Be Brave and Ask For It

My post from the #dtk12chat website, originally found here: http://goo.gl/dQ4YH0

Once a quarter I ask my students to complete a teacher evaluation. It’s not incredibly lengthy or complicated. It’s twenty straight forward questions where I ask them to evaluate my strengths, areas for improvement, and our classroom policies. It gives them voice in our classroom and over the years it has become one of my favorite activities. I have grown so much professionally through the critique I’ve received from my students.

One of my colleagues noticed that I was sorting through these evaluations at lunch and asked what I was doing. I explained my policy on teacher evaluations and she laughed. She told me that I’d probably only do it this one time, and I’d never do it again. Instead of saying what I was thinking, I instead asked her why she thought it was so funny. She told me that I’d never get anything worthwhile out of it. The students couldn't possibly have anything worthwhile to say.

My knee jerk reaction was to say something along the lines of being afraid of what you hear, but the problem is so much larger than fear. The lack of student voice in their education is one of the most bizarre paradoxes in our country. We ask so much of students. We ask them to choose their career. We ask them to make educated decisions regarding their college education. We ask them to make good choices about their friends and peers. But we hardly ever ask them to make decisions regarding their education in the K12 world.

I have learned more about myself as a teacher by asking my students to evaluate me than I ever did by being evaluated by my superiors. Students have such a first hand insight and when given the chance are eager to articulate what they see. They know what they want. They know what works. Their language isn't always pedagogical and their tact could use some work, but I can’t reason passing on such pure, unfiltered critique because I may get my feelings hurt. We tell students all the time that critique is designed to improve the quality of the final product, and critique of my skill as a teacher is no exception.

If you have never asked your students to evaluate you as a teacher, I’d challenge you to be vulnerable and ask for it. The risk is so worth the reward, and students feel valued by voicing their opinion. Let’s practice what we preach. Be brave.

One Step at a Time

I think that somewhere along the lines of a new year and an adjustment period I sort of forgot the roots of why I began blogging in the first place. I wanted to talk about process. I wanted to talk about the moments of greatness that happen in between the beginning and end of a school year. I wanted to linger in the widespread chasm of learning to see what experiences it could provide. But with experiencing such an unexpected system shock I lost sight of the beauty in those small moments and began to focus on the monstrosity of things that I have no direct control over. I looked down at the chasm, gulped, and started to take a step away from the edge. 

I started to blame the chasm for being what it is, knowing good and well that it can only be what it has been formed to be. Just as a river takes countless years to form a deep canyon, so it can take countless years to build back up what has been worn down. I can't control the depth or breadth of the chasm I face.

Just like I can't control that test scores and uniformity are of high value where I work.

I can't control that my students have been conditioned to value their grade almost more than their learning.

I can't control that complacency has taken a deep root in the professional lives of so many of my co-workers.

But amidst the long list of things I cannot control, there are unlimited ways in which I can make a difference.

I can control my exchanges with students and create a positive, collaborative work environment.

I can expose my students to the concepts of critique, revision, and real world problem solving even if I can't take them through design challenges.

I can sharpen their teeth on complicated truths that push them to see themselves as a powerful force for change in their world.

I can foster meaningful relationships that provide students with a safe place to try new things and even fail for the sake of authentic improvement.

I may not have my 3D printer, my Chromebooks, my prototyping materials, or even the ability to construct my own assessments, but I still have the power to make a life-long, empowering, and purposeful change in my students' lives by how I approach my task each day.

So from now on I'm done looking down at the chasm with fear and complaints. It's time to pull on my boot straps and get to work. 

It's Cancer.

Brokenness.

A body that is broken is easily recognized. When a body is broken outwardly, structurally, it is fairly easy to recognize.  Casts, splints, bruises, stitches: all of these are indications of pain but also of healing. We look for signs of contusion or imperfectness and do our best to get it back to its original condition. 

But not all brokenness is outward.

Brokenness can also be internal. 

Brokenness that is internal versus outward can be extremely dangerous. Malignant, internal brokenness can go unnoticed for months, years even, before a single outward symptom is recognized. Tragically, systemic, brokenness can result in permanent damage, or worse yet, destruction if left undetected and remedied. 

As a society we treat structural and systemic ailments differently. Broken arms, sprained ankles, bruised knees, and bandages are all a part of growing up. We have almost come to expect them. Internal infliction tumors, and growth, however, are something we treat with utmost concern and diligence because we know these maladies are life-threatening. But we can't begin to treat them until we are diagnosed.

Many school districts have casts; obvious broken places where structural damage exists. The word structural describes the relationships between a part and its whole. In this case, students and their teachers; parents and the schools; curriculum and students, community culture and academic culture just to name a few. If you searched hard enough you could probably think of these broken places in your own school system. Someone has recognized the problem and taken steps to correct and prevent it from happening again. You may have even signed the cast yourself.

I wish my prognosis was so simple. Defined. Fixable.

I am declaring a diagnosis.

Cancer.

A cancer in the deepest and most fundamental system of my school district that places the utmost importance on test scores and public perception of uniformity, standardization, and commonality. Like many patients before their diagnosis, there are no little to no obvious symptoms. 

Test scores are the best in the state. 

School report cards are above reproach. 

Students are exemplary and models for behavior and academic integrity.

But there is a danger here. It is lurking below the surface and slowly eating away at any force that stands as opposition to what 'has always been'. I see it in my co-workers, in administration, and most unfortunately in the students themselves in questions like "When is the test?", or "How much does this count towards my grade?"

It tears at the core of who I am as an educator to watch such a brokenness everyday and see no one take action against what is, eventually, sure to be a systemic failure. Teachers who are contempt to do what they have always done, students who are force fed the idea that their test scores are the definition of what is to be celebrated, a mentality that we must be alike to be above reproach: all of these afflictions stir beneath the surface of a 'model school district'.

But it is quite the contrary. 

It is toxic.

I leave feeling sick to my stomach from the amount of effort it takes to continue doing what I know is right, and not to fall to the ranks of people who are so full of disdain toward things that are new or challenging that they lose sight of what is most beneficial to the students. I refuse to fall in the cracks. 

I will fight this disease of complacency, even if I do it alone. 

Unfortunately, just as with a systemic illness, recovery is much slower than with a structural break. Brokenness started from within, and that is where the healing must begin also. My fight will be slow, and there will not always be obvious gains. But just as with internal medicine, I have to trust that constant, consistent efforts will begin to create a change from the inside, too.

Please believe me when I say I do not take the word cancer lightly. I, like most everyone, have been personally effected by the devastating tolls cancer can take on a person's body. Unfortunately, I know the pain and turmoil it can bring into so many lives. 

I choose my words intentionally.

I'm fighting a cancer, and I keep telling myself I'm not alone.

"Are You Ready?"

You're five years old. You stand with your wrinkly toes hanging over the edge of the concrete. The sign to your right says 3 feet, but to you that might as well be a high dive. Your arms feel naked without your floaties, and your fingers are twitchy with anticipation. Your mom or dad stands waist deep in the water below, looking up at you with hope in their eyes.

They ask, "Are you ready?"

You're eleven years old. You've spent hours picking out your outfit. Your shoes and pants are just coordinated enough to say 'I've got style' but not so matchy that it says 'My mom picked this out'. The carpool line is moving WAY faster than it looked when you got here. The middle school suddenly looks a lot bigger than the elementary school you remember. You've got your granola bar and your class schedule.You made sure to hide the note Mom stuck in your lunch box before you left. 

She turns to her left and asks, "Are you ready?"

You're 18 years old. Every conceivable item you could ever need is packed into your beat-up car. Your dad has checked the oil three times this morning. Your mom has already cried twice. You've got your roommate's number, solid directions, and what you hope is enough cash to make it until Thanksgiving.

As he shuts the hood, your Dad turns and asks, "Are you ready?"

Today is the day. You've spent every moment of the last 10 months agonizing over seating arrangements, flowers, programs and favors. You haven't truly slept in three days. You've spent the last 4 hours getting dressed and everyone your know is here to celebrate with you. You know that today marks the first day of the rest of your life.

Right before the doors open, your best friend turns and asks, "Are you ready?"

It seems like we get the question "Are you ready?" at some of life's most important moments. It's a question we ask because we know that what follows will be intense, difficult, or even life-altering. Even though it's a phrase we use often, seldom do we realize the weight it can carry. 

Ready has two definitions. One is obvious. The word ready means "fully prepared". This is probably what most people mean when they ask the question, "Are you ready?" No one wants to go into a situation that is intense or difficult thinking that they aren't equipped to handle what comes their way. We spend months agonizing over that one moment to make sure that we have everything we need. 

This is what most people have meant when they've recently asked me if I am ready for my new school year to begin. As some of you know I've changed jobs this summer and will be starting at a new school in a new district. I began going to my classroom in June to clean house, arrange furniture, move in my things, rearrange furniture, make copies, and to really make the room 'mine'. 

What most of these people meant when they asked if I was ready was really if I was prepared. Moving schools, if you've never done it, is a tedious task at best and a pain in the butt at worst. You pack all of your teacher belongings (which is usually a ton), box them up, and move them to a new place. You then have to organize them in a way that feels functional, become acclimated to a new work space, learn new curriculum, prepare new lesson plans, and almost start from scratch. People want to know if my room is decorated, if my bulletin boards are Pinterest worthy, if my copies are made, and if my posters are hung. That is really what they want to hear about when they ask me, "Are you ready?". 

However, the word 'ready' also has a second meaning. The word ready can also mean "within reach". I spoke earlier this summer about how much I connected with my students and how that feeling of being needed meant a lot to me. The school that I'm working at now is at the opposite end of the spectrum from my old job. The demographics are about as opposite as they can be. These students will be unlike any that I have ever taught before. 

I used to think that all my preparation in the summer was for my benefit. I went in early and stayed late all to ease my own need to feel prepared. But really, all this work is to make my student's experience a better one. The more prepared I feel about how my classroom looks and how far I am planned out means more time focusing on my students and who they are. I prepare in order to make myself fully available to my kids from day one so that we can start building meaningful relationships. I know that I can never really be fully prepared to meet my student's needs. I haven't even met them. But I know that I am making myself available to my students from day one. Culture is the MOST important thing on the first day of school, and I know that I have worked for weeks on end to create a culture on the first day that will make my classroom a place of learning and trust. Shoot. We may even have fun.

So, when people ask you "Are you ready?" for the new school year to start, don't just reflect on your worksheets and your walls. Instead ask yourself, "Am I within my students' reach? Am I fully available to them?" If not, spend your time getting rid of your distractions so that you can be ready to greet your students and set a culture that will define your school year.

Good luck friends. You will do great things this year.

Expectations.

With the start of school approaching WAY TOO SOON quickly for most of us, I'm sure I'm not the only one who has started thinking about this year. I'm prepping my new room, designing curriculum, planning projects, making Picasso-esque bulletin boards, and getting back in the mindset of 'Ok. I have to teach little people today'.

As I'm preparing to start a new job in a new school, one thing that is heavy on my mind is expectation. What are my expectations at this school versus my last school? What are the expectations of me as a teacher? What am I expected to teach? How am I expected to be accessible to parents and students? When am I expected to be at work? :)

I'm big on knowing what people expect from me. One thing I hate is to let someone down, and so by having clear expectations I find that it's easier for me to work and be successful at my job. I like to know what I need to do to be successful, and being successful means meeting those expectations.

As teachers, most of the time we turn to our administrators, principals, heads of school, and school boards to set our expectations. They help to write the guidelines and rules that direct our instruction, so it is the norm that they set the expectations within our classrooms and schools.

As I throw myself further and further into the rabbit hole that is Design Thinking, I find that more and more I try to focus on my direct users when it comes to setting norms in my classroom. And who is more directly affected in my classroom than my students?

Think about it. Yes, you are responsible to your boss. Yes, you are responsible to your school board. But you are also responsible to your students. It is their future you influence. It is their lives you could change. So it only makes sense that as teachers, we HAVE to know what our students expect of us.

So I went to the experts. I asked students,

 "If you could tell the teacher you're about to have in the Fall what you expect of them, what would you tell them?"

Here's what some of my favorite not-quite-adults had to say.

"I want my future teachers to be relatable."

"One of my problems with teachers is that they forget that we are still young. As we mature we often make mistakes, whether it's in our assignments or in our behavior. We have to learn from our mistakes and keep moving forward. I feel that teachers should help students in that learning process. I would want my future teacher to teach me school lessons as well as life lessons."

"I expect my teacher to treat all students differently, because we are all different. It shouldn't be about having favorite students but finding qualities you like in each student."

"Can we have class discussions connecting (school) to real life and real problems?"

"Provide room for personal growth challenges so that we grow as humans."

"I want a teacher who isn't afraid to push my boundaries, but will also help me if I fall behind."

"I just want my teacher to know I expect them to be hard on us because sometimes we need it. But I also expect them to have fun with us, and not be uptight all the time."

Pretty insightful stuff, huh? 

I know that there is always tons of stuff to do on the first day of school, but maybe consider ditching the lame icebreaker and ASK your students to jot down their expectations of you and for their time in your class.

Post them in a place you can see them. Have your students keep you accountable.

Know your expectations so you can rise above them this school year.

No one prepared me for this.

There are parts of my job that no one told me about.

There are parts of my job that I wasn't adequately trained for.

There are parts of my job that I don't even know are my job yet.

But one part of my job that no one told me about is probably one of the biggest burdens of my career.

Kids will look up to you.

I suppose no one had to tell me that. I really should have known it from experience. I was the sort of student who put my teachers on a pedestal. They could do no wrong. I studied their interactions with students. I attempted (poorly) to copy their humor. I internalized their passion for education.

But it's totally different when you realize a kid looks up to you.

I got a text message from a former student who is now in the military. He was the kid who from day one of his senior year was the class clown. He loved to make people laugh, and was so good at doing it. He especially loved to make people laugh at teachers' expenses. He and I went multiple rounds until we had a 'come to Jesus' meeting and found a common understanding. He needed to graduate, and therefore needed my class. After we sort of leveled with each other, he spent more time in my classroom than anywhere else. He spent time in my room when he was supposed to be in other classes. He bought me lunch when I forgot my lunch money. He would correct other students if they'd curse in front of me and tell them, "Watch your mouth. Don't disrespect my teacher." We took pictures together at his prom. When he graduated, I got the biggest hug. I heard from him a few months after graduation and he told me he was in the Army. They were training him to become a dental hygenist. The same kid that no one thought would pass my class, and some even laughed at me for supporting. I was so proud.

He texted me not too long ago, though, just to say hi and check-in. He said he was starting college classes in the Fall and that he may need my help. I told him that I'd do whatever I could to help him. And then the bombs dropped.

"I'm pretty sure I may run into some questions thru out college so I wont hesitate to ask you, b/c it seems like you have the answer to everything."

Wait.

What?

I am 26 years old. 8 years older than he is. I have debt. I have baggage. I have made make mistakes. I let people down. I don't always keep my promises.

And this kid thinks that I know what's up.

No one prepared me for the weight that hit my shoulders the instant I read that text message. I mean, yeah, I sort of always understood it;  there is responsibility that comes with teaching. Don't post stupid pictures on the internet. Don't curse in front of the children.  Don't let the kids see you stumble. 'Fake it 'til you make it' was/is a common phrase in my vocabulary. But this....this was different. I don't teach this kid anymore. He has no responsibility to me. But he looks up to me.

Me...who sometimes barely holds it together with dental floss. Me.

No one prepared me for this....not really. In school they talk about the importance of relationships with students and how they are so wonderful, but no one talks about how they REALLY change your life. Forever. There is such a sweet bliss in having a great connection with a student like this, but there is also such a burden. I was told once not to take too much of my job home, because I could not fix my students and their problems. While I do agree there is some substance to that, this burden is not one that leaves my shoulders at 3:45 every day and from June-August.

As a new school year rolls around and we start to envision how we want this year to be, I hope that I am able to remember the weight of my burden and that I grow stronger because of it. I hope you pick up the yolk and realize that, wanted or not, students will look up to you. Broken, ragged, incapable, unorganized, unqualified you.

How lucky are you to be that person for them?

No one told me it would be like this, and I'm sort of glad they didn't.

I wouldn't have believed them anyway.

I Quit.

I don't want to be just a teacher anymore.

I have wanted to be a teacher my whole life. Except for the brief period at age 9 when I wanted to be a Disney Imagineer, I have always dreamt of being a teacher. I was that girl who played teacher with my brothers over the summer, even making up and grading worksheets I made them fully expected them to complete. I was that student who begged my former teachers to let me help them set up their classrooms in those early August workdays. To me, there was something reverent about walking the halls before any other students arrived. I volunteered in classrooms during lunch. I mentored younger students before school. I loved everything about being a teacher. So, I graduated high school, went to college, and became a teacher. I got a teaching job at a relatively inner-city middle school with a challenging group of students, and loved them. But what I realized, just like many first year teachers, was that I wasn't prepared to teach my students the way I thought I was. Sure, I had the degree to prove I knew my stuff, but my on-the-job training was just beginning. I went to my district-approved PD, attended the 'mandatory' workshops,  and still felt like I wasn't gaining anything useful.

When I switched jobs and moved to the high school level, I became part of a new program that focused on design thinking and project based learning. I had the same demographic of students, but now, I had a whole new set of tools with which to team them. I felt like I had discovered my passion for teaching all over again.  I had found my niche in education. While it's only been two years since I found that niche, I'm incredibly excited about the journey I have taken since discovering my 'thing'. But, I quickly learned that if I wanted to become better at what I did I was going to have to take it upon myself to seek that information out. I was fortunate enough to be in a district that regularly offered professional development, but it wasn't what I needed or was looking for. So, like any Millennial would, I turned to Google.

I began to research anyone and everyone I could who practiced design thinking and project based learning, not just in my region of the country but world-wide. This research has led me to ever-deepening pools of resources on Twitter, Google+, and blogs written by people around the globe. I spend multiple hours a week talking to people who are better at what I do than I am, people who have done things I could only dream of, and those who have failed epically just like I have. I network with these people like I work at Cisco. My excitement for this wealth of information grew and I wanted to share it. I brought it to co-workers, administration, and there were some who were just as excited as I was. There were some who jumped right off the deep end and joined me. However, as the song goes, every party needs a pooper.

I expected that. I was fully prepared for people to be disengaged or disinterested. I expected to hear grumbles from the same people who complain every time they are asked to do anything outside the four walls of their classroom. (And to be fair, we can all be that way sometimes, right?) I didn't expect or prepare for people to look down on me for what I was doing, like I was shaming the family for rising above my station.  I wasn't hurting anyone else; I hadn't preached the 'repent or die' speech you hear sometimes from those with an academic agenda to spread. All I did was find something that I thought could make me a better teacher, and pass on what I had learned.

I heard things like "Why do you want to be more than a classroom teacher? Isn't that enough?" or "I'm content just to be a teacher and teach my content. That's what we went to school for, right?", and even "You're doing way too much. We don't get paid for that." I've never been one to let the haters get to me, too much. A good friend of mine always says, "Haters gonna' hate, potatoes gonna' potate." However, the idea that in my profession, it was frowned upon for me to say "I want more" really struck a nerve.

I was angry. I still sort of am. As teachers, we constantly fight the battle (whether we know/admit/like it or not) against the age old saying "Those who can't do, teach." I am as smart as my friends who are attorneys, medical students, veterinarians, and engineers. I could do anything I want to do, and what I want to do is teach. But there is this stigma that teachers JUST teach. There is so much power in that four letter word.

Just: adverb; barely; by a little; simply; only; no more than.

The phrase 'just a teacher' implies that there is a level of comfort in what you do and you look no further than that comfort zone. And yeah I get it. I mean, who doesn't love to be comfortable? But think of it this way, when was the last time you encouraged your students to be comfortable? When was the last time you longed for your students to be comfortable in their academic journey, because that is what will benefit them when they get out into that proverbial 'real world'? Comfortable is the kryptonite to growth, and I feel my job as a teacher is to push, pull, shove, drag, guide my students towards growth. If I don't practice what I preach, what kind of example am I setting? I strive to constantly challenge myself at my job and know that if I fail, it's not the end of the world. I try to model for my students what I ask them to do, and in an age where '21st Century Skills' rule the vocabulary, by seeking out experts, engaging in first hand research, and using technology as a tool I know that I'm doing just that.

To those who don't know where the edge of their comfort zone lies, to those who ask why I feel the need to be more than just a teacher, or to who are content never to seek out new material whether from comfort, lack of knowledge, or fear, I want to pose a question. When was the last time you told your students that the bare minimum was acceptable? If you want to JUST  be a teacher, what does that mean? And more importantly, are you truly serving your students if JUST what you do now is all you ever do?

I am resigning from being just a teacher.

It's not that I want to be more than a teacher. I want to be a teacher who does more. 

Linger in the Chasm.

This week Mount Vernon Presbyterian School's Institute for Innovation hosted design thinkers of all levels from across the country at their annual design thinking workshop called Fuse. Some of the country's foremost scholars, consultants, and practitioners of design thinking in education descended on the ATL for a week of intentional empathy and community-based collaboration. I was fortunate enough to have a conversation with Julie Wilson. Julie, who founded the Institute for the Future of Learning, was a featured MoVe speaker at fuse14 this week. As part of fuse14, the Museum of Design Atlanta hosted an event Wednesday evening to showcase their exhibit Design for Social Impact and played gracious host to #dtk12chat The Show 'MoDA Edition'. It was a great show and you can watch it here. I'm a moderator on the weekly design thinking chat, which is how I was invited to attend fuse14 as a coach. Before the show, we were given the chance to explore MoDA and really take in the exhibit. This is when I met Julie. Julie noticed the tattoo on my forearm, and asked how it was received (having tattoos) in my school. For me, my tattoos have always been a connection point with my students. It's a nugget of insight into a culture that we share and it's one of the few times that I have a connection with students that other teachers may not. And I just might be proud of that.

Julie asked me about my job and what I did. Having just ended a contract at a position I loved, and being unsure about how happy I will be with my new position, that was a difficult question to answer. I explained that I was about to start somewhere new, and proceeded to tell her about the place I was leaving. I talked about the statistics; the ones who frighten other educators and give me way  more street cred than I actually deserve. She said I must have tons of stories about my students and our experiences together, and one in particular came to mind. I talked for the next fifteen minutes about a former student of mine and the journey our relationship has taken over the past four years. I've taught him twice, and have seen him grow from an 11 year old rebellious thug wanna-be to an excited, empathetic, poignantly playful 15 year old. Our relationship has evolved and has taken many different roles over the years. I showed her a picture of me and the student on my phone as I would if he were my own child, and she smiled warmly at the picture, just like I do.

I told her that I was worried about my new school, and more specifically worried that I wouldn't have the opportunity to connect with my students the way I had at my previous school. I told her that I'm afraid that I won't have the same window with a new demographic of students the way I did with my former students. Read: I'm afraid I won't be needed. She told me that there will always be a window, and that I should always find it. She told me that I should live in that window, because that is where I will make a difference.

A great friend of mine was explaining the challenges of design thinking today, and described the way we look at problems like a canyon. You stand on one side of the Earth and there is a need or a desire to reach the other side. The only thing stopping you is a massive gash in the landscape, a space in the surface between one place and the next. Often in the productivity-centered society we live in we only focus on the two sides of the canyon. They can be called many things: beginning/end, young/old, beginner/expert, problem/solution. But no matter what descriptors you subscribe to one thing remains: the chasm is forgotten. Instead of seeing the chasm as a void I choose to look at the chasm as a place for growth; an undefined place in which infinite possibilities can exist. On either side of the chasm the spaces are concrete and unchangeable, but the future of that place between is unknown. It could grow and evolve until it is expansive and consumes the landscape, or it could shrink and close up,  even still permanently changing the surrounding terrain.

The chasm is more than what stands between point A and B, and yet we spend our lives trying to cross it as quickly as possible. As a teacher, I have been caught in that stereotype with my students. I inherit them at point A and am expected to guide them to point B. I am the sherpa on the trail of learning from August to June, but what if I focused less on the end point and more on the journey? In my admittedly little experience, what I have found is that I am at my best with students in the cracks. I teach them more when they aren't behind a desk, and I see more growth in the moments when it isn't being measured. Julie told me to keep finding that window and to seek my students out. What if it isn't so much of a window, but instead a crack? What if I am the most effective teacher when I meet my students in the chasms instead of herding them from one side to the next? I cherish the moments with students that were unintentionally beautiful because of what happens in the crevices between lessons and tests. The cracks are where life begins; not on the other side.