Grading without rose colored glasses.

It's four am.  I've been awake since 3:15, and finally succumbed to accepting the awake-state for the day, as my head continues to process all that needs to be done, and all that has been left undone over the last five weeks -- even after attempting four rounds of 4-7-8 to go back to sleep.  Usually it works.  Apparently today/tonight is not destined to be usual.

It's been a bit of a bumpy ride over the last five weeks, starting with the BUMP on the head, followed by learning to "not think" in an effort to improve.  Talk about oxymorons for teachers.  Early on, I was given orders by one doctor to improve brain healing:

1.  Decrease calories, eliminate artificial sweeteners.

2. Increase fish oil, Omega 3s

3. Limit screen time (tv, computer, smartphone) to a total of less than 2 hours  a day)

4. Wear earplugs

5. Rose Colored glasses.

Yes, it's true.  Rose colored glasses are supposed to have improved my brain functionality.  Unfortunately, my sunglasses choice is determined by the pair's ability to fit over my reading glasses, and sunglasses are sold in places with fluorescent lights -- which hurt my brain.  So despite my having secured written documentation for new eyewear in a color symbolizing optimism, I haven't actually made the purchase. 

Fortunately for me, I am light years better, and thinking more clearly every day.   I am back to half days of teaching -- shhh, don't tell the doctors that a half day of teaching for a teacher is really closer to 6 or 7 hours when you include the work at home.

In just about 36 hours, grades for the first marking period are due, with report cards scheduled to be printed and mailed next week.  25% of the school year is gone, leaving many of us scratching our heads wondering how the Fall of 2015 could travel at the speed of light.  (In my case, it sped by me, I believe, while I was under doctors' orders to avoid looking at lights, but I digress...)

Late Penalties?

There is nothing more motivating to a high school student than the impending doom of the end of the marking period.  "A flurry of activity" in my email inbox is an understatement:  it's been a downright blizzard of submissions of outstanding assignments and re-submissions by authors "hoping to regain some points" to improve the almighty grade for the quarter. (And, presumably, keep their rights to play on videogame systems, go hang out with friends, and talk on their cellphones, instead of being grounded for the foreseeable future.)    I've been out for two full weeks, and only in half days for the last three weeks.  I know that this is an unusual situation, and I've been more flexible with my assignment due dates than ever before.  (And I've always been pretty flexible -- my motto has always been "Talk to me BEFORE it's due, if you're not going to hit the due date -- not after!" , attempting to foster some executive function and communication skills that might be helpful in the real world down the road.)

In a recent blog entry, Tom Schimmer, and educator and fellow teacher, waxed philosophically on the ideas associated with grade penalties for late work.  More than a decade ago, our district pushed the philosophies of Ken O'Connor, HARD, encouraging us to grade on the quality of the work, and not the punctuality.  O'Connor's theory,

The punitive nature of the penalty is a powerful disincentive for students to complete any work.” 

 in theory, makes for a good argument for increasing student achievement.  It also does nothing to prepare students for college expectations or the real world.  I'm certain that if I failed to keep the lines of communication open with my administration and my substitute, simply shrugging my shoulders with a "I'll get to the work when I feel like it" attitude, there would be unpleasant repercussions.  

I'm not talking about "do-overs" here.  I'm talking about students who just plain fail to turn in assignments for WEEKS on end, and then expect full credit (as in 100%) for their efforts, or are choosing the 11th hour to realize that they actually DID care to prove competency at a higher level on that assignment that was due last September.  Let's face it.  In the real world, there are penalties for lateness.  Go ahead, mail your mortgage or credit card payment after that deadline, and see what happens.  Choose to ignore April 15th for the IRS.  Shrug your shoulders at your boss the next time that big report is due.  Chances are pretty good that none of those intended recipients are thinking of you as a 100% effort individual.

Tom Schimmer claims he never received a deluge of work, not penalizing students for lateness.  I beg to differ.  My earplugs and (metaphorical) rose colored glasses have given pause to much flexibility on my part this semester, and there are more holes in my gradebook than ever before.  

In theory, I have 3 hours of screen time, maximum, to allocate over the next 36 hours, to still be following the recommendations of my physician.  It's going to be darned tough to read and grade all of the assignments I anticipate receiving today and tomorrow, and still follow doctor's orders.

Fortunately, my syllabus contains a late work policy AND the suggestion to open the lines of communication BEFORE there is a problem.  I may be concussed, but I am still more flexible than the IRS, when it comes to deadlines.  There will be grades -- but they won't be anywhere near 100%.

Were you FIRED?

For the last couple of weeks, there have been two invitations sitting on the island in my kitchen; one is for a wonderful wedding of a former student at the end of the month, and the other for a 90th birthday celebration for my first cousin, once removed.  I've spent the last two weeks in limbo.  Mental limbo, not knowing whether I'll be able to ride in a car with my eyes open, to attend either one of these events, both of which are very important to me.

If you've never been the recipient of a blow to the head that resulted in such uncertainty, and the diagnosis of a concussion, you probably don't understand the turmoil that has been occurring in my brain - wanting to deal with "the pile" on the counter, and feel normal again.  Today I was labelled 80% normal.  Great, a B-.  Not the usual standard I hold for my academic self, but definitely better than the failing grade of two weeks ago.

So I made a phone call to 2nd cousin, Emily, whose mother is turning 90 this month.

"It's the middle of the day.  Why aren't you at school?  Were you FIRED?"

Thanks, Em, for the incredible vote of confidence in my teaching abilities.  "No, not fired, just resting, blah blah blah, pudding, lunch duty, " etc.  We'll connect again in a few months, but I know that 10 days from now my brain will not be firing at the rates necessary to follow the fast-witted banter of my very humorous family as they celebrate 90 Years of Doris.

The Centers for Disease Control reports that 1.6 - 3.8 million concussions occur each year in the U.S.  My 3 lb (approximate size) brain hit two sides of my skull, in a traditional contrecoup concussion, and that females are twice as likely to be concussed as men.  Teachers are directed to Reduce Cognitive demands, Educate themselves about concussions, Accommodate the concussed, and Pace the demands for the concussed to allow for full reentry.  Yes, I'm REAPing the benefits of my first-hand experience.

In the last seventeen years, I have received more than a dozen notifications of students recovering from concussions, while assigned to learn in my classroom.  I've been sympathetic, in a maternal, concerned, way.  The Banana Pudding Incident of 2015 has offered an additional, first-hand perspective, that has changed my understanding in a most personal way.

So here's the plan:  Next week, I get to go back to school -- if the stars align, and I hit the B+ range of normality.  I'm starting to read books, five pages or so at a time, and spend a little bit of time online.  Scrolling on the computer and watching HDTV is brutal, and high-pitched instruments and clinking plates and glassware are still awful to listen to.  My brain has taught me to slow down, and not think for a bit.  I'm going back -- partial days at first.

And I've learned a whole lot about anti-metacognition in the process.  (That's the idea of intentionally not thinking about thinking.)   And no Emily, I'm not fired.  They're going to reactivate my badge and let me back in the classroom, probably with raised eyebrows as they watch my non-traditional teaching practices, green chairs, and dark glasses on my face.

And I'll hold a whole lot of sympathy for any concussed kid who stumbles into my classroom, with a hoodie half over his or her eyes after colliding with a ball, a helmet, or banana pudding.

"I'll send you a toenail..."

I've been good -- all day.  I've avoided screens of all kinds, except for three phone calls to doctors and professors, attempting to reschedule my life. Asking people with scrambled brains to make decisions is just plain cruel.

I stayed home today -- and unless there's a miracle between now and Monday, my sub is already lined up, as I have an appointment with the neuro dude.   Of course, I guess the miracle might be possible, what with the Pope coming to town, and all.  He seems like a decent guy, who might be willing to overlook my departure from his church 21 years ago.

In any case, I am not fit to wax philosophical on topics related to education -- or life.  I knew this yesterday, when I told a colleague I'd shoot the information to her in a toenail.  Oh the images that must have conjured -- I meant email, I swear.  It's just that my head doesn't allow the actual word I'm thinking about to come out of my mouth, and I cause people to laugh hysterically at me.  (Or at least Andrew Erb relayed a good tale, I'm told.  I am sure I will enjoy the retelling when I'm sane again.) 

In the meantime, I am binge-listening to PARENTHOOD on Netflix, with my eyes closed.  I've learned that high pitches, spinning and scrolling, and hammering and drumming, all cause me to feel it in my brain.  So right now, my happy place is a dark room and a soft pillow.

I may be off for the weekend, after 390 consecutive days of blogging.  It's tough to look at anything scrolling, and thinking is off limits.  It's also the most frustrating thing  to lie around waiting to not be confused anymore, with no idea when that will be.

But I know that there are stories out there to be told -- and I've extended the offer to some guest bloggers.  So stay tuned.  There are lessons in all of this -- I'm just tiring of being the student in the front row in Understanding Neurology 101.

Scrambled Eggs for Brains.

There used to be a commercial that went something like this:   "This is drugs."  (cue picture of the hot frying pan.  "This is your brain on drugs."  (cue picture of the egg being cracked into the frying pan.)  "Don't do drugs."

Never have I been more aware of the metaphorical connection of the almighty egg to a brain as I am today.  I'm scrambled.  I'm searching for words, and I'm typing with my eyes closed, to save my precious 2 hours of screen time.

I "taught" today, if you can call it that.  Pretty much, I sat in a dark room with very understanding students, wearing sunglasses, and occasionally humming "I wear my sunglasses at night..." to myself, wishing for the day to end quickly.  Two sections of self-motivated higher-level thinkers was more than I could handle, and I'm sidelined for tomorrow.

One student suggested that I write my blog, and change the font to Wingdings, because it would pretty much symbolize what my day, and attempts at communication, seemed to me.

I know it takes time.  I don't do well lying in a dark room and focusing on NOT thinking.  

Heck, it's my job.  But for the next three days, I'm officially on vacation from that career I love so much.

I have a whole new appreciation for those helmeted warriors hitting the gridiron tomorrow night, and those soccer players who leap into the air, intentionally hitting balls off the tops of their heads.  Be careful, my little babies, or you'll be as cracked as your teacher is tonight.

Eggs are a great source of protein.  One of the few suggestions given to me by the doctor, as I attempt to return to my previous state.  The irony of the need to scramble some eggs to assist in unscrambling my brain is not lost on me.

After all, I'm the one who slipped on banana pudding.

One foot in the grave, and the other on a banana...

Want to know more about me than you could possibly imagine?  Ask my 2nd period students.  Today was the day where the Information Literacy kids explore the power of the internet, by searching for as many facts about me as possible.  Understand that I am fairly visible, and pretty much not stalked by the tweens and teens crowd, so I feel safe doing this activity.  If I were 30 years younger and lived alone, it might be a different story.

The white boards were completely erased, computers were at the ready, and the researched their teacher, finding random facts including my address, my maiden name, my family members, my previous addresses dating back to 1983, my anniversary date, the color of my house, how many trees are in my yard, previous employers, etc.  They were smart enough to check their facts.  They deduced that I was NOT the Susan Heydt with the thriving Makeup Studio.  (A simple look at my eyeliner disproved THAT connection...)  

And then it came.  A still unknown voice said, "SHE WAS BORN IN 1869!"

Stunned disbelief.  Yes, I was born in the 60s.  But not THOSE 60s.

The scribe at the board wrote it, and then immediately erased it, questioning the validity.  Thank God that at least one kid had my back on that one.
The period ended, and I headed to lunch duty 15 minutes later.  15 minutes after that, I was sitting in the nurse's office, with ice on an ever-increasing golfball, growing on the side of my head, with a headache and whiplash, not to mention various bruises in places that do not see the light of day, still sporting a bit of the banana pudding on the sole of my shoe.

My friends, I must tell you now of the danger of spills on terrazo floors -- especially spills with the viscosity of pudding.  One step in the wrong place, and I did a perfect 3 Stooges move, feet flying in the air, bouncing first my posterior, and then my head.  Gravity is not kind.

Life is funny.  Especially mine.  Explaining the unexplainable, the ridiculous, and well, the just plain crazy things that happen to me has become the norm, so having to fill out Worker's Comp. reports, and visiting their doctor, was peppered with brutal honesty.

Description of accident:  Slipped on banana.  (I opted to add the word pudding, to allow for the full picture, and share, in complete disclosure, the truth.)    

What was the last thing to go through my head at the end of A Lunch today?  Uh, the FLOOR.  And despite the fact that I was able to do all sorts of tests that seemed like I should be performing in the side of a road in a sobriety checkpoint  for a Worker's Comp doctor with amazing precision -- or so I thought -- I am concussed.  Stay off of computers, avoid bright lights, and don't attempt HIGHER LEVEL THINKING for a week.

Seriously?  My job is higher level thinking.  And humor also requires a basic understanding of your HOTS. (Higher Order Thinking Skills.)

Fortunately my husband, Bruce, has a sense of humor.  Even if I now call him Bryce.

Bear with me, folks.  It's a scrambled egg for brains kind of week.  On the plus side, I was not born in 1869.   I just may walk as if I were, come tomorrow.

Reply Hazy.

A little more than a year ago, I posted an entry entitled "Reply Hazy, Try Again Later."  My daughter frequently insists that I tell her the same information more than once, and here it is happening again.  I sat down tonight, ready to entitle this entry with the very same title.

Maybe it's LATER, now, and I'm trying again, if only to reuse the title that has resonated with me since my childhood.  This time, the Magic 8 Ball has become a metaphor for the assessment of Inquiry Based Learning projects.

Yesterday I mentioned the ongoing discussion about the new roles of teachers as professional "un-stickers," and the resulting challenges that accompany the fabulous work presented by students.

Rubrics are  great, defining exactly the expectations for the student in a traditional classroom.  "Here's the material, learn it, apply it, regurgitate it on a test or in a project."  Kids have learned to expect this, and gifted and talented kids use this as their own glass ceilings, meeting the mark, rarely choosing to exceed the almighty column on the far right of the table.  So what does a gifted teacher, or ANY teacher, do to make sure that kids are learning and engaged and producing and creating at a level commensurate with their abilities, instead of hitting a target well below their full potential?

Here's my solution:  Don't give them a rubric.  (Or have them create their own, but that's another story for another day.)  Instead, assign the need for the collection or creation of artifacts -- much like Charlotte Danielson now expects from teachers -- and stand back and wait.

And then...

Ask the students how they did, individually. 

Concept to Classroom outlines this nicely on their website:

Individual assessment can reveal the student's perception of the following:
How the student views her individual effort.
How well she participated in class.
The quality of her work.
How satisfied the student is with her work.
Things that she found difficult to figure out.
Things she found interesting and enjoyable.
How she might improve her performance.
How she viewed her work compared to that of an expert.
How her skills, knowledge, and habits of mind improved.
What she viewed as important about the unit of study.

Perhaps one of the best ways to really assess student learning from inquiry learning is through a narrative assessment. This narrative becomes an important report for the student, the family, and the teacher. It is very important to see how integrated the process of inquiry learning and the assessment of inquiry learning are -- and narrative provides a way for students to demonstrate not only what they know but also how it relates to their other knowledge, their ways of seeing the world, and the ways they assess and analyze ideas.

Thinking critically, and identifying the potential improvements that could have enhanced the product, will usually be the biggest problem encountered by the teacher -- particularly with the perfectionistic minds of the gifted learner.  In the times that I've asked for student reflection, I often play the role of cheerleader, trying to get kids to embrace the goodness of their already-impressive work.

So yes, the idea of a perfect assessment system is hazy, requiring another shake of the Magic 8 Ball of Assessment.  Student self-reflection may be even hazier, as they muddle the waters with their own innate obsessions.  The biggest conundrum  very well might be that the work appears unmatched by any previous effort by the student, who now declares his work at a 75%, as the teacher pencils three figures into the assignment with tears in her eyes, wondering why the brilliance was squelched for so many years.

The Best Twelve Minutes.

It's not that the rest of the day today was bad -- far from it.  But the twelve minutes between 1:08 and 1:20 today were magical for me. 

 Audra teaches down the hall, and despite our full generation age difference, we are kindred spirits when it comes to autonomy and Inquiry Based Learning.  We chatted, commiserated, and shared student work with each other.  We know that Inquiry Based teaching is causing kids to be thinking in ways previously unseen by either of us.  We KNOW it is good.  We KNOW it works.

And we are clueless as how to to assess the kids fairly, without squelching their newfound brilliance.

Mind/Shift provided me with the perfect support for our argument today in their article, "10 Tips For Launching An Inquiry-Based Classroom", affirming all that Audra and I have defined as the best way to get the best out of our students.

" To make inquiry-based learning work, teachers have to instead become experts at listening to how a student is thinking and then ask the one question that will “un-stick” the students’ thinking and set them off and running again."

Why yes.  My role in teaching is no longer instruction.  I am now a certified, professional un-sticker.

Who is still trying to figure out how to assess brilliance.  ( We see it, and it is blinding us!)