lazy 0ch0

During the 2021-22 school year I’m having weekly co-generative dialogues (or cogens) with my students. In an effort to help me process these talks and document progress, I summarize and write reflections after each cogen. This is the 24th post in the series.

Lesson, Lesson, Lesson
The focus of today’s cogen is our lesson. Last week, I realized that I failed to think through how much effort would be needed to teach the students about rational exponents, talk pedagogy with them, and then plan the lesson. As the students arrive around the table after school and one helps with the tablecloth, I gain some confidence. We can do this.

The issue that’s staring us in the face is the content. Last week, I did an abysmal job of scaffolding the examples. Instead of varying consecutive problems slightly to gradually build complexity, I found myself bouncing around from problem to problem like a mad man. There were similarities between the problems (i.e., converting between rational exponents and radicals), but the jumps from one problem to another were too big. In fact, they weren’t even jumps — they were leaps. It was the exact opposite of how I would actually teach the topic.

Anyways. We settle in and I ask everyone how they’re doing. Five students are present, one was absent from school. I hear crickets, so I poke fun at a kid by drilling into the specifics of their day. We laugh at something that I can no longer remember. The ice is broken.

We recap what we covered last week and dive into a few more examples. I give them independent think time between problems and, man, it’s quiet. The kids are into it, but I hoped they would be more collaborative. On top of this, all of the examples from this week and last are so different that I feel the math is tugging and pulling us in lots of different directions. If I feel this way, the students probably do, too. They just don’t know it yet.

With about 10 minutes left, we shift gears to discuss pedagogy. How do we want to teach this?

A couple of the kids give me blank stares and another looks down with uncertainty. At this point in the year, I figured the cogen would be firing on all cylinders, but I’m wrong. I have to remember: they’re NOT teachers. Advice on my teaching? Sure. Guidance on how to make a lesson more student-friendly? Definitely. Teaching? Not so fast.

I throw out some ideas, and we eventually land on some structures for the lesson. The kids organize the examples we did by difficulty so we can scaffold the examples for the class. (I promise to bring similar examples next week for us to peruse.) We agree to combine tables in the classroom so that each cogen student has one large table for small group instruction. The cogen students will use direct instruction and wait time to facilitate a discussion of the scaffolded examples. We end in a good place.

Left wondering
After today’s cogen, I’m left wondering: is this my last cogen cohort? It’ll be past mid-May by the time we teach this lesson and the last day of classes is June 14. I have had side conversations with a few other students about the cogen and think they would make great end-of-year additions, but what would we work on? What projects could we adopt for 2-3 weeks?

Including the students from today, I’ve had a total of 22 students from three different classes be part of my cogen this year. If nothing else, I will invite all of them to an end-of-year shindig to thank them for their service to our class. The odds of everyone being able to attend is low, but it would be fun to order pizza and get them all in one place.

bp

During the 2021-22 school year I’m having weekly co-generative dialogues (or cogens) with my students. In an effort to help me process these talks and document progress, I summarize and write reflections after each cogen. This is the 23rd post in the series.

Potpourri
Because of spring break, it’s been two weeks since we’ve met. Fearing that everyone would forget, a couple days ago I give my cogen students a soft reminder about our session today. All six confirmed they can make it, but I end up with only five because one of the students is absent today. I drape the tablecloth over the table, dump the snacks out, and we’re ready.

I open with three quick check-ins and updates: our recent poetry assignment, tomorrow’s pre-exam review, and Tuesday’s group exam.

Before spring break, I assigned my annual poetry task and I ask the kids for their feedback on how it went. The feelings towards it are generally warm, with one student — who made a math rap — saying it was really fun. Another student comments that he found it a little weird to be writing poetry in math class, but thought it was cool. That said, two students convince me that next year I need to use class time to model how to write the poems. Poetry in itself, for some students, is already a heavy lift. And now I’m asking students to use the medium to describe a math topic with no guidance? I can see why it would be hard to do.

For what it’s worth: Given the growing success of the poetry assignment these last two years, I actually had a goal to invest more time and energy into it this year. I wanted to pour myself into making a memorable experience for my students. But with the emergence of my farmer activity, I didn’t have the gas to go that far. Its development was placed on hold until next year.

Next, I inform the students that tomorrow I’m going to be implementing their recommendation from four weeks ago: pre-exam review handouts. I share my excitement for this and my hope that it will resonate with my classes. The cogen students nod in agreement, relishing (I hope) at their suggestion being put to action.

Lastly, I ask for tips on Tuesday’s group exam. I rarely do two of these in a single school year, but after doing one in the fall which my cogen helped me reflect on, I figured, why not? I’ve been meaning to revamp the experience using their feedback for months. This is the perfect opportunity before the year ends.

What can the current cogen offer me in terms of advice? They don’t add much, but do double down on what my fall group suggested: keep groups to 3 or 4 people — preferably 3 — and be mindful of how many problems I give. Deal.

Pre-teaching
Today’s cogen really excites me because I get to “pre-teach” the students the topic that we will eventually coteach for what will be the third cogen-inspired lesson: rational exponents. The previous two lessons were game-based and not tied to any particular math topic like this one will be, so it’s an exciting challenge.

In preparation for today, I printed some Regents problems on the topic and made copies for each student. After our opening potpourri and my mini-lesson on how to convert between rational exponents and radicals, we use the problems as practice. We solve four problems and end up staying 10 minutes after our usual time. A few things stand out:

• I underplan. It doesn’t take long to realize that I should have put more thought into the session. I hastily choose examples in the moment and stumble over certain parts of my explanations. I could have done a waaaay better job at sequencing and demoing. With just 5 students to teach in an empty, quiet room, I was too confident. I wonder how my instruction today will shape how my cogen students’ planning. (We will start that next week.)
• Teaching teachers is different. Today was unique in that the students I teach will go on to teach our class. I know this going in, but my planning doesn’t take it into account. Discussing potential teacher moves while introducing the content would have been helpful and not out of the realm of possibility with these students. I miss the mark.
• This is going to take longer than I thought. I should have known better than to think we could accomplish this in two 30-minute sessions. Considering that I want the kids to write a full-blown lesson plan with me, this process is going to take at least three weeks to plan, execute, and reflect on.

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Making a difference. Job security. Lasting impact. Helping students achieve “ah-ha” moments. Summers off.

These are all benefits that come with being a teacher. The pandemic has caused many of us to question their existence these last two years, but they are significant reasons why many of us continue to teach.

All of those things resonate with me, but there’s yet another reason why I love teaching. It’s hidden beneath the surface, often overlooked, and deceptively important to my well-being. It’s not quantifiable like the two relaxing months of summer are or tangible like the warm-hearted embrace from a student at commencement.

What is this gift? What is this intangible dimension of teaching that I’ve come to view as one of its most valuable benefits?

The gift of youth.

Each day, I’m surrounded by teenagers. Eager, fearless, curious, bold, emotionally present, rebellious, unsophisticated, perceptive teenagers. By way of teaching, I walk into a building each morning and find myself immersed in their youthful worlds.

At the same time, each day I grow older. As a result, I move further away from what it means to be young. Sure, age brings its own blessings, but it also draws me away from those I serve. In this way, teaching is a paradox: I’m expected to reach today’s youth even as my body and mind naturally retreat from them.

And therein lies the gift my students offer me. They involuntarily surrender insights into youth culture, yes, but if I listen to them and observe closely, it goes much further than that: their youthfulness actually rubs off on me. My body might be aging year after year, but I’m unquestionably younger in mind and spirit because of them. They’re a big reason why I often forget how old I am.

Though many years their senior, I’ve learned a great deal about successful teaching and living a meaningful life from my students. I’m not saying that I do everything a teen would, but I have absorbed many of their finest assets. I constantly question myself, run towards risks, and embrace spontaneity. These and other qualities are transferred to me from my students in myriad ways — both in the classroom and out. It’s in their rebellious attitude and unapologetic creativity. It’s in how they audaciously seize the moment. It’s in their struggle to be understood.

I’ve never worked in any other field. If I did, having taught for 16 years, I’m confident that I would be a much older person than I am right now. I have my students to thank for that.

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And, dog, you know how come

Labels are archaic, formulaic with they outcomes

They don’t know, they just study the charts

Me, I studied the shows, the fans, study they hearts

J Cole, “Let Nas Down”

It’s incredibly easy for teachers to get caught up in student performance, in outcomes. This year, with the return of state exams, it’s even easier. Student performance is once again at the fore and so many of us are feeling the pressure to help our students earn a satisfactory mark.

I know next to nothing about the music industry, but as a growing J Cole fan, I can see a parallel between his take on the music industry in the above lyrics and my stance on teaching. Most schools, similar to music labels, obsess over the best possible outcomes. Schools and districts muted their chart-watching for the last two years, but it’s back. Students are once again being turned into abstract concepts, numbers organized meticulously by standard and test. How much can we make off of this artist? By when? How many students can I get to pass? By when? These are all questions rooted in the same premise that outcomes should be positioned ahead of the humans they’re designed to measure. If I align myself with such ideals, the hearts and minds of my students become secondary in my work. They are a means to an end.

J Cole is emphasizing the need to move beyond data and outcomes and focus on people and process. Similarly, instead of getting wrapped up in grades and student performance and achievement levels, I should carefully study my students — meet with them, listen to them, learn who they are. Like Cole, who “studied the shows” — a place where he engages with his fans — I find it invaluable to research my interactions with students. This means recording my lessons and the discussions with students and playing them back to help me discover my pedagogical strengths and weaknesses.

If I can do these things, or at least aim to do these things, my practice will prioritize those I serve. When that happens, the outcomes take care of themselves. As my students and I begin our arduous march towards the Regents and test-prep reigns supreme, I’ll do good to remember this.

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