Why Do We Do "Pointless" Things? (Hint: They're Not)

The other day, an English teacher at my school emailed the faculty with the link to this piece in the New York Times about literacy (or lack thereof) in Mexico. It makes me want to yell at someone, hit someone, and just scream and cry at the same time.

Here's part of what set me to tearing my hair out:

A few years back, I spoke with the education secretary of my home state, Nuevo León, about reading in schools. He looked at me, not understanding what I wanted. “In school, children are taught to read,” he said. “Yes,” I replied, “but they don’t read.” I explained the difference between knowing how to read and actually reading, between deciphering street signs and accessing the literary canon. He wondered what the point of the students’ reading “Don Quixote” was. He said we needed to teach them to read the newspaper.

Because if they read thought-provoking novels, they won't be able to read the newspaper? We should limit them to only achieving the baseline?

Seriously?

And then this:

When my daughter was 15, her literature teacher banished all fiction from her classroom. “We’re going to read history and biology textbooks,” she said, “because that way you’ll read and learn at the same time.”

I'm all for using literacy in the content areas, but throwing out fiction in literature class in favor of textbooks?

There's learning to read, which is generally what happens in elementary school. Then kids transition to reading to learn, which is what we're doing when we read textbooks or essays. We take the knowledge someone else has and absorb it by reading.

Then there's what I'd call reading to create knowledge. I'd say that's what happens when we read fiction. We can make our own discoveries about human nature, about ourselves, our own understandings about the world. The job of a novelist—as I see it—is not to teach but to explore. The reader explores with us, yet may not discover the same things or arrive at the same destination. That's why it's amazing.

This idea that we should only learn things that we'll definitely, absolutely use in a concrete, practical way mystifies me. As I mentioned a month ago, it's certainly turned up in my classroom. While I don't hear students ask what the point of reading novels is (maybe the English teachers get that from the kids who don't like reading—I have to threaten to take books away from kids who'd rather read than do math), I get it about almost everything else we want them to learn.

My school just sent out a survey last week, and one of the items was to vote on whether we want to institute a mandatory free-reading time next year. Twenty minutes a day, three days a week. No matter the class, everyone will spend those twenty minutes reading, including the teachers, administrators, everyone.

I haven't had a chance to ask the other math teachers what they think of it. Or the science, art, PE, music, history, and tech teachers.

My vote: Absolutely, yes, without question.

Because the only pointless thing is limiting ourselves to the concrete little nothings. What kind of life is that?

Going Off-Topic Can Be On-Topic

When I was in junior high, there was this one English teacher. I never had him, but I heard stories. Stories about the stories. My classmates talked about how all they had to do was make one comment or ask one random question to get him going, and they could keep him talking through all of class. As in, never getting to the lesson. As in, no homework.

Not something I aspire to as a teacher.

At the same time, I find I can't be totally rigid about sticking to the agenda and only the agenda. That likely comes from my years in deaf-ed, where kids often have gaps in their world knowledge, and if I don't allow a tangent to fill them, who will? I have a curriculum to stick to, but that doesn't mean there isn't time for other conversations.

Here's what I've learned: Kids want to know things. Since my students have heard about my publishing deal, they want to know a lot of things.

How long did it take to write the book?

Why is it going to be so long before it's published?

How did you get the book deal?

What's an agent?

Will it be in bookstores or will we have to buy it from you?

Will there be a movie?

I get particularly in-depth questions from students who want to write and publish novels themselves, but some of the most intense curiosity comes from students who aren't into writing at all. Often who aren't even into reading all that much.

Indulging those questions gives them insight into something that certainly isn't on the curriculum in any of their classes. It also reinforces one of my favorite points—don't pigeonhole people. Yeah, I'm a math teacher. Yeah, I'm a novelist. Yeah, I know ASL.

Hopefully it gets through to them that they can be as multi-faceted as they want, too. Especially in the adolescent world of "What's your label?"

And you know what? Sometimes tangents like that work in writing, too. It might seem like wandering off aimlessly, but if we do it right, it can actually play right into our point.

Of course, the trick is the "doing it right" part. But isn't it always?

Being Liked is Nice, But Not at Another's Expense

When it comes to teaching, I know I have things to work on, but I also do some things pretty well. A lot of kids like my class and like me as a teacher.

That feels nice. It's helpful, too, when a kid who doesn't normally like math likes you as a teacher. They try a little harder, which often leads to doing a little better. I've even had a kid or two come away with a totally different opinion of math as a subject.

Like I said, it feels nice.

You know what doesn't feel nice, though? Students convincing counselors to let them transfer into my class mid-year because they think I'm somehow better than the other teacher who teaches the course.

Flattering, but ... wait a minute.

The two of us prep together and teach from exactly the same materials. We have essentially the same training. We see eye-to-eye on most mathematical topics and how to approach them. Sure, our personalities are a little different. But here's what it really comes down to.

I don't have a reputation yet.

The other teacher falls into the tough-but-fair category. That's a good thing, but kids who don't like the "tough" part spread the word that she's "mean." (Oh, please.)

Letting kids bail from one teacher to the other just because they feel like it isn't fair to her—it undermines her. She's been teaching for years and teaching well, and she deserves more credit than these kids are giving her.

It's also not fair to me. It puts me in a position I don't want to be in, playing me against my colleague. That sucks. On a more practical note, I don't like it because it means my classes keep getting bigger. They're all between 36 and 39 students now.

(My colleague could see it as great for her, because her classes are smaller, but she doesn't. She'd rather we each have a fair, even class load.)

And you know what? Kids (and people in general, I'm sure) do this all the time. Playing favorites. Choosing sides. Trying to get everyone else to like/not like the same people they do. Often without much—if any—solid basis for that opinion.

I don't like it.

Not sure what I can do about it.

Kids, Don't Apologize for Making Me Do My Job

The other day, my ninth graders were working on a review assignment. Mostly independent, or working through with friends, while I circulated to help out.

These were mostly things we'd learned between Thanksgiving and Christmas, so it was a little tricky to remember some of the concepts. Not a problem. That was the point of reviewing.

In more than one class, a student or two got to the fourth or fifth question they'd asked me and prefaced with this:

"Sorry."

Sorry to bother me? Sorry I had to weave through rearranged desks to get to them? Sorry they had so many questions?

Well, at least one said it was the last one. "Sorry, I have a lot of questions."

Mind-boggling, from my perspective.

I guess there are teachers who prefer that their students work in silence while the teacher sits at their desk and does their own thing. And okay, I admit, there are days when I'm exhausted and sitting down sounds really nice.

But like I said to my students ... "What are you apologizing for? Why do you think I'm here?"

Helping students is what makes teaching fun. Seeing them piece things together until they understand. It's certainly not about hearing myself lecture from the front of the room.

If you have kids, make sure they know they should never feel like they have to apologize for asking a teacher to do her job.

Thoughts on the Common Core Standards: English Edition

There's been a lot of chatter about the new Common Core Standards. We have a set for English and a set for mathematics. As a math teacher who writes novels, I have thoughts about both, but I'll focus on the English standards for this post.

The big attention-getter for these new standards is that it calls for more reading of informational, non-fiction texts, going from 50% of reading material in elementary school and gradually increasing to 70% in high school.

That's where the chatter comes in. Many are upset about the units on classic literature, beloved favorites, and poetry getting cut from the curriculum, as noted in articles here and here.

I have thoughts on both sides of this. I've seen personally that students are definitely lacking in their ability to read text for factual information, to reason through technical material. I agree that more focus on developing these types of reading skills is necessary.

I also agree that nurturing a love of reading for pleasure is important. Reading fiction has boundless benefits, especially for children and teenagers.

I've heard some say that technical reading is for science class. Basically, let the science teachers handle all that, along with the social studies teachers for historical documents. Leave the English teachers to focus exclusively on the fiction side.

On the other side, content area teachers say they don't teach reading and writing—that's the English teacher's job.

Which side do I fall on? Both, or neither.

From my time working in a school for the deaf, I have it ingrained in me that all teachers are language arts teachers. We don't all cover all aspects of language equally, but we all have parts we can build up, develop, and reinforce. I see no reason that shouldn't carry over to non-deaf education.

At the same time, English teachers are in more of a position to focus deeply on the nuances of non-fiction, informational writing without splitting as much attention with the concepts and other skills to be mastered. They also have more training in the teaching of reading and writing.

So ideally, a balance between both. Teachers brainstorming about texts that fit within their curricula, including English class. Working together. Supporting each other.

As much as I love fiction, it's not the be-all, end-all.

As much as I love math and science, they're not the be-all, end-all.

So my first step? Try to open some dialogue with the English teachers at my school ... because without Twitter, I wouldn't have even known as much as I do about these new standards.

Grades Aren't Given—They're Earned

"Ugh, Mr. Peabody gave me a D-plus."

"Miss Lewis, you should just give me an A."

These are among the more annoying statements I hear in my classroom, and it's a particular word that sets me off.

GIVE.

A lot of students have this attitude of teachers giving grades. One student said a teacher ruined their sibling's high school graduation because of the bad grade a teacher gave that sibling in ninth grade. (It meant not qualifying to wear the fancy gold cord with the graduation regalia.)

What? Really?

Okay, I'm sure there are teachers out there who are spiteful and mean and evil. I'm even more sure there are teachers who are really difficult to learn from.

But by and large (and certainly in my case, I hope), teachers don't give grades. Students earn them. I just do the accounting, verifying what they've earned.

Part of me hates that I have to grade at all. I like looking over student work to see what they understand, but I hate assigning a numerical value to it, figuring out what all those numerical values together mean and assigning a letter to that.

The students who think I give grades are part of the reason we have to use them. They only care about that letter on the report card, and in their minds (much of the time), it's arbitrary. If I could rely on every student to learn for the sake of learning, and to commit to doing the work necessary, there'd be no need for grades.

In a perfect world ... maybe someday.

For now, I'll keep with the response I've been using.

"Miss Lewis, you should just give me an A."

"Okay, I will ... as soon as you earn it."

One Term Down, Three to Go

First quarter ended last Friday at my school. Naturally, the past two weeks have been filled with kids desperate to get their F to a passing grade ... or their A-minus to an A. And in order to keep on top of the late work, make-up work, and occasional piece of extra credit, I set aside the quizzes that won't count until second quarter.

This means now I have large stacks of quizzes to grade. I knew this would happen. I was aware of the consequences for my decision.

Still ... it kinda sucks.

It's okay, though. I think at least a few kids figured out that desperately trying to raise their grade at the last minute is a lot more work than just keeping up through the term. As we start the new term, I'll try to get the message through to a few more.

Now that I've got my feet under me, I'm also hoping to keep things a little more organized from here.

Here's hoping.

Parental Priorities

This one's not exactly about math. It's kind of about math, but more education in general.

I'm not one to judge right and wrong ways of parenting. A lot of things have to depend on the individual child's needs, the family's background and values, etc. But I have some observations about different types of parents.

There are parents who apologize profusely for their kids missing school for legitimate reasons, like medical issues. Then there are those who check their kids out of class to go get smoothies.

It's not like either extreme is always great or always terrible. Sometimes the kids who miss for doctor's appointments aren't great about getting caught up on what they miss, and sometimes the smoothie-getting kids are.

Still, I wonder what message the smoothie-run parents are trying to send. That they're a cool parent? That sometimes you have to give yourself a mental-health break? (I can agree with that on occasion.)

What message are the kids getting? Like I said, those kids are often okay with making up what they miss. They're usually kids who clearly believe school is important, at least to some degree. But what about other students, who know why their classmate misses a class or two in the middle of the day? What does it say to them about where their priorities belong?

I don't know. I do know that with math in particular, if you miss a component or two and don't catch it up, you risk being very lost on concepts that follow. If you don't solidify basic equation solving, for instance, you'll have a very hard time with most other topics in algebra.

Most parents do the best they can, especially considering the bull-headedness of some teenagers. Some teens already understand the importance of their education, even the parts that don't immediately seem relevant. Others take a while to figure that out.

I just hope parents aren't delaying that understanding.

Yes, You Can Love Books TOO Much

Heresy, you say?

Hear me out before you brand me a traitor to writer-kind.

With a lot of kids, I'm thrilled when they want to read something that's not required by a teacher. At my last school, we had a small amount of dedicated reading time every day, regardless of what class they were in at that time. Sometimes I had a class of reluctant readers, and any time they didn't put they books away the second reading time ended, I didn't mind letting them carry on a bit.

There are kids at the other end of the spectrum, though. Kids who always want to read. Some of them know how to prioritize. They pay attention to lessons, work hard to get their tasks done so they'll have a bit of free time to read at the end of class.

That's fine by me.

But some kids don't have that self-control. Some will read straight through class unless someone steps in and stops them.

That someone would be me. The big, mean, book-closing teacher.

Forgive me, my fellow bibliophiles, but kids need more than books ... they need math, too. Among other things.

Any suggestions on helping certain students see that need for balance?

So, You Want Me to Undermine My Colleagues, or What?

We had our first parent-teacher conference this past week. Overall, a great experience. I love the chance to talk one-on-one with students' parents. They see what I'm all about, and I get new insight to the kids I teach.

The last encounter of the night was a little strange, though. It wasn't a parent of one of my students. It was the parent of another teacher's student, in the grade below the one I teach.

She was concerned about the teacher her child has (but I didn't entirely get why). She was concerned about the new standards. (She's not the only one, but guess what—I kinda like them.) She said she'd talked to the principal before school started, and then again that night. He'd pointed me out to her (I'm not sure why).

Bottom line, I have no idea what this mother wanted from me. Just hoping that I'll have the same class assignment next year and will get her child? Just wanting to vent and have someone tell her they understand?

Did she want me to say, "You heard right. I'm awesome. Sorry my colleague sucks."

On what planet would I ever do that?

On what planet would it ever be acceptable for anyone to do this?

That's my gut reaction. On the other hand, I understand how frustrated parents can be when a teacher isn't working for their student. There often isn't much they can do about it, and I really know the kind of impact a bad (or good) math teacher in particular can have on a kid.

On the other other hand (the third one, right?), I've already been dealing with teacher reputations a ton this year. I'm the "new" teacher, so kids who didn't want the other option (whether by past experience or by reputation) transferred to me just for that. The "other option" is not a bad teacher, nor a bad person. We plan our units together. As far as I know, we don't teach that differently.

Try telling that to the people who figured even an unknown quantity had to be better.

Then again, I agree that sometimes certain personalities don't gel in a great way, so one teacher might be more effective with certain types of kids than another.

But the end effect is that my classes are all bigger than the others in the grade.

*sigh*

Is there a solution to any of this? Probably not, other than to do what I plan on doing ... continuing to do the best job I can in my classroom, and maintain my professionalism at all times.

I'm not going to cut down good, hard-working teachers. I hope no one else would do so to me, either.

Learning the Hard Way

Sometimes it doesn't matter how many times you tell someone that a surface is hot. They're just going to have to touch it.

In my first math lesson with my new classes this week, I noticed a trend in my first couple of classes. As they worked on their homework near the end of class, several of them got to a particular problem and didn't know what to do. It had three different variables and they were supposed to evaluate it.

Without exception, those who asked had neglected to read the instructions, where it gave a value for each variable.

I figured I'd save myself a little trouble and warn my remaining class periods. A part of the lesson had the exact same type of problem, so when we got to that, I mentioned the issue. I told them that other students got to those problems in the homework and didn't know what to do because they didn't read the directions.

Later, we get to homework time. I walk around the room, helping students when they get stuck.

Invariably, more than one raises their hand. "I don't know what to do here."

I point to a line in their textbook. "Did you see this?"

"No, I—oh! You totally warned us and I did it anyway!"

They felt like idiots. I assured them they weren't the only one to do it, and made a little joke about how they'd never forget to read directions again, right?

I already know there's only so much they can absorb at one time, and which parts stick depends on their own priorities.

Live and learn, kiddos.

A Birthday Resolution

No, it's not my birthday. That was last month. Did you miss it? That's okay. I really don't mind.

Fact is, it's been years since I made a big deal of my birthday. I can't remember the last time it was a big deal. Well, three years ago I brought an amazing friend with me on a birthday visit to my family. She made cakes, and the experience was pretty memorable.

Cake with Gaping Flesh Wound

But really, we could have—and probably would have—done it without it being my birthday.

I'm not so different from a lot of other people. Birthdays remind me that I'm getting older. Then I delve into thoughts of, "Am I where I thought I'd be or wanted to be by this age?" In some ways, no. Cue disappointment, depression, and general malaise. In other ways, I've done some very positive things I never imagined five years ago.

Still. Birthdays. Meh.

At least, that's how I felt until something made me think about it the other night.

I have pretty awesome students. You might have heard me mention it before. Even the ones who drive me bonkers find ways to make me glad I work with them now and then. Earlier this week, I attended an award ceremony for top seniors around the city, including one of my students, whom I'd nominated.

I've taught this student for the past five years, from Algebra 1 all the way to Calculus. I've chatted with her mom several times, and did again this particular night. This student has a few health issues, no surprise there, but her mom mentioned something I didn't know before.

When she was born, no one expected her to make it. They came in and told her mom—a first-time mother—that her baby would not make it through the night.

As her mom says now, though, her daughter is a regular donkey with the stubbornness. And here we are, eighteen years later. Eighteen years longer than the doctors expected. Alive and lively.

I'm not going to gripe about my birthdays and getting older anymore.

Happy Birthday, Paige!

The Undefinable, Undeniable Teen

What are teenagers like?

Don't answer that. No matter what you say, you're wrong. Unless you say something like, "Depends on the teen," or, "As varied as adults, toddlers, senior citizens, or anything else." Those are cop-outs anyway.

Teens (like so many other groups) get a lot of generalizations applied to them. Like every other generalization or stereotype, you can point to textbook cases where they're true, and often just as many where they're utterly false.

Example: Teens are irresponsible.

If we're judging based on how some of them drive, then absolutely. On the other hand, I know teens who budget their money, make sure to take their car in for regular oil changes, and warn me two weeks in advance that they'll be missing school and need their homework.

The whole essence of "teenager" is that it's this amorphous time between childhood and adulthood where they have several traits of both stages at the same time ... and those traits are often in flux from one moment to the next.

This is on my mind today because of a particular pet peeve of mine—talking to teens like they're little kids.

I can't fathom how common this is in schools. Not like all teachers do it, or even most, but enough to puzzle me. I've often wondered—but have never had the guts to ask one of the perpetrators—why they talk to students as they do. They're not rude or anything. It's just this tone and approach to interacting with students that I know would drive me bonkers if I were a teen.

Do they really regard teenagers as roughly the same as elementary students? I don't know.

I can't say I treat students exactly the same as I treat adults, or even talk to them exactly the same way. But it's close. I try to acknowledge that they're in that transition, which means they're partway adult, but still in flux.

Maybe this attitude in teaching has informed my writing, because I try really hard to never talk down (write down?) to my audience.

And maybe that consciousness is why that "I'm talking like you're nine years old" tone drives me nuts.

Hating Math

Last week I discussed my deep and abiding love for calculus. I understand not everyone feels this way, and in fact, some people don't even have the slightest hint of positive feelings toward any kind of math at all. If you're one of those, this post is for you.

I'm not going to tell you it's wrong to feel that way, or that you have to change your mind. (I will ask that you try to refrain from saying, "Ugh, I hate math!" around children who are still forming their own opinions. Can't tell you how many times I've had a student who tells me, "My mom/dad hates math and thinks it's stupid and doesn't think there's any point to learning it." Thanks for sabotaging my work, Mom/Dad.)

The people I know who hate math usually fall into a couple different categories. Some hate it because they really struggle with it no matter how hard they try. Sometimes a learning disability is involved. Sometimes nothing's been diagnosed, but it's clear their mind just isn't wired for numbers.

I recently had a student like that. Brilliant artist and some strong writing skills, but math just Would. Not. Click. Bless her, though, she kept trying and was incredibly patient, no matter how many times she had to erase and rework a problem. And the thing is, she did make progress. Not at the same pace as her peers, but she improved, because she didn't give up. She admitted she didn't like it at all, but she hung in there.

I think most of the math-haters I know, however, fall into the second category: those who had at least one really bad math teacher, usually at a critical juncture in their math education. This often happens either at fractions in elementary school, or a little later somewhere around pre-algebra/algebra, when things start to get more abstract.

What's the key to teachers not facilitating the mathematical downfall of their students? I think a big part is recognizing that many students are likely to hit a wall a those junctures, so the teacher needs to be extremely flexible. One way of explaining a tough concept isn't likely to work for everyone. If a kid isn't getting it, you have to look for another bridge to get them across.

Even bigger key—don't make the kid feel stupid for not getting it right away. Kids are good enough at doing that on their own. They don't need our help.

Many times, I've had adults watch me teach or listen to me discuss a lesson and say, "If I'd had a teacher like you, I probably would've liked math."

Best compliment I can receive, but I don't really mind the hating math. My goal with the haters in my class is for them to hate math a little less. Even if they still hate math, I try to make sure they like the class. Because if they do, their minds stay a little more open, and even if they don't want to admit it, they learn.

Are you a math-hater? If so, which category do you fall into? Or is there another reason I haven't accounted for here?

But ... I WAS Teaching!

Funny thing happened the other day. Less "funny-ha-ha" and more "funny-huh?"

My school has this thing where a collection of administrators and specialists rotate around, observing different classrooms each week. Some look at how we're using ASL, curriculum, or technology while others just look at the general classroom experience.

A few weeks ago, I had one such observation. I had a great little activity for my class. We briefly reviewed what we knew about three different types of functions, and I explained the activity. They'd be making predictions about a list of equations, checking those predictions, and then forming some generalizations. I circulated as they worked, dialoguing with them about what they were noticing. It all went really well.

I didn't think about it again until I got an email from the observer a while later. She apologized for not getting any notes to me sooner, but she'd had a hard time writing up anything because she "really had not observed a 'lesson' so to speak." She wanted to schedule another observation when I was teaching a new concept.

Excuse me, what?

I had taught a new concept. I'd taught my class how to recognize linear, quadratic, and exponential functions by their equations and without graphing them. The students were actively engaged in learning the whole time, doing something, rather than sitting there in a lecture-coma as I told them everything from the board.

Clearly, though, she wants to see something that looks more like a traditional "lesson." So she's coming back this week to observe a lesson in my physics class.

Le sigh. I don't mind being observed again. I do mind the fact that I'm trying to follow nationally recognized "best practices" is being discounted as "not a lesson." If it wasn't a lesson, what did she think it was—busy work? That, I definitely mind.

Is it just me? If you were back in math class, would you rather take notes on a lecture or work on an activity that helped you figure out a concept for yourself?

Teachers Don't Always Like Being the Grown-Up

This is a real shocker, right? Of course teachers take joy in torturing students with mountains of homework and giving detention. They would never want to do anything else. They don't even exist outside of classrooms.

What, you didn't know that? We evaporate if we try to go anywhere the normal public goes outside school hours. Very painful.

Seriously, there are times I think to myself, "I should be more strict and stern. I'm supposed to be the adult in the room." But my students make me laugh too much. (Not all the time, but in some classes, often.) Then I remember that super-strict isn't my style, and in those classes with lots of laughter, the kids are still learning. Laughing while they do it means they often hate math without hating math class. Sometimes that leads to not hating math so much, either. I'll take what I can get.

Here's something students don't always believe: Just like they have days when they'd rather not have to think so hard and work, there are days we'd rather not think so hard and teach. But because we're grown-ups, we suck it up and do it anyway. It's always nice to see teenagers reach that point of realization. "I don't feel good/I'm tired/I'm distracted, but it doesn't matter. I have to get the job done anyway."

There are other times when the knowledge that I'm the adult in the room is a little scary. When a student is upset, or gets hurt, or two of them are spiraling toward a full-out brawl ... I have a split second of "Yikes! I'm the one who has to handle this."

And then I do.

So remember, teachers are people, too. If you're a parent, make sure your children are aware of that little-known fact. And if you're a writer, try not to make every teacher in your writing a one-dimensional caricature. ;)

Tracking vs. Self-Esteem—Where's the Line?

I don't know about all of you, but when I was in elementary school, they split us up and shuffled us around to different rooms during certain times of day. Math, for instance. Sometimes for reading.

It's not hard to figure out who's who. 'Smart' kids, average kids, and strugglers. And that can be a lousy feeling.

I can see a lot of good cases for heterogeneous grouping. With the right curriculum and solid teaching practices, the strugglers can make up ground, the 'smart' kids can be challenged, and everyone can learn.

On the other hand, there are situations where it just doesn't make sense.

My current school has a full range of students ... and I mean full. Everything from kids above grade level to kids with severe disabilities, and everything imaginable in-between. We don't have them all in the same classes.

We do, however, have workshops.

It's an ongoing frustration. The entire high school gathers for workshops every other week on a variety of topics. Here's what happens:

Half the students can't believe they have to listen to things they've known since they were eight years old.

The other half are lost.

End result: No one likes workshops.

We've talked about splitting them up into smaller groups (size-wise, that'd be better anyway) so their specific needs can be addressed more. Same topic but different levels. For some, the very basics. For others, more of a discussion, letting them talk about what they know and what issues are important to them.

Sounds good, but we haven't done it. There are logistical reasons, but there's also the fact that the kids will know they've been somehow labeled. "Ha, I'm with the smart kids. You're with the dumb kids." Boy, wouldn't that be fun.

Maybe there's a way we can avoid or lessen that effect. Or maybe there's another alternative we haven't thought of. Some way to make sure all the kids benefit, but not making any kids feel more defeated than they already do.

Any ideas?

Telling Teenagers that Revising Rocks

On Monday, I had the opportunity to talk to a writing class in my school about the feedback/revising process. I'd been talking to the English teacher at department meeting last week about some revisions I was about to get started on, and she said, "Oh, please, can you come to my Composition classes and talk about how that works for you?" (I'm talking to the second class this afternoon.)

Turns out some of the kids get very reticent, uptight, and defensive when it comes to criticism and making changes in their work. Some feel like it's not theirs anymore if they make the changes suggested by their teacher. Some say straight-up, "But I want it to sound this way, not that way."

It's always fun to get out of my classroom and say, "Hey, look at me pretending I'm NOT a math teacher!" So I threw together an entertaining little PowerPoint and headed over. (It helped that with my teeny-tiny school, there were only five kids in the class—not so nervous-making.)

The kids were good and engaged, and honest about their feelings. Through the presentation and ensuing discussion, we came to two key points.

She's not the boss of me.

I told them about one of my critique partners (Mindy McGinnis, yo), and noted that just because she suggests something doesn't mean I have to make that exact change. Or any change. And if I choose not to, it doesn't mean she's going to scream at me and stomp her feet and never ever EVER talk to me again.

Same goes for the teenagers and their English teacher. We discussed that some feedback is the Just Fix It kind—errors in spelling, grammar, punctuation, or facts. But the really valuable feedback is the Ponder and Figure It Out kind—when passages are boring, awkward, confusing, or annoying. Suggestions on how to fix those issues are just that—suggestions.

And that leads us to the second point:

Find your Q.

This was just part of a little scenario I put together. Mindy notes something doesn't work and offers suggestions X, Y, and Z for fixing it. I go ahead with X, work in Z-with-a-twist, and come up with Q all on my own. When I run it by Mindy, she knows I didn't use Y, but that's okay—she says, "Yeah, Q totally works."

Surprisingly, the group kind of latched onto that concept (teasing me about bringing mathematical variables to English class). Some of the students had been stuck in a mindset that the teacher's word was law, so her suggestions had to be followed to the letter. Thus their feeling that the writing wasn't theirs anymore.

Through the discussion, we kept coming back to, "And there's that situation where you need to find your Q—find a way to modify it to address the problem the teacher pointed out, but that still stays true to your voice and characters and story."

What about us?

These reactions and mindsets aren't unique to teenagers, or to those who write only because they have to for school. Those of us who want to (or do) write professionally go through cycles of the same thing, I think.

I don't care who you are—finding out something you thought was great doesn't work can sting. I think a key part of my presentation was when I admitted to the students that I've gotten feedback where my initial feelings were all, "I suck! The story sucks. There's no way I change that in a way that will work. I'm too stupid."

Feeling that isn't a problem—as long as we take the next step, which is rolling up our sleeves and getting to work.

Like I told them, you don't wipe some mud off a car and call it polished. Polishing takes time and effort.

And like Mindy added, exercise doesn't necessarily feel good (or look glamorous) while you're doing it, but the results feel great.

Math Rant: Yes, Elementary Teachers, Math is in Your Job Description

Yikes, long time, no post. Not the first time it's happened, but hopefully the last, because I've finally figured out a posting "schedule" that I think will work for me. What do you think?

Mathematical Mondays

Writerly Wednesdays

Free-For-All Fridays

You know I love my alliteration. Hopefully I can keep thinking of fitting topics each week.

So, that makes this a Mathematical Monday, and we have another math-rant. First, a disclaimer. Some elementary teachers are awesome. Some don't match anything I'm about to say. I hope we get more of those.

Here are some actual quotes I've heard from elementary teachers.

"I hate math."

"I wish I didn't have to teach math."

"I was lousy at math in school, but I figure elementary math is easy, so I can teach that."

I have yet to hear an elementary teacher say they hate reading, wish they didn't have to teach reading, or are lousy at reading. Many elementary teacher training programs are heavy on the literacy courses, and light (or non-existent) on the math pedagogy.

Don't get me wrong. Reading and writing are hugely important. (Hello, I'm a writer!) But so is math. Even if a student will never have to divide fractions or graph a linear equation once they leave school, the associated thinking skills are valuable no matter what they do in life. They need a good math education to develop those skills of logic, problem solving, and number sense.

And guess what—when the teacher doesn't like math, the kids know it. Doesn't matter if the teacher doesn't explicitly say so. It comes across.

It's socially acceptable to say you're bad at math, but this is something that needs to change, especially with the way technology is developing so rapidly these days. It used to be only the elite knew how to read, and now no one wants to admit being bad readers. (And yes, we need to keep working on ways to help those who have difficulty reading.) It's time for math skills to have the same status, and it starts with those who are role models for the teeny-tiny kids—both parents and teachers.

Okay, rant over. Now I can get back to looking for ways to bolster the math skills of the elementary teachers at my school so they can stop making excuses. ;)

Are you a math-phobe? What led to you feeling that way? If you're a math-lover, how did that happen?

Maturity is Eating Your Vegetables

** This presumes you're the kind of person who doesn't like vegetables. I'm not that kind of person. I rather like most vegetables. But it's a metaphor. Just go with it. **

When you're a little kid (who doesn't like vegetables), your parents know you should eat veggies, but you don't care. You don't care that they're good for you. You don't care about those wonderful vitamins and all they can do for you. You don't care about the nasty things that can happen if you have a deficiency of those vitamins. You only care about how marshmallows and popsicles are better than asparagus and broccoli, just because they are.

Our parents bribe, cajole, and threaten us so we eat our carrots and Brussels sprouts. At some point, though, we accept that we really can't live on Pop Rocks and root beer. We really ought to eat those things that came out of dirt. Once we open our minds to them, we may even find they're not so bad.

This is one of many cool things about teaching teenagers—and no, I'm not really talking about diet and nutrition.

With the ages I teach—and particularly because I've stuck with many students over several years—I get to see a lot of them making transitions to self-aware maturity. The kid who used to blow off everything academic starting to take things more seriously, even looking back and saying he wished he'd buckled down earlier so he could've learned more. The girl who voluntarily comes in during lunch for extra help, even though we both know she'd rather be chatting with friends than torturing herself with math.

I don't get to see the transition for all of them. Some come to me with a very grounded worldview already in place. Some leave my class still thinking life will be a party—they'll put it together later ... or maybe not. (I'm pretty sure some on-paper adults are still patently immature.) But when I do see it, it's very cool.

A current example: If you recall, I teach deaf kids. That means they all have IEPs (Individualized Education Plans, required for any kid with special ed services). This month has been IEP season at my school, so we sit down for a meeting with each kid (and a parent or two) and discuss where they're at, where they want to go, and what they need to do to get there.

Most teenagers are counting down the days to graduation. "Come June of (name-the-year), I'm outta here!" My students are generally no different. Technically, though, they can stay with us until the year they turn twenty-two. Most shudder at the thought.

But then some of them take a realistic look at their goals. Maybe they want to go to college, and they look at their reading and writing levels. Not good enough ... but right in a range where an extra year of high school, really working on it, could make the difference. And they say, "Yeah, I think I should learn more so I'm ready, because college is hard."

That's not just going for the carrots—that's reaching for a big scoop of the whole vegetable medley.

I love that moment.

And I'll keep trying my best to make those veggies tasty.