I sit on a swing at the top of a bank overlooking Strawberry Creek. I hear the water rushing, rolling really, through the rocks below. I pause a moment to listen and an assortment of birds speak as if on cue: chickadees fluttering above me, a woodpecker pecking furiously to impress a mate and another song unidentifiable to my untrained ear.

The sun shines but the wind is cool. The trees do not yet have their spring buds though May presses on. I hear a rustle behind me and look to see a rabbit cavorting in the bush seemingly oblivious to my presence.

A simple change of setting changes my thought process, changes my writing. How often do we give this experience to our students? Reading, writing or even creating art out of the classroom environment? Sprawled on the grass or spread throughout the playground. How might our students’ creations change when we change their setting?

 

Each day I work with small groups of students: struggling readers and English Language Learners. I absolutely love my job. Yet this week, as I worked with two young students who continue to struggle to learn letter names (sounds are nowhere in my sight lines with them yet), I had to remind myself that they are not yet capable of learning this information.

I teach and reteach. I find creative ways to reinforce the letters. I incorporate sensory matters and physical movement. We laugh and play as we learn. And still, the progress is painfully slow. Often I have to avoid the temptation of saying, “We just went over this.” or “You should know this.” Because, they don’t.

And with as much repetition and direct teaching as they are getting, I remind myself that they are not yet ready. They are trying. They want to know these arbitrary symbols that I call letters. They long to join the world of the literate.

So my journey with them continues: I dig a little deeper for more patience and increasingly creative ways of teaching the same thing, and I look forward to the day when all 26 letters are identifiable.

Who will rejoice more? The jury is out.

The Velveteen Rabbit… Harry the Dirty Dog… Go Dog. Go! These were some of my favourite books growing up. I looked forward to bedtime because of the stories I knew came with it. And yes, perhaps my love affair with words began young. But now, dear and faithful readers, I want your input. What book did you want read over and over in childhood? Which book was your favourite to flip through? Are there lines of a book you can still remember and recite?

Together let’s generate a list of beloved books! Include your kids’ current favourites if you prefer.

Last week I visited a beautiful new school. So beautiful in fact that I took pictures of the space and the furniture. And yet, after talking to two staff members from that school, I heard descriptions wildly opposed to the physical space. Toxic. Isolated. Negative.

And then I think of my own school building. From the outside, boxy and plain. Certainly nothing special. And yet, the energy in our school is positive, electric and exciting.

I know where I’d rather work! More proof that the people make the place.

 

What a week! Leadership Day, Open House, Violence Threat Assessment Training. The gamut of experiences was noticeable: some highs, some lows, some moments of joy and some reminders of the sadness in our world.

The power of language strung these experiences together. Language to connect: our students speaking to hundreds of guests about the 7 Habits. Language to inspire: our Kindergarten students hosting Open House for next years’ students. Language to deceive: troubled youth posing threats, ultimately crying out for help. Language to reveal: skilled investigators digging for truth.

I have no doubt that words have power. Are we flippant with the words we choose or do we choose them carefully and deliberately?

I was recently reunited with Box Cars and One-Eyed Jacks: the use of games to reinforce basic math facts and place value. As I watched our teachers engage in play, I listened to the laughter in the room and the language they were using. I also watched a TED talk entitled “The Game That Can Give You 10 Extra Years of Life” by Jane McGonigal. 

Both of these experiences, reminded me that effective learning is tied to emotion. If I am excited about what I am learning, I will expend more energy and effort. If I am having fun, I am more likely to take ownership of my tasks. If I know that my teacher believes in me, I will have confidence in my own abilities. If I am encouraged to use my strengths (and shown what my strengths are), I will compensate for my challenges.

Recently I read Leadership: 50 Points of Wisdom for Today’s Leaders by General Hillier and Raising Henry: A Memoir of Motherhood, Disability and Discovery by Rachel Adams. Though vastly different in general topics, both books shared a focus on human relationships. When we relate with others – empathize, show compassion and take time to understand their circumstances – we become emotionally connected to those around us. We build relationships rooted in respect and all else naturally follows.

Let emotion find its way into your classroom. The laughter and the tears, the games and the humour, will add much to the learning environment.

 

Last night we saw Mary Poppins at the Citadel. I left the performance with Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious and Feed the Birds still dancing through my head. There was a bounce in my step. It was the kind of feel-good, high-energy performance where the audience was on their feet immediately with applause. The actors, the singing and the choreography were excellent and I envied the fun they appeared to be having on stage.

At home after the performance, I turned on the news… Recovered objects unrelated to missing Malaysia flight 370… Bodies trapped in Washington mudslide never to be recovered… Putin declares no intention of invading Eastern Ukraine… Taliban attacks to threaten upcoming election.

I hummed Chim Chim Cher-ee attempting to bring my mood back to where it was before the news came on. Two thoughts struck me: 1) I feel incredibly fortunate to live in Canada. 2) There is immense value in art of all kinds, including theatre.

I recently watched a video where a student mentioned ‘deep learning’. This concept has always intrigued me: deep learning, enduring understanding. What’s the difference between an enduring understanding of a concept and simple memorization? With our curriculum redesign underway, is there still a place for memorization in our schools?

This battle is one I have heard discussed on the news, between parents and even among educators. During the last ten to fifteen years we have experienced some curricular changes with more of an emphasis on the constructivist approach: simplistically, students construct meaning from what they read, hear or discuss.

Do we need to memorize reams and reams of data? Probably not if a quick internet search will suffice. Students can still be exposed to the information and engage in meaningful discussion about it. A much more valuable use of time. Through this approach, students will develop critical thinking and communication skills and learning will become much more relevant.

All that said, there is a place for memorization in schools. Students should be required to memorize math facts, provincial capitals, and the basics such as their own addresses. Memorization serves a practical purpose that cannot be denied or ignored.

The pendulum has a tendency to making wide, sweeping movements. Yet often, best practice incorporates strategies from both ends of the spectrum. The constructivist approach doesn’t have to replace the skill of memorization. There is room for both in our schools. In fact, the two extremes complement each other nicely: the ah-ha moments that come from discovery and the confidence that comes from knowing.

 

 

 

Last week I listened to two parents from separate families talk about their expectations for their children. Now, don’t get me wrong, I believe in expectations. In fact, as a classroom teacher I was always sure to set the bar high in terms of behaviour, work ethic and respect. What I encountered with these parents however, were unrealistic expectations for their children: in one word, pressure.

The line between reasonable expectations and unreasonable expectations may be somewhat fine. I get that. Yet when the expectations become unreasonable, we begin to see anxiety and feelings of defeat develop in our children. Even worse, they may begin to dislike school or the process of learning. Consciously or not, some kids begin to resent those adults holding that bar far out of their reach.

As important as it is for expectations to be in place, we can only expect our children to work to their potential: as we tell them in school, to do their best. For some (for most actually), that best work might not be top of the class. And that’s okay. When they are encouraged to do their best they will challenge themselves, take pride in their work, be more engaged in the learning process and ultimately, they will be happy. What more can we ask?

What did I learn at convention this year? I wouldn’t say it had so much to do with curriculum but it was an important lesson nonetheless.

David Chilton, author of The Wealthy Barber, reminded me to be satisfied with what I have and not always longing for more. He spoke of the common lament for more stuff which seems to plague our society. Craig Kielburger, founder of Free the Children, reminded me to appreciate all we have and inspire our students to develop an attitude of service towards others. General Rick Hillier, former general for the Canadian Forces, reminded me to be appreciative of this great nation we call Canada: our safety and security, our health care system and our freedom. Kaitlin Roig, a teacher who survived the shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary, reminded me how lucky we are to go to school and return home safely each day.

Though these four speakers come from diverse backgrounds and life experiences – an economist, a social activist, a former chief of defence and a first grade teacher –  the underlying message is one of appreciation.

As we walked to the truck at the end of convention – walking briskly to limit the time in the wicked wind – we passed a man whose home is the streets. As I climbed into the truck, again I felt blessed and appreciative of all we have. I do not have to find shelter from the cold each day, I do not have to worry about stepping on a land mine, I do not have to fight for education or health care and I do not have to worry excessively about the safety of my students.

Lesson learned? We are truly blessed.