Many of you know my friend Javi the Hippie from conversations in my books or the times I've referenced him in this blog. He is a talented writer, a great thinker and a phenomenal teacher. His students worked with my students on service projects and murals. He will be joining me on this blog. I'll let him write his own bio, though.

The plan is to co-write a series per month while occasionally writing on other topics when we feel so inclined. I'll be writing less (probably 1-2 posts per week) and adding my posts to johntspencer.com  and closing up some of the blogs that I've had for awhile (Pencil Integration, Ditch that Word and others).

I'm not abandoning edu-blogging altogether. Just pulling back a little and spending more time writing fiction. (Just finished A Wall for Zombies) Meanwhile, I hope that the 1-2 posts a week that I write here will be more intentional and thoughtful than what I've written lately.

Data is like the Bible in that people can make it say pretty much whatever they want it to say. Context is critical, but people quote data to justify just about anything imaginable, often without citing the source or explaining the story behind how they data was gathered.

Much like the Bible, I am most comfortable with people who approach data with an open mind and a sense that it should inform rather than drive decisions; and I cringe at those who use it as a tool for sorting, judging and applying condemnation instead of open doors to wisdom.

I'm a fan of the Bible. I'm also a fan of data. But if you're using either of these to cram ideology down my throat, chances are I quit listening a long time ago.

Sometimes I wonder if the my Google Reader is a mistake. I see everything in the same format. I rush through posts, leaving few comments and yet getting more from all of it. I analyze the thoughts of various bloggers in light of one another, trying my best to figure out what I believe about education. And it works beautifully. The Google Reader is great for analyzing, synthesizing, summarizing and doing whatever else is necessary for consuming information.

The thing is, I'm not sure I want to be a consumer of information. I'm not sure I want my own words being consumed for that matter. I'm thinking maybe this whole blogging thing isn't about pedaling a product.

So, tonight I decided to read a few blogs. I didn't read a few blog posts. I read a few blogs. I saw their content within a context. I listened longer, within the visual aesthetic they had chosen for themselves. I read three of my favorite bloggers and began to see what I had been missing.

Voice

If Twitter is a crowded cocktail party and my Google Reader is a potluck, spending some time actually reading a few blogs felt a bit like hanging out by a campfire. Not the same, I realize. It's all ones and zeroes and whatnot. But really, it was nice to read a few blogs and really pay attention this time 'round.

 

When I was a child, I learned phonics. This would have been great if I grew up speaking Spanish. But seeing as how we live in a place that speaks English (a bastardized version of it), phonics have failed me miserably. Joel once pointed this out to me when he was upset that bomb, tomb and comb all have the same ending but sound completely different from one another.

I also grew up reading often. I read chapter books at a young age. I had high fluency and vocabulary scores. I was the poster child of the Perfect Language Geek. My list of sight word recognition surpassed my grade level. 

And yet . . . 

I can't spell very well. The following is a list of words I mess up all the time:

• restaurant: the 'au' always screws it up for me
• bureaucracy: any word that is that cumbersome in spelling isn't worth keeping around
• conscience: looks nothing like it sounds
• definitely: there's got to be an a in there somewhere
• tomorrow: or any word that has double letters
• dialogue: or is it dialog? Why don't we just have a conversation instead?

What makes matters worse is that I still screw up homonyms and homophones. It's not the frequent ones that bother me (its, it's).  Here are the ones that still get me, despite the fact that I clearly know the difference: 

• thru, threw
• principle, principal
• break, brake
• disc, disk
• site, sight

The good news? I can write. I am confident in my ability to write. I'm currently revising a novel that I'm really proud of. True, I may screw up on spelling certain words. Yep, I might end a few sentences with prepositions. However, I've learned that the inability to master one sub-skill doesn't mean someone is doomed to failure in a particular concept, skill or subject. 

In my case, it means I need to take more time to edit and I need to let other people catch mistakes (I wish I had done this with Pencil Me In and Sages and Lunatics.) I need to recognize it as a weakness and admit that I need help. I need to spend additional time reading my work aloud for verb-subject agreement. I need to take the time to double-check my homophone mistakes.

It has me thinking about teaching. How often do we teach kids to find and admit that there are things that are simply hard for them, no matter how much they practice? How often do we teach them to find people who can help support them in weaker areas so that they can thrive with the larger skill that they've mastered? How often are they learning additional skills in editing and given additional time to master those areas where they are struggling? More importantly, how many kids have been turned off of writing because of grammar gestapos and formatting fanatics who stripped away the joy of writing when they grew impatient and angry that a kid "still didn't get it" after weeks of practice? 

 

When I was in high school, I worked at a grocery store. When I started, the store closed at noon the day before Christmas. It felt reasonable to work a half day and then have both Christmas Eve and Christmas off. The next year, we were open until four. I was able to make it to Christmas Eve family events, but it was a little more stressful. The third year, we were open until six. This time, I missed the Christmas Eve dinner. In my final year at the grocery store, we closed "early" at nine o'clock.

I missed everything, except the candlelight vigil.

I wouldn't mind the notion of a store being open if there were only a few employees and the shoppers were all agnostic or Jewish or Hindu or Muslim. However, that's not typically who shopped the night before Christmas. Typically, it was a frantic, irritated, can't-you-get-us-through-this-goddam-line-because-I-have-a-ham-to-cook shoppers. They would rush through, complain about a price check and end with a pleasant "Merry Christmas."

Sometimes shoppers would say, "Well, I hope you have a wonderful Christmas Eve," and I always wanted to respond with, "Yep. Thanks to you, I won't be celebrating it this year." Or they would complain about how stressful it was and I wanted to say, "You know what's stressful? Listening to Bing Crosby belt out songs about snow while every part of me wants to share a meal with the ones I love."

Ideally, it wouldn't be such a bad thing to work on Christmas Eve and Christmas. Stores would pay overtime and get enough volunteers to fill the positions. The problem is that time and a half isn't enough to sacrifice time with one's family. Survey a store and you'll find that most employees want Christmas Eve off. There simply aren't enough Jehovah's Witnesses to cover every job.

I get it. You need a few last minute purchases for a perfect Christmas. But every time you participate in commerce on Christmas Eve, you are ruining someone else's Christmas. Look, your Jell-O salad can go without the Cool Whip. Your salad can go without the toasted almonds. You can wrap that last present in old newspaper. And I promise this: Christmas will go on without those purchases.

Ultimately, it's a free market problem that requires a free market solution. Boycott shopping on Christmas Eve and Christmas. Don't go to a movie tomorrow and rent a DVD instead. I promise that the movie you want to see in the theater will be around on the twenty-sixth. If you need escapist entertainment on Christmas, escape to a book, take a nap or better yet, learn to relate to your family. Don't go to the grocery store tonight or tomorrow. Make your last-minute purchases a few more minutes in advance. Don't go out to eat. Make a meal. That's why your living space has a kitchen. Brew your own cup of coffee.

Boycott commerce for one and a half days. Ultimately, that's the only way that workers will get a chance to experience the holiday.

 

Joel looks at his toast and says, "It's a good thing it has peanut butter. If it were plain toast, it might fly away."

I look at him, confused, and he laughs. "Because planes fly."  Got it. I don't like puns, but I laugh anyway. We'll work on the ironic, observational humor at another time. The truth is that I'm glad my son can joke around. True, it's first grade humor built on homophones, but I'm convinced that it's a powerful skill.  Moreover, I'm convinced that the best classrooms are the ones where humor is present. It can be subtle. It can look very orderly. It can be sprinkled throughout an intense debate or a deep discussion. However, it needs to be present.

The following are some of what I consider to be the educational benefits of humor:

1. Critical Thinking: Humor often requires analytical thinking followed by a sophisticated level of synthesis. Even something as lame as my son's pun required him to analyze the language, make sense of it and create something new: a flying piece of toast. 
2. Social Awareness: Humor is a powerful tool in social change. It strips away the fear of those who are committing injustices. Whether it's Charlie Chaplin mocking Hitler or South Park lambasting Kim Jong Il (oh, he's dead now? I didn't even realize he was Il.) satire can be a powerful method of bringing the absurdity of an idea to life. Last year, I played clips from The Onion. Students read "A Modest Proposal." I wanted them to see how humor can be used to make sense out of the world.
3. Language Arts: Humor is a chance to play around with words, make sense out of tone and learn the art of timing. Humor can also be a place where students learn to tell stories, make sense out of irony and develop deep satire. 
4. Empathy: Humor is a chance to display empathy toward others. It's a chance to read the group and venture out into new territory. But it's also a place to stumble into sarcasm and learn to avoid using  laughter to isolate, mock and marginalize others. 
5. Motivation: For all the talk of tech integration, art integration or music and movement integration, I've never seen anything about the intentional integration of humor. However, I think it's necessary. Why not use puns to teach multiple meanings of words? Why not use satire to reach higher-level thinking on social issues? Last year, students created goofy comic strips to illustrate idioms (a man goes into surgery after saying, "I gave you my heart.") 
6. Life Skills: Whether it's in a social context or in the workforce, humor can be a powerful method of connecting with others, diffusing tension and providing leadership to a group. 
7. Creativity: When students develop their own jokes, they learn the craft of spontaneous creativity. I'm not sure if it's something that has to be modeled and observed or something teachers should simply encourage and allow. However, I have noticed that the students with the strongest command of humor are often very creative.
8. Language Development: I can tell when an ELL student is truly grasping English, because he or she becomes comfortable in telling jokes. Humor combines the colloquial with the academic, infusing idioms with texture and tone. 
9. Risk-Taking: Every joke is an act of vulnerability. There's a risk involved. I'm never sure if the group will laugh or simply roll their eyes and sigh. 
10. Classroom Community: There is an intimacy and a happiness that occurs when a group laughs together. It's why we relate to the dysfunctional team members in The Office. They laugh together. 

 

The following is post from a series called Nativity I'm doing on another blog. It has nothing to do with teaching and everything to do with teaching as well. 

Blame it on the season. A broken, tilted earth dances drunkenly away from the sun until it begins to seem like light itself has died completely. I know the sun is hiding on the other side. I know that summer still exists somewhere. And I know we're lucky, because we don't have to shovel sunshine and an icy desert morning isn't all that cold in comparison.

But I'm cold and it's dark and the world seems broken beyond repair.

I'm forced to slow down to a near-stop near the bus stop, where a kid is getting blazed, right there in the open air, oblivious to the man who is pointing his finger and shouting at a woman cowering on the bus stop bench. The kid inhabits his own private escape, lonely and distant from the context. And here I am, cradling my coffee, getting high on liquid happiness, inhabiting my own private escape, lonely and distant from the context.

My soundtrack is a tinny radio, where two men banter loudly about injured quarterbacks and playoff games and how-did-that-look-for-Fantasy-Football and it strikes me as bizarre that a man's fantasy would revolve around grown men playing a game. It's too superficial, but the other option is an NPR report on global unrest and nationwide unemployment.

A woman runs across the road, pushing a stroller into the oncoming traffic, because there's a bus to catch and the drivers stop to sustain life, but in a choral unison, they flip her off and hurl gigantic curses.  And I'm thinking of our debt and how we'll pull out of it when my salary is frozen and food is getting more expensive and nothing we are doing seems to be working.

A man in a neon jacket holds a steamy cup of coffee while his crew picks up the shards of plastic from the wreck. I grow infuriated as cars rush forward, refusing to respect the line of drivers waiting for their shot at the solitary lane.

"You're not that important! We all have places to go," I yell at the F-150 that edges his way in front of me. It's a game of chicken and it looks like I'm chicken and though the gesture is small and impersonal, it feels like an attack on my dignity and my humanity. It's not a truck that cut me off. It's a man, wielding a ton of machinery like a child's toy and although I know I'm taking it way too personal, I can't simply turn off how I feel. I'm crushed by a simple act of selfishness.

There's nothing tragic about this morning. I get it. These are first-world problems. Tiny tragedies. Globally, I'm part of the one percent. I have it pretty good. Still, there's something in the season that suggests I'm supposed to chase perfection. I'm supposed to smile more. I'm supposed to be a little less anti-social when I purchase a pack of Pull-Ups from the grocery store. And it's supposed to be slower, more reflective, what with the calls for silent nights and remember the reason for the season and . . . God, I'm so tired right now.

*     *     *

Political tumult, economic uncertainty, broken people in a broken world: This is precisely the context into which Jesus was born: an angry tyrant trying to hold onto power, so scared about losing it to a political Messiah that he orders the murders thousands of babies; a crowded city or perhaps just a crowded family with no place for a woman in labor to find rest; shallow rumors about the young couple that just couldn't embrace True Love Waits; a family too poor to pay the temple sacrifice.

Emmanuel.

God-with-us.

This was the context of chaos. This was the selfish, busy, caustic human story that God entered into. The moment was so quiet, so small, that it's no wonder people missed it - a fetus developing inside a marginalized woman in a marginalized culture.

Hope is the absurd idea that redemption happens here, in a broken world, among broken people, where debt swallows families and cars crash and busses leave two minutes too early and family members refuse to speak to one another because of something said a few years back. Hope is the insane resolution that happens at the end of the most tragic human story. It isn't a comic sans clip art reminder that things will be okay. No, it's a bold-faced, all-caps message across a gritty, horrific picture at a bus stop or an intersection or a war zone.

I miss hope when I miss the tragedy. I miss it when I build a Fantasy Land for a Magical Kingdom. I miss it when I cradle my coffee and I buy into the lie that this world isn't all that bad or when I caustically move toward a dark determinist idea that redemption is impossible.

 

I'm not a hipster. I'm a man dressing like a hipster dressed-up for a sweater party. Oh, the layers of irony.

For more thoughts on this, go to TeachPaperless

 

I often write about education reform. I blast the kill-and-drill approach to teaching. I complain about the death of the local politic. I defend the profession of teaching. I write about abolishing grades and homework and heavy-handed discipline. It's easy to miss the fact that I am actually an optimistic. I am hopeful about education in America.

Why I'm Hopeful (a very random list off the top of my head):

1. Data: People pushing data and educational reform are beginning to promote Constructivist strategies. Although I've bashed Marzano, the reality is that his list of "best practices" really tend to be great strategies. The truth is that we are far more successful than what's being presented in many of the media outlets. Diane Ravitch has pointed out that when taking poverty out of the equation, the United States is actually doing quite well (and has been doing quite well for awhile). People are beginning to see that education in America isn't as bad as what is being portrayed on the media. 
2. Social Media: For the last three decades, the reform narrative has been dominated by a very insular community of journalists for the largest newspapers. (I know, The Washington Post has often been an exception) Often, the journalists only quote the big-shot corporate reformers. However, with the explosion of social media and educational blogging, people are beginning to find more accurate information in untraditional ways. 
3. Democratic Movements: When I look at the Occupy movement on the left and the Tea Party movement on the right, I see a sliver of shared beliefs in local control and in parent choice. As people grow to distrust the absolute authority of the 1% who dominate education reform, the truly innovative, grassroots movements will lead the charge for change. Maybe we'll do away with compulsory schooling. Maybe we'll see local school movements nestled within neighborhoods. Maybe teachers will be allowed to start charter schools within their own district, partnering with rather than competing against public schools. I am hopeful that we will move from competing models to a recognition that there are many models that will work for many types of students.  
4. Discipline: School-wide discipline is far less coercive than it used to be. For all the talk of Zero Tolerance, I sometimes forget that principals were allowed to paddle kids when I was in elementary school. 
5. Economic Shifts: While I typically fit into the "life-long learning" mentality, I recognize that economic necessity has always been a part of education. Whether it was the apprenticeship model, the early vocational schools or the current industrial, standardized system we have now, career readiness has always been a stream of education. As we shift toward the values of creativity and critical thinking in the workplace, companies will begin to move away from looking for great test-takers. 
6. Technology: Yes, I can be very critical about technology. However, as people begin to see that knowledge is easily accessible online, I am hopeful that the values of creativity, critical thinking and collaboration will begin to replace shallow recall and recognition.
7. Teachers Matter: Teachers are viewed as significant.  True, we're blamed for failures that are more social and economic than anything else. However, the flip side of this is that people believe that quality teachers can make a difference. If the public seems outraged by cheating scandals, it is evidence that they still believe that teaching is a noble profession. 
8. Frauds: It turns out Atlanta had a cheating problem. It turns out Rhee and Duncan weren't quite the miracle workers we had once assumed. And, while there has been a large amount of teacher-bashing in the process, people are beginning to question the culture, the practices and the results of these reform movements. The public seems more open to authentic change.
9. The Finland Phenomenon: Even the traditionalist, data-driven reformers have begun to notice Finland. They de-emphasize the test. They have fewer work days. They treat teachers as professionals. Their standards are more about concepts and processes than rote skills. 
10. Grassroots Movement: There is a teacher culture that I see among teachers who are active in the blogging community. Great conversations are happening about standards-based grading, authentic assessments, changing the pedagogy and reforming the schools. True, there are depressing battles between un-schoolers, charter schools and public schools. But there are also some truly open conversations about what meaningful learning should look like. Ultimately, it is this grassroots movement that will lead us away from focussing on compliance and toward focussing on learning.

 

cross-posted from The Cooperative Catalyst

“I hate math. When I was a kid, I just couldn’t remember all the formulas and I couldn’t figure out how to take what the teacher did and make it my own,” a friend tells me. He doesn’t hate math. He probably doesn’t even hate computation or algorithms. No, he hates magical math. He hates compliantly copying formulas.

“Still to this day, I hate social studies. When I was a student, all we ever did was memorize capitals and dates and I sucked at that. I could always tell by how disappointed the teacher looked when she handed me back the papers,” a woman tells me at a birthday party. She’s interested in social issues. She’s fascinated by the stories of people’s lives. The truth is she loves social studies. What she hates are the memories of having to play Google as a child.

“I hated English when I was a kid. I was home-schooled and my mom had been a journalism major. I remember that she would circle every split infinitive and I had to read The Bridge to Terebithia and what I really wanted to read were science articles and comic books. I used to sneak Spiderman the way other kids might sneak porn,” a man tells me when I tell him I’m a teacher. The truth is that he never hated English. He never hated reading or writing. What he hated was the lack of choice and autonomy and the grammar gestapo who mistakenly taught him that our words are governed by arbitrary rules rather than a deeply human need to communicate.

And here’s me. I hated science, because I was told that an acceptance of science meant I had to abandon the possibility of a deity (for the record, I was asked at church to abandon my acceptance of evolution as well). I hated science, because I was told that my definition of energy (in third grade I had defined it as “the stuff that makes stuff change”) wasn’t as accurate as the one from the book. Looking back on it, I never hated science. I’ve always loved to observe, to test, to inquire about the universe. What I hated were disconnected, overly simplistic models and the dogmatic catechism of fill-in-the-bubble answer sheets.

Children are naturally interested in all subjects. Tragically, through compliance or shame or rewards or whatever, they become the subjects, learning to listen and obey a voice that goes against their identity.

 

Michael Doyle posted the following:

NJEA's education reform plan will use standardized test scores as a criterion [for teacher evaluations], but recognizes and respects research demonstrating that those scores are not reliable measures of teacher effectiveness.

I love Doyle's thoughts:

Just what part of "respect" does the NJEA not get? If the reseearch shows that the tests are not reliable measures, the union should flat out refuse to consider them for that.

My Thoughts:
The American Pediatric Association recognizes and respects that leeches and soothing syrups (containing 64 g of morphine) aren't the most accurate way to deal with childhood illness. However, the demonstration of these practices will determine the success of all pediatricians.

How about this? If it's bad for children, don't do it. 

 

Joel asked me a great question this morning. "Why do some trees lose their leaves and others don't?" The next question was just as intriguing. "Do trees lose their leaves because they aren't getting enough sun or because it's so cold that they almost die?"

I told him that I would help him find the answer tonight, because his cereal was getting soggy and he needed to get ready.

I can answer both questions for him, but I want him to find the answer. I want him to discover it on his own. I would love for some feedback on how you would approach your answer.

 

Tony Vincent gave me an iPencil yesterday - How cool is that?

My original intention in writing the first few tweets of #pencilchat was to point out the absurdity of the system. It really was meant to be light-hearted satire (the metaphor itself is a stretch) shared with fellow teachers I know. It was no different from other hashtags I had used (#ItWasNoEncinoMan, #edcat) to spark a very small, limited conversation with a few people I know. I've had deeper chats (#edparadox for example), but the deeper reality is that Twitter is a place for amusement. It is most dangerous when we take it seriously.

What was different with this is that it took off. It was hard at first for me to "share" it. I saw really bad puns and really funny word play. I saw caustic criticism of teachers and funny jabs at the system. I saw optimism break through and cynicism take over followed by more optimism. I saw lots of talking and very little listening. I had created a really loud echo chamber and I had no control over the volume or the message. In retrospect, what I appreciate about the chat is that it was an honest conversation. It was messy. It was disorganized. So, here are some of my thoughts on it:

• I assumed that memes would be exciting for a period of time, followed by a period of extreme letdown. Sort-of like coming down from a cocaine. I've never done cocaine. Then again, I've never had anything become popular. It turns out, it's nothing like that. It's more like stepping away from yourself and watching it take-off. When it dies down, the feeling is less like let-down and more like relief. 
• People assumed that there is a way to "capitalize" on the noise of #pencilchat. However, a fad is a  flash mob. It's not a game-changer. I've sold a whopping 50 books from it and I have four new subscribers to Adventures in Pencil Integration. It's nice, but hardly capitalizing. 
• It's odd to see people analyzing it. I read newspaper articles, saw tweets from a conference, listened to a podcast and checked out blog posts with people praising it for more than it was or tearing it down for being more dangerous than it was. It really was designed for amusement and a year from now, nobody will remember it existed.
• You can't control what happens to a meme. I watched #pencilchat become a little bit cynical, a little feisty, a little strange. It took on a life of its own and it was hard for me to see the extent to which my own identity was still a part of the chat's DNA. Am I really that feisty? Am I really that caustic? 
• It was a blast to connect with people from various "worlds." I got to tweet back and forth with my former 8th grade teacher. I got a chance to "meet" people from conferences that I'd lost touch with. It was this human side that was more profound than I had thought. 
• Starting a meme doesn't mean you are known. Really. Those who read my blog will get my nuance, my love of paradox and hopefully the humility in some of my stories.  
• The more popular things become, the more people criticize it. Gary Stager blasted #pencilchat in a post, because I had failed to mention that Seymor Paper had used that metaphor before I was born. I'm not sure that metaphors need attribution or that symbols, inherently archetypal in nature, belong to anyone. But I'll raise a glass to Papert, anyway. The man was a far deeper thinker than I'll ever be. The EdReach show took a shot at it, too, but in a way that was still respectful. 

 

paper, rock, scissors, anyone?

Back when the Tea Party started, I found myself agreeing with a few concepts: smaller, more localized government, direct democracy, anger over the bailouts. As it grew more extreme, I thought to myself, "I like nuance and paradox and humility in public policy and this is a bit like the country song that says we should stick a boot in your ass, because it's the American way."

So, I decided I would call myself a member of the Green Tea Party, a fusion of ideas from the left and right with a healthy respect for sustainable solutions.  I never did anything with the Green Tea Party, because I was busy taking care of a newborn and cleaning the kitchen and grading papers. Just like Teachers Against Comic Sans, it was an organization that lacked leadership, vision and most importantly, people.

I went to an Occupy Phoenix protest when it first started. I found myself agreeing with many of the ideas. However, I immediately realized that I didn't fit in. See, I have lousy rhythm which hinders my ability to play bongo drums. I can't live in a location other than my home or my wife will leave me and my kids will think I'm being a negligent father. And like the Tea Party, I found myself holding more nuanced, complicated positions on political issues than many of the people around me. (I will note that in both the Tea Party and the Occupy protests, I met many people who were articulate, passionate and intelligent regarding the issues. They weren't all a bunch of crazies.)

So, because I am am a suburban, busy family man, I've decided to start a Pre-Occupy Wall Street movement. This is for people who are generally unhappy with corporate bailouts and the kleptocracy running the system, but are busy at the moment thinking about grocery lists, fixing flat tires and keeping their children from ripping one another's heads off.

Because we are generally preoccupied with life, we won't have protests and probably won't make signs. (I was going to make a sign, but I couldn't think of a clever rhyme and the kids used the Tempera paints for finger painting).

However, I'll occupy in small ways like staying awkwardly long in a Wal-Mart parking spot or slowing down commerce by bringing jars of pennies to the banks that received bailout money. I'll continue to mock Bill Gates on Twitter and refer to his latest edu-fad as "The Khan Artist who is tricking the flighty media."

And I'll try to make a difference in the only area where I really feel like I'm expert enough to act upon. I will fight for change in my classroom, in my school and in my district. I will speak boldly even when busy, because ultimately the Pre-Occupied have a voice and every once in awhile we step away from our our busy lives and take a stand on an issue we really care about.

 

Every year I update my "teacher playlist" of what I listen to while I am at a prep or setting up my classroom or waiting for parents to arrive for conferences. This is my list for this year:

1. "Ants Marching (Live)" by Dave Matthew Band: "No words exchanged, no time to exchange." Those words haunt me. I'm existential (by nature?) and this song reminds me that teaching is all about the art of existence. It reminds me to slow down, reflect and nudge students toward slowing down and reflecting. 
2. "Top of the World" by Dixie Chicks: Last year I realized how easy it was to get tired and get lazy and forget that my children were more important than the children I taught. I realized, while tossing a baseball back and forth with my son, that I my mind was on proportional reasoning and linear equations. I never want that to happen again. 
3. "After the Storm" by Mumford and Sons: It's subtle and it's minimal on an album that is so full of life and vitality (I've listened to that album straight-through more times than I can count) There is something in the sound of the song that is so deeply terrestrial and spiritual that, even on my worst day, I can remember that what I'm doing matters. (Runner-up would be "Sigh No More") 
4. "The Weight" by The Band: Last year my token nostalgic song was "Let Your Love Flow." But this song is full of the textured memories of shag carpet and Old Spice and scratchy vinyl and that it was an instant requirement for the play list.
5. "They" by Jem: The song is uncomfortable, catchy but not quite, reminding me about the dangers of conformity. It's simple but profound. "Who made up all the rules. We follow them like fools. Believe them to be true. Don't care to think them through."
6. "Perpetual Self" by Sufjan Stevens: I love the feel of the song, the pace of it, the robust percussions with the harmonizing vocals. 
7. "When I Dream of Michelangelo" by Counting Crows: He begins the song with a short description of what it's like to reach after art, up in the clouds, thinking that you are so close and tragically missing the people around you. The tragedy of Adam trying his damnedest to reach God in the clouds isn't just that he can't reach, but that he's completely lost sight of Eve. To me, the song is a cautionary tale of perfectionism, art and self-absorption. 
8. "Positively Fourth Street" and "Like a Rolling Stone" (alternate these) by Bob Dylan: Sometimes I forget my social justice streak. I get so into nuance and paradox and I'm surrounded by inflatable cartoons lining the suburban Christmas scene that I need a few jarring statements. And Dylan is jarring. His words, his quirky voice, the raw harmonica that sounds like a wheezing donkey. 
9. "Brand New Colony" by The Postal Service: It makes me think of Christy and the life we've forged together. I can't listen to this song without smiling. Besides, I always think of the moment Micah was two and he heard it and yelled out, "It's polka dots, daddy." Then I smile again. 
10. "Warm Love" by Van Morrison: Not really for the lyrics. They're way too sappy, but I love the sound of his voice and the flute. I used to hear this song along with "A Long December" when I worked at a grocery store. It made the job bearable. Sometimes I get bored with this song, though and switch to "It Stoned Me" or "Brown Eyed Girl."   
11. "Elderly Woman Behind the Counter in a Small Town" by Pearl Jam: Sometimes I worry that I'm living in perpetual transition. I think that maybe I need to stick with projects a little longer and I need to quit getting my hopes up and . . . and then I hear, "I've changed by not changing at all," and I begin to remember that it's better to take risks and run with it. 

 

After a very philosophical November of paradigm shifts, I'm trying out a new blog series called, "Worked for Me." I recognize that what works in one context might not work in all contexts. I'm okay with that. These are just a few ideas that you can mock, modify, mix, or make your own. 

The Timing

It's difficult to find one-on-one time to meet with students. I get it. I can leave blog and Google Doc comments. I can send e-mails. But there is limited time for face-to-face conferences. However, in my experience, these face-to-face interactions are a major part of building trust and providing reliable feedback to students.

I like to do mini-conferences. Students have 5-10 minutes. It sounds like it wouldn't be enough time, but it's often perfect for the age group and for my own attention span. When I taught only one subject, I did three per class period. This allowed for one conference per student every two weeks. When I taught self-contained, the conferences were much more frequent (two conferences per week per student).

The Two Types of Conferences

The first is the consulting conference where the student comes with questions and asks specialized advice, looks for specific feedback and focusses on either getting critical feedback or finding solutions to the critical feedback. It is essentially a chance to meet with an expert (the teacher), because, while I might not be a genius, I have mastered just about every eighth grade standard. Except for run-on sentences (see previous sentence). Oh, and fragmented sentences (see previous sentence).

The second type of conference is a coaching conference. Here, the idea is not about providing correction or giving practical ideas. Instead, I ask reflective questions and allow students to think about their learning, find their own mistakes, create future goals and clarify their plans. The coaching conferences are all about students learning to think about their own learning.

In terms of documenting, I sometimes filled out a reflection Google Document with students. They would then integrate this into their ongoing reflective portfolio. Other times, I pulled up the standards-grid report card and talked about the self-assessment. In the consulting conferences, students often came to me with a particular work that they wanted to talk about. Since I allowed them to continually correct until reaching mastery, it was never an issue of "getting the grade."

 

 

Sometime in the evening, David Wees tweeted about reading Pencil Me In, a book I wrote using pencils as an allegory for educational technology. Mary Beth Hertz had mentioned it in an article earlier this week. Meanwhile Dr. Strange's EDM 310 class continued to leave thoughtful comments on Adventures in Pencil Integration. So, I guess it was on my mind.

I wrote a few tweets with the hashtag #pencilchat, not expecting anything more than a few retweets and some banter with fellow techie-luddites. Malyn Mawby joined in, along with a few of her followers and all of a sudden there was a conversation.

I'm not sure how it happened, but it seemed to go viral. I woke up this morning expecting that it would have died out and I saw 2,000 new tweets for #pencilchat.

Here are my thoughts on why it went viral:

1. Diversity: The right people joined in at the right time. There were enough people with a spread-out web of friends to make it work. 
2. Geography: It moved from the U.S. (most of my Eastern Twitter friends were asleep) to Australia to the U.K. and it never really stopped. 
3. Quirkiness: It was a fun, creative topic. You could be earnest or sarcastic, literally or figurative. 
4. Easy: It wasn't too narrow of a topic. Everyone uses pencils. Everyone uses computers. 

Anyway, I thought it was kind-of cool that it continued. Who knew pencils could be such a hot topic on Twitter?