Lost in the Woods

Whenever I introduce active reading to learners, I like to equate comprehension and the quest for meaning in a text to hiking in the woods. Having been lost in the woods a few times (born usually of my own curiosity and ignorance), I like to ask learners what they would do if they found themselves lost in the woods. Invariably, learners decide that standing in the middle of the woods and admitting you are lost is a good start since accepting such a thing can be difficult. But what if that's all we choose to do - just admit that we are lost and then wait around for help to arrive? Many readers do the same when they encounter difficult text - they stop and wait around for someone to help.

Since many of the classrooms in our building use the rotational model of instruction, learners are expected to work independently and collaboratively in addition to the more traditional direct instruction led by the facilitator. Many of our learners find themselves "lost in the woods" trying to figure out the content in our classrooms, particularly in the independent and collaborative rotations. When they acknowledge being lost, the first response is often to raise a hand or go directly to the facilitator for assistance. While many will say that this is our job as facilitators, we should wonder if we aren't teaching these learners that there will always be someone nearby to supply an answer and/or clarify their confusion. I cannot help but envision someone lost in the middle of the woods with his/her hand raised in the air and wondering why no one has arrived to lend aid. Perhaps if they shake their hand and arm back and forth with vigor it will alter the outcome….

We are facilitators and as such our job is to facilitate learning. This goes beyond just our content knowledge to making sure learners first attempt to help themselves before immediately coming to us. In order for this to happen, it is necessary for us to help learners understand that the first, second, third…attempts to correct confusion may not always be successful. We may reread a portion of text many times, or work to simplify an equation several times, or even walk in a direction that might actually lead us away from where we want to be. But what matters is that we are attempting to embrace our confusion by doing something, by working through the mystery and the unknown in an attempt to figure it out. This is the essence of learning.

We all need facilitators in our lives, but the best ones are those who encourage us to figure it out on our own and provide some tools when needed. Raising our hand in life does indeed draw attention and illicit assistance, if available. All we've learned, however, is that we know how to raise our hand for someone to offer us some assistance - without ever needing to struggle and figure things out. Learners need this struggle in order for real learning to occur. When we end up "lost in the woods," a raised hand won't mean much, but knowing how to think through the situation and take some steps to change it will.

Permission to Suck

This summer I read The Heart to Start by David Kadavy, a short read with the subtitle "Stop Procrastinating & Start Creating." As someone who struggles with getting started and fighting the productivity-killing "What ifs…?" that plague my thinking process, this book needed me to read it. Its straightforward, direct style provided an explanation of what keeps us from growing in our work and some simple advice for taking the first step towards that growth. One particular chapter - "Permission to Suck" - connected closely with the work that I want to do for the facilitators and learners in our building. Because I struggle with getting started, always aware of the possibility of failing, I have become adept at not starting. This is not a way to promote growth. Kadavy writes, "If we never get started, we never get good, and you can't get good without first being bad. …[Y]ou need to accept that your first attempts will not be up to your standards. You have to give yourself Permission to Suck." Pardon my next thought, but I suck at giving myself Permission to Suck. In my mind it is akin to waking each day with a goal of mediocrity in all that I do, or sitting back and being content with a rating of "Satisfactory" for my work. But at the same time, I know that my inability to grant myself Permission to Suck is simply my pride reacting to my failing efforts. I need to grant myself permission because if I don't, I'll never grow as an educator. I need to understand that not all parts of my efforts will result in overwhelming success. Some will simply suck. The focus should be on what is learned from simply getting started and working to create and improve. So as you prepare for the new school year, for tackling new challenges and pushing yourself as an educator, remember to cut yourself some slack and give yourself Permission to Suck. Not only is this a valuable piece of advice for facilitators, but it is equally important for learners to understand that we need to Suck before we get better.

A Passion for Vacuums

My youngest son collects vacuum cleaners. He's seven. These are not toy vacuums - they are the real deal. His collection currently contains about 33 different vacuums, from a 1960s Hoover Constellation canister vacuum that actually hovers above the ground on a cushion of air to a brand new, from-the-box Shop Vac he received for his birthday.

Now, many of you are thinking, "This is a great hobby! His room is probably clean all the time." It’s a nice thought, really, but wholly untrue. His room is generally a mess and often looks more like a thrift store warehouse than a bedroom. No, Sam is good at cleaning other things (when asked), but does not see that his own room should also receive the benefit of his mass of floor cleaning implements.

A couple of weeks ago I was driving with Sam on our way home from running some errands we he asked me when trash night would be for our neighborhood. As a father my suspicions were naturally raised and I resisted the urge to rush home and search the trash cans to see what Sam and his brother Ben may have hidden there. I told him the two days most people have their trash collected in our neighborhood and then asked why he wanted to know. He told me we had just passed a vacuum cleaner outside someone's garage. He wanted to come back on trash night because he thought it looked like one they would be throwing away.

At the time, I figured there would be no harm in collecting the "trash" vacuum because it probably had a burned-out motor or was otherwise broken beyond repair. This would be a good lesson: it's at the curb for a reason.  The following evening - trash night - we drove past the same home and there at the curb was a vacuum cleaner, set to make a journey to the landfill. And by landfill I mean the workshop in our basement. Ben and Sam loaded the "trash" into the car, and the "trash" made its way to the Baker workshop.

At this point you may be wondering about the point of this story. That's a good sign because it means you are still reading. Within minutes Sam had his vacuum tools out and a bucket of soapy water ready to go. For the next hour he worked dismantling and cleaning the new vacuum. He had to be told multiple times that it was past his bedtime until I finally had to turn off the lights and follow him upstairs to his room and bed.

He snuck back downstairs overnight for a time (unbeknownst to me or my wife until the following morning) to work on his new project and was up before everyone in the house to continue. He found videos on YouTube showing him how to fix issues and reassemble parts of the machine. He was completely engrossed in the project, occasionally asking for some assistance from me and watching intently as I removed a screw in an difficult location or reassembled some piece of the housing. He thought critically about how to disassemble certain parts and analyzed how the machine was likely held together when he wanted to reach a certain component.

Sam is passionate about his vacuums and about taking things apart to see how they work. But he rarely displays that same passion and drive when it comes to school. He does well in school, but he rarely seems so engaged in his school learning as he is with his vacuum refurbishing and repair. So when I read What School Could Be (Dintersmith 2018) a few weeks ago, I thought again and again about the passion for learning that is often missing from students in school. Students, when asked, often come to school because they have to - an obligation rather than a desire. Wouldn’t it be nice if the students we teach arrived at school each day passionate about their learning and wanting to be in school?

In Chapter 8 of the book, the author discusses "doing better things" instead of "doing things better." This is an interesting manner of thinking, especially at this point in the summer when our minds have turned to the coming school year. So much of new-year thinking involves reflecting upon the previous year and figuring out how to improve. But does this improvement necessarily mean doing what we've done before in a better way (doing things better), or should it mean doing school in a different, more meaningful way (doing better things)? I thought about my son Sam, as well as my other two children Katie and Ben, and how each of them is passionate about certain things. Then I thought about how many of those passions are or are not reflected in the learning they engage in at school. I know that Sam cannot spend his entire day working to restore and repair vacuums. But what if his learning in school could be tied to his passions? What if he woke up each morning excited to go to school and learn, the same way he reacts to finding a vacuum in a thrift store or salvaging one from the trash collectors?

What if we begin to rethink the way we teach students so that their passion for learning drives what we do in classrooms? What if we do better things instead of trying to do the old things better? I would love to share with everyone a tried and true plan for implementing these ideas, but I cannot offer that at the moment. Truthfully, I'm not even sure exactly what each school day would look like; however I think part of doing better things is understanding where our students are with their learning and what their passions are, and then tailoring the student learning experience to connect passion with content. Imagine students excited about coming to school and passionately engaged in their learning. It's a nice visual and it is possible, because each of us has witnessed a "Sam" truly engaged in learning. Now we just have to figure out how to make that happen in schools. 

(Author's note: The vacuum rescued from the trash is fully operational. It has a new belt, filter, and bag. Currently Sam is not interested in selling this one back to the original owners, as suggested by his father.)

Plan A, Plan B, Plan C...

In my family we subscribe to the multi-plan approach to all projects, the Law of Multiple Plans. Plan A is what should happen, according to a well-meaning (read: diabolical), manufacturer-provided set of directions. These are some examples of the prep time included with Plan A in various instruction manuals I have utilized for home projects:

·         Dishwasher installation time – 30 to 45 minutes.

·         Floating floor installs in one hour for the room size you have indicated.

·         Rear shocks can be installed in mere minutes – no special tools necessary.

I am relatively certain that those who write instructions for the installation of many products have not actually installed them or even witnessed another person doing so. Or they were able to install said items in a controlled environment free of construction flaws and product inconsistencies, as well as the everyday foibles and follies of life. I envision an errorless parallel universe where all practice installations and manual writings occur.

Inevitably, Plan A fails when the dishwasher barely fits under the counter due to a previous flooring remodel, the floating floor needs a great many detailed cuts to fit "easily" around pipes and molding, and the rusted, look-like-they’ve-been-spending-time-at-the-bottom-of-the-sea, bolts on the aging minivan require the strength of an Olympic dead-lifting team to break loose and arms able to hyper extend without damage. These are all of the details the manufacturers leave out of their instructions and diagrams when ensuring us that a task or job is "easy."

What follows this Plan A failure is the implementation of Plan B, which is a plan born of need, since the old dishwasher is broken, the previous floor has been trashed, and the rear of the minivan rests on two jack stands. This plan works to achieve the particular end that Plan A failed to reach. There is even the possibility that Plan B will turn out to be better than the initial plan. But the possibility that the second plan won’t work either is just probable enough that your brain begins to unconsciously formulate a Plan C. And if you are a bit neurotic like me, you also have a brain seedling that looks suspiciously like a Plan D.

The Law of Multiple Plans (not to be confused with the Law of Multiple Pans that is applied to complex recipes) applies incredibly well to teaching also. Plan A for teachers is what should happen – the lesson plan you have created. Some days Plan A works. Then there are all of the other days of the school year, those where Plans B and C need implementation. The best-laid set of teacher plans needs additional plans – B, C, and perhaps beyond – even if those additional plans are only in your mind. Teachers have Plan A ready each and every day, and many days this plan serves students well. Plan B and Plan C are the ones born of necessity, when the wi-fi goes down or students are completely lost in learning the information upon which the rest of the lesson depends. This is where the art and skill of teaching lives, in these moments where the plan needs to be revised and you don’t have a prep period to figure it out.

There are an awful lot of people who believe teaching is easy, especially with today’s technology and all of the ready-made and widely accessible teaching materials. These same people, just like manufacturers, believe that we are provided with a set of detailed instructions for teaching and need only hand the necessary material to students and the learning will occur. Unfortunately, those instructions and resources we are given rarely take into account the fact that students are – shockingly – not all the same. In addition, each day of school is not the same, and what works for one student on one day does not necessarily work for another. Teachers know this and are the ones who create Plan A, and they are also the ones who can conjure up entire alphabets of other plans because they know their content and they know their students. They do not teach in a flawless parallel universe or have the luxury of conditions always remaining static. Teachers always work and think using the Law of Multiple Plans; this is because they are professionals who are trained to think on their feet and do what is best for students.

So the next time you decide to tackle a home project and have dutifully read the instructions, remember the Law of Multiple Plans. The manufacturer will not provide you with anything beyond Plan A. Those plans are up to you. Remember the work you do as teachers each and every day – the flexibility and skill you apply to your plans and your instruction. Perhaps that thinking will help your home project reach a successful end. If not, there are plenty of willing and able contractors for hire who don’t even need the manual.

What are we busy about?

As I was searching Google images for a picture to add to a presentation, I came across a quote from Henry David Thoreau that connected to both my personal and professional life:
It is not enough to be busy. So are the ants. The question is: What are we busy about? 

- Henry David Thoreau (https://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/henry_david_thoreau_153926)

I laughed aloud, considering the conversations I've held with my colleagues and my family over the past few weeks. So many of those conversations have dealt with just how busy everyone is - with work and life and family and other stuff and then more work. And also with life - did I mention that?

But what I often failed to do in these moments was think about what I'm really busy doing.

Teachers are busy people - both in and out of school. No one denies that. OK - some people disagree, saying that teachers are actually not busy, but those same folks seek sustenance with a steady diet of complaining and negativity. It's a health trend few have ever heard about, like smoking cigarettes to lose weight or neglecting hygiene to save water. But I digress.

What made me stop working and start thinking was the last part of the quote - "What are we busy about?" In order for "busy" to be worthwhile in education, it needs to be focused on student learning, on making sure students are ready for the world beyond school. In order for "busy" to be worthwhile in your personal life, it needs to be focused on what is best for you and your family and friends. Each aspect of "busy" goes back to what is truly important. 


Being busy has become a badge of honor for many, worn with pride during conversations where people attempt to outdo one another with their tales of being busy. I have entered into a few of these conversations with colleagues. I'm still not sure if I won any of the contests - it's difficult to tell if you've won when the prize at the end isn't worth obtaining.

Let's come to an end of this ramble so you may return to your busy life. Or not busy life. Whatever. Just take a moment and examine what you are busy about and ask yourself how it affects the learning objectives of students, or whomever you are serving. Ask yourself if you are busy with what is important.

I'll end with a quote from a George Couros blog that hangs on my office wall: "There is no one busy in this world. It's always about priorities. You will always find time for the things you feel important."   

Open to Innovation

Near the end of November, I employed – not asked – my family to assist with leaf raking in our backyard. We have a large pin oak that enjoys clinging to its leaves far beyond the time that the other trees have shed theirs. This ensures – year after year – quality family time engaged in meaningful yard work well into December. As a kid, I remember all too well raking leaves in our backyard, particularly an area covered by trees where no grass even grew. I also fondly remember needing to rake and collect each and every last leaf in the yard, no exceptions. As I was taught, so too do I teach.

So here’s how the raking played out: I announced to my three kids that we just needed to get most of the leaves, not all. My kids were no doubt thinking how awesome I was as a dad at this point. We then commenced to raking, I with great fervor and determination – the kids with mild apathy and reticence. For five or ten minutes all proceeded as raking should, leaves piling up and the yard clearly visible again. What I soon noticed in two of my children was an increase in the weight of the rakes to the point that holding them and continuing to move the leaves required monumental strength, a strength that neither of my sons apparently possessed. My teenage daughter, on the other hand, had disappeared from raking altogether.

And then my wife entered the scene – with the leaf blower and the hundred-foot extension cord. I continued to move those leaves into piles with my traditional rake, which – by the way – holds an 1874 U.S. patent. Leaf blowers have only been patented in some form since the 1950s. My sons quickly abandoned their rakes to “help” mom with the leaf blower. Annoyance at their behavior only increased the vigor with which I collected those leaves with my tried-and-true rake. They should have been raking the leaves. That’s how leaves are gathered each fall and how they have been gathered by families for countless years.

Once connected, the leaf blower exploded to life, sending the leaves – or at least most of them – into piles that could be transferred onto a tarp and hauled to the street for pickup. What had begun as a necessary but arduous task was now transformed into an activity that led to my sons physically fighting with one another for the chance to use the leaf blower.

At the time of the leaf-raking-turned-blowing, I thought about how my sons can fight over anything and how my daughter can slip away silently from certain chores. Many days later, while talking to a colleague at work about innovation in the classroom, I couldn’t stop thinking about the family leaf-raking event and how it connects to education.

When we talk about innovation in education, we talk about how things will be done differently and how things will look different than they currently do. But in practice, we tend to stick with the way school has always been done, with the way it has always looked. As an instructional coach, I hear from teachers what is not working when it comes to instruction. This is the point where we should bring in the leaf blower, not the rake. The rake is not a bad tool – it just might not be the most effective tool to utilize. We want students excited about their learning, in the same way that leaf “raking” suddenly became a desirable activity for my sons once the leaf blower made an appearance. My wife saw a different way to rake leaves, a way that I had not considered in my 1874 rake mindset.

There is certainly nothing fundamentally wrong with the rake, but that doesn’t mean that it should always be used for the simple reason that it has always been used. In education, we should also be open to different ways of “raking,” even though those ideas may have been around for many years. The term “innovation” is tossed around in educational discussions, and this is a good thing. As educators, we should always be looking at ways to improve student learning by introducing new ideas and methods, by innovating.

What I learned from the raking episode: The biggest barrier to education is not a lack of resources and time. The biggest barrier is not our population of students or testing or technology. The biggest barrier to innovation is our own way of thinking, our mindset. When we acknowledge this – as I eventually did with leaf raking – we have opened the door to looking at learning with a new perspective. We are open to innovation.

Author’s note: My daughter was eventually located and returned to leaf-raking duties. She was not offered the chance to use the leaf blower. My sons continued to fight with one another, despite each being given a chance to use the leaf blower.

Watch What Students Do

"If you want to see how effective an educator is, don't watch the educator, view their students." George Couros

This statement reminds me of a Friends episode ("The One With Joey's Porsche") where Chandler swallows a small plastic gun from an action figure. His wife comments that she was so busy watching the three babies in her care that she forgot to watch Chandler. This seems to be what we do in education - pay attention to the teacher instructing while the students are busy swallowing small plastic guns.

This is not to say that we are ignoring our students in the classroom. What this means is the focus of coaches, administrators, and teachers should be on the student learning production behaviors. If students produce the desired learning production behaviors, then the teacher's instruction is working; if students are not producing the desired behaviors, then the teacher needs to revise instruction to make this happen.

Remember:
    - The desired student-learning outcome needs to be clear.
    - The pathway to reach the desired student outcome often varies by student.

Watch the students. What they are producing drives our instruction and is the measure of our teaching.