Leveraging Learning

  I have a kid who comes to class regularly. He always turns in his work, sometimes participates in the discussion through the chat and once has let me hear his voice. He was in my class last year, so I know what he looks like, know he likes math and know that other kids really like and respect him. In recent weeks, he had been a little less chatty in the chat (although he did comment that I was dressed as an avocado at Halloween and NOT a banana) and last week I had to ask him to refine his project before I graded it so that it would match his prior excellence. He complied within thirty minutes. I have suspicions about what was going on and I am fairly certain this dip in engagement had more to do with the content and flow of class than it did with anything the kid may have been facing. This I know for certain, the problem was more on my end than on his. Evidence of this theory came yesterday when he wrote this statement on this classwork: "also, it's fun doing this." I

Think with me for a minute about how you function in a learning space - in particular, one that is in person. What are you habits? Do you doodle? Ask lots of questions? Share snide remarks with your table group? Sit in the back so you can nap or do the crossword puzzle?  Now think about your habits as an instructor. What are you doing in any given class to engage learners? Moving about the room? Asking kids who aren't raising their hands what they think? Facilitating conversations among small groups of kids? Now imagine trying to do all of these things from your kitchen. Oh, wait, we've done that. While virtual teaching and learning are nothing new, they are things that not too many people are good at. I've done both and it's not been pretty. In thinking about how to do this better, I've paid attention to what is happening around me in digital spaces, researched some ideas and even signed up for some classes. What I notice is that some teachers dress up as batman (s

At the risk of sounding bratty, I will say that I am annoyed. I know what you're thinking - get over it, Nan! Trust me, I am thinking that, too. My sense of annoyance comes from many sources. From mundane household chores (we have to fold laundry again?!) to the huge and crushing problems of racism and rising infection rates. From not seeing people to seeing them and wishing I could hide in the produce aisle. From being in my house all the time to finding that when I do go somewhere, I am almost immediately ready to come home. From people's opinions - especially those that are misinformed or just plain nuts - to remembering that it is the right of all of humans to have and share their opinions. From waiting for a Back to School that might never come. From wanting to be productive, but not really having the creativity or flow right now. The list is long.  Years ago I enrolled in a mindfulness class. I was a flunkie and spent most the hour long classes making mental grocery lists

Yesterday, I had a moment. To be more accurate, the "moment" had actually come the day before and lasted until sometime yesterday afternoon. I felt out of sorts and not myself. Typically, I go about my days in a good mood with a plan for action. Yesterday, I was morose, weepy and certain that the world was ending. "Who AM I?," I wondered. I NEVER feel this way. My sister called. That generally helps. She gave me permission to be grouchy. "There is a lot about the world the world that sucks right now," she assured me. After I hung up the phone, I reflected on what she said. She is right, of course. The world is a messy, unjust and terrifying place right now. It's hard to go to the store, hard to have conversations with neighbors about race, hard to fix a terribly broken system and hard to repair relationships that feel so very fractured. It occurred to me yesterday that what was really bothering me was a shift in the things that define me. I love being

In my non-quarantine existence, I love and appreciate my garden, but rarely have time to do all that it needs. I pull the noticeable weeds, I mow over the leaves in the fall and I plant the vegetables that I like, not necessarily the ones that I need. The word "half-assed" comes to mind. Now that I am home all the time, I have plenty of time to focus on long-neglected corners of the garden. I am pretty sure that the trash men hate all the extra waste I have generated pruning and weeding. But throwing myself into the work has helped to mitigate anxiety and make me feel useful. I've planted tons of lettuce (get ready, neighbors), measured the peas daily and beefed up the composter. I even planted some pansies, because pandemic or no, we're having flowers, dammit. None of these tasks has brought me more pleasure than pulling the weeds. Weeds are a thing. Knowing that they are a fact of life has given me an appreciation for them and working hard to remove them has

"The real things haven't changed. It's still best to be honest and truthful; to make the most of what we have; to be happy with simple pleasures; and have courage when things go wrong." -  Laura Ingalls Wilder In my family of origin, we had a weekly Monday night tradition of watching Little House on the Prairie. This was a big deal, as my mom was very anti-television at the time. We would all gather in the family room, turn on the TV 10 minutes before 8 to "warm it up," and scrutinize the challenges and successes of the Ingalls Family. As a kid, homesteading seemed romantic. I wanted to plant a really big garden and to make my own clothes. I liked the idea of relying on your neighbors and being a resource for others in times of need. As an adult, I like buying clothes on the internet. But I derive a great deal of joy from my little garden. And I have learned to accept the help of neighbors - even when I really don't want to. In these

If you work in a school or have children, you hear this sentence a lot. You've probably even heard it today. Within the past hour, even. My advisory is composed of 8th graders. We have been together since they were in 5th grade. I hear this sentence all the time. This fall, they applied to high schools. It was vulnerable work. My challenge to them:  "How can  you make your awesomesness visible on paper?" Their commentary: "This isn't fair!" Later when acceptances came out, I had a range of feelings - relief that some many of them had options, confusion over which schools wanted which kids (turns out they don't always look that awesome on paper) and determination to get this more right the next time I ushered kids through the process. Their response - "It's not fair." They were right, of course. Admissions is only sort of fair and as much as we the adults try to equalize things, we will never get it entirely right. There will always

In a few weeks I have to lead a session on self-care for teachers for the Philadelphia Learning Collaborative. I find this hilarious because I take pretty bad care of myself. My gums are receding, I almost never pack a healthy lunch and I don't get enough sleep. Ever. Self-care is trendy and many people mistake it for spa days or expensive vacations. Who can afford that? And who has the time? Not teachers, that's certain. I've been thinking a lot about how to make this time useful for participants. After all, they will be learning about self-care from a heretic. It's not that I don't believe in self-care. It's just that I am bad at it. If the goal of self-care is to keep one on an even keel and help a person see that matters and what does not, it seems like there are some prongs that can make this work easier. Managing our feelings, managing our work and managing our fun seem to be important factors in maintaining balance and equanimity. Managing Feeli

"How do you get the kids to not want a worksheet?" It's a fair question. I used to think that it would be just a Year One problem, but the problem has lingered. Each year, I have the hope that kids will gleefully ditch traditional learning and wholeheartedly embrace a more conceptual, more open ended way of doing math. And every year, I find that I'm still fighting the pull of traditional learning in math. In the past few days, I've been pondering these questions. How do you get them to ditch worksheets? And this afternoon a colleague stopped by asking simply, How do we get them to try? These questions are separate, yet related. The textbook and the worksheet are compelling in their comfort - they are straightforward and, even if the math is hard, they are easy for our brains to figure out. Doing something different is difficult - not just for students, but also for the teachers who craft learning experiences. While there are abundant tasks and learnin