Keeping, Culling, and Forgetting

June 22, 2021June 4, 2023 ~ Blue Cereal ~ 1 Comment

I had an embarrassing moment a little over a month ago.

I’ve been fortunate over the past two years to teach next door to a lady who (a) is generally as cynical as I am about most things, (b) has been in public education for long enough to have seen and heard it all, and (c) is supernaturally gracious when it comes to my shortcomings as an English teacher.

Several years ago, I reached a point at which I needed to either get out of public education altogether or find myself a dramatic new change of scenery, focus, and attitude. I ended up doing the latter. I became certified in English Language Arts (ELA) and I jumped to a district completely unlike anywhere I’d ever taught before.

Time to put your daily grind where your big talk is, Blue.

Of course, certification is one thing; being able to actually teach ELA effectively is something else entirely. I could read and write well enough, and I considered myself respectable enough when it came to analyzing literature or composing a coherent argument. But a real English teacher? Hardly.

I worried I’d show up to my first department meeting and we’d all be taking turns reading from The Dubliners in the original Greek and discussing how James Joyce Carol Oates used it as inspiration for his adaptation of Undercover Brother, Where Art Thou?

I needn’t have been concerned. We haven’t had a department meeting in the entire two years I’ve been there, so the danger seems fairly minor at this point.

I made it through a little over a semester before the pandemic hit and everything got weird(er). We were entirely virtual in the fall of last year, but by second semester we had at least some in-person learning. While there were few positives in the entire mess, I at least had plenty of time to brush up on the ELA curriculum and reacquaint myself with things like gerunds, antecedents, and passive tense. There were times I almost felt minimally competent!

Until this past May, dammit – which brings me back to that embarrassing moment I mentioned.

There were only a few weeks left until semester exams, which matter more in my district than they probably should. I was flipping through the official curriculum when I came across something I suspected I should have covered at some point, pandemic or no pandemic. Somehow, I’d overlooked it.

I walked next door to my trusted mentor-slash-colleague and shared my thoughts relatively unfiltered, as was our wont. “I wonder if we should have done ‘elements of a story’ – plot, setting, types of conflict, and all that. Seems like maybe that should have come up before now.”

She started laughing, which confused me for a moment until I realized she assumed I was kidding. It was as if I’d walked in and suggested maybe I should have worn pants today since I had a meeting with my evaluating administrator. Not particularly sophisticated humor, but enough to share a chuckle in the workplace.

I suppose the look on my face tipped her off that she’d misread the situation and her smile quickly faded. “Wait, you’re serious?”

If this were a sit-com, I’d have quickly covered my snafu by heartily joining in with uncomfortable laughter at my own expense. Instead, I had a rare moment of embarrassed silence.

She quickly shifted gears and assured me that this past year had been so weird anyway that the best any of us could do was to reboot and start fresh in the fall. She shared a few approaches she’d used to teaching elements of a story – you know, way back earlier in the year – and was generally encouraging and supportive while never quite losing that look of bewildered pity for the well-intentioned fool next door. Then again, I was the best they could hold onto in this particular place, so… that’s what you get.

The whole experience got me thinking about other stuff in the official curriculum which I’d never actually gotten around to in class. So far, these omissions have largely been externally-driven – casualties of modified schedules and ever-changing circumstances. In a few months, I’ll have live students, many of whom haven’t been in school in any way, shape, or form for nearly eighteen months.

I’ll need to make semi-informed decisions about what matters and what doesn’t with these darlings. Of course, we’re supposed to cover all of it, passionately and thoroughly. But… between you and me? That’s delusional in the best of circumstances and it’s just not going to happen. I was hired to teach a specific curriculum, but part of that obligation is using my professional judgement to determine what’s most effective with the kids in front of me.

Plowing through all of it one way or the other isn’t what’s most effective in this case. So what do I, in my pompous wisdom, prioritize? And what legit ELA undertakings do I discard as less worthy of our limited time? Like any subject, it’s all interesting and potentially important if given unlimited time by the system and unwavering commitment from each and every student. Lacking that, however, I have no ethical problem cutting some “required” matter loose in order to improve the odds the rest meaningfully sticks – at least a little.

Hence my “Keeping & Culling” list, initial rough draft.

We’re going to keep setting aside time to read in class several times each week whether it’s officially part of the “curriculum” or not. I’m too sold on the power of that time modeled and practiced regularly in class, by myself and any other adult in the room along with my kids. And yes, we’ll definitely look at the most common elements of stories and the so-called “hero’s journey.”

I’m culling analysis of imagery and theme, at least as discrete topics. Oh, and gerunds. We won’t be quizzing over gerunds.

We’re going to keep writing. I love an approach I borrowed from a real English teacher years ago. Every writing assignment receives two grades. If students submit work which meets the general requirements, they receive full credit – a completion grade. No matter how good or bad a piece is, I promise them three comments or suggestions. They consider these, revise, and resubmit a final version, which is then graded on improvement. Did they demonstrate thought and effort and find ways to make it better than it was?

I’m culling anything resembling a research paper or formal argumentative essay with footnotes and citations. This one hurts my soul a little; I believe these are valuable undertakings in other situations. My kids are capable of many great things, but they’re not academically at a point which makes this a good use of our limited time and energy.

We’re keeping short stories. My students will complain that I assign to many short stories – sometimes a new one every week! They whine that I require more reading than anyone else in any subject at any level EVER. (I do not believe this is factually true.) We’ll work on objective summaries and a few close reading strategies.

I’m culling several of the recommended stories from district guidelines. With all due respect to Poe and Hawthorne, some of their writing is simply too thick for my freshmen. Yes, students should be challenged. Yes, there’s value in stretching them academically. But that’s different than pushing them off a cliff while yelling at them to flap harder. For now, I’ll be focusing on stories with interesting wrinkles but which are quite readable for almost anyone with minimal willingness.

We’ll keep the discussing, recognizing, and using similes, metaphors, alliteration, onomatopoeia, allusion, implication/inference, repetition, and personification. Many other elements, however, are culled for now.

I was trapped in a training last month during which – I kid you not – we spent the better part of 90 minutes on strategies for teaching appositives. (For those of you with a life, an appositive is a “noun phrase” that restates with new information or clarification the noun which precedes it. “Blue Cereal, pith-laden blogger, is seriously underappreciated in his own time.” “Pith-laden blogger” is an appositive.)

Now, appositives are important enough in their own way, but are they essential for my specific students to make meaningful progress this year? I’m going to risk the ire of English teachers everywhere (not to mention anyone from my district who happens to be reading) and say no. Other terms on shaky ground despite their inclusion on official lists include anaphoric, cataphoric, modal auxiliary verbs, participial adjectives, and the aforementioned gerunds.

I’m nowhere near vain enough to suggest anyone should adapt my druthers about what parts of the curriculum are essential and which can be saved for another time. I suppose I’m partly just writing it all down to help clarify my own thinking, and to suggest that maybe as we return to whatever “normal” looks like this fall, we all take a deep breath before we do anything else.

Empty talking heads will keep pushing their weird “students are all behind now!” narratives. Districts will scramble to increase scores on whatever big magical tests control your state. A few eager colleagues troubled by last year’s shortcomings will try to make up for it by doubling down this fall. Politicians will continue being politicians and find ways to blame you for everything that’s ever happened – and probably several things that haven’t.

I respectfully suggest that while yes, you should pay attention to whatever specifics you were hired to teach, no, you don’t have to plow through them all no matter what, whether your kids keep up or not.

2021-2022 will no doubt get off to a rocky (and weird) start in many places. Go in positive, go in prepared, and go in with high hopes and high expectations. But if giving your students what they need most means you jettison some non-essentials along the way… you have my permission. If that’s what’s best for your kids, do it.

If anyone complains, just show them this post.

RELATED POST: Lessons From Pandemic Teaching

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RELATED POST: Teacher Evaluations (Hammers & Nails)

Teacher Evaluations (Hammers & Nails)

May 1, 2021June 4, 2023 ~ Blue Cereal ~ 1 Comment

There’s a difference between caring how well you’re actually doing your job and caring how well you do on official evaluations. Ideally, the two at least overlap – like a Venn Diagram or pop and hip-hop. That’s not always a given, however. In practice, it’s often more like the relationship between reality and reality TV.

I know a teacher I’ll call Mr. Lutum. Mr. Lutum has been teaching forever – long enough that he began to fear he’d grown a bit stale. After some soul searching and a few months of crippling doubt and despair, he decided that if he were going to continue teaching, he at least needed a fresh start and a serious change of scenery.

He took a position in a high poverty, majority-minority district in the building people only work at until they have enough seniority to go elsewhere. Lutum figured he’d put his lofty rhetoric and progressive ideals to the test and see if he actually had the chops to work with kids who are nothing like himself – hopefully without becoming either cynical or patronizing. It was around this time I met Mr. Lutum at a local workshop and we began staying in touch – first just talking teacher talk, and eventually carrying on about other things.

We’re both in northern Indiana, and both of us moved here from other states. One thing we’d noticed is that in ultra-conservative states, the official solution to almost any problem is “punish them more.” If that doesn’t work, “punish them harder” or “punish those around them” pretty much exhausts the limits of legislative imaginations. None of that restorative-nurturing-touchy-feely nonsense here! All problems are nails – poverty, mental health, crime, poor schools, crumbling infrastructure, general malaise and despair. Fortunately, the state has a big hammer and uses it regularly and gleefully.

In their defense, they genuinely believe this demonstrates their concern over social ills and the like. It’s WJWD.

Local governments – right down to school boards and building administrators – have learned that, as middlemen of sorts, they have two basic options. They can become hammers themselves… or end up nails. The practical result of this is that in the local public schools, “accountability” and “high standards” have little to do with figuring out what works, and much to do with demonstrating that bent nails will not be tolerated. (Or straightened.)

The community is poor, families are broken, the economy is a mess, and relationships between parents and schools, citizens and police, business and society, are largely dysfunctional and periodically hostile. The state is criticized for not doing more to help local schools, who are in turn criticized for not doing more to revolutionize the lives and circumstances of each and every child within their boundaries via grammar worksheets and basic math skills. By way of showing their true commitment to educational progress, the schools shut down for standardized testing nearly every month for at least a few days.

In their defense, most schools are reacting to state mandates, threats, and demands. Because there are so many things they can’t control – home lives, poverty, culture, lack of interest, a global pandemic – they’ve doubled down on the things they can, which brings us to one of their favorite categories of nails – teachers in low-performing districts. “It’s time to accountability you with some high expectations, beehatch. It would take forever to get to know you and your classrooms, explore the dynamics of your interactions with kids or the systemic challenges you face which prevent you from accomplishing more. What we can do, however, is mandate this pretty impressive rubric to judge your classroom performance based on a 30-minute observation by someone desperate to stay a hammer twice a year.”

Teacher evaluation rubrics usually involve detailed sub-categories cascading for pages under ranking columns with names like “Excellent,” “Adequate,” “Could Be Better,” “My God You Suck,” and “Not Observed.” These are laid out in a giant spreadsheet or in an iPad app with descriptions of where a teacher might land on each measured characteristic.

For example, “Lesson Organization”:

EXCELLENT: Lesson is clearly laid out with pre-teaching or connection to previously learned materials, new content or skills, and formative or informative assessment to determine the extent to which students have mastered the new material. Instructor demonstrates effective differentiation and connects content and skills to students’ lives, learning styles, and future endeavors in meaningful ways throughout the lesson. Teacher has clear plans for students who excel quickly, who understand adequately, who struggle with the material, or who remain unaware or detached and implements each of these strategies with the appropriate students simultaneously.

ADEQUATE: Randomly insert the word “somewhat” into previous description so the distinction sounds quantitatively meaningful.

COULD BE BETTER: Replace “somewhat” with “rarely” but nod severely as you do to demonstrate thoughtful concern.

MY GOD YOU SUCK: Teacher is moderately conscious and may or may not have traces of drool working its way dramatically down their chin. There is little or no pre-teaching or connection to prior learning and teacher doesn’t appear to know students’ names, personal histories, family stories, emotional issues. Plus, I’d swear there were at least two kids playing on their phones which she totally ignored! Remediation consists primarily of discouraged sighs and instructions to “look, just give me something, OK?” before teacher crawls under desk and weeps in despair.

Here’s the other thing: it doesn’t matter if there’s a pandemic or if every teacher in the building is a Mr. Miyagi, Dewey Finn, or John Keating. “High expectations” means a percentage of them have to be scored harshly because “high expectations.” It’s like a college course being graded on a curve and there were going to be 3 ‘A’s, 10 ‘B’s, 12 ‘C’s, 10 ‘D’s, and 3 ‘F’s no matter how well or poorly individuals might actually do. Oh, and your grade for the entire course is based solely on page 3 of one of the 12 essays you’re required to do that semester.

Last year was Lutum’s first year at this particular school, and – as was somewhat expected – the learning curve was steep. It’s one thing to know the culture and dynamics of a building are quite different than what you’ve experienced before and another to manage those dynamics effectively. As the latest newcomer, he was an unknown quantity and thus had zero credibility in the eyes of most students. He was regularly challenged both directly and indirectly and had to up his game a bit with classroom management and personal interactions. Then came time for formal administrator observations and his first evaluation.

“I normally don’t care about that kind of thing,” he told me. “I’ve always believed that if I’m doing what I think is best for my kids, things like state tests or administrative paperwork either take care of themselves or simply have to be endured. I was a little uncomfortable this time, however, partly because I knew things weren’t going all that well in class, but also because my supervising administrator had shown little interest in getting to know me (or any of the other teachers) beyond periodically walking the halls to make sure we were on duty during passing periods and that our doors were locked during class.”

Lutum was scheduled to be observed during his 2nd period – a class of about 25 freshmen. Halfway through 1st period, an announcement came over the intercom to dismiss all band students for dress rehearsal in preparation to some contest they were attending that weekend. That meant that the 8 – 9 students most likely to participate (or to even know what was going on) were leaving. Normally, Lutum would have changed what he did in class that day to reflect the change of circumstances – try to keep it meaningful for those who remained – but the evaluation rubric doesn’t have a category for “what’s best for the kids actually present.” He’d have to plow ahead and get those boxes checked, students be damned.

It didn’t go well. He was marked down for things like insufficient connections to prior knowledge – despite the evaluating administrator arriving 10 minutes after the lesson started and the kids not actually having much in the way of applicable prior knowledge. Two kids were doing other things on their iPads which he couldn’t see but the administrator could, meaning he lacked “awareness.” Other than that, it was lots of blank stares and hostile body language. (Also, the kids didn’t seem that glad to be there either.)

He spent the next few weeks trying to assemble documentation to get him up to a score that prevented a required “plan of improvement” and vowed to do better in the Spring, knowing he’d not see or hear from his administrator before it was time to schedule the next evaluation.

Then the pandemic hit.

Evaluations last fall were based on his Canvas page, and again he was slammed for things like insufficient differentiation – meaning, I guess, that his prerecorded online lessons didn’t adapt throughout each period to the individual needs and responses of the students who weren’t doing them. He asked his evaluating administrator about this and he was at least sympathetic. “Hey, look – I have to be able to document it to give you ‘Adequate’, and I’m not seeing it. If you can show me something that qualifies, I’d love to change it.

Again he spent a few weeks trying to nudge the score up past “please don’t fire me” and began wondering why he gave up the easy gig in Michigan where everybody loved him and he had tenure.

Since Spring Break, Lutum has had 8 – 10 in person students each period (while still expected to keep up with virtual learning for the rest.) Last week was the first time this year he was scheduled to be observed in person. He made sure there were no extra band rehearsals or major sporting events scheduled and spent the two weeks beforehand trying to establish some classroom dynamics as students began wandering randomly back from virtual learning to in person school. He chose the period right before lunch when students were awake enough to participate but weren’t as hyper as they got after whatever fights broke out at lunch.

A few days beforehand, his evaluator emailed that he couldn’t make it that hour – could they do 1st period? Not wanting to seem insecure or unprepared, Lutum agreed.

The day before the visit, the building principal came on the intercom and announced that tardies were out of control and that teachers were to lock their doors when the bell rang – no exceptions. Those students would report to detention for the rest of the period. (1st period, unsurprisingly, has more tardies than any other hour.) That announcement was followed by a list of all the busses running late that day. There were always at least 3 – 4; that day Mr. Lutum estimates it was more like 7.

It had been a few weeks since they’d covered “irony” in class, but maybe that should have been the lesson he’d prepared for observations. Once again, he wasn’t going to have enough students to demonstrate anything on the checklist. Well, maybe Brittney. She’s always there early. Nice kid. Clueless, of course, but enthusiastic. Yeah, allusions and metaphors will go great with just her. The breakout groups activity would be particularly impressive, and her first chance to be group leader. Of herself.

He could have tried to reschedule, but why? Hammers need nails. They have no use for screws, widgets, duct tape, or clamps. At some point the nail has to either stop trying to pull away and accept its fate or figure out how to become a hammer – something Mr. Lutum was unwilling to do.

“Bring it on,” he told me. “I figure no one else is lined up begging for this job. Let’s get the part over with so I can get back to trying to figure out how to help the kids actually in front of me, and if they want to start a paperwork trail to fire me, so be it.”

I guess a single nail sticking up does look a bit like a middle finger. And I’m OK with that.

Postscript: It went fine. Ludum had 5 kids show up and found out later when they saw an administrator in the room most had assumed they were in trouble of some sort. They didn’t have great answers but they upped their game considerably and tried to look attentive (and not like nails). He’d forgotten to tell them what was happening that day and had no idea they’d be panicked by a principal visit. Turns out he’s still learning a few things about his new school.

RELATED POST: Teacher Tired

Lessons From Pandemic Teaching

December 7, 2020June 4, 2023 ~ Blue Cereal

We’ll soon hit a full year of trying to figure out how public education works (or doesn’t) during a pandemic. Some of the experience gained may be specific to 2020 – the social and political dynamics of which have not been even remotely encouraging (see what I did there?). I’d respectfully suggest, however, that many of the “lessons” learned along the way apply to most forms of remote, virtual, or online “education,” whatever the surrounding climate.

I’ve numbered them in order to make my observations seem more carefully weighed and thoughtfully considered. Seriously, doesn’t even the illusion of someone having a coherent plan and consistent ideology seem insanely comforting these days?

#5: States and Some Districts Are REALLY Committed to Testing and Pointless Paperwork

One of the most crippling aspects of long-distance learning is what it does to our ability to “connect” with students, individually or en masse. The thing most of us signed on for – that idealistic, touch-lives-and-help-kids stuff – has been reduced to the point of near-extinction. What remains strong, however, is the bureaucracy and nonsense we’d mostly learned to tolerate. It’s always been annoying, but it’s traditionally been overshadowed by the meaningful bits.

Not this year.

Many districts are plowing ahead with “virtual PD” and hoping that if they simply require enough documentation of, well… everything they can think of, engagement will somehow soar and distance learning will no longer be a disaster. Kids being at home will be just like them being at school, and we can think happy thoughts and click our heels together until AYP is met!

The centerpiece of this delusion is the conviction that THE TESTING MUST GO ON. Standardized state assessments, sketchy endeavors in the best of times, have long claimed their primary function is to “assess student learning and growth.” Supposedly the resulting numbers help direct instruction; as a bonus they can be twisted like balloon animals into some sort of marker of teacher ineffectiveness as well. (Why did you not learn them harder?!)

Standardized testing has never done much to account for culture, poverty, circumstances, or anything else – but its complete disregard of reality has truly reached new heights this year. WE MUST MEASURE THE GROWTH of students who are no longer coming to school, many of whom don’t have internet, others of whom lack self-discipline, stay-at-home moms, or sufficient protein, all so we can… know what, exactly? What are we even pretending to measure right now?

It’s the most cynical sort of sophistry. We might as well have them take the tests while strapped to various amusement park rides or with Tiny Tim at dangerous volumes on infinite repeat. The validity of such “testing conditions” would be far more defensible than pushing ahead this year.

#4 Bipolar Teacher Disorder

Personally, I’ve always had a soft spot for the semi-dysfunctional, over-committed educator. Sure, they’re repeatedly taken advantage of, and they often operate out of insecurity or guilt at being unable to save every last child – but they’re so sincere and adorable while they’re doing it!

Even relatively stable, well-adjusted teachers, however, are beginning to manifest what I think of as “bipolar teacher disorder.” It’s a natural result of the pendulum of thoughts and emotions inherent in trying to reach disengaged populations long-distance. The internal dialogue often goes something like this:

“I’ve got to do more to engage and challenge these kids! They deserve a quality edu—“
“CAN THEY SERIOUSLY NOT LOG IN FOR 10 MINUTES AND AT LEAST USE THE BUILT-IN MIC?!? I FEEL LIKE A DANCING BEAR REPEATEDLY PAUSING FOR THEM TO TYPE ONE-WORD RESP—“
“My poor babies. It’s not their fault this is happening. Most would rather be here! School really is the most structure and approval they’re likely to get most days, not to mention—“
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU CAN’T OPEN IT ON YOUR PHONE? THE SCHOOL ISSUES YOU A CHROMEBOOK! THEY’LL PICK IT UP AND FIX OR REPLACE IT FOR FREE, REPEATEDLY! I MADE 27 TRAINING VIDEOS TALKING YOU THROUGH HOW TO DO THIS! YOU WANT ME TO COME TYPE IT FOR Y—“
“My God everyone on Twitter is rocking virtual education and doing all of these cool projects and discussions and – they’re using breakout rooms? And it’s working? Yeah, I suck. I’ve failed my students when they need me most. I might as well start handing out vouchers personally…”
“YOU WANT ME TO EXPLAIN THE ASSIGNMENT TO YOU? IN AN EMAIL? WHAT AM I GOING TO SAY THAT’S NOT IN THE SLIDESHOW I POSTED, AND IN THE VIDEOS OF ME EMBEDDED IN EACH SLIDE TALKING THROUGH IT, AND IN THE EXAMPLE I DID FOR YOU TO—“

You get the idea. The ping-ponging between guilt/inadequacy and frustration/discouragement may actually produce real-life concussions.

#3 Every Teacher Is Different. Every Classroom Is Different.

This has always been true. There are strategies, lessons, and mindsets that are often far more useful or successful than others. There are things that are almost always a bad idea, no matter what the specifics. Generally speaking, however, it’s important to distinguish between “here are some things that have worked for me in such-and-such situation” and “here’s what good teachers do if they want to be effective (or at least more effective than you).”

This reality has been dramatically magnified by virtual (or blended) learning. Kudos to those of you working wonders on the small screen. Many of you had to overcome repeated struggles and frustrations to get there. That doesn’t mean those still mired in pointlessness are lazy or lack talent. It’s more likely they have different kids, different circumstances, or different strengths.

Keep sharing what’s working. Celebrate others’ successes or breakthroughs. But let’s not forget that this whole situation is stupid and not at all what we signed up for. It’s not a moral failure when we can’t make the magic happen.

#2 The “Problems” With Public Education Are Huge Advantages

We all know the litany of failures attributed to the standard 20th century public education model. Students are run through a “factory system.” There’s not enough differentiation. The rooms are too square, the schedules too rigid, and the instruction too direct. Online, self-paced, n0-walls education was supposed to free our poor, victimized children from this outdated torture.

For a handful of kids, it absolutely has. I have several students I’ve never met who are knocking this year out of the park. They love the flexibility and hate the chaos and inconvenience of in-person school. These outliers spend a few hours in the morning knocking out work and touching base with their teachers, then read or play or watch documentaries about food in other countries the rest of the afternoon. More power to them.

But most kids need that face-to-face time to flourish. You know things are bad when all the same politicians and talking heads who’ve been working diligently for years to get kids out of our rooms and in front of someone’s software eight hours a day are suddenly lamenting kids being out of our rooms and in front of the screen for eight hours a day. If we’ve learned nothing else this year, hopefully we’ve rediscovered the value of teacher interaction for actual learning to consistently occur. We’ve sorely missed proper small group discussions and kids having to learn how to deal with one another like we all live in the same world together or something.

Parents have been confronted daily with the shocking reality that their children are not naturally hungry for knowledge or motivated by where they may or may not be accepted to college in a few years. Some kids care for intrinsic reasons, and some desperately want to please their parents or compete with their friends. But many many many of our darlings learn because we woo them. We cajole them. We trick them. We engage them. We entertain them, scare them, love them, push them. It’s an art as much as it is a science. Every educator knows this.

None of us were really surprised that it’s just not the same when kids are at home working “at their own pace” and the best we can do is video in from time to time. That didn’t make it less discouraging.

#1 It’s All About Resources

In districts with lots of technology and support, the twists and turns have generally gone better than in districts without. In districts where kids already had reliable internet at home and parents with basic online communication skills (the bulk of the email goes in the BODY, not the SUBJECT LINE), etc., things have been a little easier than in districts where half the kids don’t have heat – let alone reliable wi-fi.

Sure, there are always a handful of plucky souls who overcome, and they’re absolutely worth celebrating. But there are always a handful of football players who make the NFL and a handful of musicians who win Grammys. Pointing to Patrick Mahomes or Billie Eilish as proof that “anyone willing to put out a little effort can do it” is either delusional or deceitful. Pointing to districts whose teachers and students are finding all sorts of creative ways to make it work is absolutely appropriate in terms of celebrating their success and learning from their efforts. They make poor guides for critiquing districts with whom they have little in common, however.

Your Ticket-Out-The-Blog

So, what did I leave out? What did I get wrong? More importantly, of all my wit and pith and insight, which parts made you love me the most?

Comment below and let me know what you think. If you like, you can document it and count it towards your virtual professional development.

RELATED POST: Teacher Tired

What’s Your Name? (This Year’s First ‘Virtual’ Assignment)

August 5, 2020June 4, 2023 ~ Blue Cereal

What’s In A Name?

In Shakespeare’s Romeo & Juliet, Juliet laments that she cannot be with Romeo largely because of their last names. Their families are enemies and neither would ever accept the other into their homes. Standing on her balcony, unaware that he’s listening, she rejects the idea that names could be so important. Why should it matter what you’re called if you’re as awesome as Romeo – at least in Juliet’s eyes?

Still, sometimes our names do matter. It varies from century to century, family to family, and culture to culture, but sometimes your name means more than others might realize. Maybe it was given to you for a specific reason, or maybe it’s influenced how people react to you or what they assume about you. If nothing else, it usually (but not always) reflects the family into which you were born. Sometimes a major religious conversion prompts a name change. Many women still take the name of their husbands when they marry. Best friends sometimes have nicknames for each other which only they use. Couples often call one another by names that no one outside the couple can use without causing problems.

Or maybe your name is just a name and its meaning is only what you give it by being you. That’s OK, too.

The Importance of Communication

One of the primary goals of any English class is to improve our communication skills. While there are an endless number of ways humans communicate with one another, two of the most important and most universal are (a) speaking and (b) writing. We’re going to work on both this semester.

Please note that it’s never my goal to embarrass you or put you on the spot or push you to share anything you don’t wish to share. If you don’t want to say it or write it, then DON’T. I won’t be fact-checking you on anything unless there’s some specific reason I should. Our goal is to get better at communicating our own thoughts and ideas and understanding the thoughts and ideas of others. What your thoughts and ideas ARE is your business. Share them or not as you choose.

The Name Video Assignment (Due ____________)

You’re going to make a brief video (60 – 90 seconds) talking about your name and share it with me by uploading it to Student ‘Name’ Videos {linklinklink}. Your video can be as simple or as involved as you like, as long as it meets a few basic guidelines.

1) Your video should be at least 60 seconds but no longer than 90 seconds.

2) It should begin with you introducing yourself with your full name.

3) For the rest of your brief introductory video, talk about your name or some part of your name – were you named after someone? Does one or more of your names have a particular meaning? Is your name common? Rare? Often misunderstood? How does your name reflect you and/or how has having this name shaped your life a little bit? (You don’t have to cover all of this. These are just starting places and ideas. Talk about whatever you wish in conjunction with your name.)

Click Here For My Sample ‘Name Video’

The Technical Stuff (How To Make It Work)

Use Chromebooks or phones or whatever you wish.

If you’re unsure how to record video on your Chromebook, there are a few quick ‘How To’ guides posted along with this assignment on Google Classroom.

If you’re not sure how to upload your video, click the link for Student ‘Name’ Videos {linklinklink}. Then choose the ‘+ New’ near the top left of the screen, and ‘File Upload’.

If for some reason you can’t upload your video using these instructions (for example, you don’t have a working Chromebook and you’re doing all of this on another device or something), try sharing it with me some other way – email a link, etc. MAKE SURE YOU LET ME KNOW, however, so I don’t miss it and think you simply didn’t do it.

Email me with questions or problems – {email address}

This, pretty much, is my opening day assignment this year. The links will be different (the only one that actually works here is to the sample ‘name video’ – and even that will look different for students), but otherwise, this is how we’re starting off.

I borrowed this lesson from Barrett Doke, who teaches 8th Grade American History in the Houston area. We taught a series of virtual workshops together this summer, and I loved his approach to technology in the classroom, even when ‘in person’ school was still a thing back in the day. He’s done it successfully for years, although I’ve dressed it up a bit differently (anything you don’t like is probably me).

Why This?

Some of my motivation I covered in the actual directions. I won’t see my kids in person for at least nine weeks, and that’s going to make it difficult to form that there ‘rapport’ we always talk about. And honestly, while my pedagogy is fine, my strength has always been the face-to-face. Obviously, that’s out for a while.

I also believe the part about communication being an essential skill and all that. In fact, the second assignment is a short personal essay which builds on the “let’s talk about YOU” idea. Yes, it’s partly about trying to establish connection, but the ability to talk about ourselves coherently is an essential academic and professional skill. (You won’t get through many college admissions officers or job interviews if you can’t handle “so tell me about yourself a bit” decently.)

On a related front, if much of this year is going to be done long-distance, we’d better start getting comfortable using the technology – both students and teachers. If I’m going to ask them to eventually submit video summaries of what they’ve read or otherwise express themselves using this format, we’d better practice it with something easy first.

Finally, there’s an additional, somewhat awkward motivation as well. I’m an old white guy whose hearing isn’t what it used to be. I genuinely want to learn my students’ names and say them correctly, but there are more each year that I never seem to quite get comfortable with. At the same time, it feels more important than ever that I demonstrate at least that much attention and respect to those whose names are most likely to give me trouble. With this assigment, I’ll have a reference as often as I need it to exactly how they want their name pronounced – because they’re the ones saying it.

These instructions clearly take an ELA approach, but that’s not essential. When I taught American history we’d always discuss the power of names, usually in relation to slaves and slave-owners. I’m not even sure you’d need a justification for it if you’re interested. It’s your class, and you have to start somewhere.

If you want to give it a shot, all I ask is that you NOT use my sample “name video” or Barrett’s. Obviously you’d want to make your own anyway, right? Also, I’d love to hear how it goes – seriously.

Here are my instructions (pretty much the same as the first half of this post) as a Google Doc if you’d rather edit them than start from scratch. You’re also welcome to the follow up personal essay instructions. I should probably note that while I’m definitely using these this year, I haven’t yet. I honestly have no idea how it will go.

But then, that’s often the case – even with things I’ve used for years. We wouldn’t want it to get too easy or boring, would we?

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I’m Trying Not To Take Sides

June 27, 2020June 4, 2023 ~ Blue Cereal ~ 1 Comment

These are complicated times, and in the interest of serving ALL students (and avoiding as many problems with parents as possible), I’m renewing my commitment to avoid pushing my own personal values and ideology and just sticking to the facts.

It’s not that hard in early American history. I mean, sure – there’s the issue of Columbus and whether he “discovered” America or not. Rather than give my own opinions, I just give kids facts. I’ve prepared a sheet of links to over 200 scholarly sources and primary documentation for them to peruse at their leisure, and they can decide for themselves whether or not what Columbus did was “good” or “bad,” or whether the Vikings got here first, or the Chinese, or that guy from Africa whose name I can never remember.

The whole clash of early settlers and the natives can be a little tricky, but no worries – I just present all sides of the issues and let my 8th and 9th graders figure out what it all means. It’s not my job to label something as “genocide” or “natural progress” or “God’s will.” Maybe smallpox blankets were a tacky move, maybe not. Maybe scalping and raping and burning down homes and bashing out babies’ brains was savage, maybe not. There were good people on both sides.

I’ve compiled some sketches from the impacted tribes along with a few scraps of sympathetic white accounts, some primary sources from European colonists, and deleted scenes from the Director’s Cut of Pocahontas. (I realize some would argue the Disney movie isn’t an accurate portrayal of history, but as I’ve already explained, I’m trying not to take sides.)

Young people are naturally interested in the Salem Witchcraft Trials. It’s a topic that’s become so sensationalized in our culture that it’s used as an analogy for everything from the anti-Communist hysteria of the mid-20th century to any effort to hold elected leaders accountable for poor behavior. You think I’m wading into THAT minefield when we cover it in class? No way!

Instead, I’ve got the trial transcripts in the King James English, some commentary from Cotton Mather, and Samuel Sewell’s apology years after. Were the condemned actually witches? Not my call to make! Should we burn people at the stake for acting strange or based on the testimony of teenagers faking seizures? Maybe. Maybe not. I’m suggesting students read the transcripts and consult the dozens of scholarly analyses available to decide what really happened on their own. I’m trying not to take sides.

The American Revolution! Independence! Freedom! Yeah, also not going there. We’ll cover the documents and discuss some of the main events happening around that time, but I’m not sure it’s a good idea for me inflict my own perception of what “caused” the Revolution, let alone whether or not the rebels made the right call. Better I just share some random facts for them to connect (or not) on their own and leave my personal patriotism out of it.

Maybe America was something new and special, maybe it wasn’t. Maybe the Declaration of Independence is the finest document ever written, maybe it’s not. Maybe the Bill of Rights turned out to be a pretty good idea, and maybe it’s all crap we can ignore when inconvenient. I love those documents, those ideals, and even how beautifully they were phrased – but… I’m paid by tax dollars. Not here to brainwash. Stick to the facts.

So I’m not pushing my patriotism on kids any more than I’d try to convert them to my faith or expect them to conform to my own narrow ideas about civility and human decency. It’s not my place to tell them what to believe, just to provide un-curated information related to state standards and stand back. They may then peruse mankind’s collected writings at their convenience and decide for themselves whether or not representation should or should not be considered a prerequisite for taxation. I’m trying not to take sides.

Indian Removal, slavery, the Age of Jackson, the Civil War, Westward Expansion, War with Mexico, Imperialism – I refuse to get sucked in to ethical, philosophical, or religious discussions about “right” and “wrong.” It’s not my place to refute the idea that the moon landing was faked, that the earth is flat, or that immunizations cause autism.

It’s entirely possible science isn’t even a thing that happens. Perhaps it’s a massive worldwide conspiracy run by antifa agents and Bill Gates to support their child sex slavery pizza parlors and brainwash our children into becoming gay Muslims. Personally, I suspect science is a real thing but gets stuff wrong sometimes and not all scientists are as objective as we’d like. But I’m not committing either way on any of these hot-button issues. That’s not my place. I’m trying not to take sides.

I remember a young man asking me last year whether or not it was true that Africans had evolved in such a way as to be “well-suited” for slavery – that they had the “mark of Cain” and God had set them aside to serve whites and play basketball and that’s why they were so good at both. I was personally horrified, of course, but race is a loaded issue and, as I’ve been reminded repeatedly over the years, it’s not my place to inject my personal opinions in class. For a moment, I wasn’t sure how I’d be able to maintain my professional distancing as I’ve been so often berated to do.

I asked him to give me a day to consider what he’d asked. That evening, I compiled the writings of Frederick Douglass, James Baldwin, and nearly a hundred other black intellectuals in American history, along with the speeches of famous southerners, Klan leaders, and transcripts from several Mel Gibson films. I also provided links to some of the more violent white supremacy websites along with a suggestion he Google #BlackLivesMatter. If he really cares about the issue, he can spend the next several decades pouring over the studies, experiences, opinions, and diatribes of those on all sides of the issue. It’s really not my place to take a position on the “humanity” or “equality” of this group or that – especially when it might offend certain stakeholders in the community.

Students complain that other history teachers “tell them stories” about events in history or talk about famous historical figures. I’m like, woah! Spoon-fed, much? Telling stories is just a euphemism for “putting your own spin” on historical events, not to mention it requires deciding which events are important enough to discuss in the first place. That sounds like a job for your pastor, parents, or local politicians to decide.

Talking about “famous” figures is even worse. Some people consider Thomas Jefferson a Founding Father and an icon of American History. Others believe he’s a monster for his relationship with Sally Hemmings (one of his slaves). One side treasures his words and ideals, the other condemns his hypocrisy. You think I’m going to so much as MENTION him when literal blood is being spilt over whether or not to tear down his statue? The last thing we want to do is connect anything in the news with something from history – the mere suggestion that we can potentially shed light on current events by considering comparable events in our past can quickly become both a very unpleasant local news story and a fireable offense. This is “history” class, kids – not “people alive today” class. Look it up.

Seriously. Look it up. Alone on your own time and without any guidance. It’s not my job to help you sift through the overwhelming volume of noise and nonsense out there and decide which parts form a common national narrative. I’m just here to teach you the facts. You’re 15 – work out the rest on your own.

Was John Brown right to decapitate those settlers in front of their wives and kids? Not my call. Should women have the right to vote? Hard to say – there are good arguments on both sides. How well did Communism actually work out in the Soviet Union? Gosh, I dunno… there are all sorts of reasons they may have decided to move away from the “U.S.S.R.” thing and tear down that wall. Who am I to say? Did “executive privilege” place President Nixon above the law? Maybe – have to ask your parents about that one, not really an appropriate question for American Government class.

Was it necessary to execute all those Jews to save Germany? Maybe – I mean, I have some opinions on the subject along with research by experts who’ve spent lifetimes studying such things and exploring how such evils occur and why we don’t do more to speak out against them. But, I mean… there was a reason they threw the intellectuals in there with the homosexuals and the Gypsies, so maybe it’s best I avoid taking sides.

As it turns out, even my last recourse of “facts only” education presents a political and social dilemma. Honestly, I thought tossing my kids unguided into a forest filled with yellow ribbons was about as fair and balanced as any educated person could be expected to attempt. My narrow-minded ideology, however, that some things in history are supported by “evidence” while others simply aren’t (even while acknowledging that many topics fall somewhere in between) is apparently just as hurtful as when I suggested that websites ending in .edu or .gov might be slightly more reliable than Bubba’sConfederateBasement.com with all of its misspellings and that bright red twinkling background with the synthesized version of “Dixie” playing far too loudly.

I’ll do better. From now on, we won’t just cover facts. We’ll give equal time and merit to anything anyone anywhere has ever made up, tweeted, posted on Facebook, ranted about at a family dinner, or wormed their way onto TV (or YouTube) to talk about. Out of “respect for the office,” we’ll prioritize the bizarre ramblings of anyone paid by our tax dollars, no matter how bizarre or destructive the content of their remarks.

It will be difficult, at first, fighting the urge to distinguish between propaganda, science, documented reality, cultish beliefs, and anything else that comes flying our way, but I’m sure I’ll get used to it along with everything else. Besides, I’m trying not to take sides.