reflection – Page 3

We have a lot to learn from skateboarders

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Last week I was sitting in the park watching a skateboarder. He was alone and clearly practicing his moves, trying to get better at a variety of different stunts. I must have watched him for 15 minutes and, I estimated that he nailed about 20% of his attempts, probably less.

As I watched him fail over and over again, I couldn’t but realize the rarity of his public display of failure. But in most other situations where we are around others, let alone perfect strangers, this is far from the norm. Rarely do we openly display our imperfections for everyone to see. If anything, we hide them to protect our image. Yes, in the public sphere, your weaknesses are yours and yours alone. We are only allowed to put our best foot forward. Otherwise, we’re uncomfortable and sometimes embarrassed.

Not skateboarders. In the skateboarding culture, public failure is not only commonplace but its desirable. Falling off your board is a necessary means of getting better, no matter if everyone in the park is there to witness it. You do it. You inherently admit weakness. It’s part of the culture. On top of that, skateboarding is an individual act. There is no masking individual failure by working in a group. Sure, getting better at maneuvering a skateboard requires lots of room and space (like public parks). In this sense, no avoiding the public eye. Nonetheless, I find the willingness of skateboarders to outwardly showcase their shortcomings fascinating.

My intrigue is heightened when I think about the culture of education in which I function. Students (and teachers) work in a system that often downplays struggle, placing lots of emphasis on correct responses. Case in point, its a regular occurrence for students in my class to erase their whiteboard work that hasn’t led them to a correct final answer. They refuse to be wrong publically — especially when all eyes are on them. This is certainly a reflection of my own inability to champion mistakes and struggle in my classroom, but its also representative of how formal schooling has made our kids feel and think about being wrong. If you don’t land on the correct answer, it’s not worth showing your process publically. No, you must keep that valuable part of learning all to yourself until you arrive at a “correct” answer when, only at that time, it is acceptable show your thinking.

There’s a lot we can learn from skateboarders and skateboarding culture.

My NBCT journey…for now

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Four years ago I sensed myself reaching a professional climax. I finished my master’s degree a few years earlier and I started to level out. I had done a lot of little things as a teacher; I attended and facilitated lots of professional development, served as a model teacher for my school, led grade teams and the math department, interviewed teachers, mentored first-year teachers, ran after-school clubs. I’d been in the game for 10 years and I knew that I never wanted to leave. I find teaching students math to be a complex, unsolvable puzzle that is crazily addictive. So with this in mind, I began thinking about my next big challenge, my next big thing as a teacher. What would it be?

Whatever it was, I figured that it’d be something that could dramatically elevate my career. That meant it would probably be something that would require me to jump through some pretty big hoops to complete. I was still was very hungry to be a better teacher and I needed more than the in-school or out-of-school usual professional development to do the trick. I recognized the fact that I had a lot to learn, about the profession, my practice, and myself. I also wanted to reach the last for my salary step here at the NYCDOE and, because I see myself leaving NYC at some point down the road, achieve something that would be recognized by other states. After some deep reflection, I boiled my options down to two: an Ed.d or National Board Certification. I chose the latter in large part because the Albert Shanker grant paid for it all. Otherwise, it would have run me around $2000. Plus, I don’t know why but it just seemed natural for me to seek NBCT before an Ed.d.

I kicked things off two years ago with the content exam, which is component 1. It is essentially a college-level math exam, similar to the Praxis. Other than having to brush up on my calculus, I do remember having to learn the fundamentals of graph theory. As a math major, how was I never exposed to it in college?? Absurd. I’m pretty sure I got all those questions wrong on the exam. Plus, I left five answers blank because of my horrible time management. Despite my shortcomings, somehow I managed to earn a respectable score.

Thinking linearly, last year I submitted component 2. Its focus was differentiated instruction and the first where I actually had to write about my teaching. I had to showcase how well I could plan a unit, differentiate based on the needs of my students, and analyze student work in relation to the learning objectives I set and lessons/activities I planned. Out of the four components, this one was probably my favorite. Probably because it was the most cohesive. Sadly, I’m not sure I differentiated anything, but once again I earned a respectable score.

With some confidence, this year I pushed myself to submit the remaining two components. It was so much work that I still can’t believe that I finished them. Seriously. Component three required me to shoot video of two different lessons and analyze it. Four, by far the most confusing and stressful component, was clumsily duct-taped together by National Board to capture how I gather knowledge of my students, generate and use assessment, and how I develop professionally. In the end, I feel that I did ok, but just ok. Analyzing video from my class, while cumbersome, was far easier and engaging than anything that I was asked to do in component 4.

So it won’t be until December if I know I need to redo any of the components. But having completed all the requirements, I have been breathing much easier these last two weeks. And I remembered that I have a family! I’ve also been thinking about the extent to which the National Board application process has helped me grow.

I’m mixed. I think my expectations were too high. In many ways, completing the four components felt like merely formalizing the work I would do normally, so I found the NBCT application not as transformative as I hoped it would be. As of now, I don’t feel like I’m a vastly different teacher that I was when I started my journey to become NBCT. Assuming that I do get certified down the road, maybe that will change. I don’t know. But having now gone through the process, I know that many of my colleagues (both those in person and online) work much harder and smarter than I do and surely meet and/or exceed the NBCT standards. I just chose to complete all those damned forms and write 40+ pages of formalized commentary about my teaching — and spend a good chunk of three years doing so.

With all that being said, going through the NBCT process was undoubtedly worth it. The most valuable aspect of the NBCT application for me was how it served as a platform for structured reflection. It helped me be critical of my teaching in several big areas and hit me with prompts that forced me to rethink some of what I do every day and why I do it. I kind of do this now, but not nearly with the depth or rigor that NBCT requires. I like writing so I’m partial here, but maybe there was something to formalizing my reflections through those 40 pages. It did help tease out my ideas and compelled me to be more planned and meticulous with how I reach my kids. I don’t know, I think I need more time to more thoroughly put this beast in perspective.

But I can say that as I got closer to the NBCT standards, learned them, and began aligning my practice to them, I began to deliberately think about my teaching in ways that I never had. I was able to discover some weaknesses…like how little I leverage the unique perspectives and abilities of my students to further their learning or my abysmal efforts to work with the families of my students in any sort of meaningful way. As a result, I like to think that I developed some new strengths.

I have a senior in my fifth period algebra 2 class

I have a senior in my fifth period algebra 2 class who, after failing 3 of the 4 marking periods, has lost all hope in earning credit for the class or passing the Regents exam. Neither is going to affect whether he graduates or not, so over the last few months there has been a slow, gradual decline in his effort and overall concern for our class. It’s come to the point where he comes to class and simply puts his head down for the majority of the period.

I’m horrible and very awkward at outwardly motivating students, but I’ve tried by encouraging him to take pride in his work and preaching the importance of finishing strong. During these one-on-one conversations, he smiles, nods, and looks right through me. He doesn’t care and is very open about this fact.

I’ve also called home. Nothing. I’ve asked other teachers in my school for advice how to reach him. However good natured, they laughed at me. I’ve made it personal by asking him for a copy of his college admissions essay, reading it, and being genuinely blown away. This yielded insight into who he was and a personal connection between the two of us, but there was still no change in his attitude.

So this is exactly the point in this blog post where I’d love to start transitioning into a description of something awesome I did to get through to him. That magic trick that, according to mainstream media and most politicians, all teachers are expected to perform with every student. Well, I haven’t been able to do that. He’s still very much uninterested in our class and I’ve done nothing to change this.

There are lots of issues surrounding his struggles, but I can’t help but look in the mirror. In many ways, I’ve failed him. I could’ve poured more energy into him and his situation earlier and more often.

I’m not proud of it, but there were days when his head was down and I looked the other way, when I made a conscious decision to focus on the other 23 students who were alert and attempting to understand (many half-heartedly) the mathematics at hand. In those moments, I mindfully refused to address his lack of motivation and interest. The truth is, I was at a loss. I just didn’t know what to do. I felt handcuffed. I was frustrated at him, at me, at the situation. I still am.

And I’m not tap, tap, tapping these thoughts out on my phone’s tiny screen on airplane while chaperoning a trip over spring break as a cry for help or to earn sympathy. At least I don’t think so. This just seems like a deed that needs to be done, for myself. It’s to hold myself accountable to never give up on this kid – or any kid like him.

Or it could be because I’m 33,000 feet above the Atlantic Ocean surrounded by 24 teenagers with nothing better to do than think about my students.

I didn’t jump off the deep end and my students are better because of it

I’m not proud that I don’t know how to swim. Certainly, its a life skill, like riding a bike, that everyone should be able to do. But I don’t.

So about two years ago, I took swimming lessons at my local Y. The class was 8 weeks long and early on Sunday mornings — before any person under the age of 30 would dare show their face. That gave me some relief.

We used boogie boards, those barbell things, and practiced our breathing underwater. I struggled for all of those 8 weeks. And while I was much better than before I started the class, I just couldn’t relax in the water and let it “take me.” I was too tense and thinking too much. My rhythm was off and I couldn’t coordinate my breathing, arm and leg movements. I was a mess.

The result: I never learned how to swim. My instructor recommended I take private lessons. YAY!

Despite my bitter disappointment, I had a chance to redeem myself on the last day of class. We were jumping into the deep end. For the duration of the class, we had stayed on the shallow end — the safe end in my eyes. But today was a chance to push ourselves farther than what we would naturally choose to on our own.

I was terrified. Of course, I waited for everyone else to go first. While everyone else was jumping, I tried to privately talk myself up to the monumental task of doing something I had never done before. I tried to think of inspirational music that would help push me over the edge.

I was up. I stepped up to the pool. As I stared into the water that was 10 feet deep, my instructor was wading a few feet away, waiting to help me if I needed it. My heart was racing. All my classmates were watching in excitement. They witnessed my struggles for 8 weeks and knew I didn’t learn how to swim. They knew this was going to be hard for me. Talk about pressure! What did I do?

I sat back down.

Yep. I sat back down. I just couldn’t push myself to do something that I had never done before, something that has avoided me my entire life. My feet were glued to the edge of the pool.

Humbly, I shared this story with my students this week. I also showed them this TEDx Talk:

It was the start of semester two, and it has been very clear that my students were still somewhat uncomfortable with the problem-based, discussion-based learning model I’ve adopted this year. They were frustrated and scared — just like I was when faced with jumping off the deep end.

After a few days away from them during Regents week, I realized that although I didn’t jump, that moment at the pool inspired me to make sure that I do everything I can to make my students uncomfortable. It made me fully embrace the disorder I seek every day. Watching the TEDx talk was great, too.

The bottom line is that I realized that am deeply responsible for helping to get my students be braver than I was on the edge of that pool. I want them to grow as mathematicians, but without pushing them out of their comfort zone, how could I ever truly achieve this? How can they ever grow if their learning of mathematics revolves around my thinking and not their own? How will they ever evolve into sophisticated thinkers if my instruction isn’t complex and push them to their intellectual limits?

They don’t realize it, but I have seen them grow immensely since September. In the past, my students had never owned the classroom the way they have this year. I’m proud of them for stepping out of their comfort zone in a big, bold way. Just because I didn’t jump off the deep end doesn’t mean that they won’t be able to.

I shared all of this with them. I think they appreciated it.