Einstein Hair...

After weeks of reading this blog, you've no doubt noticed that I am the Teacher of the Gifted, and NOT the Gifted Teacher.  While those that I work with, or say that phrase to, understand my need for qualifying my title, the same can not be said for many in education who seem to want the student with the gifted label to sit, Matilda-esque, in their classrooms, hanging on their every word, with an answer (but only when they want to call on them) and submitting perfect assignments -- oh, and ON TIME, mind you.

The realities of the gifted population, as a whole, are as diverse as the number of students possessing the gifted label.

"How Can that Kid POSSIBLY be Gifted?"

I remember, distinctly, sitting in the back seat of a minivan with a friend of mine and her daughter.  The child was in fourth or fifth grade at the time, was identified as gifted, and interrupted the adult conversation happening in the van to stick her feet straight out in front of her and ask her mother, "Are my shoes on the right feet?"

Seriously?  You've been on this planet for a decade, you are allegedly gifted, and you don't know whether your shoes are on the right feet?  Several years later I became the Teacher of the Gifted (TOG) for that girl, and that same mother asked me to include "Turning off lights when she leaves a room" as a goal in her annual Gifted Individualized Education Plan  (GIEP).

It's easy, as mere mortals, to conceptualize the "perfect gifted child."  There also is the tendency to consider a child labelled as gifted as someone who has somehow been awarded the Heisman Trophy for intelligence.  The reality is BEING gifted and DEMONSTRATING giftedness are two entirely different things.  

There are parents who request districts to test, there are parents who PAY some expert in the community to test, and identify  their child as gifted.  And, there are far more people rooting for their child to BE gifted than are attempting to get a label for little Johnnie or Susie to receive Learning Support.

The reality is that there is absolutely no difference between qualifying for learning support and qualifying for gifted.  The reason that Johnny or Susie qualifies, is because he or she is on the flatter end of the almighty psychological bell-curve, indicating a need for some sort of alternative education or instruction.  Being gifted isn't a prize.  Often, it is anything but.

So how do we explain that less-than Matilda behavior in an allegedly-gifted student?  More importantly why does the world not question when a learning-support student says something incredibly bright?  

My answer to the first question is simple:  EINSTEIN HAIR.  Seriously.  Albert Einstein is universally accepted as one of the brightest people to have lived (and applied himself).  If you saw him on the street, you'd most likely cross to the other side to avoid eye contact.  All these years later, everybody chalks up his unique hairdo to his uniqueness.

Forget the mold.  There isn't one. 

A new kind of literacy.

Everybody has a second job, right?  In education, it's most likely true.  Many teachers are also coaches or advisers to various clubs or sports.  Still others are teaching a class that wasn't in their original job description, or used as a supervisor for a remediation clinic.  In my case, it's a required English course at the high school called Information Literacy.  The basis of the class is career research, embedded in a "learn to be safe on the internet, and oh, by the way, don't be an idiot there, and don't believe that an octopus lives in a tree."  

Media Literacy - a new kind of literacy...

It's a tough thing teaching Information Literacy -- partially because of the huge shift in technology, and the constant changes to the availability at the APP store on the phones and tablets of your young (and not so young) people.  The technology is changing so quickly, and the cost to develop apps is relatively inexpensive, that many young entrepreneurs see app development as the new get-rich-quick opportunity.  Free apps, and low cost apps offer convenience, or directions, or entertainment, at the stroke of a fingertip.

As an educator, it's really tough to get kids to consider the comprehensive benefits and dangers that lie within those strokes.  When I was a kid, it was the guy with the lost puppy in a Buick trolling the streets that was the danger.  (Or maybe the white unmarked van...?)  It's so much more difficult to teach "stranger danger" to kids -- and adults -- when the stranger has no face. 

Last week, during a discussion on cyberbullying, a student shyly informed the class that she had deleted an app called ASK FM.  I'd never heard of it, yet most of the class nodded in agreement that ASK FM was nothing to mess with.  Kids using ASK FM receive messages from unknown individuals, often asking for personal information.  Oh, and they have NO IDEA who is asking the question, which leads to cyberbullying.

I never thought I'd say "I HOPE you only get cyberbullied", yet given the multitude of bad scenario endings possible, the cyberbullying result appears to be the thing to hope for in the case of this app.

My point is, there is no way that society should expect schools and teachers to be able to educate every student on every potential online scenario.  Our kids need to learn to look out for much more than windowless white vans or Buicks driven by puppyless people.  The danger is real.  The danger is out there, and the danger is RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU as you read this post.   (There's an excellent, and short, TED Talk on this topic, which also discusses the hidden messages and meanings and the discussions that can take place if we take the time to do so.)

The kids at my school, and many of the teachers, consider Information Literacy to be a perfunctory responsibility.    The real responsibility lies in all of us, collectively, to do the right thing, stop the insanity, and protect our young people (as well as our uneducated senior citizens) about the reality of the neighborhood known as ONLINE.

What are my options?

Last week I spoke on the incredible value of Chicken Bowl at my high school.   A lot of my students were excited that I talked about their favorite dish;  few of them realized that the point was that they seemed to care LESS about autonomy and choice than they they claim.  There's a distinct reason for that.  It isn't that they don't care, at least in the case of the gifted and talented population, it's that they want to be right.  Right the first time.  Don't cloud the issue with the added value of decision-making, they'd rather I just tell them what to do.  

With most students, it's only when they don't actually like the assignment, that they might actually consider proposing an alternative idea.  Often the rationale is, "I will be successful if I do exactly as she says."

What I want is not a product.  It is the process.

Ten years ago, I had an incredibly artistic student in my class.  His giftedness was evident in the fascinating drawings, seemingly-unrelated connections in his discussion, and his risk-taking skills that often scared his mother to the point of exhaustion, and left many an administrator head-scratching.  

He couldn't spell to save his soul.  His written expression was horrific.  How could I engage this student in a manner that played to his abilities?  

That was the year I started assigning open-ended projects.

Free choice is scary, especially when it is linked to grades.  (And even more so when you are competing for valedictorian and highly-competitive colleges that expect straight As.)  Panic ensued.  "What do you MEAN?"  "What do YOU WANT?"

It really isn't about what I want.  What I want is not a product.  It is a process.  I want proof that the topic of the assignment has been fully realized.  I want to know that incubation has happened.  I want projects that reflect the passion and creativity and insight of their creators.  

I want to see something that isn't going to be thrown in the trash or recycle bin the moment it is returned.

The intent of that first project was PERSPECTIVE.  The focus topic for the class was 9/11 - Five Years Later.  When I invited that class to consider an alternative perspective, with no assigned perspectives I got the following:

• Pilots
• Terrorists
• Firefighters
• Those who choose suicide (jumping from the towers)
• Loved ones at home receiving the "last" phonecall
• Workers in and out of the towers
• People on the street
• A cockroach
• A bum 
• and many more...

There were poems, sculptures, beautifully written narratives.  There was a videogame designed to get a terrorist through the airport to the plane, while airport security and ordinary people intervened.  (That kid now works with computers.)  There was a plane replica built from LEGOs.  (That kid is now an architect.)   The cockroach writer went on to Penn to major in English, later teaching English for two years in Japan.

And the bum?  That was Dan's piece.  The kid who never wanted to write choose to do so for this project.  Was it a traditional piece?  Far from it.  Could I ever have imagined or assigned it - not in a million years.

It came in a pickle jar, with pickle juice stains (and smell) on the crumpled paper.  Also included was the stub of a very small, dull pencil.  The writing was atrocious, the spelling was worse.  The perspective was that of a homeless person (self-proclaimed bum) who was bothered by the dust and grime, the noise, and the 24 hour  lights at what we now know as "Ground Zero."  It was gross, it was raw, it was smelly.

It was brilliant.

Kids don't claim to want choices. I'm not the only one who thinks this.  Check out Sarah Cooper's piece here, It's our duty to force them to make decisions.  The Common Core Standards may not require thinking skills as a standard, but it's our responsibility to equip this generation -- and subsequent generations -- the the ability to make decisions.

When the possibilities are limitless, the creativity happens, and the trashcans and recycle bins are far less full, because pride ensues.

Incubation.

 I teach gifted students in a Lancaster County high school.   In addition to working with individual students on schedules and learning opportunities that meet their unique needs, I also am responsible for designing and implementing a class known as "Themes in Literature."  Each semester the topic changes, and the direction of the topic is based upon individual student interest.  This semester, we're focusing on "Thinking Like da Vinci", which is loosely based on the book by Michael Geib.  In addition to the class for credit, there is also a non-credit opportunity for any interested student that occurs in my room on Tuesdays and Thursdays at 7 am.  It's sort of a "Themes in Literature" Lite version, exploring the topic and allowing the GATE population to continue the conversation in the cafeteria, the band room, the bus, or online via schoology.  This week we watched a short video as a means to consider da Vinci within the context of our own lives.  It's easy to grab the attention of gifted kids with a title like "da Vinci Was No Genius."  It's true that old Leonardo spent SIXTEEN LONG YEARS as what we'd view today as the loser kid living in his parents basement.  And while we don't know exactly with whom he was living, the reality is he wasn't very successful.

Incubation and Multi-tasking

So here's the real deal.  Yes, we're talking da Vinci.  We are talking about him as a framework for a greater personal understanding.  The reality is there is not a lot of time reserved for thinking these days, especially on topics of personal choice.  Leonardo perfected this art, took the time, and is now viewed as the master of masterpieces. 

Will there ever be another artist as great as those of the Renaissance? 

Regardless of your appreciation for cherubim and seraphim, or Putto with Dolphin, or the smiling Mona, you have to recognize the brilliance in the work ethic and effort.  For sixteen long years, da Vinci was Incubating. 

When you ask most people about incubation, they instantly flash back to the warming light and fuzzy chicks in second grade or at a farm show somewhere in the fall.  Artistic incubation is really not all that different.  It's that do nothing time where your idea is consciously, or unconsciously, working through resolving what isn't working in the project at hand.

In a recent piece for Mindshift, Annie Murphy Paul examined "How Does Multi-tasking Change the Way Kids Learn?"  I couldn't help but wonder, in addition to the decreased learning effects, what is multi-tasking and technology doing to the potential for greatness possessed by our learners with regard to their own potential greatness?  

Is it possible to focus on something -- or NOT focus on something to incubate in true Renaissance style -- to find the greatness within?

I'm incubating on THAT this weekend.  I invite you to do so as well.

In-service

in service

phrase of service

1. 1.

   in or available for use.
2. 2.

   dated

   employed as a servant.

Parents in our district are groaning this weekend; the kids are home for FOUR STRAIGHT DAYS.  The reason that the parental groans are not actually audible is probably directly attributed to the collective exhale-sigh from the lips and very being of every teacher sitting in the dreaded In-Service.

We all recognize the value of looking at data and analyzing trends.  We all secretly hope (or maybe not so secretly hope) that the School Performance Profile (SPP) that kept at least one administrator pacing the floors with the anticipation of the arrival of Santa Claus is fabulous -- so fabulous that it far exceeds the neighboring school districts that always seem to get better press on the front page of the paper.

In Service puts every teacher at the hands (or the mercy) of the district for one, or both, of the two reasons captioned above:  1)  We are IN and available for use.  and 2)  We are employed -- it seems -- as servants.


Taxpayer dollars pay my salary.  I am fully aware of this.  I have even had people within the community tell me directly to my face that as a teacher, I WORK FOR THEM as tax payers.  I've never had one of these individuals take it to the next logical step and somehow indicate that I should also take direction or advice from them in terms of my actual pedagogical skills, but the implication is there.  In the hierarchy of servanthood, teachers are near the bottom of the list these days.  (Or so it seems to me, given recent attacks on education, accountability that requires drastic improvement or change in outcomes with minimal responsibility on external forces like funding, home support, class sizes, mental health, truancy, and students suffering from sleep deprivation.)

The famous quote, "Everybody is a genius.  But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid.",  (sometimes attributed to Einstein,** but I've been corrected into believing this is not the case...)  anyway, it continues to be pushed to the forefront of my brain as I consider the psychological hoops we force upon everyone in education these days.  We're collectively sitting in training seminars learning to create uniformity in our teaching, while simultaneously requiring that we recognize the individual differences and needs of our students, and the necessary accommodations or differentiation for student success.

The good news, and I seem to be celebrating/talking about this much more, is that during this stint of In Service, our district is allowing for meaningful conversation.  Soak time.  Discussion.  Collaboration.  Teachers are being provided with quality time to focus on analyzing data, improving instruction, and working together to improving the quality of the education of the students in our charge.  This collaboration time, if you ask any teacher, is far more valuable than any guest speaker or webinar.  Productivity, levels of excitement, and a greater sense of organization and accomplishment prevails after such opportunities.

Am I celebrating?  You bet.  If only the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania would realize that this time is worth considering as "Act 48 Worthy" and afford some point value for certification renewal as well.

I look forward to Monday.  Not because of SLOs, GIEPs, PVAAS, SPP, EQs, AS, or any other acronym.  I look forward to Monday because I get to collaborate with Sara, Sarah, Sue, Heidi, Kasey, John, Leslie, Moriah,  Amanda and many others who support me as an educator, even if I feel, much like that tree-frustrated fish  --   like I am Not the Gifted Teacher.

**Oh, and Einstein DID say  "Only two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity, and I'm not sure about the former."   I'll refrain from applying this quote to In-service, and suggest, instead, that I shouldn't quote Einstein without first consulting a qualified librarian.  (See what I did there?)

Happy Weekend!

Chain Reaction...

  One of my all-time favorite memories was working with a twice-exceptional gifted kid in early elementary school.  That year, I was teaching in the "gymatorium", and had a lot of fun because I had both a stage (complete with curtain) and the equivalent of a half of a regulation basketball court at my disposal.  On one afternoon, we were examining the connections of connections.   

We spent a significant amount of time establishing the soldier-like rows of dominoes with great military precision.  This is a difficult task for the most patient adult; more so for excited primary students with budding fine motor skills.  Once the last domino was in place, the instructions were clear:  "Listen very carefully to the SOUNDS you hear."  You see, each group of students had assembled rows that had very close-together dominoes, and other rows that were so far apart that they just barely touched as they fell.

"Listen."

One by one, the groups discharged their rows.  click,click,click,click, click,click, click,click, click,click, click,click, click,click, click,click, click,click, click,click, click,click, click,click, click,click, click,click, click,click, click,click, click,click, click,click, click,click, click,click, click,click, click,click,  
On and on.  And then...


click..click...click....click..click...click....click..click...click....click..click...click....click..click...click....click.
 click..click...click....click..click...click....click..click...click....click..click...click....click..click...click....click. 

"What did you hear?  What did you notice?  What was the difference between the sounds?"

"The sound was higher when they were closer together," said an excited voice at the far side of the gym.

"What does that mean?"  Others responded.  Yes, the dominoes that were farther apart had a deeper, lower sound as they fell.

"IT'S JUST LIKE MY RECORDER!!!!!!!!"  screamed the fastest brain in the room, who, it turned out, was also capable of sprinting across a gym with the speed and excitement of a cheetah.  

I remember the intensity and connection of that hug, and the jumping up and down excitement of that 3rd grader, as if it were yesterday.

 

Te@chthought Connected Educators Prompt for Thursdays in October:

Week 2: How/when does a connection become authentic? 

Indeed, the pitch of falling dominoes has a direct relationship to the distance they fall, just as the pitch of the ever-popular first instrument in elementary school, the dreaded celebrated recorder, does as the air passes from the lips to the tip.  The further the distance, the deeper the sound.    In my mind, that day, more than a dozen years ago, is the perfect illustration of an authentic connection.   Certainly, if I were to be looking at the success of the intent of the lesson plan, I scored in the land of distinguished.  I had taught a lesson, in which the students were excited and engaged, they made all the observations I had hoped for, AND they transferred that learning to something else, proving their higher-level synthesis and evaluation skills.

Do I remember the day for that accomplishment?  Honestly, yes, but only as a secondary memory.

The bigger memory for me -- the more authentic connection for me -- was the HUMAN connection that was made that day.  You see, that little guy with the herculean strength bouncing his teacher up and down in the gymatorium, was both gifted and autistic, having been diagnosed with asperger's syndrome.    He rarely made eye contact, showed little in the way of emotion or excitement, (unless it was in the form of a meltdown), and avoided human contact at all costs.    In that moment, he was engaged, he was motivated, he was excited, and he was genuinely making connections.

The Te@chthought prompt today is probably not asking about a specific example.  Most people in this challenge, I suspect, will talk about the value of connections, and the necessary time to establish meaningful relationships.  All of that has tremendous value, and should be part of the bigger discussion.  

On Tuesday I discovered this TED Talk entitled Why Work Doesn't Happen at Work, which makes the case that society has changed so much that workplaces no longer allow for uninterrupted time for people to make meaningful (authentic?) connections with each other, with their work, or to fully develop their thoughts.  

The same thing is happening in our schools.  Somebody somewhere decided that kids have the attention span of roughly one minute per year of life.  Ten year olds can focus, intently, for ten minutes, and then need some variety to keep them interested, for example.  (Presumably, that logic would indicate that I could stay focused for 53 minutes, but I digress.... and object...)  One of my teacher friends who teaches fourth grade has an afternoon schedule where her class members change EVERY 30 minutes.  Five classes in 2 1/2 hours.  How can anyone shift their thinking that much?  (Kids or teachers?)

Meaningful connections, authentic connections, between people take time to establish trust, respect, and instill value.  The same can be said for learning.  Solid blocks of time to establish authentic understanding of content, and time to connect with classmates and teachers to develop relationships, both human and with curriculum.

It took time to set up those dominoes.  It took patience to wait for those directions.  It took trust in classmates to discharge and listen.  It took human connections for authenticity.

It took one giant hug to prove this to me.  And if I close my eyes, I can still feel my feet lifting off the ground, all these years later.

Engaged!

After teaching for more than fifteen years, and becoming facebook friends with a number of present and former students, my feed is starting to fill with a lot of diamond ring pictures.  The excitement of a new phase in a relationship,the planning of the event to end all events, and a happily ever after sets the most romantic of us abuzz as we watch these young people find their place in the world.

Add to that the number of friends I have who are professional or amateur photographers capturing gorgeous pictures of spectacular days, and it's easy to become a creepy stalker as I watch the stories unfold.  I try to limit the number of pictures I "LIKE" on facebook, fearing that my former students will wonder what I do with my spare time, and why I seemingly care so much about them and their successes.

Why do I care?  or, more importantly, Why don't THEY care?

Of course I'm speaking metaphorically here -- especially on the heels of yesterday's post about the motivational properties of chicken bowl.  But the situation is similar; students today are more excited to tweet, instagram, or facebook accomplishments as mundane as they lunch they are eating or the shoes they are wearing than they are about what they are actually doing to better themselves.  And while social media has made this so much more prevalent in the twenty-first century, the actual history of this sort of lack of enthusiasm predates even the internet.  (GASP!)

"What happened in school today?" was often the question asked at the dinner table when I was a child.  I know that I am not alone in this ritual, as similar scenarios are played out in sitcoms from the 60s and 70s, and I've even seen a rerun on MeTV of The Beaver skirting the question from his father and mother.

Perhaps the problem is the way we are planning and instructing our students.  AJ Juliani posted a very thought-provoking blog entry yesterday entitled This is not a Lesson Plan.  I've spent some time reflecting on this, and find a distinct connection between student engagement/excitement levels and  what they are willing to talk about, or tweet about, etc. with others.  Often, as AJ suggests, they are excited about the technology or the activity, but are they really learning and retaining the information? I am now asking myself whether my lesson plans are truly Learning Plans, and if they aren't why aren't they?

Reflection on learning and lessons and student engagement is now my new obsession.  I'm standing on the tip of an iceberg, trying to examine what stands beneath my feet, without cracking my head as I slide off into the great abyss that is the psychology of education and engagement, before the ceremony called graduation becomes the next tweet.