skills. And that's the last thing we need.
So, they're giving up an institutionalized but ineffective practice in favor of contextual writing and other strategies. Will this trouble some of our students' parents and grandparents? Probably. But we're not educating them--we're preparing their children and grandchildren for the future. And as educators, we must stay focused on our duty to the "lifelong cycle of learning" that Mr. Gilder speaks of.
If we consistently apply this concept of lifelong learning to our own professional growth, and actively pursue and implement ways to improve our teaching, our students will reap great benefits. This will require abandoning materials and strategies we like in favor of materials and strategies we're unsure of. But we aren't in the business of Yesterday; we're doing the work of Tomorrow.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
The Weird Kid With the Guitar
When I got my first teaching job (here at N-K) in 1994, it came with a coaching assignment: speech. Honestly, I hadn't ever competed in speech. I had a speech minor, and had performed A LITTLE BIT in high school and college, but that was it. I was not the John Wooden of speech coaches, let me tell you.
But, I love kids and so I jumped in feet first and gave it my best shot. Over time, our enthusiasm for the work we were doing paid off, and I'm proud to say that in eight years of coaching, we took eight performances to All-State (pretty much the state tournament of public speaking).
When I earned the "new job" of principal, I gave up the coaching. Now, however, with my son in the program, the head coach Polly Schiltz has allowed me to help as her assistant. As a matter of fact, I'm writing this after a long, fun day of speech competition in Decorah.
Anyway, over the years I remember how my students and I looked forward to our contest traditions: I always looked for a raised glazed doughnut in the coaches' lounge, they ran to make camp in the sweetest spot in the gym they could find, and eventually we would find the Weird Kid With the Guitar.
It's true: at EVERY speech contest there's some kid--sometimes it's a girl, sometimes it's a boy--with a guitar. And she's sitting on a stool, or a box, or the floor (but always she's sitting) playing the guitar to a devoted group of fans. And most of the time, the fans don't even know the guitar player; they hear the music, see this kid playing guitar, and sit down in front and sing along. Weird.
Or is it? Today, the Weird Kid With the Guitar took the form of a young lady with a miniature blue guitar, almost a ukulele-type model. And the kids listening to her were singing along, just as other kids over the years have sung along with other kids and their guitars in other gyms across the state.
She seemed like the type of kid who only had one or two good friends back home, who never raised her hand in class but got pretty good grades, who lingered at the back of the lunch line without drawing attention to herself. Quiet, make-no-waves, a wallflower.
But today that Weird Kid was thoroughly enjoying what we all enjoy: people were paying attention to her.
In the gym with her guitar, she was the center of attention. Every other kid in that gym heard her sing, watched her perform, and she received applause after every single song she played. That's the cool part of speech contest, and it's why I sometimes get hot under the collar when folks ask incredulously, "You coach speech?" in the same tone you'd use to say, "You eat bugs?"
Yeah, I coach speech. And I'm proud of it. I'm proud of the stutterer who overcomes this challenge and earns a "I" rating at state; I'm proud of the kid who wouldn't leave the bench in basketball, but finds success in public speaking; I'm proud of the special education student who basks in the applause she receives for being brave enough to step on stage and perform; I'm proud of the Homecoming King who goes against what "the cool kids" expect him to do and joins the speech team; and I'm proud of the Weird Kid With the Guitar.
I'm still waiting for the day when one of my students asks, "Mr. Fritz, would it be alright if I brought my guitar to speech contest tomorrow?"
"Absolutely," I'll say, with pride.
But, I love kids and so I jumped in feet first and gave it my best shot. Over time, our enthusiasm for the work we were doing paid off, and I'm proud to say that in eight years of coaching, we took eight performances to All-State (pretty much the state tournament of public speaking).
When I earned the "new job" of principal, I gave up the coaching. Now, however, with my son in the program, the head coach Polly Schiltz has allowed me to help as her assistant. As a matter of fact, I'm writing this after a long, fun day of speech competition in Decorah.
Anyway, over the years I remember how my students and I looked forward to our contest traditions: I always looked for a raised glazed doughnut in the coaches' lounge, they ran to make camp in the sweetest spot in the gym they could find, and eventually we would find the Weird Kid With the Guitar.
It's true: at EVERY speech contest there's some kid--sometimes it's a girl, sometimes it's a boy--with a guitar. And she's sitting on a stool, or a box, or the floor (but always she's sitting) playing the guitar to a devoted group of fans. And most of the time, the fans don't even know the guitar player; they hear the music, see this kid playing guitar, and sit down in front and sing along. Weird.
Or is it? Today, the Weird Kid With the Guitar took the form of a young lady with a miniature blue guitar, almost a ukulele-type model. And the kids listening to her were singing along, just as other kids over the years have sung along with other kids and their guitars in other gyms across the state.
She seemed like the type of kid who only had one or two good friends back home, who never raised her hand in class but got pretty good grades, who lingered at the back of the lunch line without drawing attention to herself. Quiet, make-no-waves, a wallflower.
But today that Weird Kid was thoroughly enjoying what we all enjoy: people were paying attention to her.
In the gym with her guitar, she was the center of attention. Every other kid in that gym heard her sing, watched her perform, and she received applause after every single song she played. That's the cool part of speech contest, and it's why I sometimes get hot under the collar when folks ask incredulously, "You coach speech?" in the same tone you'd use to say, "You eat bugs?"
Yeah, I coach speech. And I'm proud of it. I'm proud of the stutterer who overcomes this challenge and earns a "I" rating at state; I'm proud of the kid who wouldn't leave the bench in basketball, but finds success in public speaking; I'm proud of the special education student who basks in the applause she receives for being brave enough to step on stage and perform; I'm proud of the Homecoming King who goes against what "the cool kids" expect him to do and joins the speech team; and I'm proud of the Weird Kid With the Guitar.
I'm still waiting for the day when one of my students asks, "Mr. Fritz, would it be alright if I brought my guitar to speech contest tomorrow?"
"Absolutely," I'll say, with pride.
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