Thursday, July 11, 2013

Journal #4: Teacher Beliefs Statement

My, how my beliefs have grown!  Here's my original beliefs statement, and below is the evolution of my educational beliefs:

In order to understand how students learn, I think students first need to be provided with the opportunities to learn.  External factors (such as adequate sleep, nutrition, home environments, etc.) are often times out of our direct control. (Not to say that we avoid addressing and attempting to remedy these potential deficiencies, but if we are incapable of combating these external factors in our oftentimes limited roles as teachers, we need to acknowledge and accept that our children are plagued by these ills.)  We can, however, focus our attention on providing all the resources necessary in our own classrooms for students to learn at their peak individual levels. 
First, students must feel safe in order to learn.  Besides the (hopefully) obvious protection from physical harm, we must stay attuned to whether students feel safe sharing themselves with us, their peers, and (most often overlooked) themselves.  From cultivating classroom environments in which mistakes are honorable, multiple viewpoints are valued, and challenging and questioning are encouraged, students can feel safe growing mentally, socially, and emotionally. 
Second, students must feel respected.  It kills me inside when I see and hear teachers refer to our young people as “our students.”  Just the nomenclature of “student” strips these people of all qualities unrelated to learning in a school building.  Our kids are so much more than that!  They are artists, athletes, big sisters, interpreters, musicians, caregivers, the list goes on and on.  Our kids need to be recognized as people, not students.  Once our children see that the adults in their lives view them as people, as equal human beings (besides, you know, that whole “I’m in charge of the classroom” kind of thing), their respect level for those adults soar.  In doing so, these adults make enormous strides in bridging any cultural, gender, or age gap between themselves and their students.  Once this happens, students will begin to feel that their ideas and themselves are valued in the eyes of the adult.  (Oh, and it completely cuts down on classroom management issues, too!) 
Most importantly, students must feel empowered in order to create their own knowledge.  Anything – animals, insects, even machines – can learn to mimic behavior, complete tasks, or memorize data, but we as humans have the capability to reflect (haHA!), critique, connect, and reinterpret passive knowledge.  We must continually encourage and show our kids that regurgitating information is not a meaningful demonstration of what one knows – it is when a learner relates to material, adapts it to fit their needs and drives in life, and allows that knowledge to lead them to self-discovery that they accomplish real knowledge!  Even when students create active knowledge, they need to see us model and feel safe themselves in battling uncomfortable uncertainties, wrestling with questions that challenge our beliefs, and, to be cliché, “stepping outside their comfort zones.”  Only then can students create their own knowledge!
Once we see how students learn, we need to ensure our instruction affords and strengthens opportunities for that learning to occur.  The first step is teaching students to consider how they think and learn so that they can be empowered with that knowledge to interpret and reinterpret instruction.  Making sure that students feel that they have control over how they create knowledge from our instruction provides students with ownership of their learning processes.  Once students feel empowered to create their own knowledge, then we, as teachers, lead and guide them to creating new connections and exploring challenging conundrums.  Sometimes guiding and leading involves lecturing and explicit, prescriptive modes of transferring information.  Often times, though, guiding and leading learning relies heavily upon student interest and choice, openness to multiple methods to demonstrate mastery, and “confined freedom” to apply and explore new skills.  (By confined freedom, I mean providing young people with flexibly wide parameters to choose how and what they explore with respect to new material.  Our kids need structure (some more than others) to limit an overwhelming plethora of possibilities, but they also need the freedom to create knowledge as it relates to their lives and their interests.)
Most importantly, our instruction must, as I said before, challenge them to consider new ideas, question their beliefs, and explore the sometimes uncomfortable perspectives of other people (all developmentally appropriate, of course).  It pains me when teachers shy away from conflict the curriculum or their students.  Unproductive conflict can be obviously detrimental to the education process for all involved, but productive conflict – conflict in which we remain open-minded and respectful – is how our society grows.  We don’t grow in conflict-free environments – we stagnate.  From a national level of battling political parties to an individual level of cognitive dissonance, we utilize the gifts of disagreement and differences to forge new territory and blaze a new path. 
But now let’s say that one wants to improve on enabling student learning or enhancing classroom instruction: how does one do that?  Through careful reflection of one’s position.  For reflection to make any positive difference, it must be truthful.  Individuals, teachers especially, need to be comfortable enough with themselves to confront the oftentimes grim realization that, lo and behold, things may not be as they seem.  If teachers are not genuine in their examination of the faults and their triumphs, there is no foundation for reflection; any half-brained attempt to reflect will crumble like a sandcastle.  When we consider our own actions merely at face value, we lose the opportunity to flip our perspectives, empathize with our students, and explore ourselves and our craft through multiple lenses.  Without reflecting critically and carefully hunting assumptions and considering viable alternatives, we only reflect to check reflecting off our checklist or drop the “reflect” buzzword into our resume.  Critical reflection takes energy, effort, and patience, not a half-brained attempt at shrugging off our practice as “proficient” and moving on.
And to transform that half-brained attempt into a full-fledged inquiry involves utilizing systemic processes.  Sometimes those procedures follow the prescriptive systems designed by philosophers and researchers.  Other times, those reflective practices are rooted in personalized systems that enable the individual to carefully mull over interpretations, perspectives, alternatives, and reactions to improve their craft.  Whatever reflective systems make sense for the teacher, they should rely on some type of data.   And no, not necessarily data in the sense of spreadsheets or grade books (but if those are helpful to individuals or individual situations, use ‘em!), but observations, conversations, and other qualitative, informal “data” that can be recorded in some way for future analysis and consideration.  Long story short, to improve student learning and classroom instruction, teachers need to remember that they’ll “get out what they put in.”  If you do what you always do, you’ll get what you always get.  But if you’re willing to challenge assumptions, utilize referential resources, and experiment with new approaches and techniques, you’re in store for something different in the least but probably something great!

Tuesday, July 9, 2013

Journal #3: Pride and Tolerance

Growing up Jewish in a wealthy suburb of Detroit in a family that valued education, individuality, and a liberal lifestyle really wasn’t all that hard.  I mean, considering the struggles and plights of any number of other kids growing up in the Detroit area in the 1990’s, I had it easy.  I had two loving and devoted parents who moved to Birmingham, Michigan for its exemplary school system and sacrificed the majority of their combined salaries to put myself and both of my sisters through school without taking out student loans.  I lived in a very modest three-bedroom house on the “poorer” side (if you consider $130,000 per house on one sixth of an acre poor) of town.  Both of my parents held advanced postgraduate degrees from prestigious universities and held steady jobs that allowed our family to live comfortably.  (Note that we lived a very modest middle-class family life in the shadows of one of the wealthiest cities in the state and nation.  I thank God for that every day.) 
            Still, even amongst all of the privilege we grew up with (and our parents pointedly reminded us about on a daily basis), I remember the challenge that came with growing up Jewish is a Christian community without any other Jewish friends.  At a very young age, I realized that I felt like a jealous outcast around Christmas time as I watched my friends put up trees in their homes and always heard winter break referred to as “Christmas Break.”  I felt left out of this “magical” feeling of the warmth of Christmas that all my friends shared with me, blissfully unaware that I hadn’t the first clue how to imagine this feeling.  I was young, but I knew that somehow, in a world where I had always found a place to belong, I didn’t. 
            Luckily, I had a supportive family who shared my feelings and stood with me to make sense of my first experiences with purposeful and accidental cultural exclusion.  We belted out our Channukah songs with pride.  We took advantage of the eight day festival and cooked family meals every night.  Every evening, the anticipation after dinner built up towards lighting the menorah and playing driedel, not opening presents.  We brought my Channukah experience to my school by sharing our traditions and customs with my classmates and teachers, many of whom had never experienced (much less pronounced) Channukah before. 

            Through all of these actions, I learned to be proud of my differences amongst my peers.  Sure, there were difficult times when I would come home from school crying about feeling left out, when I would change the television channel, frustrated with the “Christmas” commercials, or when I would cover my ears and scream in the grocery store because I was so incredibly sick of listening to Christmas music.  (Only later did I find out that you didn’t have to be Jewish to dislike Christmas carols!)  During these times, my mom (mostly, sometimes my dad) would make a point to hear me out, appreciate my frustration, relate to me with her own current feelings or those of hers when she was growing up, and find ways to point out that although yes, our family was different, we still had the pride to not only be different, but coexist with our Christian majority community.  You see, it was never about only taking pride in our own religion: my parents’ message was always about proudly standing up for our differences while tolerating, accepting, and helping to celebrate (to the extend we could without throwing a fit) Christmas festivities.  Pride wasn’t the major lesson: it was tolerance.

Tuesday, July 2, 2013

Journal #2: Initial Reflections on School Leadership

What do I know about school leadership?  Oy vey, where to begin?  With theory?  With practical experience?  Where the two meet, where "the rubber meets the road?" Maybe all of the above.

- Framing paradigms and how they help to analyze and reflect upon future or past organizational strategies:  the structural frame, in which every decision rises out of an orderly, intricate system; the political frame, in which decisions are made based on the competition for limited resources; the human resources frame, in which management is based on relationships and human connections; and the symbolic frame, in which actions arise through ceremonies and performance.
- The use of carefully scrutinized and collected data/research to drive school decisions.  How organizational goals and plans require intense scrutiny and a democratic process before taking action.  How the "root cause" of a perceived problem is never visible on the surface but only after trial and error of peeling back different layers of the onion.  How amalgamating research is helpful, but clearly communicating why that research is important and how that research affects the school is key.
- How school leaders need to utilize the powers of motivation to make change happen.  How transformative leaders have to fight society's acceptance of extrinsic motivation as the "be all, end all" tool to enact change and spark and fan the flame of intrinsic motivation to encourage others to accomplish meaningful change both, both individually and as a group.  How motivating factors affect all four of the frames (especially political) when dissecting administrative case studies and how their lessons learned affect our individual leadership development.
- How a leader's supervision of instruction is either the breath of life of deadly flame to a school's educational success.  How different theories of supervision apply to different development levels of faculty members.  How to enact meaningful, purposeful, and transformative evaluations of teachers and their crafts to take them individually, and as a collective group, to new heights.  How some evaluative measurements successfully quantify a teacher's craft while undermining the art of their practice, how other evaluative measurements encourage growth while stifling individual choice, and how to strike a balance that fits the community you lead.
- How two sides of an issue are not always "right" and "wrong," as they are sometimes the best response at any given time.  How both sides can learn from each other to find compromises where everyone loses as little as possible.  How selling an idea to key stakeholders involves molding your pitch to meet the needs of both your community and your audience while finding a fair way to address deficiencies in your argument and how you plan to remedy them.  How different communities' perspectives on similar issues affects the decision making process of today's school leaders.

How did I learn these things?  Some of those lessons were gleaned from close readings of assignments, others came from trying to execute theory within my practice and wrestling with the conflict where the two meet in the real world.  But most of those lessons were gleaned from discussions with school leaders: with building principals, with administrative coaches, with researchers of school leadership, with department heads, etc.  Those lessons were passed on to me as stumbling blocks to avoid or as advice to carefully consider.  It's like when a parent or mentor tells you, "Remember this..." and that little voice in your head listens but doesn't store that lesson for later reflection and consideration?  I've learned to force that little voice to listen, take notes, make connections, and bookmark those discussions and lessons for when I confront difficult circumstances in my professional life.

How do these things work within my school building, you ask?  My suggestions and input on school goals and visions in grounded in meaningful research and data that connects to our community.  My interactions with my colleagues and superiors is grounded in an intense devotion to maintaining reliable, safe, and strong relationships.  My decisions often only arise after careful consideration of all parties and sides, after keeping an open mind to my possible misinterpretation, and after thoughtful and thorough communication with everyone involved.  My goal to push students and colleagues to improve is founded in a hope to inspire their own intrinsic motivators, not always dangling rewards and consequences to change behavior.  My perspective on what good teaching looks like allows for both the unquantifiable art of our craft and the measurable actions that lead to improvement.  My conversations with my superiors always focus on my colleagues' and kids' best interests and what I can do to better represent them and their needs.

Journal #1: The Artifact.

A drumstick.

To those who know me, it's a sensible object to represent who I am: a musician, a director, one whose aim is true and is chiseled -- but not broken -- through the cuts and pock marks of experience.

But the drumstick represents so much more than that, especially when it relates to teaching.  For the past 16 years, I have been (both formally and informally) banging on different instruments to create rhythm and sound.  You know, drumming.  Music has been an enormous part of my life, be it practicing, writing, or performing.  Just as this drumstick, my tool of choice, is my sword for conquering practicing, writing, and performing, its aim and chiseled sides also represent how I practice my lessons before I enact them, how I write curriculum and assessments before I follow them, and how I perform in the classroom in front of my students.

Although these connections may seem ethereal or intangible, I believe that this drumstick most clearly represents the bridge connecting my professional craft and my personal art: connecting with kids.  By both teaching English (read: "responsibility") and music, I have the unique opportunity to connect with my kids like elementary school teachers do, through multiple subjects.  On the surface, my dual teaching threat allows me to better relate to my colleagues in both Language Arts and the performing arts and to better relate to my artistic kids in the English classroom or my linguistically-minded kids in the studio.  On a deeper level, however, the bridge that I can create through teaching both middle school English and high school music affords me much better connections that continue to solidify the foundation of my professional life.  That bridge allows me to follow my middle school students to high school, to serve as a mentor of different capacities for potentially five full years.  That bridge affords me the opportunity to forge stronger connections with parents who begin to see me as more than just a classroom teacher, confined to the standards of eighth grade English that I teach, but as a "parent away from home" who spends time during the school day and after the school day to share thousands of lessons on multiple topics with their children -- much like they do at home.  Best of all, that bridge enables me to practice what I preach when it comes to creating an eighth grade experience that transcends the difficulties of the high school transition and "bridges" the frightening chasm between middle school and high school.

So, yes, on the surface, the drumstick is a sensible object that reflects who I am.  But its deeper meanings connect the values of my personal life to those of my professional life.