Pivoting on This Week's #caedchat Topic

I really can’t say, I guess I laugh to keep from cryin

So much goin on, people killin people dyin

But I won’t dwell on that, I think I’ll elevate my mental

Q-Tip on Steve Biko from Midnight Marauders, released November 1993

For me, there’s A Tribe Called Quest, then everyone else. There isn’t a conversation about my favorite rap group. It’s them. There isn’t a close second.

As a white male who was fourteen and living in Wisconsin when Midnight Marauders came out, there is a lot I can’t understand about what it was like to be a young black man in New York City in the early 1990s. I can only listen. And appreciate.

I certainly don’t begrudge Q-Tip his choice to elevate his mental and focus on his music and positive things going on around him.

***

I am hosting #caedchat this week. A long time ago - January? Late 2015? - I came across a really interesting article on the importance of open networks for success in life and work. It’s good. Thought provoking. The questions are ready to go - I wrote them already. It’d be a good conversation. We’ll have it. At some point. Not this week.

***

Alton Sterling.

Philando Castile.

***

Earlier this week, we lost a great humanitarian in Elie Wiesel. As I was going through my timeline late last night, I came across a quote of his that someone (sorry, I don’t remember who) tweeted in the aftermath of the second videotaped shooting of a black man by police officers in as many days: "We must take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented."

And as I read that quote, I knew that we can’t talk about open networks on #caedchat this week. As my mind churned, my thoughts turned to Q-Tip’s verse. It was written in a completely different context - a young black man in New York City in the 1990s can be completely right to choose focus on the positive. This week though I can’t ‘not dwell on that and elevate my mental.’

Educators - disproportionately white - often choose not to dwell on the negative, including (and importantly) the systematic oppression that impacts so many of our students. We choose to elevate our mind by focusing on the happy things. And while there is a time and a place for that, at some point that neutrality has to end. For all our students’ sake.

I don’t know what we’re talking about on #caedchat this week. But it won’t be open networks.

Branding in Education

Branding. It's a thing. A thing companies talk about. For profit companies. It's all about being known for something positive. But it involves actively going out and building your brand. Pimping your product. And your name.

Unfortunately (in my opinion), educators are starting to worry about their brands. They are starting to make conscious choices about how they sell themselves on social media to people - and companies.

That distresses me.

Branding has no place in my classroom or in my life. And I don't think it should have a place in yours.

Is there place for branding in education? I think that there is. But that sure as heck doesn't reside in a classroom. But a school? Take a look at what Jason Markey is doing outside Chicago with the @LeydenPride Twitter account and hashtag. The two Leyden high schools are playing an active part in shaping the message that the public gets about their schools.

Take a look at Tim Lauer's Instagram feed: he regularly shows off the beautiful moments that go on at Lewis Elementary School on Portland.

Tim and Jason are playing an active role in the conversation about their respective schools. Any principal that isn't working to actively trying to have a hand in the message about and opinion of their school is missing a part of their job, I believe. And given the amount of teens and parents on social media, why wouldn't a school try to infiltrate that space and try to control part of the message that is going out about them. Seems logical.

But the branding of teachers? Creating a brand for all our students? Get out of here. I want no part of that. It disgusts me.

Let's start with students. I am all in favor of students actively working to create a positive digital footprint. Yeah, get a Twitter account. Tweet relevant things to your life. Don't cuss like a sailor. Don't tweet dumb pictures of yourself or others. Talk to your friends. I get it.

But what is a student brand? Who are they trying to sell themselves to? To what end are they marketing themselves? WHY are they marketing themselves? Colleges or employers aren't going to judge them based on their Twitter followers. Or how many hits their blog has gotten.

Why do teens need to build this brand? Go out. Be a good digital citizen. Populate a Google search in your name with good content that you control. That's a positive digital footprint. Or digital tattoo. (Or, according to some, digital tramp stamp.)

But don't sell yourself. Don't market yourself. There just is no need. And what message is that sending these students when we tell them to go out and brand themselves? Enough people are self-centered in this world. We have no need to go around consciously creating more.

Now on to the bigger problem: teachers deciding to brand themselves.

We all know what it looks like:

• "Let me tweet my blog post 18,000 times. To 75 different hashtags. Including to conferences and events that I'm not even at. I WANT BLOG HITS!!!"
• "Let me tweet my website. Even though there is nothing new up on it. I'll throw in a few hashtags too for good measure."
• "I'm going to choose one trick. I'll tweet about that thing over and over again."
• "I'm going to be loud. Always right. I'll act like I know what I'm talking about. I won't consider other opinions. Ever. I'm right, dangit!"
• "I'm going to tweet promotional materials about myself. Over and over again. Who could ever get tired of me?"
• "I'm going to tweet pithy sayings repeatedly. I'll drop them in education-related chats. They'll be somewhat relevant to what people are talking about. Even if I say the same things over and over again, people will always agree with me and retweet these sayings. I'm building my brand."

I've had discussions with people on Twitter about these actions. About branding. People who I respect. People who think teachers - and students - should be branding themselves. Sorry. I disagree. Strongly.

Let's start back at a few really key questions.

• Who are you blogging for?
• Who are you tweeting for?
• Why are you involved in social media?

Let me give you THE ONLY acceptable answer: to make your classroom - or the classrooms you serve - better.

That's why we all joined Twitter in the first place. Some recently. Some years ago. But we got on here to connect. To learn from other passionate, dedicated educators. From all over the world.

Is your #EduFame making your classroom - or the classrooms you serve - a better place?

Let me answer that question for you: no. No it most certainly isn't.

What if you spent that time you spend pimping yourself or your blog mentoring a new teacher? Holding office hours to help struggling students? Actively making your classroom a better place for your students?

I'm going to channel my inner Jeremy Macdonald here: just do good - the rest will take care of itself. Make your classroom a place kids can't wait to get into every day. Don't waste your time - and more importantly your students' time - chasing down #EduFame.

Do what is right: create the space so that your students crush it in your classroom every day. The rest will take care of itself.

Promise.

End note: Jeremy's piece, linked above, really made me think. As did Greg Garner's piece linked here. Thanks, gents.

Teach Indignant

This year, teach indignant.

Indignant about the state of education in this country. For all the big - and small - reasons.

Indignant about them number of days lost to asinine standardized tests that are ruining education.

Indignant that misguided billionaires who know nothing about education are shaping educational policy in this country.

Indignant that our kids come to school hungry every day. In America. The richest country the world has ever known. And if that doesn't make you indignant, think about who the last president who cared about poverty was. Let me give you a hint: it was over fifty years ago.

Indignant that all school workers are overworked and underpaid. And under respected. "You get summers off - must be nice."

But here's the thing. And it's a thing that I still struggle with. But a thing I am getting better at. If you get angry - or get indignant - all that does is ruin your day. It doesn't ruin Bill Gates's day. Or whoever or whatever you're indignant with.

This anger eats at you. Until you come to terms with it.

In this case, until you channel that indignation into something positive.

Teach indignant.

Don't ask for permission. Got something you think will work for your students? GO DO IT. Don't ask an administrator. Ask for forgiveness later.

Don't have data to back up what you want to do in your class? Is it best for your students? Go do it.

Want to make a difference in your kids' lives? Want to do right by them? They're the reason you're here, working fifty or sixty or seventy hours a week. GO DO IT.

Teach indignant. Make a difference. It's 2014. Just go do it.

Remember: is it what is best for kids? Good. Go do it. Ask for forgiveness later. Not permission now.

Big Brother Is Here

Soooooooo. 

Yeah. 

This picture.

This picture was posted on the door of the teachers’ lounge - which is between two hallways at my school. Do I need to start to talk about how depressing this picture is?

We’re Watching You.

Don’t do anything bad - we’re videotaping you. Have fun getting suspended!

Because, you know, using fear to control students has got to be just about the worst way to go about trying to get them to do what you want.

Ugh. Just all of the ugh.

Also, the second time ‘lounge’ shows up on the sign it is spelled wrong. #facepalm

School Funding Rant

I was sitting in a meeting yesterday where we were trying to decide how to spend about $10,000 that would be coming to my school from our district. I don’t exactly remember the reason the money was coming our way. Here were my choices to advocate for how to spend the money (in parenthesis is the amount of money needed to cover this cost):

Spend it to pay for subs to cover teachers when they had to take a day out of the classroom to co-plan with their department. My school is working towards having students defend a portfolio of their best work in order to graduate. In order to create these portfolio pieces, departments need time to (in no particular order): be clear on the most important skills that a high school graduate should have after spending time in their department, create projects that push students to do that thinking, reflect on and modify those projects in order to make them better/more in line with department goals/better line up with school goals, and create new projects in areas where projects are lacking. Clearly, spending money in this area is essential to our school’s mission, as well as creating critical thinkers and productive citizens. Cost: all of the available money

Pay for locks for our students’ lockers. Since the ACLU lawsuit about public education providing all the necessities for a student to function normally for free - meaning public schools can’t charge for field trips, locks for lockers, or PE clothes - these expenditures are becoming more normal. After discussing this topic very briefly, it is agreed that this money must be spent to ensure equal access to all our students. Cost: $1500

The next possible use of the money was to support low income seniors so that they could attend senior events. This means things like prom (though low SES students can get highly reduced prices to prom), Senior Knight (the senior party the night before graduation), and graduation gowns. Cost: $2000

My school has an advisory program that teaches students life skills and content that would normally be covered in content area classes. However, given the NCLB and high-stakes testing era, these skills have fallen by the wayside - advisory makes sure every student has a place to learn the skills. My advisory (grades 9 and 10) also serves as a home base for students throughout their adjustment to high school. Every year I have student-led conferences where parents/guardians show up and have students reflect on their progress thus far in the year, set goals for the next grading period, and answer parent and teacher questions. The next use of the money from my district was was to reimburse the 9th and 11th grade teachers for the time they put into these conferences. Cost: $6000

The final choice: ensure funding for the entire year for our after school program. We have had an after school study program for the last four to five years. This program is funded by our site’s money and staffed by graduates of the program and run by graduates of the high school I work at. The after school program serves at-risk students that, despite our best efforts, don’t get served by our best efforts. Cost: $1000

Why does a school - an incredibly progressive high school, with a history of innovation and creativity - need to fight for a couple thousand dollars? All of these things I just mentioned should get funded - all are essential. The fact that I - and the other teacher I teach with - have to MAKE A CHOICE about funding programs that are incredibly important to my school (a progressive school that doesn't waste money and has a butt-load of teachers that work REALLY HARD) really angers me. Should all of these programs be funded? Yes. Like one hundred times over. Why can’t they be? Grr.

Thanks. I feel better now. Or a little better.

The Wire and Education

Yes, I’m finally getting around to watching The Wire. Yes, I’m a little behind on that. And I’ve only watched the first three seasons, so what I’m about to say may be less relevant after I watch season four, which is about education. With all the caveats done now…

I was struck by the backwardness of the higher-ups in the police department and mayor’s office and Boston. I know that this portrayal was intentional, but it was interesting to me nonetheless. What the higher-ups want - consistently, across the three seasons I watched - was arrests. Drugs seized. Low level players taken off the street.

All of these desires went against the work that McNulty and everyone else was doing. Busting these low-level criminals always put the ‘on the street’ police in a bad spot: wires would be revealed, larger cases against bigger offenders would be comprised, etc. Essentially, the desires of the higher-ups would ruin weeks of work against bigger drug targets that McNulty was working on.

And this sounds so much like education. I got an email from my superintendent this past week congratulating the district on our API score going up. No mention of anything else - just an ‘atta boy, scores up’ email. We’ve got the higher-ups in education pushing test scores while classroom teachers know better: teaching to the test dumbs down school and is bad for students.

But no one asked us. At least in The Wire, McNulty and Daniels can go in and talk to the powers that be - Burrell and Rawls - and explain why it’s a bad idea to make arrests. I’m not sure I have that power.

But I do have an advantage that McNulty and Daniels don’t have: I can do what is best for my students in my classroom, standardized test scores be damned.

Funding Technology In My Classroom

Some context. Because, you know, I’m a history teacher: we always need context. I live and teach in Silicon Valley, the technology capital of the world. I have one school desktop in my room that is supposed to be for my personal use - students use way more often than I do. I have eight Chromebooks in my room that I was lucky enough to get funded through Donors Choose. They are awesome and are heavily used in class. Other classes at my school don’t have devices this powerful. There are netbook carts that live with our ELD program, but many of them struggle to run any of the Google apps that get heavy usage in my class. This isn’t typed out of jealousy, pride, or anger, but just as a fact: my students regularly have access to eight of the most powerful devices that go into student hands at from school.

Yes, there is a tech issue at my school. And in my district. I’m working on that. As part of the instructional technology committee (it is what it sounds like) as well as the district digital task force (who spent the year looking at what 1:1 implementation would look like in our district), I have tried to get involved in these conversations. As the year would down and the digital task force made their recommendation for starting a 1:1 pilot at school sites next year, I was not thrilled with the results. There will be somewhere between two and five laptop carts given to each site. How those will be assigned is unclear. They might be assigned to one teacher. A cart could get assigned to a group of teachers. It was very unclear.

I also made another decision: while eight devices was great, my classroom was going to be 1:1 next year. That meant I needed twenty more Chromebooks. By the start of the next school year. And I was going to have to come up with the money to fundraise them.

Donors Choose to the rescue! I put together a Donors Choose project proposal and got it approved. Twenty Chromebooks through Donors Choose? $6,062.26. Now, to come up with the $6K plus...

Thankfully, I’ve got some awesome friends and family and they raised about $3,000 pretty quickly. So, the question becomes - how to find that rest of the money? And here is where the story gets interesting.

Could my school fund it? I talked to our education foundation (the fact that public high schools need an education foundation to fund classes and supplies is for another time). Well, they aren’t supposed to be buying technology for teacher and student use: technology is supposed to come from the district. It isn’t. The foundation could only donate money if they were directed to by our school’s governing council.

Could the school’s governing council fund my project? That’s a sticky, sticky question (and a reason I never want to be an administrator). I made a request for the funds and spoke at the meeting - no money for this project.

What about my parents - could I ask them for money to fund this project? When I broached this idea with my principal, I knew the loaded nature of the question. Yes, another loaded question. We aren’t supposed to ask for anything from parents (outside of money for field trips, no more than $10). There is one ask for money per year by our school, by our education foundation, at the beginning of the school year. Teachers at my school are never supposed to make direct requests for anything from our parents. So could I ask my parents to support my project?

“Wow. Well, I bet you’d raise $2,000 to $3,000 in no time at all.”

That number suprised me, but that is also only $18-$25 per family. And I was able to ask them, and many parents supported my project. Which is, you know, all kinds of awesome.

But these facts remain: my classroom will be 1:1 next year. And these devices won’t come from my district. And they won’t come from my school site. They will come from the generosity of my friends, family, and parents of current and former students. And this leaves me feeling, well, something. Far beyond grateful to have such a supporting group of people behind me. That is for darn sure. But also concerned. When a teacher with a compelling vision for a 1:1 classroom can’t make that happen without incredible generosity of their community? Something isn’t right here.

Ouch

My ninth graders (all 110 of them in our smaller learning community) just finished a career project where they used their strengths as people and the skills and priorities they would bring to future careers to do some research and then create a deliverable (most used Google presos, some did Glogsters or Prezis). Several students researched teaching as one of their possible careers. This description of how teaching fit with their priorities initially hurt my soul.

Teachers don't have any venue to be curious or talented?

But then I thought about it some more. Isn't this also a public perception issue? Hasn't this students, who is in their tenth year of school, seen an awful lot of teachers? If they feel like teaching doesn't let you use your curiosity or talent, that strikes me as a pretty big problem.

High (and Low) Stakes Testing

DEEP BREATH.

This will not become a rant. This will not become a rant. This will not become a rant.

DEEP BREATH.

Okay, I’ve got this.

I got into a conversation on Twitter this morning with John Stevens and Katie Regan (if you’re not following them you should be - they both Know Things and like to share). The conversation centered around state testing. Then, I got a folder of district-mandated common assessments for my ninth grade world history students this afternoon. Based on these two things, I wanted to get a few thoughts out.

It is high stakes testing season across the US right now. In California, STAR testing rules the day at most schools. Seven weeks before the school year is over students are tested on bloated state standards. Multiple choice tests. #FoDayz as the kids like to say.

Let’s look at the stakes of these tests. For my school and district, STAR tests are high stakes. They determine our AYP and all those other acronyms I often get confused about. Imagine being a math or English teacher in California: the way our state formula works, math and English are disproportionately represented in in a school and district’s AYP. I’m lucky - I teach world history (only 14% of a school’s AYP), which is only tested in tenth grade. That means no STAR tests for my ninth graders this year. Which is, you know, nice.

For my students, the STAR tests are low stakes. The tests mean nothing to them. Their future doesn’t depend on it. There is no audience, authentic or otherwise, for STAR tests. These tests literally mean NOTHING to my students - no impact on their grades, graduation, or future.

Result: STAR tests are the lowest of low stakes for my students and, given the ass-backwards, myopic and incomplete way we are currently choosing to measure education in America, the highest of high stakes for my school and district. This juxtaposition of stakes is not lost on me.

Fast forward to this afternoon. Waiting in my mailbox were the multiple choice answer forms for my district’s ninth grade common assessment. This is a test I am required (maybe? I’m working on that) to give. I didn’t help write the test. In my six years in my district, I have yet to actually see the results of this test. If I’ve never seen the results of the test, you can guess whether or not my students have ever seen their results...

Again, to the stakes of this common assessment. For my students, the stakes for this test are low: it means nothing to them at all. No audience, authentic or inauthentic. No impact on their future. For me the stakes are low: it means nothing to me at all. As I said, I’ve never even seen the results this common assessment. And yet. And yet. I’m asked/required to give up a day of my class so my students can complete this test. Result: this test is huge waste of my time face to face time with my students.

I’m left with several thoughts. First, both tests rob me of the ability to allow my classroom to be student interest-driven. If it weren’t for bloated state standards and high stakes testing, I could teach some world history. Real world history, not the ‘world’ history that the California content standards ask me to teach, which is essentially European history. And I would teach some world history. But there would be some awesome 40% time (no, not 20% time - 40% time) for students to learn about what they wanted to learn about. Yes, all students should be exposed to some world history. But all students should have the right to come to school and be excited about learning and creating things they are passionate about. Without overbearing standards and poorly conceived standardized tests, my students would have this 40% time to explore their passions.

A second thought I had was which test was a bigger waste of time. Neither test means anything to my students; the stakes are only high on STAR tests for my district and school. Because of the dramatic difference in the stakes of STAR tests, does that make them a bigger or smaller waste of time? Or is it the test I’m mandated to give by my district but have never looked at the results of that is a bigger waste of time? I’m not sure what the right answer is here. I am sure, though, that neither answer is right.

***

I’m not a super jaded, job-hating teacher. Quite the opposite, actually. I’ve got a PLN that pushes my thinking on just about everything on a daily basis. I’m taking a hammer to my classroom and trying to figure out what a world history class can really be. I’m excited about the changes I’ve made this year in my classroom. I’m more excited about the changes I want to make next year (PBL? 20% time that is really 20% of the time my students are in my class?).  I love my job. I love my students. But high stakes testing, how we measure what students know and learn, and how we evaluate schools (and teachers if value added metrics become part of teacher evaluation) frustrate me.

There is a way forward. A collective schoolwide vision about what is most important for our students is a start. Yes, this vision needs to be a cornerstone of your planning and classtime, not just a thing that people pay lip service to. Department wide vision on what a history class can be and what should be emphasized in it. A portfolio system that focuses on subject mastery, growth, creation, and authentic assessment is another part of the answer. Emphasizing soft skills in the classroom over content memorization will help. Innovation Day/genius hour/20% time - ways to base more of a student’s time at school around their passions - will also help.

But man, high stakes testing just has to go. It is ruining education.

A Weekend of #EduAwesome

Last weekend was a weekend of semi-organic awesomeness. Extended discussions about classroom practice ensued, to the tune of an 11,000 word, 25 page Google document edited by people all over the US and Canada. Google Hangouts happened. To get to hear the thoughts of so many smart people over the weekend was incredibly revitalizing.

Much of the conversation that occurred dealt with the recent more strident criticism of flipped classrooms. Others have written about this more eloquently than I can - see here, here, and here - and while I echo their sentiments, I won’t repeat their arguments.

I will say this: my conversations, with six amazing, inspiring educators, would not have occurred without my involvement in the flipclass movement, particularly my active engagement with that community on Twitter - I wouldn’t have met these great, thoughtful educators without conversations around the flipclass hashtag.

So say what you will about flipped classrooms. Define flipped classrooms narrowly. Demonize them. If a movement that teachers come to of their own volition that pushes a mindset of organizing a classroom around student ownership of learning is the antithesis of good teaching to you, that is fine.

But know this: I will continue to be involved in the discussion of flipclass. Troll the hashtag and the people involved in it. Attack and demonize flipclass. Attack and demonize teachers who make the choice to flip their classrooms. If the best target of your (in my mind misplaced) vitriol is reflective teachers who are looking to improve their practice and are willing to take great risks to do so, well, there is not much I can do about that other than be supportive of those teachers who are willing to take these risks.

But I will continue to be involved. I will continue to share with flipclass teachers around the world. Say what you will about flipclass rooms, or flipclass teachers creating PLNs that are echo chambers. I know when I hear the stories from Carolyn Durley or Cheryl Morris of how they are placing student interest and authentic learning at the center of their classroom, I am embarrassed at how far I still have to go.

But I also know that by continuing the conversations with the amazing educators involved in flipclass I will be driven to be a better teacher. I will be forced to continue to innovate in my classroom, to continue to push on what a history classroom is and can be.

So say what you will. I’ll be here, looking to do the best for my students that I humanly can. And to continue to try to help other teachers do the same.

Who Are We Serving?

To what end does our educational model exist? What are we trying to prepare students for? There are plenty of intelligent people who have written things the factory model of education, the crushing weight of state standards, the exorbitant amount of time (and money) that is spent on preparation for high-stakes testing. So who are we serving?

The statistics about high school dropout rates are staggering. This is a sizable population that is clearly not being served with our current educational model. (Yes, I acknowledge there are a myriad of other factors behind student dropout rates.)

But what about the other end of the spectrum? The high fliers, the students taking 5 AP classes so they can go to a good college to get a good job to have a good life? A former student, currently a junior, stopped by today and we chatted about how junior year was going. My former student said the following things:

• “I don’t have time to read anymore. I love to read and I can’t anymore.”
• “I had to quit playing tennis because I was too tired to go from school to school to play and then do homework.”
• “Well, then I have four hours of SAT classes every weekend.”
• “I wanted to run track, but my mom said do you have time to do that with all your AP tests?”
• “I’m going to bed at 11:30 or 12. Most of my friends are up until 1, so I’m doing okay.”
• “Might as well take the SAT this semester – I’ve got AP tests and SAT IIs second semester. Don’t want to be overloaded, right?”

I’d argue, vehemently, that we aren’t serving these students either. Not sleeping? Dropping extracurriculars? When do kids get to be kids? When they are 30?

So as educators who among our students are we serving? Who are we preparing adequately for life outside of a classroom? What are we preparing our students for? What choices can individual teachers make in their classrooms that will help prepare students for life? Because this system isn’t going to just up and disappear over night.