Critical reflection and self-assessment

Coherence? Coherent is my middle name! (It's actually Aileen.) Since my mission in life and in teaching is to explore and share the interconnectedness of all things, I most certainly have made the successful effort to align the parts of my learning plan. The lesson asks students to focus on one particular work of literature as a window into understanding so much more.  Students are asked to look at The Joy Luck Club in context.  And that's really the key.  When students are asked to read books just for the sake of covering the curriculum, write essays just because we have to do five of them per marking period, and put together PowerPoints just so we can say we're employing technology in our classroom, they are turned off.  They are disconnected from the literature.  

That's why it's so important for me, as a teacher, to show students that literature is a reflection of life, of the human experience. In our unit we read the text but we do so with a mind to how the character's experiences are like ours or how they are instructive. This does not mean to suggest that literature is a mirror. I don't want students to expect just to see reflections of themselves. I want them to find connections - a very different thing indeed. 

In our unit students are challenged to make these sophisticated connections. Instruction is scaffolded so that they can achieve the goals.  Students first come to understand narrative by looking at who is telling the story. We discuss the author's purposes and process. Then they are asked to engage in similar investigative and creative processes themselves.  What the students are asked to produce reflects their transfer. It's not enough just to know that Amy Tan did something or even how she did it. Students are asked to do it themselves. They search for the personal stories within themselves and in their own families.

The final result is something that Melissa and I can be truly proud of. We've taking the backward UbD model and have created a unit plan that I know I will actually use this coming fall. Although I know this is something that I've been doing as a teacher for years, this process has forced me to articulate the congruence between produce, process and expectations.

UbD for all?

Reading UbD I've been wondering about the appropriateness of a design plan for all grades and content areas.  I'm not saying that I don't think that one design format can work, but I do wonder if each content area is as readily adaptable to the UbD template.

Maybe I'm just having my doubts because I'm finding Wiggins and McTigue's literature-based examples so difficult to buy into. When they discuss the dangers of students reading Catcher in the Rye as an adolescent adventure story I thought, "Are you kidding me?!?!" Even the most limited readers I've ever encountered have been able to tell that Holden is "messed up". When they suggested that reading Macbeth as a play about loyalty would be great I thought, "Is that it? There is sooooo much more!" If we're talking about BIG questions, essential questions, shouldn't the examples speak to the BIG ideas? Then, when they were offering an example of irony and they completely misdefined it (Who consulted on this - Alanis Morrisett?) I completely lost it.  How am I to envision using these ideas when they can't offer salient examples of understandings and questions in my content area? Am I really supposed to think that this will work if the creators of this program can't even think of viable exemplars?

So strange

Normally, group work, cooperative learning activities, collaboration and the like have all made me twitch. I've carefully avoided them for years because of my past experiences as a student. You see, in the past, I always got stuck with the lion's share of the work only to wind up with a portion of the credit. Yet, a week ago, I actually found myself suggesting teamwork. Why? 

Well, I honestly thought that working in a group would help me to keep the project in perspective, to help me from going overboard. (Yeah, you can laugh at my foolishness too. I know I am.) Though I think everyone in my group (and all of the others) wound up getting quite carried away with our table-top exhibits I was glad to be working collaboratively with my classmates. I feel as if I've gotten so much out of this experience. I've connected with bright, thoughtful women who care about their teaching and who believe in the "interconnectedness" that is at the heart of my personal mission. We were truly challenged in making that connection take on physical form and even more so when we tried to find the words to articulate it. But, in the end, I think the resulting work is so much greater than what could have or would have been produced by the three of us as individuals. 

Thank you, Cheryl and Melissa, for renewing my faith in teamwork.

My Mission

As a teacher of literature, I make it my mission to help my students see the interconnectedness of all things.

My students will sometimes ask me during a lesson, “Why do we need to know about this stuff?” They are teenagers and I forgive them for asking. I smile and ask the question right back. I love my students, but I won’t answer the questions for them. Not questions like that, anyway. Somewhere inside of them they already know why I teach what I teach and how I teach it. Invariably, they have been able to answer the question on their own.

Literature and the other arts do not exist in a vacuum. No artist ever created a work completely divorced from the society that created him. But rather, as Dewey points out, “art is a product of culture, and it is through art that the people of a given culture express the significance of their lives, as well as their hopes and ideals.”

I long help my students see what I see as an interconnectedness between all things. Science, mathematics, literature, history and art are not separate entities. They are all products of the culture from which they spring. I argue that in every time there needs to be an integrated curriculum of study that helps to illuminate the connections between what may seem to be disparate disciplines.

Most arts programs ask students to be able to learn to see details, understand relationships, see how parts contribute to making the whole, and learn to think creatively. It seems most clear to me that these are skills that are both readily transferable and highly valuable in all different learning environments, regardless of subject. Furthermore, such skills are imperative once students reach the “real world”, both inside the workplace and the home.

To deny one’s self art experience is to neglect the opportunity to fully develop as a valuable contributing member of our society, particularly in these difficult times. As a result, I strive on a daily basis to open art experience to more people.

Down and dirty

Well, not exactly. Kevin said we shouldn't worry about our table-top exhibits. He said they would be "down and dirty", implying that they would be no fuss, no muss examples of what could be done in our classrooms if we had the time.  That wasn't exactly the reality of the situation, now was it?  In hindsight, I'm awfully glad he so grossly misjudged what we would do with this challenge. In the moment (and by moment I mean those nights I was up until 2 a.m. researching Chinese business culture and cutting flaps into faux menus with my Exacto knife) I wished I could reign in that part of me that has to have everything just so.  I wished I could be "down and dirty". But I can't. Neither could anyone else, it seems. Clearly, after today's presentations, we should all be proud of the work we've done. We found our own ways to teach using object based education.  Our exhibits were engaging and inspiring. Kudos, classmates!

Lest I hurt myself patting myself on the back like this, let me get to the real point of this blog.  I had an epiphany today as a result of our class.  I think, as a teacher, I have too often forgotten how long some assignments and projects can take.  As a student, I have just been forced to remember.  Everyone has been telling me that becoming a mom is going to make me a more compassionate and gentle teacher. I say, if that happens, it's because of my recent experiences as a student. I'm starting to feel like I need to do my own assignments so that I actually know what must go into completing them.  I seriously doubt Kevin ever thought that Monica's assignment would require teams of people to work for hours and hours outside of the classtime allotted. Yet it did.  How often do I misjudge how long and how hard my students will have to work to successfully complete one of my assignments?  I wonder.

And so I harken back to one of the best teaching practices I've ever engaged in - one I need to revisit in the future.  I once gave an assignment to write on article on language akin to William Safire's column of the same name. My AP Language and Composition class asked, "Will you write one too?" I paused.  They were giving ME homework! Why? Not to stick it to me.  Not because they thought the assignment unfair or odious. Not because misery loves company. They were intellectually curious young writers who wanted to share the experience with me. Just as I wanted to know what they thought, they wanted to know what I had to say. And so I wrote. And I shared. And I understood, really understood, what I had asked of them. I understood not just because I knew how to do what I had asked of them. I would never ask students to do something I couldn't do myself.  I understood not just because I had once done assignments not unlike this for English teachers. I understood because I actually did the work myself. 

The way in

We're are focused on this concept of object-based learning and I couldn't be happier. Too often people assume that the only relevant "object" in an English classroom is a book. I, however, have always believed that literature is a way into having conversations about the human experience. So the challenge of using the Newark Museum artifacts to inspire a conversation relevant to literature has proven both interesting and difficult. Add in the idea that our tabletop exhibits should be interdisciplinary and interactive. Top it all off with narrow time constraints and you'd think I would be tearing out my hair rather than kicking up my heels.

The simple truth is that I'm enjoying the challenge of making manifest the connections that I see and that I desperately want my students to be able to see. How does a study of Amy Tan's The Joy Luck Club relate to a modern-day business dinner? Find out on Thursday!

Less talk - More action

All of my blogging thus far has dealt with the readings. I feel remiss in not having written about my thoughts about my experiences at the Newark Museum. I'm loving the chance to tour the different galleries, learn about the various works of art, and truly experience object-based learning. In fact, I wish I had more time for exactly that. On Thursday I left the museum disappointed that we didn't have more time in the Ballantine House. The place is rich in history and brimming with stories to be told, connections to be made, information to be learned and perhaps even shared with my students. But, in under an hour, all too little of that was possible. I feel like our class is guilty of what we find so irritating in our students: focus on final products and grades over learning and process. I know the table-top exhibits are important, but they are not the end-all be-all of everything. I feel like we're missing the point. These exhibits, as I understand it, are supposed to be practice, a manifestation of a newly learned practice. After all, none of this is worth anything if we can't eventually make use of it in our classrooms. If, however, we spend hours ruminating about these final products we are missing out on the opportunity to learn about the process of setting up opportunities for student inquiry. What I appreciate most about our time with Kevin is the fact that he's not only clearly knowledgeable when it comes to his subject matter but he's also letting us in on HOW museum objects can be displayed. But if we don't get out into the museum to get a sense of what works and what doesn't we're no better off when it comes to trying to create object-based learning opportunities for our own students. Our table-top exhibits will be on display for mere moments; why squander this chance to gain life-long knowledge for something so ephemeral?

What about literature?

Hubard's article on "Complete Engagement: Embodied Response in Art Museum Education" (2007) makes what I find to be a very strange distinction. She carefully separates works of art from "the contents of written texts."  She says that only artworks can elicit immediate and emotional reactions. As a teacher of literature I am well aware of the manifold possibilities for aesthetic experiences with works of literature; that is not just the prerogative of paintings and sculptures. 

For me, literature offers an opportunity to escape, the chance to change paradigms and see the world through eyes which are not my own, a greater understanding of the human experience, and a sense of interconnectedness where shared experience transcends time, space and all other differences.

Did I know? No, I didn't.

I just finished watching the "Did you know?" UTube video that Patty posted.  (Thanks, Patty!) The concept of preparing students for jobs that don't yet exist was both fascinating and frightening. We, as teachers, have such an enormous responsibility to prepare our students for the future.  That's a daunting task when the future is perhaps more of an unknown than it has been.

What it really made me contemplate is the concept of quality. How do we make decisions about what to include in curriculum when the sheer volume of information and the number of choices is so large? How do we decide which of the over one-half million English words are worth teaching? How many of those words do students actually need to know?  Which ones are they? Of the approximately 3000 books published every day, which ones are worth reading?  Of those, which ones are worth teaching?

The null curriculum grows more and more vast every minute.

What does "educated" mean?

What does it mean to be "educated"? It means that one shows evidence of learning. This is different than showing evidence of schooling; there all one might produce is a diploma.  A display of learning is different in that it makes manifest evidence of knowledge gained about a particular subject. Because there are so many variables here, qualifiers are often added.  He is self-educated. She is formally educated. They are college educated. These adjectives indicate where the education came from but say nothing about the quality of the learning. Hence, we sometimes describe people as well educated.  This indicates that the learning displayed is somehow deemed worthy, valuable, even impressive by those witnessing its display. This, of course, is open to personal opinion. Saying that one is well educated seems to imply a well-roundedness that can come from education about a variety of subjects, not necessarily calling for expertise in any one.