Reading: What One Thing Do You Want?

What one thing do you want your students to walk away with next June?

Amidst the overwhelming, ever-growing list of teacher mandated to-dos, what matters most?

What will keep the focus and the joy?

This year I’m defining the one thing by subject area, I want for my kiddos to own when they leave me.

To start off the year I thought  I wanted my students to have the ability to find a book to read for joy and/or learning. If students have this ability (that includes access and ability), I theorized, they will read. And with that, all else, thinking, imagining, articulating, understanding, citizenship will follow.

But this week I revised my thinking.

Many students see reading as schoolwork.

Last Friday, we sat together, as a class, at the end of reading talking about our reading goals for the three-day weekend, and over the hubbub, I heard, “My parents don’t want me to read on the weekends.”

What? I thought.
And, this picture emerges in my head:
“Honey, you know how we’ve told you to limit your reading on the weekends. Put that book down, let’s have some family time.”
Or maybe it was like this:
“Homework on the weekends? Oh no, this is family time.”

“Wait.” I say, “let’s talk about this. Reading on the weekends should be about joy and entertainment.” And we go on to talk about ways reading can go. I ask them to revise their plans. Don’t do the partner work, read that funny, scary, silly book and just enjoy.

Even after that conversation, I know I it will take more.

Today, a few stayed on the carpet to say they didn’t meet their commitment over the weekend. Perhaps we need to revise our work for the weekends. Revise our commitment to our partners and enjoy books differently.

The work goes on to define what readers do and how these readers in my classroom need to read.
There are those that read because they love it.
And there are those that read because they are told to.
Attitudes and abilities have been created over the years

And here’s one conundrum.
By telling students, reading is homework, do we confuse the idea of reading for joy?

Reading that is constrained to school can limit. When it becomes the thing your mom makes you do and your teacher has you respond to in writing, it is a chore and a burden. And if that’s how students see reading, I have let my students down.

Students need to learn how to dig for a theme, notice character action and write about reading because it makes them better readers. Better at understanding texts that can open their minds and change their lives. Deep thinking around reading is necessary to create our future leaders, thinkers, and doers. At the same time, and of equal importance, our students need a reading life that lives in joy and entertainment. Both are necessary.

We make time for this in the classroom. There is time designed for reading that is that for free, easy, and joyful consumption. Be it Dogman, Minecraft, or Harry Potter. There is dedicated time to dive into pure reading joy.

And we make time for deep thinking and writing about reading with partners, goals, and objectives. Because this, as my students report, helps them see more than they did before.

When my students leave my room next June, I want them to have a reading life that is lives where no one is watching; when they choose to find books that allow the pure joy of loving a book. And I want them to walk away knowing that there are times that digging deeply into text delivers a different kind of joy. One that expands their mind and connects with another.

What do you want your students to walk away with at the end of the year?

 

Knowing and Doing

The first three weeks of school are done, and I’m in the middle of a long weekend. Rather than the day to day that can fixate on missteps, this is a time to take stock and see positive movement.

This is what I noticed. After years of attempts, I have eliminated the use of “you guys” as a group identifier. I have made stilted efforts to replace it in the past, but in times of stress or exhaustion, I reverted to my old habit. Despite knowing better, breaking the habit of, “hey, you guys.” was harder than I thought.

You may have accomplished this gender neutrality by using words like scholars, students, or people. I have struggled even though I knew better.  Strangely, a math class changed my language.

Algebra marked the end of my math competence. The only reason I enrolled in a summer course focusing on said content was my desire to be a better teacher and the instructor, Megan Franke. Her equity approach to learning is evident in every move she makes. I went to the class thinking if anyone she could teach me the content. Turns out, four days with her translated into more than just algebraic thinking. Megan’s consistent use of “you all” during instruction hit me as an adult, and all the more vulnerable, learner.  It was a gut level reaction. You all referred to me. It welcomed me to learn.

Perhaps hearing it as a learner made it sink into my heart and change my ingrained language.

Understanding something is an essential step in our journey as educators. Experiencing it and doing is something altogether different.

Read more about gender neutral ways to students here.

 

 

 

Slice of Life: Sprouts and Dreams

Sunday, I stopped by my classroom to drop off a few things; put away some books.  Before I left, I checked on the seeds we planted on Wednesday. They sat, jars filled with dark, damp soil. I held each up and looked through the glass. The seeds were unchanged; suspended in the dirt. I worried about the upcoming lesson plan that assumed growth. My students planted each seed believing, that they held life. Sunday afternoon I saw little evidence of it.

The first week of school holds the excitement of newly planted seeds. Hopes and dreams of how each child will flourish. With the just right soil and with proper care, each seed will burst forth, and our garden will be filled, heads reaching toward the sun.

But want if it doesn’t go as planned?

This weekend, I looked at my students’ beginnings. I read bits of writing and math thinking. I tried to picture each student and list three things I knew about each one. I thought back to their choice of books, where they sat in the classroom, who they chose to sit next to, how they left for recess, what they shared with me. I remembered how they read. Some head down, book firmly grasped. Others were squirmy in their seats. Many on the carpet. Some perched in corners. This weekend I just took it all in and made some lists.

The beginning of the year holds hope as well as the possibility of judgment. Of putting students into one box or category. This weekend, this week, and next week I will make my lists. I’ll be collecting things I know about each child. Trying to piece together who they are, what they need.

Monday morning there were squeals in the corner. “Look! They’re growing!” Students clustered around the jars of planted seeds. The pots that held little hope of a plant the day before had burst forth.

Today, X, Y, and Z revealed tiny bits of themselves. X’s favorite sport is soccer, even though he’s finishing a summer baseball league. Y knows a lot about what she reads, more than one would assume by watching her. Z has a tough time making mistakes.

This year, every day is a day to look to find another sprout, a searching root, reaching for more.

Celebrate: A waiting classroom

A classroom needs to know how to wait.  Undisturbed by words, colors, or pictures.

These bare cupboards hold notebooks and boxes of books.  Expectant clips hang waiting for writers’ words. cupboards writing area.JPG

Open territory. Waits to be claimed.

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Books provide the only hints of the journey ahead.

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Next Tuesday the meeting area will fill and create chemistry never seen before.

Until then, the classroom waits.

But. I can’t help but want to share a few words.  A frame for what could be.

Notice. Wonder. Collect. Share. Listen. Rethink. Repeat.

The question is often more important than the answer.

What kind of world can we make?

Know your thoughts lead to doing things that matter.

Histories, hopes, passions, and peculiarities that make each of us human will create this classroom. This week I celebrate the impossible and inevitable waiting to become.

Thanks to all who celebrate the week.

Slice of Life: How to squeeze in more…

My cat lounges on the porch bench, between two pillows. The picture of relaxation. Unaware of his impending vet appointment, just an hour away. He is present.  Occupying one of his many cat spots completely.

The window separates us.

I look on marveling at his deep sense of peace. The only sounds are chirping birds and subtle whooshes of wind that move tree branches. Nothing must be done.  As summer creeps into August, darkness comes earlier each day. Today the light will hold for three chapters. I pause to cherish the moment and calculate how much more time remains in the day and strategize how to squeeze in more.

In a quiet house with my cat lounging outside, I read.

 

Recovering My Science Self

Besides a few Kindergarten moments, the first four years of elementary school were a perfect fit. From hopscotch to math, I was a capable and participating member of society.
In fourth grade, two things changed everything.

One. Double Dutch was the game of choice for 4th graders. The slap-slap of the rope, the running in and out, the spectating nature of the sport was scary.  By the time I had mastered running in and out most of my peers had developed combinations of turns, jumps, and hand slaps.  Because of this, my playground friendships changed that year as did my place in the social strata.

Two. The Science Fair Project to be done at home and presented in class. This was my introduction to science in school. I read the directions, checked a book out on projects, and attempted the least intimidating one with plants.  Much like Double Dutch, my effort resulted in a less than performance and a diminishing of my good student status.

My science fair grade school experience came to mind today in a PD provided through UCLA. In the introduction they shared this statistic:

Results from tests conducted by the National Assessment of Educational Progress (NAEP) show that the gaps between girls and boys in science and math grow larger over time, with the largest shift in girls’ versus boys’ scores occurring between the ages of 9 and 10 years old.

According to this study and the following Version ad, the situation things hasn’t gotten much bette

Today I realized that the kid who planted a garden, built sandcastles, and burned leaves with a magnifying glass was doing science. Distinct moments that took place in vacant lots, at the beach, and in the backyard was the work of a scientist. Me. A science self that was unrecognized in school,  A place that taught curriculum but did it in a way that disregarded what I wondered about and acted on.

Today, tomorrow, and the next day I have the opportunity to learn with colleagues and reconstruct my science self. I am thankful for the gift of teaching: learning to develop young people’s identities and in the process reclaim my own.

Slice of Life: The Classroom Keys

Yesterday, I got my classroom keys.  Now, time feels a little bit tighter.

Mornings now include a stop at school to drop something off, run a few copies, check in on the status of my room (is the carpet cleaned?). Classroom supplies are the focus, grocery shopping an afterthought.

Yesterday,  my errands included a trip to JoAnn’s. I entered telling myself: Just. Choose. The. Cheapest. Fabric. You’d think after years of teaching, this would not be a big deal. Yet, I stood there debating. I know this fabric will disappear once we start generating charts, and still, I stood there, thinking. Purple? No, blue. Red? Too much. Does orange make you hungry?  Silly. I walk out with a blue nondescript fabric. Ah well, I accomplished the cheap mandate. Total cost translated into the cost of one paperback book.

Yesterday, I got my class list. Now, the abstract of planning had children’s faces attached.  The list included names of former students’ siblings, a boatload of neighborhood kiddos (even though I’m teaching magnet students that come from around the district), names that come from diverse heritages. These are my kiddos for the coming year. The ones I’ll find books with and for, the ones who will design contraptions, ask questions, and write a lot. These are the ones that will make me smile and test out my ability to lean into who they are as humans.

Yesterday, I read Jess Lifshitz recent blog post on how she plans to begin her year. Her post and Carla Shalaby’s book Troublemakers, has me thinking about questions to ask on our first day; how to establish a classroom that honors each others’ needs. A room where we could, in Shalaby’s words, “create a parallel world — a world that is safer, fairer, freer… the world we want, hope for, dream of, rather than the world we have now.”  A world to learn, grow and if needed heal in.

What if, we open up and ask kiddos to think of ways to live and learn together. What if we listen for each other’s goodness. What if we can make this classroom, not like school, but like learning.

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Thank you, Two Writing Teachers for Slice of Life Tuesdays. Thank you for this place that gets me to writing. Read more posts here.

 

 

 

Slice of Life: Expanding my Universe

Last week it arrived. Our monster refrigerator. Once I adjusted to LED overload, its wingspand, and the ice maker’s whir, I was off to buy perishable food.

refridgerator.JPGFirst stop, Trader Joe’s and a half hour later I’ve reached the cart’s capacity.
I push toward the checkout, and lucky me, only one person in line ahead of me.
The cashier hands the customer his receipt.
My turn. I push the cart. Glance back.
Behind me, a woman holding a few items. No basket handheld or otherwise.
Go ahead, I tell her. Seemed the obvious thing to do.
“Oh, my! Thank you! This lovely woman has done such a nice thing,” she said to the cashier. “Thank you so much!”
“Of course, no problem,” I mangaged feeling overwhelmed by her gratitude.
The cashier had no response. I hope because this is the norm.
Off she went, thanking me again.

My Trader Joe’s shopping lady popped into my mind later this week as I read chapter 5, Find the Humanity in Ourselves and in Others, of Sara K. Ahmed’s Being the Change.
One of the activities in the chapter asks students to define their “Universe of Obligation” to realize and all the people who we would stand up for; those folks we’d be there in times of need.  Identify them and in the end realize the size of our universe.  See how inclusive it is. It starts with those who are the ones you’d be there for no matter what: your family. And then add in those who are your friends, your colleagues, the people in your community. The intent is not to rank groups or individuals but to realize who you are connected to in terms of responsibility and trust.

Doing this exercise was hard. Not that I couldn’t do it. It was the realization that my universe felt so small.  The world feels close. I read. I pay attention. But who I am proximal to is tiny. being the change.jpg

I live, shop, and work around people who are a lot like me.  By being aware and open, it’s easy to move a complete stranger, like my Trader Joe’s shopping friend, into my circle of obligation. But what about those who are outside my proximal and socio economic space? How I extend my universe? These questions made the last few chapters of Ahmed’s book hard. The concept that we, all of us are in this together. What happens to one, effects all. That’s the idea. And yeah, I got it, but actively doing it, day to day.  That takes purposeful action.

Perhaps it back to being aware and open. By making a practice of noticing, asking questions and for other’s opinions. By listening and connecting our day to day encounters to what is happening in the world. By reaching out and trusting that person, in line or behind the counter is a part of your Universe of Obligation.

 

 

Slice of Life: Hidden Biases

This weekend our refrigerator died.  Equipped with research and measurements, my husband and I walked into Home Depot. We opened doors, slid drawers, removed ice makers, closed doors, imagined the contents of our freezer in the compartments of each. After debate and elimination rounds, we had the one. Time to place the order.

Like magic, Nick (the name written in black sharpie on his orange apron) walked up. Mitch told the young man what we had decided. Nick nodded. And then Mitch said something that changed our course, Nick, what’s your opinion?”

Without hesitation, Nick said, “I don’t like that brand.”  We went on to have a conversation about the attributes and limitations of each. Nick not only sold these machines, he also dealt with customer complaints and service requests. Thanks to his input, we ended up choosing a refrigerator we had not considered.

As we walked away, Mitch said, “He was great!”

I agreed. He was. And said, “I don’t think we have seen that side of him if you hadn’t asked his opinion. You invited the conversation. You allowed him to share his knowledge. Otherwise, I don’t think he would have.”

And I wonder, if I was alone, would I have asked Nick his opinion? I know I was surprised by his knowledge. Twenty-something guy. (That’s my bias speaking.)

And I wonder, had he been older, would have seen him differently? Age and experience are something I link together. (That’s my bias again.)

 

pilot.jpgI write this after reading Chapter 3 in Sara K. Ahmed’s book, Being the Change.  One of the many benefits of working through this read is learning to examine my biases.  The automatic assumptions I make that lead me to action or inaction. I know my experience at Home Depot was different because of Sara’s words and the exercises she suggests.

In the chapter titled Candor, she asks kids to quickly sketch a pilot, scientist, doctor,  or teacher. My drawing of a pilot is on the right. Yep. That’s how I see a pilot. One that is based on my experience.

I could and do beat myself up about this, but being aware of my bias and addressing them is a better step to change. Sara calls becoming aware of your bias is “activating system 2.” System 1 is your unconscious behavior (action or inaction) that shows a bias.

I can see many of my biases. For example, airline pilots. I know they are there and need to be addressed. My experience with Nick at Home Depot highlights a subtle bias one I was not aware of. Being open, asking questions, reflecting, and be ready to activate your system 2 will help deconstruct bias. These are all steps that I’m working on so I can better lead students to do the same.

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If you have not started Sara K. Ahmed’s Being the Change, I strongly suggest you add it to your summer reading stack and check out the inspiring group of educators who are studying the book for this year’s  #cyberPD.

Celebrating: Hot temps and Jason Reynold’s Sunny

Summer has gone to the extreme. Temperatures exceed 100º in the late afternoon. Our air condition-less house harbors the heat; cool zones vary depending on the location of the sun and the number of hours it’s beaten down. The breeze moves heat towards cooler hallways. Trapping it. My cat stretches out on the tile, the hardwood, the back of a couch.  I keep his water dish filled with cold water thinking, grateful that I’m not in a black fur coat.

This morning I find a cool (er) spot and read, finishing a cup of coffee as I get to the halfway point in Sunny, the third in the track series by Jason Reynolds. I’m not a fan of storytelling via diary entries, but in Reynold’s hands, it’s humorous, varied, lyrical, moving. Bit by bit, I’m loving this character and Reynold’s poetic voice, marking pages as mentors for writing entries.

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“That soft green, like the color of grass just before it gets hard in the heat?”
That color, you know it. You can feel it. 

I read on. Celebrating the fan spin spinning and a fistful of pages ahead.