reflection – Page 8

Where it all began

Being first a student for seventeen years now a teacher for ten, I’ve been in and around school for fairly long time. Call me crazy, but I wanted to dedicate a post to my first memories, and feelings, of formalized schooling. Two distinct memories come to mind.

3cbec33d2ca634f187be8727b3b325f9 — Clark Elementary School

The first was my first full year of kindergarten and Clark Elementary School. It was a neighborhood school not far from where I lived at the time. The kindergarten students were scheduled to attend only half of the standard school day. My cohort came in around noon and stayed until 2:30 pm. My mom worked long hours and couldn’t afford to take the day off work to take me into school, so my caregiver dropped me on the first day. And I was off.

I don’t remember a lot from kindergarten. I don’t remember my teacher’s name, but it may have been Ms. Wiley. Not sure. My first solid memories involve me playing house in the back of the room, memorizing my ABCs by connecting small cubes together, and saying “president” instead of “present” when the teacher called my name for attendance. On the first day, I recall sitting at the edge of a table crowded with 5th and 6th graders during lunch, not knowing where I belonged. I don’t know how I ended up there because soon after an adult redirected me back to my classroom where all my classmates were.

cuyahoga-cleveland-lafayette-medium — Lafayette Contemporary Academy

The second memory comes from first grade at Lafayette Contemporary Academy. Unlike my kindergarten school, LCA was not a neighborhood school. In fact, I took the school bus an hour each way. The school was on the east side of Cleveland and I lived on the west side. I now know that it was a Magnet School. I’ve also learned that it has been demolished.

I attended LCA up until fifth grade. I loved it. There are so many awesome memories that come to mind during those early years of my life. But this is a post about firsts, and I’ll never forget my very first day. I don’t remember the morning bus ride being all that eventful, but it was different story when I arrived at school on that first day. What happened?

I cried. A lot.

I distinctively remember my first grade teacher, Ms. Malloy, wearing a white dress with large pink flowers consoling me the morning of the first day. She was so nice. (She ended up being my fourth grade teacher too.) I attribute my waterworks to being so far away from home around strangers in a place, and neighborhood, that I knew absolutely nothing about. Like many kids that age, I was pushed out of my comfort zone and scared.

There you have it, my first memories of school. What did this post accomplish, I’m not sure yet. But it was fun to go back to where it all began for a little while.

And now that I think about it, my confusion in kindergarten and vulnerability in first grade do seem to be good analogies for my entire life. All is not lost. Cheers.

PD with Dan, diagnosing the paper disease

Last week I attended a workshop led by Dan Meyer, hosted by the NYCDOE. This was the first in a series of three that I’ll be fortunate enough to attend with him this school year.

The focus of the session was to diagnose what Dan referred to as the paper disease. It’s the idea that learning mathematics through paper (like a textbook, for example) restricts not only how students learn mathematics, but also how they’re thinking about mathematics.

He demonstrated ways to use technology to open up problems to a wider audience of students. Of course Desmos was a focal point, but his oh-so simple method of using white rectangles in Keynote me struck me even more.

Here’s how it works: take a problem, any traditional problem typically found on a state exam or textbook, and screenshot it into a presentation software (keynote, PowerPoint, whatever). Start removing information given by covering up some of the info in the problem with a white rectangle. Repeat this process until you have something that can spark curiosity and give access to a far wider range of students. You’re basically deleting part (or most) of the problem, which may include the question objective itself. Less information equals greater access; it allows for students to formulate questions and make inferences about the info in the problem before even attempting to answer it.

The other huge takeaway for me was his development of informal v. formal mathematics. This could be interpreted as meeting students where they are, but I feel that it’s much more than that. Getting kids to think informally about mathematics during a lesson – especially at the beginning – requires far different planning than simply leveraging prerequisite knowledge. It’s more about how students are engaging with mathematics rather than whatever content they already know. Informal math also feels a hell of a lot different than formal math. When students are immersed in informal mathematics, they don’t even realize they’re doing mathematics. The same can’t always be said for formal mathematics.

Closing the loop, Dan argued that learning mathematics through paper flattens informal mathematics onto formal mathematics…instead of using one as a bridge to the other. This act injects our students with the paper disease.

I left the workshop wondering about how I’ve made math a highly formalized routine for my students. I left wondering how I would begin using the white rectangle. I left wondering about the unit packets that I create for my students, that together form my own textbook and how they’re impacting my students learning of math. I left wondering about the power of estimation. I left wondering how less is actually more.

Dan’s Google Doc of the session.

Checkpoints and homework, circa 2016

Here’s my current structure for ~~exams~~ checkpoints and homework. Everything is a work in progress.

Checkpoints

First off, terminology. Formally known as exams, I now call these summative assessments ‘checkpoints’ to further establish a low-stakes classroom culture. It feels much less formal, but I still reference them as ‘exams’ when in a rush. Plus, my frustration with the Regents exams is at an all-time high, so distancing myself and my students from any term that references them is a good thing.
I really liked how I lagged things last year, so I’m going to continue with this routine. This means that each checkpoint will only assess learning from a previous unit. In most instances this will be the previous unit, but once a month there will be a checkpoint that only assesses learning from material learned at least two units back. With my standards-based grading, students can lose proficiency on a standard at any time during the course of the year. The hope is to interweave what has been learned with what is currently being learned to help improve retention.
Speaking of SBG, I’m reinstituting mastery level achievement in 2016-17. I have yet to work out the kinks regarding how this will impact report card grades.
I will not review before any checkpoint, which is what I started last year. Instead, that time will be spent afterwards to reflect and relearn.
I make these assessments relatively short, they take students roughly 25-30 minutes to complete…but my class period is 45 minutes. I’m still trying to figure out how to best use that first 15 minutes. Last year I didn’t have this problem because my checkpoints always fell on a shortened, 35-minute period. Right now I’m debating over some sort of reflection or peer review time.
I have begun requiring advanced reservation for every after school tutoring or retake session. I learned very quickly at my new school that if I don’t limit the attendance, it is far too hectic to give thoughtful attention to attendees. Right now, I’m capping attendance at 15 students per day with priority given to those who need the most help.

Homework

Disclaimer: developing a respectable system for homework is a goal of mine this year.
Homework assignments are two-fold. First, students will have daily assignments from our unit packet that are checked for completion the next day. Second, they will have a DeltaMath assignment that is due at the end of the unit, again, checked for completion.
Homework is never accepted late.
Homework is not collected.
To check the daily homework, I walk around with my clipboard during the bell ringer. While checking, I attempt to address individual questions students may have. This serves as a formative assessment for me gauge where they are on the homework. After the bell ringer, but before any new material, I hope to have student-led discussion around representative problems, depending on the homework that day (I haven’t gotten here yet). The goal is to have students write on the board the numbers of the problems that gave them a headache…so we know which ones to discuss.
I’m going to do everything I can check it this year. It sounds simple, but over time things can slip away from any teacher.
I’m posting worked out homework solutions on our class website. I used to include the solutions in the back of the unit packet. This is an improvement on that, but also requires students take an extra step. Students must check their thinking, assess themselves against the solutions, and indicate next to each problem whether or not they arrived at the solution.

A teacher’s dilemma: taking risks beyond the elimination answer choice C

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We ask teachers to embrace change, and the pressure on teachers is not to take risks but to march whatever children they can, lockstep, toward higher standardized test scores. – Robert P Moses, Radical Equations (p. 126)

Thanks to a recent conversation, once again I’m confronted with the heavy hand of high-stakes exams.

How can a teacher, like myself, establish and maintain a classroom centered on inquiry, contemplation, and sense making within a system that rises and fails on the scaled scores of New York State Regents exams? How can a teacher move a classroom of students beyond a no. 2 pencil and bubbles containing A, B, C, and D?

I guess this is nothing new. I’m simply reiterating a concern that most teachers have.

I find myself more entrenched in this battle than ever before. The more I teach, the more I realize how oppressive these exams are. I am forced to get kids “through” by whatever means necessary. Schools get recognized and accolades given out for producing students that are “college ready,” which is a reflection of students’ performance on Regents exams. This sort of verbiage gets everyone on the same page. The result is an unspoken, politically correct pressure placed on me and my students to conform to these narrow measures of mathematical fluency. This pressure results in anxiety and dramatically affects the quality of my instruction.

As someone in the classroom everyday doing this work, I’m so wrapped up in these damn exams that I don’t even have time to prepare my students to be “college ready.” Maybe I’m doing something wrong.

I’m essentially a Regents-driven machine whose sole job is to produce other machines who can generate positive results on these exams. Please, forget about the genuine, messy learning of mathematics that I desire.

Furthermore, in a society obsessed with test scores, obtaining a 65 (or 95) can indeed be the ticket to success. Students are only as good as the score they produce. They themselves know this, so their motivations often rise and fall on these exams as well. This is the cherry on top.

Despite this downward spiral, there is hope.

Patrick Honner’s Regents Recaps help me keep things in perspective. His reflections are thoughtful, full of mathematical insight, and shed light just how much of a joke these exams are. Without knowing it, he compels me to teach beautiful mathematics far beyond the expectations of a Regents exam.

And then there are educators like Jose Luis Vilson, Christopher Emdin, Robert P. Moses, and Monique W. Morris. Through their writing, they’ve cautioned me that earning a 65 on a Regents exam for many of my students is the least of their worries, despite what school and New York State may tell them. They motivate me to bring often-ignored social issues to the fore.

There are many others who I have met either in person or online who have provided similar inspirations. There are far too many to name.

This leaves me torn.

On one hand, I’m fortunate enough to have a fairly high level of autonomy in my classroom. What my students and I accomplish in the 45 minutes we’re allotted each day is up to us. There’s relatively low oversight. Despite the immense pressures to bubble our lives away, I aim to spend time asking big questions, sharing the joy of mathematical discovery and learning, and enjoying the ride. This is empowering. Hell, I don’t even call my class exams “exams” anymore.

On the other, I am confused. And worried. The fear of a low passing rate has left me paralyzed in the midst of students who desperately need me to be fully aligned with their needs. But if I cannot afford to take meaningful risks in my classroom that go beyond eliminating answer choice C, if I can’t be bold in the face of oppression and conformity, what does this mean for my teaching? More importantly, what does this mean for my students?