SMRT... I mean S-M-A-R-T

I was going to post next about the day my students all tried to kill me, but instead I think I'll jump into the interactive whiteboard discussion. I'm of both minds when reading Gary Stager's article on the Tech and Learning website.

I've been a Smartboard mentor in my school district for nearly 3 years now. I don't know if what I feel for the board is love, exactly, though for the first few months the very sight of it would make the butterflies in my stomach flap around like crazy.
What?
That was the feeling of fear, not of love? Oh dear.

Over these last 3 years, I've amassed quite the repertoire of tricks and abilities related to the interactive whiteboard (as I will now refer to it in order to avoid brand name related conflicts) and please note: I choose the word 'tricks' deliberately. After all, a lot of what the board and its software does are simple and simply that: things flash, or spin, or change size or color. You can even add sound to most things- the roaring bear icon is an oft-used personal favourite. These are the elements of the board that I demonstrate first during a PD session, and here's the story I tell when I do it:

"When I first started teaching (grade 7 Language Arts), I would often lament to myself that if only I could make my notes flash and change color then maybe, just maybe, my students would finally stop fooling around. They would finally stare at the board as intently as they stared at Tetris Battle, or whatever miniclip.com fad was at the forefront that month. When I got an Interactive Board, I finally could make the notes do that, and guess what? Students still fooled around and looked in whatever direction they pleased. Gasp."

note: The gasp at the end can be either read aloud, or replaced by an actual gasp. Either way.

Now, is that a lesson that's worth the $3000.00 price tag? Of course not. And did that realization make me want to rush into my classroom and tear the board down or deface it with permanent marker? No man, that thing is worth $3000.00. Besides, it was the wrong realization. My mistake in the first place was wanting students to stare, transfixed, as my notes spun around in circles like the hypnotic vortexes of the Notebook vortex game. (Another personal fave).


If I were more clever and able to add, I would probably format this next bit with prices beside each element, and magically have the sum be worth more than the cost of the board in my room. Thanks to those old Mastercard commercials, just mentioning that idea is now more effective than its execution will ever be. 

• The Van Gogh painting, above. I've long been a fan of impressionist art, though I'm not educated enough in that field to fully understand why. (Pictures are pretty!) With my current set up, I can project these paintings onto my walls and share their beauty and emotional effect with my students. Not really for any reason, you understand, but those pictures are so pretty.

• I do quite a bit of close film study with my students. With the board, I can project very large still images of the films onto the board; analyze or have students analyze the images using pen tools to highlight; spotlight tools to, uh, spotlight; or the roaring bear to add roaring bear emphasis to important speaking points.

• My handwriting is terrible. The board's software will normally recognize my words and turn them to typed text for ease of communication, or to the incorrect word for hilarious effect and enthusiastic derision of my terrible handwriting.

• The Whirling Vortex game. So handy for a quick starting lesson on connotation, character trait review or other binary sorting activities. Also super handy for when students can point out that my sorting skills are flawed and deliberately leave certain words "between" the vortices on the board. And who am I to insist that 'sober' has a negative connotation and not a positive one?

• The fact that I can save whatever is on the board and call it up again the next day, month or year. This may be notes, it may be instructions, it may be a picture of a walrus that my block 8 class seems to have adopted as their mascot. It may be last month's lesson on Paul's Case where I know we were talking about the -ide suffix and... see? Oh that wasn't you, that was block 5? Well, check out what they came up with, because it was great.

Now before this entry fully enters into the world of blogs that I hate, the realm of "I have all the answers and because something worked out once, it's clear that the reason was ME", I must mention that for every positive experience there was an equal amount of fumbling. Though, by equal, I mean that it took me almost two months to figure out how to get my coloured pens to work. And it took about a year to realize that I could save my files as PDFs if I wanted to. And that I still haven't really used the recorder tool in class. So yeah, I'm still learning, if that wasn't a given.

Heidegger warned us (between paying his Nazi dues, of course) about technology encroaching on us bit by bit, and while I will readily admit that I actually read Ted Aoki's interpretation of that particular essay,   I hear the warning loud(ly) and clear(ly). We have created tools so powerful and pervasive that we risk becoming the tools ourselves, both metaphorically and colloquially. I worry that that is what's happening with the 'clickers' and response systems that are also making their way into schools, but that's another post entirely.

I think that all of us know it's not exclusively teachers who are making the decisions to install these boards on every flat surface in the school. (Parking lot, ha!). I also must point out the futility and frustration of the 'this money could have been better spent' argument. It's gone, like the thrill, the love and the wind before it.

To conclude, I've long thought that the conclusion was the least important part of any piece of writing.

Scary Stuff

Well, I took the plunge, if only briefly: I unchecked the 'count this towards final grade' box in my online gradebook.

This meant that while I was still grading, still testing and still teaching, my students did not have a posted average that they could access online. Their reaction? One class seemed pretty nonplussed; one class nearly took my head off.

"There are our grades. Don't we have a right to know what they are?"
"We need to know what our averages are so we know how we're doing in class."
"How are we supposed to improve if we don't know our grade?"
"How are we supposed to apply to universities if we don't know what our average is?"

I was surprised by the reactions, and by which students seemed the most outraged: the students who were the most disengaged in class. Of course, this likely confirms my worst fear- that these students are disengaged in class because they truly see no connection between what goes on in class and what their grade is. As in, they only 'turn on' on the days there is a test. Oh, my breaking heart.

Yes, motivation and engagement and interest are my job (at least, that's what Twitter tells me most nights) and honestly, I don't think I'm doing too badly on that front. (And the war metaphor rears its ugly head once again). What is with all these parenthetical statements? Ugh, hopefully regular blogging help refine my writing style.

Anyway, my little rebellion didn't last too long; I was quickly told to stop messing around with my gradebook by the assistant principal, and I don't really mind. For a few days it felt like I was having a professional identity crisis, and while I recognize that discomfort and resistance create change and stuff, it was still an uncomfortable moment. Anyway, the moment has passed. I think my point was made to the students- it turns out that a lot of them heard me when I told them my fears point blank: that they were addicted to their grades.

Next post: The Intervention...

Experiment Time

Well, it took some fast talking but I think that I may have convinced my department to try something new this year.

Typically, all the grade 11s at our school study Hamlet. The unit probably lasts around 2 months (we're a non-semestered school) and as always, likely culminates with an essay, a unit exam and a final project of some kind.

So this year, another teacher and I thought- why do this alone? Why not put our classes together? Sure they don't meet at the same time, but with this new-fangled internet thingy it couldn't be that hard. Our idea grew and grew, and we're now at the point where we have every grade 11 student in the school involved, with the exception of one class. That's nearly 300 students.

The project? We're going to film Hamlet from Act 1, scene 1 to the very last line. It's going to be a full length movie, but not limited to live action, so I've been trying to think of creative options for the students, even while knowing that it's they who should be doing the thinking. Old habits, right?

Of course there will be the usual pitfalls, students who can't meet deadlines, problems with video programs, losing steam as we go because of all the other trillion things going on at the school between now and April 7 (opening night, of course). Still, I'm looking forward to see how this plays out because I think it's an exciting prospect for our school and really, for my experience as an English teacher in this digital time.

Although, this isn't a concept that should be limited to English, is it? Really, students are already sharing school related things online. I am not only referring to free essays and answer keys. Just the other day, I showed my students the stop motion Oedipus as vegetables video (http://www.wishnow.com/shorts.html - it's funny, if not exactly true to text) and the next day some students came in telling me that they had shared it on Facebook. I will tell myself that this is because of its textual connections to Hamlet, and not because of the tomato on potato sex scene. But there's probably a lot of instruction that does go on on Facebook, beyond the "omg thats due 2morrow?" type thing.

It pained me to type that without the possessive apostrophe, it really did.

Anyway, kids are signing up on our district Sharepoint site as I type this, and tomorrow the other 3 teachers and I are going to divvy up the play for their consumption. Exciting.

And you know what is the most exciting part? Shhhhh... I may not be supposed to say this... I think I may have convinced my colleagues that we don't need mark it.

Teaching Hamlet

Man, I love teaching Hamlet. Hamlet! I still remember sitting in my grade 11 English class ( ____ly, the very same classroom I now teach in), reading the line "But look, the morn in russet mantle clad" and actually getting goosebumps. Russet? Seriously.

At this point, it is now clear how a geek like me would grow up to become an English teacher. And this English teacher is about to embark on a Hamlet unit once again.

Here are a few assumptions I make about the students before I begin:

- Students struggle with the language
- Students struggle with envisioning the action of the play
- Students struggle with the context of the time the play was written

Sense a theme?

I should probably acknowledge that the very notion of struggle seems to me to be a very physical image, as if the shakespeare textbooks fly towards the faces of my young charges and threaten to suffocate them with pages and pages of endless blank verse. But, that's probably how a lot of my kids feel. And, in past classes when students read the lines aloud, that's also how it sounds.

Again, throughout this entire unit (which is supposed to last about 7 weeks- this seems like a very tight timeline to me) I'm going to try to avoid the words 'get through' or 'cover' or 'go over' because I think it reinforces the idea of Hamlet as an obstacle, instead of a play.

Here is where I'll compile a list of aspects of my Hamlet unit, but there are some things I will not do. I won't create an order for presenting information. I won't be including worksheets with my units, because I don't use them anymore, and I think the notion of 'busywork' is kind of not what I'm going for here.

Things I haven't had success with

• Getting students to memorize a soliloquy - some teachers get kids really pumped about it, and I admire that. It's just not for me.
• Worksheets.

Things I have had success with

• Asking seemingly silly questions on a student discussion forum such as 

"If Hamlet were a cupcake, what flavour would he be?" (Not all the answers are gold, but it's a good excuse to bring cupcakes to class)
"Who would you cast as Hamlet? Include a picture!" (God bless the Kenneth Branagh version, but 1996 was a while ago.)

• Taking the time to explain to students that when words have mysterious apostrophes in the middle (ne'er, i', e'er) it's because there are letters missing for rhythmic reasons and they are not encountering some new mysterious word. I find it especially difficult to hear a student read aloud " I am too much "I" the sun". Gah! That makes no sense!

• Using different versions of filmed interpretations in class. This is a tricky one, because it's so easy to just let the movie run and run and tell yourself that students are 'getting it' because it's on screen. Still, when I teach Macbeth I've always made a point of showing as many different versions of the banquet scene as I can find so the students can discuss staging and director's interpretation. 

Things I haven't tried yet but will get back to you about

• This year I am going to include parts of the David Tennant film, but it will be difficult to practice equanimity due to my Dr. Who fangirl-dom. Still, from the limited previews I've seen this looks like an extremely attractive film that highlights how the play actually works as a play. (I was always more impressed with K. Branagh's sets than his soliloquies.) 

Work in Progress!

Who is doing the work?

When I was in my first year of teaching, my principal handed me Harry Wong's First Days of Teaching and told me to read it. At the time, I was indebted to my principal and the book. Being a young teacher, I did feel underprepared in terms of class management and organization (the organization problems, please note, have never gone away, regardless of how many Professional Growth Plans I've come up with). If that book did one thing, it was to calm and give me a strong sense of what I wanted my students' behaviour to look and sound like.

As I went on in my career, I heard other people voice some serious criticism of Harry Wong's methodology: how he values method over product, and routine over spontaneity. I understand that, and still, one of the messages from that book has never left me- something to the effect of at the end of the day, it should be the students doing the work, not me.

I wonder if I cling to that notion out of desperation, instead of any sense of wisdom. Is it wishful thinking to imagine such a life? As an English teacher (and as an inherently lazy person), I constantly collect and collect assignments and papers and then proceed to drown in them. The other day in a presentation I think I referred to myself as a 'swirling paper vortex'. This needs to change, for environmental reasons: saving both the trees and my home life.

I've begun to think about that concept of treating assignments as currency, and referring to course work as an obstacle or a barrier. So many times I'll say or hear my colleagues say 'We have to get through this', 'we have to go over it' or 'we have to cover this'. It sounds like I teach in an obstacle course instead of a classroom. On second thought, of course, it occurs to me that maybe the notion of obstacle course is as salient as anything else.


Am I the obstacle?


As I start this second half of the year, I am going to have to really try hard to avoid a few things.

• being as obsessed with grades
• lecturing, and pretending that is my love for Hamlet and not my love of my own voice that leads me to do so, and
• making any sense at all

The Novel Study

Below is a post that I began last night around midnight, which is usually when inspiration strikes. Who needs sleep, right? I'm posting it because it may prove useful to make public parts what I go through when planning, which is basically to cast about blindly until I stumble upon something useful. (Note the sensory imagery in that last sentence that alludes to the idea that the perfect or 'right' lesson is already out there, and all I need to do is find it). Sorry- I've been thinking about metaphors all day today.

Anyway, this year with my classes I'm dealing with a number of new challenges that precede this particular challenge- the novel study:

• New school and the general befuddlement that arises from that.
• Full year 55 minutes classes- when you're coming from semestered 90 minutes blocks, gah what a change.
• 215 students at a time. I teach English; I love reading, but not that much.
• No wireless environment.
• Students who *seriously* actually verbally ask for traditional teaching styles and then tune out and nod off like the pros they are, which of course is why they want it but my God that's so wrong
• And my personal favourite, canonical books with no end in sight, but I will rail against the canon another time.

Anyway, these factors, coupled with my general lack of perceived success with novel studies has led me to try this option: independent lit circle type group work things. I'm still working on the name- especially trying to distance myself from the 'lit circle' concept. But after the Jane Eyre debacle of 2010, I refuse to 'do' the novel the traditional way. I refuse!

What do I mean by traditional way? I mean handing kids a novel, every class they answer chapter questions, every few classes there's a closed book quiz, at the end there's an essay, then a final, then we close the book and never speak of Jane Eyre again. Until the movie comes out in March, of course. Then we add that movie to the end of the unit.

Maybe I'm exaggerating. Yes, I'm leaving out all the brilliant discussion and things I have to say about the novel to the students and interesting observations they will make and questions they will ask. But really, when I plan my unit the first way, instead of planning the brilliant discussion, I'm creating the foundation, or the purpose of my novel study. The purpose is to answer chapter questions. The purpose is to read chapter 7, because it comes after chapter 6.

I figured that out about a year ago- the second I start turning pages because I have nothing else to do, that's when it's over.

So, lit circles.. maybe lit ovals.. we will try. I'll probably still create a schedule for reading, because I know a few of my grade 12s will appreciate and follow it. And I think I'll assign important quotations and passages. Grading? I don't know.. maybe a question based grade?

As in: read this page out loud, discuss its significance, ask 5 random people 5 questions based on your passage... ? Work in progress.

I know its counterproductive to consider the novel a 'problem' that I need to solve. And I love novels. When I have the time, I read all the time (read: never) (ok, more like read: 2 months of the year). 

I guess we'll see. 

_____________________________________

Damn you, late night inspiration!

So, before I forget, and/or fall asleep mid-sentence: a brainwave regarding my upcoming novel studies in 10 and 30.

Starting with 10, what about doing lit circles, alternating every day with reading. As in, reading on day 1, activity on day 2. Or, reading/research on day 1s and activities on day 2. I know what I mean!

1- reading
2 - draw the island
3 - reading/research
4 - characters, etc.

This would go on for a total of probably 25 classes... so, 12 total activities. And I could alternate this with the To Kill a Mockingbird kids, if there are any. Same format, but alternating days. So day 1 we could talk about the N-word(!) and then the next day they would read about it.

Hmmm...

Good thing no one's reading this blog but me.

Now, what about the grade 12s? I think that whether they do the Wars or Gatsby... I think I should let them choose but just prepare similar activities for both. The only problem with the Great Gatsby is that it reads like a fable... and C. did it last year with her 11s. Humph.

So, 1 month or let's say more like 20 classes. 10 classes reading, 10 classes different things. A poem. 2 poems. Symbols. Characters. Image. Sex, for both, really. Money for Gatsby. I could let them play that jazz age game, if it's still up. Sweet, it totally is.

Questions? I could ask C, maybe, if she has any.

Square Watermelons

This is attempt number something to start a blog, so I've decided to stop compartmentalizing and just to go for it.

Today I gave a presentation to a group of elementary teachers and SNTAs about how to use Sharepoint in school. The presentation was as random and disorganized as I am, but that's how I like it. I'll call it "organic". Costs more but tastes better. Or so I would have you believe!

An idea that came up over and over while I was speaking was that I really hate folders. I really hate the idea of organizing and shuffling and sorting. All those gerunds that have to do with moving things around without actually creating anything. I suppose I should ponder later the essential difference between 'creating' and 'accomplishing', and until then maybe hate is too strong a word. Alright, then folders are not for me.

Because I hate them.

In class the other night, a question was "what unites us in curriculum inquiry"? The best anwer I cuold think of was 'the desire to give shape to things'. I know, what kind of poetic nonsense is that? But I can't get more specific than that. Because truly, who I am to tell you what shape to be or to take?

This is what things like Sharepoint, Facebook and any other application or program created ever does to us: it creates a shape and we fit ourselves into it. What's funny to me is that people know this without recognizing it- every time Twitter or Facebook upgrades all the posts take on the "why did this change?" flavour for a while. Even think of the uproar about the new astrological signs thing this week- though, what with that being a cosmological or perhaps spiritual thing it's different. Maybe.

But I don't want to grow up to be a square watermelon, and neither do I want that for my students. And I can't help but feel like when I tell a group of people, be they students or teachers, that they need to start shuffling files and papers into certain places that I'm stifling something. It makes me feel like I'm back in my first year of teaching, trying to force short short stories into a diagram for an audience of 13 year olds. Ridiculous- as if Guy de Maupassant really planned out his stories in terms of initial incident and climax. Climax! Maybe it's labels that I dislike. Maybe I am just a surly human.

What's even odder is that my favourite SMART activity is the vortex sort. It's those whirling vortex things, they hypnotize me.

So how did the presentation go? Well, I made a few lame jokes and got some pity laughs. Score one. I made eye contact with the principal a few times and not once was he frowning or doing the 'drawing the finger across the throat' sign. Score two. Last, and best: by the end of the day, all the teachers and SNTAs were sitting in front of a computer, creating pages, asking questions, and in some cases even helping one another to explore and figure things out. And I got free lunch.

Today was awesome.