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.

Have you been swept up by Olympic fever? The domination of the television coverage, tweets, texts and news reports has made it difficult to avoid. The talk around the proverbial water cooler has certainly surrounded the Olympics.

The diversity of events provide something to appeal to most everyone: ski cross, ice skating, speed skating, curling, biathlon, bobsled and of course hockey. Although the events are diverse, the commonality is the perseverance of the athletes. The years of dedication and practice. The patience. The precision. The skill. The stamina. The drive.

And though we celebrate moments of triumph when medals are hung around the athletes’ necks, there are also moments of heartbreak. Those years of persistence and practice seem all for naught when a fall, mistake or misstep push the medals out of reach. How devastating to think that years of dedication can end in a loss by hundredths of a second or mere millimetres.

Regardless of their rank or whether or not they land on the podium, the athletes entertaining us in the Olympics, those who make us gasp and cheer, are most certainly successful by the very fact that they are Olympians. They are the best in their field.

As the Olympic flame is extinguished, let us be inspired to persevere and persist in our own lives, wherever our passions lie.

Recently I heard the term ‘heroically patient’. I am lucky enough to witness this characteristic every day. Many situations come to mind that require teachers to be heroically patient. Whether it is with the little one who quite literally cannot sit still, or with the boy who blurts out the most puzzling, bizarre statements in front of his peers, or with the one who hides under the table and refuses to speak, patience is required.

Kids come from all sorts of backgrounds and life experiences. Sometimes we know their history and sometimes we can only presume. Regardless, educators most certainly require a heroic amount of patience. If only our role was to educate our students. If only life, emotion and human frailty didn’t get in the way. If only.

Of course, most of us didn’t get into education to teach curriculum. We teach kids. And those life experiences, those roller-coasters of emotion, those tears, that laughter, that energy, all make our job worthwhile (and certainly never dull). Some days I draw on a little patience and some days I dig deep for a whole lot more. But when I receive a hug from the child who was previously under the table refusing to talk, I know why I do the job I do.

“Be patient with those who are learning, for the more patient you are the more they will learn.” Anonymous

I received a fitbit for Christmas. Among other things it tracks my steps. I am now more cognizant of each step I take and much more motivated to get active than I was before wearing it. My goal is 10 000 steps/day at least 4 times a week. I have to work at it though: 10 000 steps doesn’t just happen in the regular course of my day.

A few days ago I had a revelation. My father didn’t take any steps for the last 6 years of his life. Not one. And the three or four years before that, very few at all and each one of those was an effort. Multiple Sclerosis robbed him of this very basic of activities: walking.

With every step I take, I am grateful. I am grateful for the opportunity to stay active and mobile. I am grateful for my independence. When 10 000 steps seems hard to reach, I know my father is encouraging me to take those steps and more importantly to enjoy each and every one.

When I think back to this past week, the moments that stand out are those snippets of conversation with kids.

Between two girls and myself: “Are you coming to Galaxyland tonight?” “No, I can’t. I curl every Friday night.” “You can’t come because you have to curl your hair?” “Not that kind of curl!”

From a 7 year old who recently moved from Africa: “Summer, tomorrow?”

And my favourite of all: “Oh, you found someone to play Xs and Os with?” “No, I was playing against myself.” “Did you win?” “No, I was X.”

Leave it to kids to bring sunshine to our days, simply by what they say!

Recently I had reason to contemplate my accumulation of ‘stuff.’ Sometimes I blame our materialistic society for this vice, or the fact that I am a teacher and everyone knows that teachers are collectors. Regardless of where the blame lies, I admit to too much stuff!

Almost a decade ago a move from a house to a condo resulted in my downsizing. And then somehow right under my nose all that stuff multiplied once again. A few months ago a flood precipitated another downsizing. What I’ve realized is that most of my stuff is just that. Sure, some of it is valuable if considered monetarily, some of it is sentimental, but most of it is truly dispensable.

What I own does not define me. Not to say I don’t love a beautiful piece of art or that I can imagine my shelves without those rows and rows of books. Realistically though, life can change in one doctor visit. And the stuff we thought important is reduced to items on a shelf or clothes in a closet. Thanks to the people who surround me, life has so much more to offer!

“Peace.” This idea, this word, came up countless times this week. The dictionary defines peace as quiet and tranquility; freedom from disturbance.

Ultimately, I want peace in my life. To be at peace with myself and those around me. To live peacefully. To have moments of peace within each day. To live without regret. To accept past mistakes and move forward. To achieve harmony of thoughts and action. Peace of mind. A peaceful heart.

This morning I finished reading Wave: a memoir written by a woman who lost her entire family (husband, children and parents) during the tsunami of 2004. The writing of the book strikes me as an attempt to find peace after a life-altering tragedy.

After all, peace is not necessarily something that comes naturally in our lives. We have to work at it: in our relationships and within ourselves, despite our circumstance.

How will I find peace? I will do what I love and do it often… I will surround myself with those I love… I will be true to myself. The results are worth the effort; as Gandhi once said, “Peace is its own reward.”

This morning I finished reading I Am Malala: The Girl Who Stood Up for Education and Was Shot by the Taliban. Malala’s life changed in mere seconds when three gunshots were fired at her head. Yet after numerous surgeries and rigorous rehabilitation, she is making incredible strides. And though physically she is on the mend and her family reunited in the UK, they are all forced to remain away from home: away from the family, friends, work and life they built in Pakistan. New problems are imposed upon them as they deal with their altered reality.

For all of us, regardless of country or circumstance, there are times in life when dreams falter and reality alters the shape of those dreams forever. As we grow up and older we have a vision of the way things will be, conscious or not. Then, cards are dealt and sometimes the hands aren’t quite what we expect. Loss, illness, violence and broken relationships were not part of the imagined landscape. The challenge then becomes how can we make the best of this reality? How can we alter our dreams and vision of what life was going to be?

Throughout her young life, Malala (and millions of girls like her) have faced hardship, turmoil and terror like none we can imagine. Her dreams? “Peace in every home, every street, every village, every country. Education for every boy and every girl in the world.” These dreams put her in harm’s way. There are those who do not want to hear her words; those who would do anything to silence her.

How is Malala dealing with her new reality? The last line of her book holds the answer: “I am Malala. My world has changed but I have not.”

Those who find happiness in life are those able to adapt and adjust to life’s circumstance, those with a purpose greater than themselves. This young girl has lessons for all of us about accepting reality, fighting for change and altering one’s dreams. Malala will not be silenced.