Autocomplicated

I didn't have an easy time thinking up what to write about this week. So instead of poring through my notes like I usually do, I decided to see what the rest of the world thought about some common topics. So in order to gauge common perception, I did what anyone else would do and used the autocomplete feature for Google searches. For my first search, I tried, “Why is school...” and, to be honest, the results weren't totally surprising.

Auto-complete search results when you search for why is school:

• Why is school important?
• Why is school so hard?
• Why is school so boring?
• Why is school so expensive?
• Why is school so long?

The next I tried was on a much more personal note. I tried, “Why are teachers...” and, save for the last results, the results were once again unsurprising.

Auto-complete search results when you search for why are teachers:

• Why are teachers important?
• Why are teachers striking in BC?
• Why are teachers so stupid?
• Why are teachers so boring?
• Why are teachers mandated reporters?

I decided to go a different route, and gave “Why is education...” a shot instead. And the results were eye-opening.

Auto-complete search results when you search for why is education:

• Why is education important?
• Why is education so important?
• Why is education important in life?
• Why is education important in developing countries?
• Why is education so expensive?

Meanwhile, all of the results for “learning should...” are variations of either be fun, or be enjoyable.

You better brace yourselves, because we're strapped in for a crash landing on a ship piloted by Captain Obvious. There is a monumental image problem that we're facing, and something as simple as search terms already illustrates this clearly.

There is a big difference between school, education, and learning. They are not supposed to be exclusive to one another, but that's what the trend seems to imply. School should be an environment, not a punishment. Education and learning should be fun and enjoyable, but apparently it isn't. I think we're really fortunate to be at such a self-reflexive point in education history. We're at a point in the midst of the technology boom and we've only recently become glaringly aware of problems apparent in school systems. Schools have existed since before the common era, and I think it's insane that it's taken this long to really get a good handle on it. We're at a point where we can talk to people on the other side of the world instantaneously. I can literally pull a phone out of my pocket, dial a number, have a signal go to outer space, meet up with a satellite, and shoot back down onto the earth, and into the ear of my compatriot. Unless I'm in Market, there are some things that those signals just can't get past.

But back to the trends. We have so many opportunities at our fingertips that I'm finding it hard to imagine that the current state of schooling will last much longer. And I think that's something very positive. I foresee a positive trend in autocomplete forms where instead of “so long,” people will ask why school is “so short.” Or maybe ask how it's so exciting.

But at the same time, I also have some hesitations. I can give someone the best hammer in the world. One with a carbon-fibre handle that conforms to your palm. A screen just above your thumb that states your velocity. Maybe have a little target at the top so you can set your sights, and a cast iron head that can smash through anything. But even with the best hammer in the world, you're never going to put anything together if you don't have any nails.

We are incredibly lucky to live at a time where technology is evolving quickly, but as teachers we're never going to improve if we don't evolve with it. Saying that something worked when you were a student is not an excuse to keep your teaching method static. Spending a day in an antique classroom was great when we were studying pioneer days, but that's not a conducive atmosphere for a 21^st century learner. Although I wouldn't object to bringing back stilts at recess, those were the bomb.

So what I'm trying to say is that we have an image problem. A public perception problem. And it's not going to go away unless we do something about it. We need to start harnessing technology and use it to its full potential. It's not enough to just use it, it's a matter of using it well. 

Avoiding the Crossfire

One of the biggest challenges I foresee in my classroom is the ability to maintain a relevant classroom. And, this being a course about curriculum development, I saw no better place to raise my concerns about the topic.

Often times the curriculum changes to reflect new understandings or radical social changes that have taken place. An article by C.H. Hedson, “Curriculum Changes During the Progressive Era,” reflects this idea. Hedson explains how basic curriculum reform first really took place with the helping hand of Education celebrity and hot topic John Dewey, who decided that the curriculum ought to encompass more than just basic knowledge concerning literacy and arithmetic. With the help of two fellow scholars, Bobbitt and Charters, The Cardinal Principles report was published in 1918. As the article explains,

The Cardinal Principles report in 1918 confirmed this expansion of the curriculum to “educate for life.” The seven objectives were as follows: (a) health, (b) command of fundamental processes, (c) worthy home membership, (d) vocation, (e) citizenship, (f) worthy use of leisure, (g), ethical character. With such broad aims, there was little in life that would not be considered a subject for the school curriculum. (67).

So it would seem that the consensus reached was that the curriculum has a responsibility to not only educate students about their subjects, but also about the world around them and how to interact. Though the terms from the 1918 report may seem outdated (I can only imagine the difference between worthy use of leisure now and then. I wonder how “worthy” Dewey might consider a Netflix marathon), the consensus remains. Surely, it is the school's place to teach children far more than just the ABC's.

So far we've established two things. One, that the curriculum needs to stay relevant to be engaging. Two, that it is the school's place to teach beyond basic knowledge and into life skills. Though that may seem like common sense to a lot of my fellow Education students, it is an important point to make. It's worthwhile to establish a baseline of thought for where this blog's headed. Strap on your helmets and have a cardiologist on speed-dial, because we're about to dive headfirst into the heart of the issue!

Lately I've been seeing plenty of posts and news articles talking about Ontario's proposed updated sex ed curriculum. A brief Facebook search produces results like this group on Facebook which, though extreme, seems to has a message that resonates with enough people. And the issue isn't confined to Facebook, either. Sun News recently aired this piece which for the most part blasted the new curriculum. From my understanding, both the host and the guest are professionals in the field of talk radio. The part I'd like to focus on in the video takes place almost right away, around the 0:45 mark. A quote on the screen appears in favour of revamping the curriculum, insisting that the old curriculum (last updated in 1998) was out-of-date and that can be dangerous. The hosts disagree, the younger of the two joking that he was married in 1998 and the older one, saying he'd been married longer, didn't think he'd need to read the “new manual.”

Incase I haven't been transparent enough, let me be abundantly clear: the purpose of this blog was not to comment on the content of the new curriculum. Not even a little bit. Instead it is to look at the approaches and apprehensions to a proposed curriculum and assess what happens when something continues to be outdated, and the controversy inherent in implementing new things.

Another example of this would be in Colorado, where proposed curriculum changes to history classes caused an uproar when parents and students alike saw the changes as censorship instead of actual history.

I really wish I had the time alotted to talk about this for much longer, the word count at the bottom of the screen indicates that it is time to wind down. It is easy to get lost in the technical application and forget that the practical is usually a whole lot messier. The difference from theory to practice can, and might, be a much more delicate endeavor. As a future teacher, I wonder how curriculum changes with affect the way I teach. How difficult is it to navigate the waters between satisfying parents and giving children ample education? How critical are we allowed to be of proposed curriculum changes? All of this is certainly important to talk about (and I'm sure will be talked about plenty) in the days, weeks, and years to come.

Gift-Wrapped

A week ago, during lecture, Professor Drake spoke about how concept development works in the scope of the curriculum. There was also a point where she said that the policy-makers are “moving down from the gifted to what everyone else is supposed to do now.” That is to say, what was once part of the gifted curriculum is being transferred to the regular curriculum. This idea stuck with me, and I think it's important to unpack what it means.

I'm not writing to criticize or emphasize the program, either. I just think it's really interesting to think about. When I was younger, I always wondered what it would look like if you took “non-gifted” kids and put them in a “gifted” classroom. Would they struggle? Would they learn more quickly? I also thought back to the video we were shown earlier of the difference between praising effort vs. intelligence, how the students who heard “you must have tried very hard” did better than those who heard, “you're really smart.” How would being identified as a “gifted” student affect these students in the future? Should there be a separate program for the really hard workers? In a Globe and Mail article investigating the Gifted program, one Stanford University professor suggests that we, as teachers, revisit whether or not we should tell our students they're gifted. “It implies that something was bestowed on them, the 'gift.' Rather than that they've worked for it.” 

My experience in a gifted classroom was not what I expected. I remember being very nervous. The program had just moved from one building into a series of rooms inside St. Catharines Collegiate. I just remember myself as a 5^th and 6^th grade student holding tightly onto my backpack and walking up the stairs, past all the highschool students, and into those first classrooms on the right-hand side of the second floor hallway. The first room was hardwood and very cluttered. A big U of desks were arranged, sort of like how we have seminar rooms set up at Brock. On the left were cubbies painted by former students (I'd always look for the one my brother did), and to the right of that there was an old telephone operating switch board. There was a wall at the back that acted as a dividing wall between the first room and the computer lab behind it, but there was a big window and a doorspace without a door, so it felt very open. Along this back wall were couches and shelving which housed Trivial Pursuit games, riddles, those little metal puzzles, among other things. There was also a Far Side cartoon book I was very fond of.

Another room was right next to the computer lab, and this room was my absolute favourite. There was a circular table in the middle of the room, but you were sandwiched by cages and aquariums. Snakes, lizards, frogs, a rabbit, and a really adorable hedgehog lived in this room. I wasn't sure about handling the animals and I was too shy to ask for help, so whenever I came across the room I was really happy about it. The only other room was one I didn't spend a lot of time in, so I don't remember too much about it – it was an art room, with a few tables scattered along the floor, and a big table near the front. It had high ceilings, but that's about all I can remember.

You wouldn't sign up for classes, you'd sign up for programs. They lasted a few weeks, not very long, but you'd do them the whole time you were there. There were a few choices, and I cannot explain why I chose the boating course. I never had a boat. But it was something I guess I wanted to learn. So there wasn't really a lot of stuff that felt like work. I don't remember doing any, if at all, written work or homework assignments. But somehow, at the end of it all, I knew enough to get my boating license.

Looking back through old papers and IEPs, I found something that said “English – 20%” for my grade. As it turns out, my 'grade' during the gifted program would constitute 20% of my English grade in my regular school.

I found this confusing. It felt like I never did any productive work, never received any actual graded feedback. How could my efforts at the GEC be translated into tangible marks? How do we reconcile non-grading in a system that is literally founded and operates on a graded system? It was confusing them, and still is now.

I've uploaded a few screenshots of my IEP with key names/signatures whited out. But the content remains untouched. This is the first one, along with a pamphlet for the gifted centre. Here is what they look like a while later. I want to focus in on the “Strategies/Resources” listed to deal with me. They include:

• Minimize repetitious drills
• Open-ended activities
• Personal choice of topics/areas of interest for research

A lot of these seem silly in how common-sense they are. Minimizing repetitious drills, for example, would be more engaging for anybody, not just me. Personal choice of topics/areas of interest for research sounds an awful lot like the Genius Hour, which has been reportedly successful through the anecdotal evidence we've heard about.

A really interesting piece of information I came across was the Region of Peel's Gifted Education Review Executive Summary which, on page 6, has a chart of students who responded positively. There's a really distinct difference between the responses of elementary and high school students.

Additionally, few teachers (both elementary and secondary) said that they were satisfied with the gifted identification criteria or placement process. The only thing that they overwhelmingly agreed with was their confidence in teaching the students.

There really is a lot to say about how effective, or ineffective the Gifted program is. To be honest, the debate gets a little tired, because at the end of the day using catch-all, unmeasurable labels like “effective” or “ineffective,” doesn't do much. Semantics is not a good way to win or lose a debate. I'm just really interested to see what happens with current education trends when they apply “gifted” techniques to the regular classroom. 

Learning Takes Time, Brownies Need Edges

I'd consider myself patient. I don't mind traffic jams. I prefer to preheat the oven than use the microwave. I'm not really big into short cuts, either. So when I hear about learning methods which streamline learning, which make everything easier, naturally I'm a little skeptical. It seems a little too good to be true, doesn't it?

What I'm talking about is the idea of a flipped classroom. A teacher uploads a video that the students view at home, then the “homework” part is done the next day in the classroom. What an idea. In theory, it seems wonderful. And according to the research, it's been a success. It was successfully implemented in a pharmacology classroom, for example. It seems like a great idea. So why is everyone so critical about it?

When I was little, 8 or 9, my neighbour taught my sister and I how to knit. We didn't go right into sweaters, though. We started with scarves. And my sister and I diligently went to Margaret's house after school every day for two whole weeks. Wake up, school, scarves. A year ago, inspiration struck, and I picked up some knitting needles. Grabbed the yarn. And stared at them for a while, willing my hands to somehow get everything started, and hoping for muscle memory to just do its thing. It didn't happen. What did happen was a quick YouTube instructional video search.

We'll compare this with my first foray into organized group sports: Ringette. The first year I tried out, I spent the better part of a month on my knees kind of skiing myself around the rink. Slowly but surely, I was able to stand. (I was benched a lot that first month...) After much patience on the part of my coach and my sister, who was also on the team, I was able to push myself along the ice. Soon enough I was gliding! Lo and behold: I had my first game where I didn't fall down, much to the relief of my lower body. I was not a very good skater. Not even a little bit. But just as luck would have it, an early growth spurt landed me in the top percentile of height for the team, so I was great at defence. Having not done much skating since I stopped at the age of 11, I was very much surprised when, a few years ago, I was able to borrow a pair of skates and pick up right where I left off. I really do believe the difference between the two experiences – a week of knitting versus a season of skating – is the reason I was able to pick up one but not the other.

I feel the same way about the flipped classroom. Learning takes time. I understand that streamlining is a very good thing. Efficiency is key. But only when that efficiency leads to functional results. I think it's great if you can teach your students trigonometry within one, two nights. And teaching them to do it well? Even better!

But my hesitation stems from the idea that we're going to sacrifice longevity for efficiency. What's the point of learning everything quickly if it means forgetting it shortly thereafter? And to be clear, I'm not saying the flipped classroom is a bad idea. Not even a little bit. I think it would be great if it a) works, and b) lasts.

I once encountered a person, a real human being, that didn't like edges on their brownies. But some people (myself included) think the edges are the best part. Some people build houses quickly. Others take time to lay a foundation. Some speak in analogies. Others get straight to the point: Learning takes time, and brownies need edges. Longevity is more important than efficiency. And I hope that this is something that can be addressed in the upcoming pedagogical discussion.

A product which highlights the importance of brownie edges. Available for purchase here

The Crandall Scandal: A Study in Fairness

In the interest of being transparent, I will be honest when I say that I'm nervous to take my first step into the classroom as a teacher. In order to combat this (still fairly distant) reality, I've made the decision to soak in every resource that's available to me. Education courses? Check. Readings? Check. Advice from fellow teachers, students, and professors alike? ... Maybe check only two of those. I tend to talk with a professor only if I don't understand something on the syllabus. The point is, in the rush to get prepared, I worry that I may fall victim to forgetting the basics, as covered in pages 19-20 of Interweaving Curriculum and Classroom Assessment.

The section Guiding Principles of Assessment talk about how “three key elements of effective assessment practices” are validity, reliability, and fairness. I think that these elements are fairly straightforward in their usefulness for evaluative purposes. Validity, as the author explains, is the “trustworthiness of the judgements” that the teacher makes; reliability is “the degree of consistency” the teacher has; and fairness is making sure that students have an equal chance of success. And the spectrum of marking and evaluation, I can absolutely see how these are useful. But I think that these three values can be applied to almost any other teaching, or even just leadership situation.

A friend of mine, we'll call her Lauren (because that's her name), was listening to a story from her grade 3 teacher. During an aside, this teacher mentioned her nephew, Crandall. And as soon as that name, “Crandall,” left her lips and met Lauren's ears, a smile grew on Lauren's face and a giggle escaped her lungs. Right as the teacher caught on to Lauren laughing at poor Crandall, she responded harshly: “Lauren! Crandall is a normal name!” and, from that point on, Lauren swears that this teacher treated her less favourably. This is also a story we know well. Not only does Lauren bring it up every time the name “Crandall” is mentioned (which, let's be honest, happens all the time, because it's a normal name!). But also because the framework for this story is an unfortunately common one: an unfavourable incident, followed by the assumption that the student was now a target, or at least less favourable.

What's interesting to me was the Snapshot from the Classroom: Improving Reliability (20). The teachers who were trying to mark the assignments from the students, some with years of experience, still found themselves victim to teaching bias while they were marking the assignments. And while the Snapshot did not include unfavourable events (they mentioned that they were considering things like effort and background knowledge), I wonder if there was some truth to Lauren's infamous Crandall claim: that one minor incident left a lasting impression on her marks and her relationship with the teacher overall.

Incidents like this are problematic. I have heard, countless times, where a teacher has apparently 

targeted a student, or doesn't mark their work fairly, or has some sort of personal problem. And for me, the Case Study (Improving Reliability) really struck a chord. Despite these teachers' best efforts and years of expertise, they still fell victim to that old bias trap. And, as the case study explains, some of them even got defensive about it: perhaps an effect of having to justify your grading scheme to some of the students who feel they've been judged poorly. I'm certain that I'll also need to pay attention to my marking scheme, making sure that I'm marking solely on content and not on effort, or a student-by-student basis. I suppose that these teachers could be struggling with marking subjectively based on individual performance, or objectively based on curriculum expectations. So, as an English/Geography teacher, how do I best design assignments that can be graded evenly? Do I create “Yes/No” criteria? Will that limit the students' creativity? How do I even begin to grade creativity? Is originality a curriculum requirement? How do I balance creativity, originality, and government regulations?

Fairness is, and will always be, a priority in my classroom. So will validity and reliability. But my fear is that in an attempt to maintain unquestionable, clear-cut fairness, my ability to cultivate creativity will be diminished by all the red tape teachers and prospective teachers need to adhere to. Do I pull a Dead Poet's Society and have my students rip their copies of Where the Red Fern Grows and The Paper Bag Princess straight down the middle? Or shall I create a black and white, yes/no classroom with no inequality, but no inspiration either? If the answer to both of these is no, how do I create a balance between the two?

In any case, the first Chapter to Interweaving Curriculum and Classroom Assessment certainly got me thinking about the politics and dynamics of even the most fundamental and basic classroom practices. Marking, and the struggle to keep that fair, is just one of the many balancing acts I'm sure teachers will need to deal with.