This survey came out a few weeks ago, but I’m still thinking about it.
The survey, conducted by the American Association of University Women, looks at sexual harassment in grades 7-12. Sadly, I can’t imagine that the results are very surprising to any teacher, or to anyone who remembers what school was like. (I wonder how constant this has been. It’s too bad no one asked these questions generations ago.)
The survey (of almost 2,000 students) found that 56% of girls and 40% of boys experienced some sexual harassment during the past year. Honestly, that number sounds like it could be a little low. The survey designers defined sexual harassment as “unwelcome sexual behavior that takes place in person or electronically.” I just think there are probably kids who don’t even realize that what they’re hearing is “unwelcome” or necessarily sexual.
The most common form of harassment, as the survey broke it down, was “sexual comments, gestures, or jokes.” 46% of girls reported dealing with that. Again, this couldn’t be surprising to a teacher. We hear it all day long, and there’s plenty of places we can look for the root causes. But I don’t think that’s really our job. Our job – one more part of it, one more often overlooked and and under-appreciated part of it, one more part of it for which we are usually untrained – is to address it when we hear it and to treat it seriously.
The survey found that 87% of those who experienced some sexual harassment reported negative effects “such as absenteeism, poor sleep and stomachaches,” according to the New York Times article. All three of those side-effects make school almost impossible.
When it comes to “being called gay or lesbian in a negative way,” 18% of girls and 18% of boys answered yes. But, again, I think every teacher would bet, based on only anecdotal evidence, that such language is more ubiquitous than that suggests. That survey question reflects direct language (i.e., “you’re so gay”, and not indirect language (“this story is gay”) which we hear all the time, and which has to be almost as harmful).
I’m not sure what we do here. I suppose, like so much else, it comes down to every teacher being on the same page and being consistent about how we run our classrooms. I make a big deal about the negative gay language, and I’ve had a few students actually tell me (after class, of course) how much they appreciate the stand I take. They tell me that most teachers just pretend not to hear it.
The “sexual comments, gestures, or jokes” might actually be a little more complicated to address. They’re getting the message that those jokes are acceptable from a lot of different places. Heck, I push them to find the sexual jokes in the text when we read Shakespeare (“Why, then, is my pump well flowered?”).
When I try to teach feminist literary theory to seniors, I get a ton of push-back from both the boys and the girls. “You’re just reading too much into every little thing,” or “People could just be overly sensitive about anything.” These are the kinds of things I hear when I point out misogynistic language or themes in texts or in the media.
So it’s understandable, on one level, why teachers will turn the other ear, so to speak. We have to choose our battles, and we can’t always put aside ten minutes of class time (or more) to address a side comment we heard muttered in the back corner. We’ve probably got a test coming up we have to prepare them for.
But that’s just it. We do have a test coming up: are they going to be good people? But I don’t even think that’s one of the Common Core State Standards.
I think this is a good example of one of those things teachers should get used to and encourage.
My first instinct when, after I directed students’ attention to the board where I had written a homework reminder, I saw them whip out their phones was, predictably, “NO! BAD!”
But I didn’t say that, because I have seen this before, and once I realized what they were doing, I was proud of them. I don’t see any reason to push onto students a study skill or organizational strategy that may have worked for us back in the paper age but that might be completely inauthentic to them. I definitely couldn’t argue that writing down homework in a day planner works well for my students.
There are still plenty of pen-and-paper kids, for sure. But there are plenty of kids who would never look at a piece of paper, or a planner, and these kids might look at their phones every few minutes. For these kids, taking phone pictures of the homework board is great idea.
So, “Everybody write down the homework” should probably turn into, “Everybody write down or take a picture of the homework.” I don’t say that yet, though. It still sounds too weird to me.
I’m raising my hand.
It’s remarkable how much of an impact a great librarian can have on the teaching and learning that happens in a school. I have no idea who the librarian was at the high school I went to, and it was a very good high school. I don’t know if that person worked behind the scenes with my teachers, if the roles of librarians have changed, or if I just happen to be especially lucky right now to have one who works so closely with us and provides so much practical support.
At the beginning of the school year, I bring all my students down to our library to give them a chance to browse for a book for SSR (sustained silent reading). Our librarian, Kristin McKeown, has a library classroom stocked with her own “staff picks” of the library’s most appealing (and provocative) books, arranged into a few broad categories. She then conducts a short mini-lesson during which she generates a ton of student interest and buy-in for independent reading.
But it’s the research project that prompted this post right now. All 9th grade teachers in my department embark on a collaboratively planned research assignment around now, and Kristin is instrumental in it. I won’t go into the instruction she provides for students when they’re down in the library, but I just wanted to share something new she has done this year: a series of Jing videos outlining the many steps of the research process that she has posted on the library’s website.
Here’s one of the four videos that make up Day 1 of research in the library: “Developing Basic Knowledge: Using a double-bubble map.”
She used Jing to make the videos (and Inspiration for the drawing of the thinking maps – a district-wide focus for us this year). I haven’t used that myself yet, but she says it’s very easy, and so does Nik Peachy. Due to the number of anticipated views, she had to pay a monthly fee to Screencast to host them. (Youtube is free, of course, but, as Kristin put it, “we have obvious access issues there.”)
I’m so excited that these videos are there for my students. One of the most surefire headaches for both students and teachers when it comes to these projects is when a student is absent for one of the library research days. This has always been one of those problems that seems insurmountably complicated. And it always happens, of course. And to many, many students. Every year. And still, each time a student returns to class and asks “What’d I miss?” I end up scratching my head in futility, wondering how I’m possibly ever going to catch them up.
- I know that my morning commute always take me around 35 minutes to get to work, and I know where the typical slowdowns are. But I still feel surprised and frustrated when I get to them.
- Or when there’s an ongoing construction project that I should have anticipated, but when I get to it, the detour still throws me for a loop.
- Or when I’m surprised by how many calories are in a milkshake or a cheeseburger.
Anyway, problem solved.
Go to this site, watch the videos. Come see me if you have any questions. Done.
Then there are the students who are so excited that they are in the library instead of in the classroom, sitting next to a friend instead of a non-friend, and in front of a computer instead of a row of desks, that there’s no way they’ll be able to pay attention to the live instruction.
And, of course, there are all those students with different learning needs for whom a video that they can stop and start at their leisure will allow them to go at a pace that ensures they can more fully understand all the steps in the process.
These are all points that are argued in the flipped classroom debate, but in this context it seems like a no-brainer. We’re still doing class time the way we’ve always done it, but if you missed it, in any sense of the word “missed,” here it is again, all spelled out for you.
Why don’t we do this for kids all the time? Because we don’t all have great librarians.
Okay, you can put your hand down now.
This is a pretty simple point, but sometimes I’m surprised by how helpful CTRL+F (or Command+F on a Mac) can be when you’ve just got one computer and one projector in a classroom. My friend Joelle showed me this article, via EdTechSandyK, that says 90% of people don’t know about it.
I find it especially useful when discussing a short story, or any text that’s available online (like Shakespeare). When leading an activity that requires students to find textual support, it’s great to be able to instantly project that line on the screen so all the students can see it and copy it into their notes. I also enjoy showing off my mastery of a text when, within seconds, I can find the exact line a student is trying to paraphrase.
(Yes, I realize I just admitted feeling proud about something that most people would consider freakishly nerdy, but that’s okay.)
I was doing this the other day with Shirley Jackson’s “The Lottery.” I love how many short stories are available online, by the way. And while I’m mentioning the lottery, I’d like to recommend the following (no tech) activity for anyone who might teach it.
[Don’t read this if you haven’t read the short story yet. And go read it! It’s so good.]
It happened spontaneously last year when a student asked, “Can we act out our own lottery?” They were joking, of course, but I thought about a “safe” version, using crumpled up paper as stones, and we went ahead and did it. This year, I was prepared for it, with tiny slips of paper all counted out and ready to go. I sat at a table at the front of the class, calling students up by their last names, just like in the story. They become wonderfully anxious during this, making nervous jokes, again, just as in the story. At the end, we all unfold our papers to see whose has the little black dot. That person stands in the center of the room and withstands a barrage of paper “stones.” Then I guide the students through a written reflection on the experience and how it may have generated a new understanding of Jackson’s purpose.
Funny postscript: I was observed by an administrator during this lesson, and I asked him if he wanted to participate when counting the slips of paper for the mock lottery. He agreed. Guess who pulled the “winning” ticket?
(It was the administrator.)
Six or seven years ago, when I was a brand new teacher, I had the idea to make my students design Facebook profiles for characters from the novel we were reading. I believe it was one of those last minute ideas, and I didn’t even have them do it on paper; they did it on the blackboard. I assigned each group a rectangular section of the board, and they had 10 minutes to draw a mock-up of a Facebook profile, filling it in with as much information about the character as they could cram in there.
They had fun with it, if I recall correctly, and I thought it was a neat way for me to assess their familiarity with the characters. I think it also allowed the students to relate to the characters and to consider them as fully fleshed-out personalities.
A couple of years later, when my school was on a 1:1 laptop model, I had 9th graders create Myspace profiles for characters from Romeo & Juliet. I assessed them on the appropriateness of the theme they chose, given the character’s tastes, and the comments they would write to their “friends” throughout the reading of the play. This was fun for the students who did use Myspace at that time (most, not all), although it was a logistical nightmare for me. And I don’t think Myspace liked it when people made fake profiles.
So it was with great interest, and a sense of my own gradual aging process, that I saw Fakebook today, via Larry Ferlazzo’s post on the best web 2.0 tools. Fakebook basically lets you do the same thing: make a profile for a literary or historical character, complete with all the fun trimmings – photos, videos, status updates, having certain friends, etc.
This gave me a strange sense of the passage of time. And once I was done feeling old and prescient, I started thinking more seriously about having my students use this tool. But I’m wary about it here, mostly due to my increasing reluctance to assign much homework, let alone homework that requires internet access. I have a few students in each of my classes for whom internet access is not constant. I also get very poor returns on homework in general. If my school had a 1:1 laptop model, I think I’d be all over this. But without it, I’m starting to consider revisiting my old “profile on the board” idea. It’s got the buy-in that comes from tapping into knowledge of Facebook, but it lends itself to collaboration with actual peers much more easily.
And while I think it’s great that someone built a tool that looks just like Facebook to let kids tap into all the multimedia options the web provides, I also think there might be something sort of fun and novel about creating a Facebook profile on the board. But maybe I’m just being sentimental.
I saw this little piece in Good about CliffsNotes new enterprise: six-minute animated videos on Shakespeare’s plays.
I watched their Romeo & Juliet, and, over the course of those six minutes, I found myself on a roller coaster of reactions, from excitement to hesitation to dread to…acceptance? Not sure, let’s see where this goes.
Ok. First, the good.
It’s pretty entertaining, so it could be engaging to a lot of kids. And I think many English teachers share the goal, when they approach Shakespeare, to get the kids to actually enjoy the story. And that bit about jeggings at the end made me giggle.
It’s concise and thorough. I guess that’s what CliffsNotes has always done well. They crammed most of the important stuff into that video, which seems pretty hard to do.
It’s accurate. I liked the inclusion of key passages from the actual text. Students may recognize those lines more readily when they come across them in class, or they may feel more equipped to write or talk about them after having seen and heard them being spoken.
It’s visual. We always remind students that Shakespeare’s plays were meant to be seen, not read. So, there we go.
It’s interactive. The way you con hover over a character to get the name and then read their brief overview below the video is pretty ingenious, I think. It can keep a viewer engaged on a whole other level, and those little write-ups aren’t so bad, given how brief they are. They even worked in their little theme write-ups at the end. There’s no way to really read all those while the video is running, but you can pause it if you wanted to and see them all.
So all that seems pretty great. It’s a free and easy resource for kids to use at home that might help them wrap their heads around the plot and/or engage them in the unit they’re doing in class. What’s the problem?
I guess the best way to put it is that it’s a CliffsNotes video for Shakespeare. The danger here is the same as the danger that CliffsNotes has always presented: that students will rely on this instead of reading the actual text. And, of course, that’s what most of them do, no matter how often we might tell them how evil we think that behavior is. It’s easy!
More specifically, I began to doubt the value of the Romeo & Juliet video when it got silly. In an effort to engage young viewers, Paris becomes a preening dandy and Friar Laurence a bumbling old fool. If those depictions were to color a young reader’s impressions of those characters instead of the subtleties of the text, well, I think many English teachers would shed a few tears.
Then there’s the substitution of silly for pathos. Why does Capulet need to make a joke about losing his deposit on the wedding when he finds what he believes is his dead daughter? That’s a heartbreaking part of the play, but I wouldn’t know it from the video.
My aforementioned dread came from imagining every possible scenario: A student watching the video on his phone in a bathroom stall before a test. On its own, that doesn’t bother me so much. It’s just an updated version of flipping though the paper CliffsNotes or asking a friend how it ended on the way into class to prepare for a reading quiz. Nothing really new. But then I imagined having to read an essay that describes how Romeo was able to kill Paris at the end by surprising him, since Paris “didn’t see that coming.” But, as I think about it more, that isn’t really new either. We see students regurgitate their peers’ wrong answers all the time, and that gives us a clear indicator of how we should assess their understanding (or their effort).
It all comes down to what we do in the classroom. If I taught Romeo & Juliet by assigning all the reading for homework and then giving reading quizzes on plot the next day, my students would have to watch the video. I couldn’t blame them. They’d get some stuff wrong, some stuff right, and, if I weren’t writing this blog post and therefore aware of these videos, I might be none the wiser. Those students who didn’t read the play wouldn’t get out of Shakespeare what I always hope they’ll get out Shakespeare – an appreciation for the language and for the insights into the human condition. And that would be bad.
But there are always students who don’t do the reading. And there are always students who will seek out every shortcut they can find. And when it comes to Shakespeare, there has always been a glut of resources available to students looking for a little help or looking to cheat. That’s why it comes down to what we do in the classroom. I have to come up with activities that require some actual wrestling with the text. I have to help students explore the nuances in Juliet’s character.
But even if I’m doing those things, and working as hard as I can to provide scaffolding for my struggling students, there will still be some who feel lost. And that’s where I think videos like these have real value. We may spend a month engaging with the text in class, poring over speeches, and digging into characters’ motivations. But there will still be a handful of students at the end of that month who will not grasp how the elements of the plot fit together, or who will confuse Mercutio and Benvolio. This video is perfect for them, and I’ll probably point them in this direction when the time comes.
We discussed the Common Core State Standards in a department meeting today, and we looked at the rationale behind the focus on text complexity. Basically, high school graduates are looking seriously underprepared to do the kind of reading they’re required to do after high school, whether in college or in the workplace. So we have to make sure we’re giving them plenty of exposure to complex texts. Some people might think that allowing them to watch videos like these is another example of the coddling that has run rampant in schools, hurting our students by lowering our standards for their achievement.
But Shakespeare obviously wrote some pretty complex texts, and a video like this might provide the necessary scaffolding for some students to be able to actually engage with the text in class in a way that would previously have been out of reach.
Matt Richtel’s front page Sunday NYTimes piece on the tech-free Waldorf school in Los Altos has sparked a vigorous debate. In short, the article notes that several Silicon Valley exec-types send their kids to this expensive school that follows the Waldorf philosophy of eschewing technology in the classroom and instead teaching old-school things like handwriting and knitting. These kids do well, most of them will go to college, and some of their parents are happy to delay their technology inundation. The point, I suppose, is to question how effective or necessary it really is to make sure that classroom are equipped with computers, internet, and gadgets.
I think it’s an interesting model, but I don’t think it necessarily provokes any interesting ideas regarding technology in regular classrooms.
This is a community where, as many Times readers have commented, families can afford to shun technology. Parents are highly educated and highly involved in their kids’ education. There are tons of resources at home.
Perhaps more importantly, the teachers at this school are trained in – and believe in – a specific and well-established pedagogy. The administration supports the teachers and they all share a common vision.
To me, these factors are much more relevant to any Waldorf alum’s success than the absence of computers (or even whiteboards) in their classrooms. And I tend to agree with Ira David Socol’s blog post calling the article a bit of class warfare by the Times, mainly because I think it’s dangerous to suggest to voters that spending money on equipping public schools with basic technology would be a waste of taxpayer funds.
I can’t say whether that’s really Richtel’s agenda, as this Waldorf parent contends, but it does seem feasible that some readers might say, “Well if those kids do fine with blackboards and chalk, why should I pay for computers or wireless access in my public schools?”
For starters, some of the quoted arguments from parents and teachers in the article have major flaws. Like this one, from a teacher who used food to teach fractions, implying that there are better, more tactile ways to engage kids than by using computers.
“For three weeks, we ate our way through fractions,” she said. “When I made enough fractional pieces of cake to feed everyone, do you think I had their attention?”
Nutritional abuse aside, I don’t even spend money on Dum-Dums for my kids, let alone cake. Not gonna happen.
Then there’s this one, from a Google exec who is proud that his kids don’t yet know how to use it.
“It’s supereasy. It’s like learning to use toothpaste,” Mr. Eagle said. “At Google and all these places, we make technology as brain-dead easy to use as possible. There’s no reason why kids can’t figure it out when they get older.”
I used to think that, too, until I actually worked with a classroom full of “digital natives” who clearly weren’t figuring it out. I’ve written about it.
So it’s easy to write off this whole Silicon Valley Waldorf thing as another example of the privileged being able to pretend times are different, like this guy, who paid $30 for this cellphone handset.
But I definitely understand the backlash against the mad rush to fill classrooms with technology. I know from experience – both my own and those of teacher-colleagues of mine – that some schools will dive head-first into expensive and time-consuming affairs with a particular technology because it hits on the buzzword of the moment (ahem…curriculum mapping…ahem). And when professional development hours are devoted to these projects, they are taking teachers away from the humanistic parts of teaching that Waldorf teachers rightly value.
In talking about this with my brilliant wife, she brought up Sesame Street, which sought to use the medium of television to bring a research-based curriculum to all preschoolers, in effect leveling the playing field between those who could afford preschool and those who could not.
And that’s the impetus behind the best edtech happening right now, but it requires a degree of infrastructure in our schools.
Now, my brilliant wife went on, many people took Sesame Street‘s apparent endorsement of TV too far and plopped their kids on the couch for hours on end, hoping the magic of educational programming would make their kids smart.
So we see where she’s going with this. There are definitely teachers who rely on their TVs in the classroom as a crutch in lieu of a lesson plan, and we may well do this with our internet and our iPads in the future (or the present). An overburdened teacher in a difficult school may even be more likely to do this.
So it’s everything in moderation, isn’t it? Good teachers know they have to continue to engage their students on a human-to-human level, just as they know they cannot pretend that the ballpoint pen hasn’t been invented yet.
And it’s about thoughtfulness and buy-in from all parties. If administrators, teachers, and parents all agree that we should try using iPads in math because of a body of research that suggests good results, we should do it. And if we all are swayed by a body of research that recommends teaching knitting and cursive handwriting, let’s go for that.
Enough false dichotomies, enough reactionary extremes. Most schools need to be equipped with computers and wireless internet. And if not, there better be tons of cake.
Here’s what I realized today: my students don’t know how to use Google.
You might think that sounds crazy. Kids have grown up using Google. It’s second nature, right?
I don’t think so. I think that growing up in the information age may be having a perversely counterintuitive effect on them. Namely, they have no idea how to find information.
I took my frosh to the computer lab today to give them time to work on their essays on “The Cask of Amontillado.” They were armed with teacher-approved outlines and sample essays. I got them signed on to GoogleDocs and settled in for what I hoped would be an hour of frenzied typing with plenty of over-the-shoulder writing instruction.
Not so much. I did end up hopping around the room like a madman, giving plenty of instruction, but very little of it pertained to writing. Starting with the most frequently asked, these were the top questions of the day:
1. What was the name of the guy in the story?
2. How do you spell “catacombs”?
3. What’s Poe’s first name?
4. How does this sound so far?
Oh, how I wish question #4 were at the top of that list! That would have meant that I spent my day helping students articulate their ideas and clarify their writing. I love doing that! But instead, I spent my day responding to those other questions. Let’s look at them.
1. What was the name of the guy in the story?
I’m not even worried about the fact that they can’t remember these two names (the only two names – besides Luchesi – in the story). Who cares? And that’s exactly the point – there’s no reason to memorize the names of the characters because we can find them so easily! Or so I thought. To each kid that asked this, I told them to find out themselves. But how? We didn’t bring the textbooks down! Use the tools in front of you, I said. There are no tools in front of me! This actual exchange happened once, which caused me to mime ripping my hair out (I’m quite bald, so this always looks odd). I said, you have Google and the entire internet in front of you (you know, the most powerful tool in human history?).
After this exchange, I simply told each kid that asked this question to Google it. This instruction was usually met with a moment of hesitation. Some even asked, “How?”
Seriously. How do you google it. Can you imagine how difficult it was for me to hold back the tone of condescension in my voice when I explained, “Well, you type “cask of amontillado” into that Google search bar”? In fact, you don’t even have to do that. You can type “cask,” and Google will figure out the rest. Then you click on any 667,000 results that pop up 0.23 seconds later, and find the characters’ names in a plot summary or in the text itself.
2. How do you spell “catacombs”?
I often hear students cry out in distress, “How do I right-click?!” when in a Mac computer lab. It seems a lot of them rely on that technique for spell checking their Word documents at home. The fact that GoogleDocs doesn’t even let you control-click to find suggested corrections threw them into utter despair. “What do I do? I don’t know how to spell that?” Google it, I said, again. “But how – I don’t know how to spell it?” Just type a guess into Google, I said, trust me.
Again, with great trepidation, they’d begin to type their guess at the word into the Google search bar. Did you mean catacombs? “Oh look ,there it is.” Yup. Whaddaya know?
You can probably guess how question #3 went at this point, too.
So what does this mean? How is it that these students seem so unable to find out the simplest pieces of information? Is it laziness? Is it easier to wait with a raised hand or (who am I kidding) call out and try to get a teacher to give you a piece of information than to type it into Google yourself? Is it really possible they didn’t know that Google could help them?
To my generation, and to all those that came before me, the magical ease of Google may be due to the baseline we have for finding information. When you grew up having to walk/bike/get driven to a library, search card catalogs, follow the Dewey Decimal System, then search through the volume you finally find for an answer to your question, Google’s 0.23 second solution is incomprehensibly easy.
But when Google is your baseline, when you and your parents have always been able to find the answer to any question in an instant on your phone, maybe the act of typing the word in the search bar doesn’t seem so easy. Maybe it’s only natural to try the easier version first: asking the teacher.
I’m afraid, though, that the ease of finding right answers somehow leads to more indifference about making sure your answers are right. I hate to launch into a “kids these days” rant, but, for example, I Googled “dewey decimal system” a few moments ago just to make sure that I was right about the spelling and capitalization. I was pretty sure I was right, but since I only had to actually type in “dewe” before Google guessed what I wanted, and then it only took another 0.14 seconds for confirmation, it seemed worth it to me. And I know there will always be good students (like me) and less enthusiastic ones, but still, it’s troublesome how many “Cast of Amontilado” essays I’ve read over the past couple of years.
But why would ease of finding information lead to indifference? Is it the same reason that I’ve never been to the top of the Empire State Building? Growing up in New York, you know it’s always there, so why do it now? Growing up with Google, you know the answers are always there, so why find them now?
And whose job is it to teach kids how to Google? We 9th grade English teachers spend weeks teaching them how to navigate the SIRS and Gale databases to find scholarly articles, but that is starting to seem as sensible as teaching someone how to make a cheese soufflé instead of how to fry an egg.
I’m not mad at middle school teachers here, the way high school teachers sometimes get when our kids can’t write a sentence. I get it – we all thought they knew about Google! We see them manipulate their phones so dexterously, always texting their friends and using savvy-sounding abbreviations and even hashtags. And we think we’re on top of it with all of our 21st century learning goals and media literacy objectives.
But maybe we need to take a step backwards first. We’re all trying to make sure they become lifelong learners. It’d probably be good starting point, then, if they knew that the screen in front of them has the answers to pretty much every question. And it’s really not that hard to find them.
T.H.E Journal has an interesting feature in its October issue: “Educators Dream Up Their Ideal Mobile Device.” Most of the ideas are variations of smartphones and tablets, but more rugged and with better battery life. I really liked this “iDesk” idea from Kyle Ross, an assistant principal at Chaparral High School in Scottsdale, AZ (go Giants).
Imagine a glass-top student desk that is like a larger version of an iPad–a touchscreen computer desk connected via WiFi to a school’s network. Using cloud computing, students would sit down and log into their desks, where they can respond to teacher prompts, complete and submit work, and connect with other students–all without needing additional computers or mobile devices. As smartphones evolve more into full-function computers, students’ mobile devices can be linked to the iDesk.
I had a good time staring at this artist’s mock-up and imagining what it would be like to have these in the classroom. And while it might just seem like fun, far-off fantasy, I probably would have thought the same thing 10 years ago if someone had shown me a classroom full of iPads. Or 20 years ago if someone had shown me a classroom full of laptops. So who knows?
Of course, by the time this is feasible, touchscreens might not even be engaging to kids anymore since they’ll be so used to them. But at least we’ll be able to tempt them with the privilege of using the antique pencil sharpener as a reward for good behavior.
I was having one of those low energy, low enthusiasm days. Not the typical “Ugh, I’m tired and that coffee didn’t do the trick” kind, either. The scarily bad kind. The “This is all pointless and I’ve got nothing to offer” kind.
I was going through the motions with my 9th grade English class – some silent reading, some grammar stuff – and then it was time to finish reading “Cask of Amontillado.” I looked over my notes from last year and saw that I had them reading it in small groups, taking notes on setting and mood together. I had made a note then that it had worked well, and I was honestly looking forward to getting “offstage” and letting them figure out the story for themselves.
But before launching them into groups, I gave them an option. I said we can read it together as a class or in small groups. I do this a lot when I think I know what they’ll say. When students believe they are navigating, I think they might be more interested in where their ship is headed. So I was sure they’d all choose groups. Of course, I was wrong. To make sure it wasn’t just the loud students who yelled out “whole class,” I asked every single student to vote, one by one, and they all said “whole class.” Peer pressure aside, I think they actually wanted this. This is my ridiculously small class: (don’t hate me) 19 students. We had begun reading the story during the previous class, and they said they had recognized that it would be hard to read it on their own.
So I was to remain onstage. I had them take out their notes so they could record details of setting for an upcoming essay. My enthusiasm level was about to flatline, but I grabbed the book, pulled a chair into the middle of the room, sat down, and began to read.
And everything changed.
As I read to them, stopping often to ask for paraphrases of tricky sentences or to make sure they could visualize what Poe is describing, two unexpected things happened. They remained engaged, and I began to enjoy myself.
I couldn’t help it. It’s a great story, and as I delved into it with them I couldn’t help but get excited. Like when I read this exchange, for example:
He raised it to his lips with a leer. He paused and nodded to me familiarly, while his bells jingled.
“I drink,” he said, “to the buried that repose around us.”
“And I to your long life.”
Shudder. Even though this might be the 17th time I’ve read that, I still shuddered. And when I hinted at its irony to my students, I saw that some of them had joined me.
It happened again a moment later, when Montresor removes the trowel from his cloak to prove, in a twisted jest, that he is a “mason.”
When we finally got to the tiny “interior recess” at the “most remote end of the crypt” where Montresor chains Fortunato to the wall, we stopped at length to make sure we had Poe’s dimensions right: “in depth about four feet, in width three, in height six or seven.” I roughly marked out this space in the middle of the room so that the students could see it was the size of a closet. When Fortunato “reached the extremity of the niche, and finding his progress arrested by the rock, stood stupidly bewildered,” I had a student demonstrate by walking blindly into the wall in the back of the room (he’s okay).
All the while, students are copying down descriptions of setting to use for their essays, but they’re also reading and responding to the story. “That’s messed up!” or “This dude is twisted!” or “I’d be so scared.”
How often do I wish that they can do that kind of simple multi-tasking? How often do I wish they would actually pay attention to what we are discussing and see if they find any value in it?
And what was the brilliant, engaging use of technology here? A textbook, a notebook, a pencil. Now, I used plenty of technology to set it up. We looked at pictures of catacombs online and we’ll use Popplet later to outline our essays. But for the actual story, we turned off the projector and pretty much had a good old-fashioned story time.
The success of that kind of lesson every now and again reminds me why some veteran teachers are so resistant to school or district initiatives to incorporate technology into their teaching. Sometimes we are led to believe that they want us to use tons of brand new technology every single day. Sometimes that might be what they actually want. But it shouldn’t be, and I think teachers are sometimes afraid of giving up the kind of teaching that they know works for a lot of kids – and for them. Besides burning out those expensive bulbs in our projectors, we (teachers and students) need a break from the new stuff to get back to the most powerful tools we really have: great stories.
Oh, and I even tried to play a youtube recording of Vincent Price reading the story, but the students all complained that he was too hard to understand. So score another point for the live reader (their teacher).
So while I was slightly disappointed when they asked me to read it – and I made fun of them for being babies who need their storytime – in the end it saved me. When the bell rang I was on a high. That story is just too good. And seeing it get through to a room full of reluctant readers is really why I got into this gig. I know I’m supposed to blog about technology here, but this no-tech day ended up feeling like a revelation to me.