I taught a class last week about unpredictable endings and students peeled their faces off of facebook long enough to appear engaged. It involved reading half of an essay about a fire fighter caught in a wildfire, pausing to act out possible endings, and then comparing student endings to the author's ending. Bruce Schauble's post lit this spark for me about walking students through the writer's decision-making processes.
Step 1: Using their laptops in small groups, I asked them to find 1) an image and 2) an explanation of the following vocabulary words. We live in Hawaii so they don't know much about fires and the visuals got them excited about the topic.
Fire shelter, wildfire fighter, Army Huey, firestorm, Lewis and Clark National Forest.
Briefly, we went over their findings together.
Step 2: I photocopied a story about fighting wildfires. It was written by a college student at U of Idaho who I have never met and probably won't until she sues me for pasting her piece on the internet without permission; (Linda Lilly, wherever you are, your essay was perfect for this exercise because you yourself are a developing writer, so your moves are easier to notice--thank you!)
I broke the story into 3 parts on 3 different sheets of paper and gave them only the first section to read aloud.
"The pea-green helicopter sailed through the morning air over spans of roadless forest. It was a sweltering July morning, and the breeze in the open-air chopper was exhilarating. I sat sideways in the Army Huey with nothing but a seatbelt between me and the sky. We were in the Lewis and Clark National Forest near near White Sulphur Springs, a part of Montana that was new to me. From the air, I could see rolling hills, spotted with large grassy meadows here and there breaking up the thickly timbered terrain. Facing north, the only evidence of the fire raging behind us was the gray haze suspended around the peaks and blanketing the valleys. The crew yawned and joked over the copter's racket. John, our crew boss, strained to study the terrain, sizing up the day's assignment. We veered to the south and circled back for a landing. Dense smoke filled the sky. I could make out charred slopes and occasional trees lit at the top like candles. An intense fire front appeared to be moving our way. The fire had already consumed five thousand acres.
We piled noisily out of the helicopter and greeted Larry, our division boss. As one of three squad bosses, I was responsible for five Forest Service firefighters. I patted my pockets, web belt, and butt pack to make sure I hadn't left any of my paraphernalia on the chopper. Assessing the situation, John and Larry decided to take a closer look at the fire heading in our direction. Not more than five minutes later, we heard John's voice on the radio: Larry, this is too big and it's moving fast. Let's get out of here."Ten-four: I'll radio for release," Larry responded. While waiting anxiously for them to return, we kept an eye on the monstrous blaze that was approaching. When he got back, Larry breathlessly told us he had requested a chopper. As we waited, we could hear the sounds of bursting trees and popping needles becoming louder. Finally the chopper pilot came over the radio: "Too much smoke and wind to land. Better locate and escape route." For a moment, everyone was silent. I could hear my heart pounding in my chest."
Step 3: We talked through each line and the author's decision-making process. Why did she start with that line? Was it a good line to start with? Why? Because helicopters are interesting. Because the helicopter does something interesting (sailing). Because she began with action.
Why did the author use the verb 'sweltering' in the second line instead of saying it was a 'clear' or 'bright' morning? Why does the third line end with 'sky'? She could have written "Nothing between me and the sky but a seatbelt." What is the effect of ending a sentence with 'sky' vs. 'seatbelt'?
They did well with this because the questions are about concrete decisions rather than abstract inferences. It was teacher-directed discussion, true, but they were engaged. If I hadn't tried to use the handouts in three sections I could have allowed them to annotate the piece as we discussed the writers decisions--ah next time.
Step 4: "You have five minutes to make a 1-minute skit." In their pre-established groups of 3 or 4, students decided what would happen next in the story.
Most acted out fairly predictable endings: heroine zips herself into a fire shelter and immerges unscathed; heroine zips herself into a fire shelter and roasts like a hot dog; heroine runs to a clearing and flags down a helicopter etc. Some students created less predictable, more interesting endings: emergency SUV's zoom in through the fire, scoop up our heroine and scoot off; ice caps begin falling from the sky and heroine looses a toe to frostbite; fires encroach at the exact moment of the 9/11 World Trade Center attacks and heroine uses an airplane to stop the two simultaneous fire threats.
Discussion cropped up about likely endings vs. unlikely (but possible!) endings vs. fantastical/ impossible endings. If you stop half way through your own essay, do you imagine the reader could predict the end of your story? If so, what are your options to re-capture their attention?
Step 5: Read Lilly's ending aloud.
(not in the mood to type it out right now)
Classes like this go so well--students involved, interesting writing, cool discussion--and then I catch myself wondering...is this still just teaching 1.0? ie. students acting as a passive group who I bestow knowledge upon or does this lesson allow for student-led learning?
Saturday, December 15, 2007
Monday, December 10, 2007
Mirror mirror on the wall—who's the best teacher of them all?
I just finished The Courage to Teach by Parker Palmer. One idea Palmer borrowed from Jane Tompkin's "Pedagogy of the Distressed" spoke to me like a truth-telling magic mirror.
Apparently Tompkin's obsession as a teacher had not been helping students learn what they wanted/ needed to know but rather with:
"(a) showing the students how smart I was
(b) showing them how knowledgeable I was; and
(c) showing them how well-prepared I was for class.
I had been putting on a performance whose true goal was not to help the students learn but to act in such a way that they would have a good opinion of me…How did it come to be that our main goal as academicians turned out to be performance?...[Tompkin's later answer is fear]…Fear of being shown up for what you are: a fraud, stupid, ignorant, a clod, a dolt, a sap, a weakling, someone who can't cut the mustard."
Holla sister! Can I get an AMEN? This fear of appearing to not know everything about the English language is a serious snag in my self and my teaching. If I work so hard to make my "on-stage performance" slick and smooth, I am actually teaching my kids to act slick and smooth.
Whoops! I would rather they be more accepting of rough edges, developing unclear ideas, and mucking around in uncertainty. If that is what I want I need to model it right? This goes along with modeling my thinking process for them:
"the first time I tried this I really struggled, but after a few tries it becomes easier,"
"the photocopier isn't working, so we are moving to plan B,"
"I can't find my dongle."
I shouldn't gag on it so hard when I choke out the occasional: "I...don't..uh.. know (yet)." I'm still not totally comfortable with this idea, but I'm starting to think the Best Teacher of All is not necessarily the one with all her i's dotted and t's crossed.
Apparently Tompkin's obsession as a teacher had not been helping students learn what they wanted/ needed to know but rather with:
"(a) showing the students how smart I was
(b) showing them how knowledgeable I was; and
(c) showing them how well-prepared I was for class.
I had been putting on a performance whose true goal was not to help the students learn but to act in such a way that they would have a good opinion of me…How did it come to be that our main goal as academicians turned out to be performance?...[Tompkin's later answer is fear]…Fear of being shown up for what you are: a fraud, stupid, ignorant, a clod, a dolt, a sap, a weakling, someone who can't cut the mustard."
Holla sister! Can I get an AMEN? This fear of appearing to not know everything about the English language is a serious snag in my self and my teaching. If I work so hard to make my "on-stage performance" slick and smooth, I am actually teaching my kids to act slick and smooth.
Whoops! I would rather they be more accepting of rough edges, developing unclear ideas, and mucking around in uncertainty. If that is what I want I need to model it right? This goes along with modeling my thinking process for them:
"the first time I tried this I really struggled, but after a few tries it becomes easier,"
"the photocopier isn't working, so we are moving to plan B,"
"I can't find my dongle."
I shouldn't gag on it so hard when I choke out the occasional: "I...don't..uh.. know (yet)." I'm still not totally comfortable with this idea, but I'm starting to think the Best Teacher of All is not necessarily the one with all her i's dotted and t's crossed.
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
Interactive television?
"I don't have a problem. Seventeen hours a day online is fine."
--Lee Chang-Hoon, 15, a South Korean student at a camp for compulsive Internet users New York Times, Nov.18, 2007 (photo too)
Are laptops just interactive televisions? This NYT article poses the question. As noted in my last entry, I am a recent convert to the laptop 1:1 program because it allows my students more direct manipulability with materials. However, I fear in our societal rush to embrace technology we neglect to place computers in a reasonable framework. It is not considered healthy to watch TV five hours a night; what about five hours of computer related homework?
I know how easy it is to start researching the Chinese Cultural Revolution and end up reading about nematodes; throw ichat and facebook distractions on the fire and students easily spend six hours a day on the computer.
Along with teaching computer skills, perhaps simultaneously teachers could incorporate time-management skills for on-line use and awareness of when to unplug. To me, seventeen hours a day on-line is definitely a problem.
Sunday, December 2, 2007
More Student-Led Learning
After experimenting daily with the 1:1 laptop-student ratio for four months now, my #1 piece of praise for the arrangement is this: it allows for more student-led learning. Writing lesson plans at the beginning of the year, the main questions in my head usually had to do with entertaining students.
"How will I hold my students attention?"
"How can I make this comma-lesson fun and dynamic?"
While earnestly hoping the best for my students with this mindset, the questions I asked were fairly teacher-centered. They assume that a) the teacher holds the correct information and b) the teacher's job is to disseminate this information to the students. I planned my lesson this way because it is what I had seen other venerable teachers do at Whitman college.
A diagram of a teacher-centered classroom looks like this (lifted from Parker J. Palmer's The Courage to Teach):
Object: The class's subject (English, Math, Biology etc.)
Expert: The teacher
Amateur: The student
This framework expects the teacher to be an expert in their field; a specialist. It also expects students to come to class as patient and willing vessels, open to receive the good word i.e. there is nothing for them to do but listen.
Translate this into teen-speak = bored out of your gourd and texting your friends on your cell phone.
Passing twenty laptops to the students in my classroom creates an environment that looks much more like this:
The students are jazzed because there is something for them to do (information to be googled, pictures to arrange in a powerpoint, essays to edit) and they begin to feel class time is theirs to use.
Furthermore students are empowered. Instead of thinking "I don't know where commas go," they think, "I don't know the answer, but I know where to find it."
The student-led layout forces me to re-evaluate my roll as a teacher. I wonder: am I a fellow "knower" in a seat alongside other students? Am I a floating aid that roams around the room addressing questions? Am I the timekeeper, reminding them how much remains before the next activity? When they are all focused and working, do I just sit back and drink my tea?
As I sort through these questions daily one conclusion becomes obvious--student-led classes are more fun to teach. By placing students in direct contact with the material I relieve myself the onus of attempting to become a specialist of every SAT question, vocab word, sentence construction, novel, short-story, poem, and grammar rule we cover in this class (an impossible feat considering the slew of scholars who created entire careers on analysis of Homer's The Odyssey alone) and provides the space to address students individual needs.
We laugh a lot more during these types of classes.
"How will I hold my students attention?"
"How can I make this comma-lesson fun and dynamic?"
While earnestly hoping the best for my students with this mindset, the questions I asked were fairly teacher-centered. They assume that a) the teacher holds the correct information and b) the teacher's job is to disseminate this information to the students. I planned my lesson this way because it is what I had seen other venerable teachers do at Whitman college.
A diagram of a teacher-centered classroom looks like this (lifted from Parker J. Palmer's The Courage to Teach):
Object: The class's subject (English, Math, Biology etc.)
Expert: The teacher
Amateur: The student
This framework expects the teacher to be an expert in their field; a specialist. It also expects students to come to class as patient and willing vessels, open to receive the good word i.e. there is nothing for them to do but listen.
Translate this into teen-speak = bored out of your gourd and texting your friends on your cell phone.
Passing twenty laptops to the students in my classroom creates an environment that looks much more like this:
The students are jazzed because there is something for them to do (information to be googled, pictures to arrange in a powerpoint, essays to edit) and they begin to feel class time is theirs to use.
Furthermore students are empowered. Instead of thinking "I don't know where commas go," they think, "I don't know the answer, but I know where to find it."
The student-led layout forces me to re-evaluate my roll as a teacher. I wonder: am I a fellow "knower" in a seat alongside other students? Am I a floating aid that roams around the room addressing questions? Am I the timekeeper, reminding them how much remains before the next activity? When they are all focused and working, do I just sit back and drink my tea?
As I sort through these questions daily one conclusion becomes obvious--student-led classes are more fun to teach. By placing students in direct contact with the material I relieve myself the onus of attempting to become a specialist of every SAT question, vocab word, sentence construction, novel, short-story, poem, and grammar rule we cover in this class (an impossible feat considering the slew of scholars who created entire careers on analysis of Homer's The Odyssey alone) and provides the space to address students individual needs.
We laugh a lot more during these types of classes.
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