Sunday, June 15, 2014

Report writing again.

Couldn't move my fingers much this morning when I woke up. Tendonitis had flared after two days' solid typing of student reports. Old age sucks. (And why am I typing again today??)

Proud of those reports though; proud of myself for refusing to use 'comment bank'.

For the past few years, as directed, I've used the school 'comment bank' when reporting. Using the 'comment bank' supposedly cuts down on errors, providing there are no mistakes in the rubric, in which case errors are multiplied. The comments in the bank correspond with the descriptors in AusVELS, the Victorian version of the Australian curriculum. They've been simplified to some extent, but they're bland and generic. Furthermore, students can end up with the same comments from year to year, depending on their progress along the AusVELS continuum. Oddly, there don't seem to be any complaints from parents or students.

Reporting on students is agonising. Lots of data entry. (Love Mr Fill Down, BTW.) Lots of writing. I'd estimate it's taken me 20 hours to create reports for 75 students. Would have been much quicker using the comment bank.

Then there's the proofreading meeting after school. About 80 of us print off our report comments and we swap and check. Last year, some of my comments were checked by a colleague who pointed out some really poor expression. 'It's not me. It's the comment bank,' was my lame response. It wasn't the first time I'd been ashamed of what the comment bank, with my assistance, had produced.

The comment bank may produce uncohesive, bland, generic descriptors of 'what the student has achieved' but it won't allow making even slightly negative remarks about a student. Negative remarks are verboten in these days when a few aggressive parents rule the school and we quake in fear of their wrath.

Reporting what some students have achieved is challenging. What to say about a student who has done nothing all semester except disrupt the learning of others? Who has resisted all my canny efforts and encouragement? "X enjoys contributing to class discussions, often in a racist mock-Indian accent. He has successfully resisted attempting any reading, writing or formal speaking and listening tasks." Suppose that's an achievement.

About 35 years ago, when I began teaching, it was perfectly acceptable to write this in a report: "X is an excellent student in every respect." Done. Too easy.

My first student reports were hand-written in a rectangular box - about 6 x 18 centimetres - on a piece of plain foolscap with the texture of blotting paper. Under that was a sheet of royal blue carbon paper and another sheet of foolscap for the second copy. A metal paperclip held it all together. After you'd written your little comment you passed the pages back to the coordinator who'd pass it to the next teacher of that student. Depending on how early you'd done your reports, you'd be able to see comments written by students' other teachers. 'Good' kids' reports glowed with superlatives. 'Bad' kids were described as disruptive, distracting, talkative, hopeless.

Unacceptable, of course. Even at 22 I knew it was inappropriate to take one's frustration and vitriol out on a student, even if they had caused it.

We moved to 'goal based descriptive assessment' at our school in the early 1980s. No grades, if memory serves. (No exams for 'junior' students either.) We also received our own 'no carbon required' report pads, designed to fit about four hand-written reports on each A4 page. Had to remember to put a sheet of cardboard between the reports so you didn't accidentally write extra copies

Didn't mind those descriptive reports. If necessary, you could still be honest about a kid's tendency to subvert learning in the classroom. Parents tended to support us back then. (Think that's a fair generalisation too, based on my experience teaching in three state secondary schools.)

Those reports were probably issued three times a year to correspond with three school terms. Don't remember anyone ever criticising my hand-written reports.

We thought we were working hard back then getting those reports out. Now we have computers and the internet you'd think it would be simpler.

At our school, as well as semester reports and two parent-teacher meetings we issue six interim reports.We're also expected to phone and email parents regularly so they 'don't get any surprises' on reports.

In the words of Redfoo , let's get ridiculous.







Wednesday, April 30, 2014

Lazy teaching?

I'm mixing it up in the classroom. Again. 

I'm trying to make my Year 9 English classroom less teacher-centred as students develop and 'deepen' their understanding of the plot, characters and themes in their class novel, Phillip Gwynne's Deadly Unna?. I'm also supposedly being a 'lazy teacher', re-inspired as I am by The Lazy Teacher's Handbook, which I recommend, by the way. 

I'm employing  "a series of strategies that put the responsibility of learning directly and consistently onto the students... they learn to engage with their own learning, and not just in what they have learned but in how they learned it." That's from the introduction to The Lazy Teacher's Handbook. Hey, baby! Yeah! High five! Students taking ownership of their learning. That will look impressive on my Professional Learning Plan. I can write up my Understanding By Design unit plan and cite the relevant Australian Curriculum learning outcomes.  (All that onerous (unnecessary) extra paperwork is about accountability, after all.)

I've 'scaffolded' my students' learning; given clear instructions, a rubric, even. I've set clear expectations for the learning and behaviour. They've done their 'think, pair, square' and now they have to 'share'. The Lazy Teacher's Handbook, again. After they've completed their group work, students will present their findings to the group using ICT and presentation software. Don’t I sound competent? 

This, however, is what 'learning' sounded  like at about 2.45 yesterday arvo. Bedlam. Screaming. Shouting. Bursts of maniacal laughter, occasionally my own,  

'Learning', group work, looked like chaos. Scrunched up paper flew across my peripheral vision. It seemed to be snowing litter. Suddenly a pen skimmed across the asphalt outside my classroom door, closely followed by one of my students who'd darted out to retrieve it. Sorry, miss, she said upon re-entry.  

I circumnavigated the room again, swooping on groups. Interfering but trying not to because it seemed I was dominating again. At my approach, some students vaguely pretended to be on task, frowning at their computers, tapping a few keys, twisting their screens towards me so I could see a bit of allegedly legit 'work'. So what are we supposed to be doing again? asked a bright student. And this is their second session working in their groups.

I worry that no one is learning. I worry that students will see this as bludging. I worry that the principal will walk in and judge me.  I worry that the acrid smell in the room is me. I sneak a surreptitious sniff of my armpit. It's not. Hurrah. God knows I've worked up a sweat pacing around the room trying to look and feel in control.  

Five minutes before the bell I gathered the troops and assumed the position, barring the door.  I blew my whistle - now there's a useful teaching tool and not just in phys ed classes. "No one is leaving until the desks are straightened, the rubbish is off the floor and chairs are on tables." i bellowed. They complied and the natural order of my teaching world was somewhat restored, or so I told myself.

The positives? The students seem happy. They're not fighting me. They're not complaining of boredom, which many do if one reads sections of text aloud to the entire class. I'd like to think that they are working at their own level. Their presentations will demonstrate that, I expect. I've been able to 'differentiate' the learning and monitor individual students much more effectively that I can in a teacher-centred classroom. 

Lazy teacher? Not so much. And I'm still reaching for the wine bottle as soon as I get home.

Thursday, March 20, 2014

Just another day of 'teaching'.

Should have known it was going to be another challenging day when I got an extra for period 1: my only free period. No matter. An extra per fortnight is part of my job. It was the year 11 VCAL class. Gave me a chance to see government funds at work; the brilliant "1:1" program in effect. You see, all these students were issued their own Netbook computers, at no charge, a couple of years ago. Our students are going to lead the rest of the world because they've been provided with this state of the art information and communication technology. 

Or not. 

Besides giving the words 'fucken' and 'cunt' a bit of a workout, two students decided it would be edifying to pop all the keys from their keypads and stick them back on in random order. That was clearly lots of fun until they realised that they didn't know how to return the keys to their rightful places and that some of the keys were now irrevocably damaged.

What was I doing during all this? Trying to encourage students I don't regularly teach to do the set work; trying to discourage the gratuitous 'try-hard' swearing without getting palpitations myself. You've got to feel for the CRTs - casual replacement teachers - who do replacement classes all day. 

Off to year 9 for more larks. The students have been presenting their oral book reports this week and some of them have been damn good. The entire purpose is to encourage reading. Every week since the beginning of the year students have had half an hour of sustained silent reading during class and they're supposed to supplement this with regular reading at home. I really push this because it is so important that students become fluent readers. 

So, Anna is at the front of the room. She's plugged her Netbook computer into the data projector. She's nervously shaking her page a little as she waits to start. 

But what's this? Two girls stand up at the back of the room. 'Someone stole my pencil case, Miss,' says Zoe. She folds her arms, slumps aggressively. 

'Could whoever's got Zoe's pencil case just return it please? I'm not saying you took it, but please give it back.' 

No response. 

So two girls are up the back glowering around, pouting. One is out in sympathy with the other. It's how they function. What am I supposed to do? 

Apparently it's in the rubbish bin. I fish it out. 'Eeuuw!' Yeah, whatever. 

This is the way the 'lesson' proceeds. I can't see who's spiriting other kids' belongings away. I endeavour to keep calm.

And then there are 'the lads' who've been in my face since week one. They swagger around the room at will, perhaps to share a confidence with someone on the other side of the class. Bugger the seating plan. That only works if they choose to sit in their places. 

An older generation mobile phone slides, hockey puck style, from one side of the floor to the other and back again.

Meanwhile, Anna waits patiently. Eventually she is able to present and she's read John Steinbeck's The Pearl. Wow.

So while some kids are 'disrupting the learning of others', as it says on our discipline reports, and being enabled by parents who believe that their children are angels - parents who complain if anyone tries to discipline their precious offspring - other students are quietly learning.

Me? I'm checking my super cos I'm a little bit over it.

Thursday, February 13, 2014

Slam poetry. And the other stuff.

Nearly finished week three of term one now. It's challenging, the start of the school year, isn't it?

If you're lucky you score a group of amenable students who know you and already approve. You just roll happily with it. This is me this year with my year 10s given all those teething battles were played out back in 2010. Our first session was an emotional reuion. Even teared up a bit seeing how they'd grown. They were all smiles and sheepish laughter as they automatically sat in their year 8 'seating plan'. 

In a big school like mine - nearly 1200 students - you can easily go for a year without seeing any of your former students. It was great to see my year 10s and I look forward to watching them develop as the year progresses.

And then there's that other class; amongst the 25 students there are five fourteen year old boys giving me what for, yelling over me in a  constant barrage of testosterone-fuelled insolence. These lads are IN MY FACE and DID YOU SEE THAT? SHE'S PICKEN ON ME! WHY ARE YOU PICKEN ON ME?? They're chesting up to me, anything to disrupt, to draw my attention, to grab an opportunity to assert themselves over me. My adrenal gland's been getting a bit of a workout. Have to remember to breathe; act angry before I'm really angry. Be patient, tolerant, understanding. This isn't about me, I'm just generic 'old female teacher' now.

Leap on those opportunities to praise, to build self-esteem like a seagull on a cliched chip. Oh so many complex personalities to fathom before it subsides. Well, usually.

My other year 9 class has been a gift; 25 bright, eager students who are open to possibility so why not try out some slam poetry? I attended a VATE conference session last year on slam poetry. (Thanks, Anthony Young @ProffPoet) I showed the students some examples of other students performing slam poetry - a YouTube search was helpful here. The students were a tad skeptical but they gave it a go. I gave them a list of possible topics - places such as the city, the beach, holidays and so on, and emotions that they could write about. As per Anthony's instructions I got them to work in groups as a strategy to help them to overcome their performance anxiety.

I used Anthony's formula for constructing their poem. Poems had to contain a metaphor, an anecdote, a repeated line, a really long line and a really short line. They brainstormed their ideas individually then collaborated with other group members. I darted around the class offering suggestions and encouragement, as you do when you're the alleged teacher.

The students, bless them, ran with it. Today they presented. It was wonderful and they knew it as they savoured the power of their own and each other's words. 

If you haven't given slam poetry a try, it's worth doing. The kids loved it and so did I.






Tuesday, March 26, 2013

Padlet in Year 10 English

The plan. Utilise Padlet - the web tool formerly known as Wallwisher - to engage year 10 students in a meaningful discussion about youth justice. Basically, with Padlet, you can create a 'wall' upon which you can post things.

At the end of the lesson, the teacher and her students will have created a number of discussion 'walls'. Students will have participated in on-line discussions on the causes of, and possible solutions to, youth homelessness. They will have shared their own opinions, as well as considering, and responding to, a variety of views from their fellow students.

Prior to the lesson, I'd played around on Padlet so I'd be confident with the tool. In class, we'd also discussed various issues concerning youth justice and had just watched the harrowing Oasis documentary. I'd prepared a few questions to promote discussion. (By the way, if you haven't yet seen it, the Oasis documentary is essential viewing.)

As a background to all this, I've done some school based professional development using Padlet. This involved participating in an educational on-line discussion with my school colleagues. We pasted a particular URL into our browsers then responded to a question. The 'wall' quickly filled with thoughtful, earnest remarks. It was the first day of the new year and the principal who facilitated looked pleased with the outcome. I think he mentioned something about aiming to be a paperless school somewhere down the track.

You see, we're in the 'one to one' age now. Every student from years 9 to 12 has been given, gratis, courtesy of the federal government, a netbook computer. What's more, we've been urged to use these computers, especially since the school is expecting years 7 and 8 students to buy their own. We don't want the older students telling the younger ones that the computers aren't being used, do we? That wasn't a question. It was a directive from an AP. Parents Will Complain.

So what happened in my classes today?

First, I had to send several students back to their lockers to get their computers. The government may have funded these computers to make our students the smartest in the world - whatever - but that doesn't mean the kids are going to charge them up overnight, or even bring them to school. (It's a discipline thing and we're working on it.)

Second, I recapped our previous lesson about youth homelessness to remind students of the gravity of the issue.

I gave them the URL for our first 'wall' and made a couple of rules. No anonymous comments. No profanity.

As if. (My favourite phrase.)

The wall was instantly and hilariously covered in totally inappropriate, often misspelled, sexually explicit posts. Students quickly discovered that they could also take photos of themselves and other students and tag them.

In nano-seconds I had a wall plastered in posts that had the students in hysterics. The comments were posted faster than I could delete them - it was my wall so I had some editing control for all the good that did me.

I suppose at least they were all engaged in the activity.

Seriously, I'd like to know what really happens in other teachers' classes when they do these activities.You know, teachers who work, like me, in western suburbs state secondary schools. During the PD session, this activity was presented as a highly effective teaching and learning tool and of course I can see its potential. But if kids can write anonymous comments - and get away with it because it's impossible to monitor - how does this occur?

Will it get better if I persist, once the novelty wears off?

Help.

Seriously, comment below. I really want to know.




Monday, March 25, 2013

Back to high school.

Attended a high school centenary yesterday. Probably wouldn't have bothered except a friend reminded me it was happening and another friend came along with me.

Didn't give it much thought before we turned into the car park where we were lucky to find a space. You see, this event was packed. The school 'playing fields' had even been converted to parking space for the day and they were chockers with cars.

However, I felt really odd, crossing the side street and walking through to the quadrangle, past the staff room. Appeared as though nothing had changed since I'd left there nearly 30 years ago.

I spent the first six years of my teaching career at that school. Those six years went on for a very long time, much longer than the 14 years I've been at my current school. The years flash by a bit these days. My dad used to say that when he was around the age I am now, but in my twenties I had no concept. I was still waiting for the big things to happen: travel, marriage, mortgage, children. In that order.

I encountered a former student almost immediately. An older man: fifty-something? Shaved presumably bald head, portly, acting more confident with me than he should have been. 'I'm going to kiss you,' he said, grabbing me by the waist and pulling me close. I got an unwanted wet one to the corner of my mouth. I generally avoid random kissing.

He invited me to 'stroll' over to the registration table; offered me his elbow. I hooked my arm through his for about ten seconds. 'Sorry,' I said, letting go. 'This feels really uncomfortable. I wouldn't even do this with my husband.' I didn't like the feel of this guy's arm under his shirt sleeve.

I didn't see him again after that. He was in my first ever form five English class. I was 22, in my second year of teaching. Interesting that I could remember him and the quality of his English. Now, I can barely remember the names of kids I taught last year.

I saw a few familiar faces, all former teaching colleagues. Mostly, I was incredulous that all these people were so delighted to be there. Masses of them milling around, greeting very old friends. Lots of white hair and quite a few walking frames. They'd all made the effort to go back to their old school with its almost unaltered central quad.

I had my moments back there, made a few life-long friends, learned heaps, had some great memories. But somehow, my experiences left a slightly bitter aftertaste. I think of clashes with a couple of colleagues: people being really unprofessional; some awful behaviour. And of course, i think of my own immaturity back when I knew everything, as many of us do back in our twenties. I was glad to leave that version of myself behind in that place. As if.

I heard bits of a couple of speeches yesterday - the sound system swallowed the rest as I strained to hear beneath those quadrangle eaves. Two former students, one In his 70s, one in her 40s, spoke so fondly of their own six years in the place. Around me, former students and teachers tittered and nodded at remembered characters and anecdotes. The woman who spoke was overwhelmed by emotion. It really got to me.

People's school days are really precious. That's a statement of the bleeding obvious. But yesterday was a bit like a church gathering; worship.

Despite having spent my professional life, since 1978, in secondary schools, I really hadn't thought of schools like that before.

I did make my own pilgrimage to my primary school back in Sheffield, UK, a couple of years ago, but that was about emigration, memory and being severed from my childhood when I was eight.

School, for me, and perhaps for most teachers, hasn't been something intense in my formative years. It has been my life. The continuum. Suppose that's why I was so incredulous that those six years of high school had been so precious to so many people who did the pilgrimage yesterday.

Thanks to the organisers.

Sunday, March 17, 2013

"The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas." Why I love reading. And teaching.

Friday, home time. I'd held a couple of Year 10 students back after English. I was giving my annual plagiarism lecture, which usually occurs at about this time of year.

"Look," I pointed to my laptop screen. The girl was standing next to me, arms crossed defiantly. "You'll have to admit that it's quite strange that your essay is identical to this one."

"I swear I didn't read it," she persisted in the face of contrary evidence.

Her friend, packing up her books, was listening in. "I copied an essay from the internet when I was in year 7," she said, matter-of-factly. "I was really embarrassed when I got caught." Had a bit of a laugh at the memory.

The boy was all outraged innocence too when I showed him how easily I'd Googled a few words from his essay, enclosed in inverted commas, and found what he was passing off as his work

I wasn't particularly angry. Plagiarism happens even more regularly in these 'one to one' days - every kid has a computer and internet access - and it's easy to spot. It's good for students to find out early that this is cheating. It avoids more serious consequences in the future.

They left, ruefully promising to repeat the work.

Meanwhile, Chris was waiting to see me.  He's a quiet, intelligent student.

"You said you wanted to read this, miss." He placed a copy of The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas on my desk.

I taught Chris for a couple of semesters in years 7 and 8. He was one of the more talented students in my now defunct Creative Writing class. A couple of days earlier he'd asked for help with his 'wide reading' essay. He was working on the topic "A worthwhile text makes you view the world a little differently".  This is one of five generic topics that my Year 10s must respond to. I'm trying to teach them to write well structured introductions including at least three general points that they'll develop in the bodies of their essays.

I hadn't read Chris' novel but knew vaguely that it was about the Holocaust. I took a stab at an answer. Suggested he could write about those awful perennial themes, survival, racism, inhumanity, good versus evil. He seemed satisfied with this and set about writing his essay. I'd also asked if I could borrow his book, given several students had expressed an interest in reading it.

Well, Chris, your old teacher started reading your book on Friday evening and was easily engaged, as one is by an apparently simple driving narrative. I finished it this morning and I have to say it's made me see the world a little differently.

The simple narrative cleverly belies the wisdom and strength of this story. It is the story of 9 year old Bruno, whose quite self-satisfied life is somewhat spoiled when he, his small family and their servants are transported to 'OutWith' as he pronounces the unfamiliar Polish word Auschwitz. However, at Auschwitz he is on the protected side of the fence, his father being the camp commandant. Bruno's naive remarks on his life in what becomes his new home are profoundly ironic.

The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas has given me another poignant indelible impression of the horror, injustice and cruelty of the Holocaust. I highly recommend that you read it. (Having done a bit of Googling myself, I'm thinking I'm perhaps the only English teacher around who hasn't read it.)

Chris, thanks for putting up with my plagiarism lecture, cos you were subjected to it too on Friday arvo. I'm really moved that you remembered I'd said I'd like to read your book. You've reminded me why I love both reading and teaching. (And you know how I said you might really appreciate Markus Zusak's The Book Thief? I'm sure you would.)