I think we all need a mental health break

Play him off, keyboard cat!

I want to reflect on my teaching practice

Teaching is hard. Okay, so that's not the most insightful reflection but it's a pretty good representation of how I'm feeling right now. For six long weeks, we've learned about literacy (academic, content, critical and reading), pedagogy, cognitive process dimensions, knowledge dimensions, comprehension strategies, curriculum alignment, records of practice, higher order thinking, etc. So much information without much in the way of practical application can lead one to wonder, "what's it all for?" But I think that there's a method to the madness. If I think back to where I was before the program began, and what I know now, I am in a much better position to venture into Ann Arbor Pioneer in September. Yes, I know that you can read all the books in the world and you won't really learn anything until you actually get in the classroom. It's kind of like learning another language. Four years in a Spanish classroom did not prepare me to actually speak Spanish in a meaningful way. But my brother lived in Mexico for two years and became fluent. You have to immerse yourself completely to really learn.

Today's leadership presentation was a prime example. I'm not thrilled with how everything turned out. As a group we discussed how important it was to leave room for discussion and what did we do? Leave little room for discussion! I think that teachers can get so bogged down in the content, and this incessant need to get to everything on their list, that they can really lose the audience in the process. I know that I talked too much and didn't listen enough. That's my biggest challenge, clearly. Like Lisa Simpson, I suffer from knowitalism ("that's not even a word!") and I really need to work on letting go and allowing other voices into my hemisphere. Just as we wanted the class to learn from us, we needed to learn from the class and unfortunately, that didn't happen. But I'm trying to look at the positive. If we can learn from our mistakes and assess our strengths and weaknesses, doesn't that mean that we are making progress as teachers and mentors? My best teachers were the ones that listened to me and respected my opinions. I want to provide that to my students.

It's all a journey, huh?

I respect these voices (although I don't always agree)

Perusing some of the edublogger posts on Google Reader, I came across a link to Jay Mathews Class Struggle blog on the Washington Post. I've read his stuff sporadically before but am planning to make him a regular addition to my reading list from now on. He had a column a couple of weeks ago that I missed but it's worth linking to. Jay muses on a new book by Terry Moe and John Chubb about technology and education. Money quote:

Because of the rise of technology, Moe and Chubb say, our future schools will be more customized to students, more effective, more beneficial to teachers, less costly, more autonomous, more competitive, more accountable, better at serving needy constituencies, better at promoting social equity and better at doing what works. Whew. Sounds good. But are they sure? No.

The book addresses the proliferation of virtual schools and the way that they can democratize access to resources and AP classes that have for so long been out of reach for so many public school students. Jay, as always, is cautiously open-minded. I think I might check the book out during our August recess!

I love this video

Mental Health Break for the book lover!

This Is Where We Live from 4th Estate on Vimeo.

I like treehugger...

... because they post interesting items like this.

I hope to remain relevant in the virtual future

Over at Not So Distant Future, Carolyn Foote discusses the future of the school building in the digital age. She links to a piece by David Jakes in which he ruminates on the the neglected art of learning space design. Money quote:

I graduated high school in 1977. The English classrooms I see in 2009 are almost identical to the English classrooms I experienced in 1977. I started teaching biology in 1986 and my biology classroom then looks exactly like most biology classrooms do today. Don’t get me wrong- a great deal of outstanding teaching and learning can, and does, take place in such spaces.

Will I be able to say the same thing 20 years from now? Will the English and Biology classrooms of 2029 look exactly like the same classrooms from 2009?

It is my personal belief that they will, and that the notion of what a learning space looks like will not fundamentally change in mainstream K-12 education over that same time period. It is also my belief that the concept of learning space is one of the most neglected concepts of school design. Unlike some, I spend each and every day actually in a school, and I see teaching and learning jammed into a one-size-fits-all space that has the potential to constrict learning.

So I’m interested in something more. Something different, something better. Some might say I’m passionate about learning space, some may say obsessed. So, here is a quote that I posed the other day on Twitter, from Ryan Bretag:

“What are the dimensions of a learning space?”

If I were to ask you to identify a single word that describes a place for learning, you would probably say “classroom.” And that’s a great place to start, but unfortunately, that’s as far as most schools go. So when I think dimensions, I think of all possible spaces for learning, and all the types of learning that could potentially take place in those spaces. I use dimension in that context.

He goes on to describe ways to revolutionize the learning environment. Foote approves:

Change can become viral quite suddenly and if we aren’t prepared for it, we find ourselves reacting to it. What if we envisioned our building five years down the road, or ten? And then added in the key component, what will our students be like ten years from now? (Imagine that first grader who can use a laptop, Wii remote, and iPhone and then project forward ten years.) What would we do differently in our building arrangement, remodeling, or planning to prepare for those students?

Because they are coming soon, to a school near you.

Myself? I'm not totally convinced. Perhaps it's because I have a hard time pinpointing my role in that new learning space. One of my greatest concerns about the incorporation of technology into the 21st Century classroom, especially if it's done in haste, is that teachers will find themselves becoming more and more obsolete. If in the future there is no more need for an actual, physical building (the "schoolhouse" concept that we cling to with nostalgia), why stop there? Why not make all of the lesson plans digital? Why not use computerized instructors to facilitate a virtual curriculum? Eventually students can just download all they need to know into an implanted microchip. Okay, perhaps I've taken this dystopic vision too far. But the point still stands. I think that we all get so caught up in the romance of technology and innovation that we forget what education is really supposed to be about. As Jakes reminds us, a lot of teaching and learning has taken place in those old-fashioned classrooms without the benefit of multimedia stations and advanced software or social networking. Can we teach with Twitter? Sure. Can we teach without it? Definitely.

And let's not forget that schools and classrooms are not just places for adolescents to congregate between the hours of 7:00am and 3:00pm. They also provide space for community groups, adult education classes, extracurricular activities, athletics, tutoring, voting, and playgrounds. And for students that need a safe environment to study or stay out of trouble, there's nothing quite as reliable as a school. Of course, Jakes and Foote are not suggesting that our venerable institutions of learning will disappear overnight. But are we trending away from the traditional structure towards a campus-like layout? Will large common areas replace smaller classrooms and labs? What about the school library? Or cafeteria? Altering these spaces in such fundamental ways will inevitably have an impact not only on education but on the broader community relationship with the school. Before doing anything drastic, I think we should really consider some of these implications.

And finally, how are we going to pay for these incredible upgrades?

I want to provide an equitable learning environment

Leafing through a Wired magazine item, my husband read that approximately 70% of blind American adults are unemployed and, more startling, over half of all blind high school students will drop out before receiving a diploma. Upon hearing these statistics, I immediately jumped online and was dismayed to find confirmation of these alarming trends. In 2008 Dr. Fred Schroeder, National Federation of the Blind first vice president and former commissioner of the U.S. Rehabilitation Services Administration, delivered an address at the NFB national convention, which included the following remarks:

I recently learned that a friend of mine, Reggie Howard, had passed away. Reggie grew up in Alabama during the time when many southern states maintained separate schools for the blind, a white school and a black school. I remember Reggie’s telling me that blind students at the black school were always excited to hear that the white school would be getting new Braille books because that meant that the black school would also be getting new Braille books, the old books from the white school passed on to the black school for the blind. When the white school got new desks, the black school got new desks, the old ones from the white school.

Segregation was wrong. It harmed children, but how much and in what ways? It is true that it was a few years later that blind students at the black school learned that Constantinople is now Istanbul. And it is true that the books were a little worn, the desks a little the worse for wear. But they had books. They had desks. They had a school and teachers who cared and did their best. And, yes, they did learn. They learned math and English. They learned science and social studies, and they learned something else--they learned that society believed them to be inferior, inferior because of their race and inferior because of blindness. They were harmed by a substandard education. They were harmed by poor facilities. But most of all they were harmed by prejudice--prejudice rooted in low expectations. But society was wrong. Reggie was not inferior, not inferior because of race and not inferior because of blindness. And neither was any of the other students at the Alabama School for Negro Deaf and Blind.

Today most blind children, black and white, are educated in ordinary public school classrooms. But, as with the desegregation of public schools, including schools for the blind, physical desegregation does not in and of itself confer equality. Blind children, black and white, continue to be society's forgotten, some educated in schools for the blind and some in local public schools, but still forgotten, regarded as children with no future, no promise, no meaning--for the most part desegregated, but not yet integrated.

It is assumed that sighted children will learn to read and write, yet today only 10 percent of blind children learn to read and write Braille. It is assumed that sighted children will have books and libraries and other resources to support their learning; but today blind children continue to wait for Braille books, only a handful have ever seen a Braille library, and basic tools like Braille notetakers are rarely available; and when they are, often it is only after an intense struggle with school officials. It is assumed that sighted children will graduate from high school, and we count it a crisis in American education when the dropout rate reaches double digits. But where is the public outcry about the dropout rate among the blind? Today only 45 percent--fewer than half--of all blind children will earn a high school diploma. We will not stand by and allow this to continue.... It was the National Federation of the Blind that said to the Congress that the isolation--the social and economic segregation--of blind people must end, that blind people deserve the chance to learn and work and live as others, and, to do so, they must have the opportunity to become literate.

....

We must find blind people and help them learn to believe in themselves, believe that, given training and opportunity, they can live full and productive lives; and that means we must bring them into the National Federation of the Blind. It means we must help society learn to think differently about Braille and, by extension, think differently about blindness and blind people. It means we must help parents recognize the importance of Braille in their children's lives. It means we must convince teachers of blind children that Braille is the cornerstone of literacy and therefore the cornerstone of opportunity. And it means we must make sure that the resources are available so that blind children have access to competent instruction in Braille reading and writing.

....

No matter society's low expectations, Reggie was not inferior, not inferior because of race and not inferior because of blindness, and neither was any of the other students at the Alabama School for Negro Deaf and Blind. No matter how limited their opportunities, opportunities constricted b low expectations, they were not inferior, nor is any other blind person, black or white. Reggie was not inferior, nor am I, nor are you, nor is any other blind person. This is the Braille Readers Are Leaders campaign. This is the National Federation of the Blind.

Having spent the last two weeks celebrating the promise of technology to bring new resources and modes of interaction into the classroom, I find myself in somewhat of a shame spiral. I confess that I never even considered how technology, which I imagine to be a tool for shrinking achievement gaps, could have the opposite effect for some students, further isolating them from their peers and from the broader global community. It will be difficult enough to incorporate social networking and multimedia instruments into fluid curricula in an orderly and effective way. But the social, political and ethical implications of such drastic transformation of the classroom environment have yet to be fully explored. Students with visual impairments, clearly already suffering from a lack of resources and assistance, will likely have difficulty engaging in a classroom that emphasizes video or internet technologies. Students with hearing impairments might also find the use of audio resources (such as podcasts) challenging. Students with learning disabilities could find it difficult to adapt to technological tools that require a range of sensory explorations. How did I not see this?

Our job as educators is to provide an equitable learning environment for students of diverse backgrounds, abilities and attitudes. The integration of public schools, not only in terms of race and gender, but also disability clearly had unforeseen consequences. Before we look to the future of virtual classrooms, we should probably invest our limited resources in improving our actual ones.