because thoughts become your words.

Keep your words positive

because words become your actions.

Keep your actions positive

because actions become your habits.

Keep your habits positive

because habits become your values.

Keep your values positive

because values become your future.

         (From Inspirational Teachers, Inspirational Learners’

Will Ryan, Crown House Publishing, 2011. page 175)

It has been a long tortuous week since last Monday when I experienced perhaps one of my most disastrous lessons. It was made worse by the fact that there was a fantastic support teacher in the room standing beside a student teacher who was observing for the first time. There was little learning being done; or so I thought. There was, however, crushing embarrassment and suffocating deflation on my part. The lesson had been planned meticulously; or so I thought. I had set the challenge bar high but not too high; or so I thought. However, everything that I had planned slipped away as the lesson started badly and went rapidly down hill.

I reacted badly, sharing my pain with my Twitter PLN who responded in kind. My initial reactions, most of them unrepeatable, centred around the blame I placed on the students, the revenge I would take, the removal of privileges and anything remotely like interactive learning in the near future. I sat on the train scribbling things furiously into a notebook, things I’d do better, things I’d change about my classroom lay out, pin-pointing the culprits. But, as home approached, I began to understand who the real culprit was.

For one, if I was being honest, I hadn’t planned as well as I could have. I had relied on memories of a successful lesson from last year. Surely it would be the same this time. My resources were excellent. Previous lessons had gone well; there was a lot of good work to build on. The only difference was the students in front of me. Things did not go well and I failed to deal with that. I was not prepared for the level of disconnect. Under pressure to salvage something from the lesson I made poor decisions and little learning occurred. Or did it?

Would I have been equally upset if there had been no other adults in the room? Was I really just embarrassed that my reputation had, perhaps, been sullied by one badly taught, badly led lesson?  Would I have quietly accepted it if no one else had known? Or was I really just looking for an excuse to deflect the blame? As teachers have to do, I picked myself up, dusted myself off and started all over again. I didn’t see the class for a couple of days but I rethought my plan, reassessed my sources and headed back in. Was it better? Yes. Was it great? No; but the student teacher certainly witnessed two contrasting lessons. It was a valuable lesson for him.

Poor lessons must never be acceptable but they do occur, despite our wish to think otherwise. Taking what you can from the remains is what makes us better. This is perhaps why the announcement that new Chief of Inspectors at OFSTED, Sir Michael Wilshaw, claimed that teachers would never be given salary increases unless they ‘shone in the classroom’. My experience of Inspection doesn’t quite fit with that thinking, where HMI visit one, perhaps two, lessons and make a judgement. On any one day an inspector could walk into a disaster area; lessons going wrong for so many reasons. Good teachers shine over series of lessons; with the relationships they form; with the manner in which they learn from their mistakes.

If we are truly to believe that our students learn better through trying and failing and trying again, then it must also be acceptable for teachers to occasionally fail too. We must model good learning. Even if that means modelling good failing.

Frasier Crane: What case did you win it for?

Niles Carne: A gripping tale of a narcissistic opera singer. I called it ‘Me Me Me Me Me.’

 ’Frasier’ Series 4 Episode 4 ‘Dad Loves Sherry, The Boys Just

Whine’

We teachers can be an idealistic lot at times. We want our classes to be wonderful, exciting places and our students to leave our rooms energised. We may have been inspired by wonderful, inspirational teachers ourselves, teachers whose classes we remember as being full of fun and wonder, taught with sense of humour and energy. We may even have been inspired by those incredible on screen teachers: Sidney Poitier in ‘To Sir With Love’, Robin Williams in ‘Dead Poets Society’, Barry Evans in ‘Mind Your Language’. However, perhaps I remember them for the wrong reasons.

For a while, I was using the movie, ‘Freedom Writers’ as a classroom resource to, hopefully, encourage reluctant writers that they all have something to say. If you are unaware of the movie, it is about a young teacher who goes into a tough school in LA with great expectations, only to find kids demotivated by alleged institutional racism along with drug and gang culture. She turns them on to school through a series of inspirational lessons and, by the end, they worship her. (sigh) And there’s the rub. Deep down did I really want my students to feel the same way about me? Is that why I really showed them the film?

In his foreword to Will Ryan’s excellent ‘Inspirational Teachers, Inspirational Learners’,  Ian Gilbert claims that, ‘if the children in your classroom are spellbound by your performance in the classroom then you are charismatic but not inspiring.’  How much do we teachers dominate the lessons we try to teach? And how often is that something to do with ego? The performers deep within come out and there is no greater sound than laughter, especially when we cause it; but, if we’re being honest, our students lose something valuable in those lessons, something much more important than our secret desire to be worshipped. Active learning time.

When we spend the time attempting to inspire our children to stand on their desks chanting, ‘Oh Captain, my Captain’ they are learning nothing useful. They may well remember us but perhaps not for the right reasons. I’ve stopped using ‘Freedom Writers’ as a resource. probably because I realised that it was a fairly mediocre movie, but also because I could inspire good writing in other ways. These kids have their troubles but they are not demotivated in the way those LA kids were; they don’t have the same issues, they don’t need me to save them. They need me to teach them properly.

I’m learning to stand back more and more in my lessons. Experience has taught me that if kids remember my class because ‘he was a good laugh’ then I may have failed them. It should never have been about me.

I was introduced to the concept of ‘the walk through’ recently during a chat about computer games with a young lad in one of my classes. The young gent in question was a proud gamer and regularly spent thirty pounds of his mother’s hard earned money on the latest games. She was happy to do so, he claimed, because he was so good at them. So good that he regularly finished them in a weekend.

I wouldn’t want to slur his good character but I questioned this obvious talent and wondered how he managed it. ‘The Walk Through’. On YouTube. Apparently he can go and follow someone else playing the game to get to the end quickly. Telling his mum that he’d finished made him feel good.

My initial outrage soon subsided though. How reflective is that of the school experience of many our kids? How often do we embed the notion that the end product is the be all and end all and the journey, so to speak, is not especially relevant? This boy knew that he’d get more plaudits by telling people of his success – completing the game and telling people about it- so how he got there was not really important to him. Who has taught him that? Where has he learned it?

Reading ‘The Game of School’ by Robert L. Fried this week led me to think about that walk through. He argues that teachers, students, parents are aware of the rules of the game even if we don’t refer to it. There is an unspoken code to which we all allude  in order to avoid ‘rocking the boat’.

‘The Game begins whenever we focus on getting through the school day rather than actually learning.’ Friel, introduction

We play the game by entrenching established practices whether they work or not. Kids know how to get through their day without rocking the classroom boat. And we provide the walk through. There is a suggestion that teachers are more than happy with this arrangement. I couldn’t possibly comment.

We inadvertently ensure that assessment procedures emphasise the grades rather than the learning and, Fried argues, kids become aware that exams are not there to assess their learning; they exist to assess Local Authority, who use them to assess schools, who use them to assess teacher competence.

‘Students come to learn that beating last year’s test scores is the thing adults in school care most about.’ Friel

Everyone, deep down, knows that yet we still wheel out what Ian Gilbert calls; ‘the Great Educational Lie’ that if you work hard and get good grades you will get a good job. I’ve always been an advocate of the policy that Learning and Teaching must be the priority of formal education or it fails to achieve very much.  So when do we finally grasp the great truth that the tail has, for some time, been wagging the dog? My student is, of course, not emblematic of students everywhere; but he is out there and he won’t be the only one.

I’m not sure I really have a solution apart from a huge drift towards honest continuous assessment but until we start talking about the walk through then we may as well just forget about real teaching and just teach to the damn test. That is how we will be assessed anyway.

I’ve always thought that, as a teacher and a professional, it was not merely my right to speak up about educational matters but my duty. When I started Blogging a year ago it was to share things I was trying in class with a wider audience and to attempt to communicate with educators who, perhaps, felt the same way about the way things were changing. Education is in a constant state of change in Scotland – and, seemingly many countries. It is not a new thing. However, what has changed is the ability for teachers to share these discussions with a wider audience through social media. I chose Blogging because I wanted to write.

Blogging does allow you to develop a thought, into a point, into a discussion. The disorganised thoughts flying around my mind during the week now find somewhere to go, instead of post-it it notes which get lost. When I write my blog posts I start by splattering any thoughts in no particular order, a sort of stream of consciousness. But when I see those disorganised thoughts I can ‘ see what I say’ and edit accordingly.. This has made me a better writer and, thus, a better teacher of writing. I can more understand the practical difficulties in structuring an argument, or reflecting some thoughts; something I ask my students to do all of the time. It also allows me to reflect on things I thought six months ago and adapt or even disagree with now.

And I want people to read my blog too. It is no vanity project (or is every Blog a vanity project? Discuss.) I think I have something to say but what good is writing without a reader. It is no diary, no keeper of secret thoughts. There is nothing more public and the Internet has become the ultimate leveller for the unpublished writer.  I read other Blogs to find inspirational ideas, great thoughts and wonderful writing. And, as I do in school every day of my life, I look for those who set high standards and attempt to emulate them. Why settle for second best? Even though I often fail to live up to that standard.

Before blogging I walked about with an almost constant niggling doubt about what I was trying to achieve in Education. There are as many great things which I felt were not being celebrated in schools as there are bad ideas. I questioned everything, as I try to encourage my students to do, but had no focus, no burning pyre to get rid of those ideas. My Blog has given me somewhere to distribute the detritus of my everyday thoughts. Some of them I wish I’d spent more time on. Some of them I’m every proud of. But I wouldn’t change any of them now. A year of Blogging reflects my development as a teacher but also as a thinker. And that can’t be a bad thing.

There will be those of you who are very Blog and Twitter savvy who believe there are too many of us out there gassing on about our opinions. However, I want to be controversial here and say that, in Scotland at least, there are not enough. Social media has opened up a world once closed to us. A country full of great educators with things to say. I suggest that there is not enough discussion going on out there and certainly not enough relevant literature to inform, inspire and explain the changes occurring in Scottish Education.

Too many people who have great ideas often become stifled by school structures and the intimidating hugeness of it all. We are professionals. We are not fools. We can discuss the world of education in a positive and supportive, if often critical, eye without any of it becoming personal. You are a teacher. You have great things to say. Share them. Get blogging!

Is six feet high

And whether I love it or not

I’ll die

For its independence.

                                                                 ‘Patriot’ By Norman Maccaig

If I told you that I regularly buy The Observer what would you think? If I said that I loathed the current coalition Government and harumphed quietly at Newsnight and ranted at Question Time, would that add anything to the picture? I listen to Tom Waits and The Smiths. I liked The Wire. I wear dark rimmed specs, have a kindle and enjoy a latte; I feel slightly sorry for Ed Miliband and wish he was better, but loathe Tony Blair. What would you think? Some of you will recognise ‘my type’; others may empathise a little more. But some of you already have me tagged don’t you?

The recent media frenzy over Scottish Independence raised a few questions about polarisation for me and how comfortable we are in our own belief systems. When you filter something down to the simplicity of a Yes/No answer then you often fail to connect with the real issues.

In our daily lives, we like to read newspapers which we know will reflect our world views. We read books we think we should be reading. We befriend – both in social media and real life – those who are similar and ‘unfollow’ those with whom we disagree; because it is easier. It makes us feel that we are correct in the way we live our lives and that our views are sacrosanct. I’m no different. It’s just that it is beginning to worry me. When we become so entrenched in how we live our lives, how then can we expect empathy to thrive?

And it’s the same in Education, isn’t it? We hang out in the staff room with those who share our outlook and educational beliefs. We avoid those who may not see it the same way. Thus, we avoid the real conversations we need to have because it is deemed unprofessional to rock the boat. It might be controversial but I think we also tend to share our creative ideas with those who we think will be most receptive. An easy audience.

We then create a polarised education system; for example, those who like the Curriculum for Excellence in Scotland and those who don’t; those who like Glow and those who don’t; those who think change is good and those who don’t. When people disagree with something you fundamentally agree with, how often have you taken it as a personal slight? How often has it been intended as a personal slight? Perhaps we need to toughen up and do better.

I think Teachmeet can really help here, especially the smaller, trimmed down, Teachmeet 365. I recently proposed a ‘Teachmeet plus partner’, sending the audience into a frenzy as they pictured prospective ‘significant others’ sitting alongside them at the next one. What I meant was a Teachmeet where the entry ‘fee’ was to bring one other person from your establishment who had never been to one before. Maybe then we can start to encourage others to join our conversation.

Teachmeet is often a pebble in an ocean. A pebble which starts ripples but, perhaps, only small ones. By sticking to our own beliefs we miss great opportunities for learning. We won’t always be able to reach out, but a little bit of empathy perhaps goes some of the way. As long as I don’t have to read The Daily Mail.

(While I am aware that I have  briefly touched on this subject before, here,  I always intended to return to it to add some more thoughts and reflections.)

Ask any pupil in any English class and the two words which will kill a love of reading more than any others are ‘book’ and ‘report’. You might change ‘report’ for ‘review’. You might call it character study. You might call it a cream bun but they know what it is. What they don’t get is why oh why they have to do it.

Let’s face it. Book reports serve little purpose. In theory we say they ask the pupil to reflect their understanding but they don’t really. They are ‘busy work’ which kill a love of reading in children. Fact. (but don’t press me on that.)  However ask yourself this? If you knew you had to write a report on every book you read at home would you be so keen to pick one up? Especially when you don’t really like reading anyway? Thought not.

Adults pick up a book at the end of the day when they have finished work and want to escape. We very often don’t let our pupils do that. A love of reading should be our only aim in English class, especially in the lower years. Everything else will fall into place.

One of Willingham’s important assertions in this book is that human beings don’t really want to think; we are not wired to do so.

‘Humans don’t think very often because our brains are designed not for thought but for the avoidance of thought.’ (Willingham , 2009, p. 4)

He claims, probably unsurprisingly, that ‘the only path to expertise is practice…and by making mental procedures automatic.’ So when driving to school what I am displaying is pure learning; so much so that I barely know I’m doing it. I am moving knowledge from my working memory – that bit that gives us a headache wondering what to have for dinner – to my long term memory, where I’ve learned it, can do it, and it no longer troubles me. Making space, you could say.

Nothing especially ground-breaking there, you might say. However, Willingham also makes some excellent points about how a lack of this background knowledge in the long term memory is the true block to progress in learning. That might suggest why home environment, especially in the early years of school, is so crucial.

On the point of returning to school to, ostensibly, start a new set of texts with five different classes, I’m now thinking of this in a more immediate context. Is it true that we sometimes underestimate the importance of factual knowledge when approaching Literature in the classroom? And, as an English teacher, how can I overcome wide ranging background knowledge levels in my students?

l might have assumed background knowledge when approaching the play script of ‘The Diary of Anne Frank’. Do thirteen year olds in Scotland know much about the Holocaust? What should I assume? How would I really know? Perhaps, to a lesser extent with ‘To Kill a Mockingbird’. They must be aware of racism in society. But the murky politics of the Deep  South, depression-era America? It raises some vital questions in terms of planning. In our endless desire for coverage, our race towards an end of unit assessment, how much do we genuinely take real learning into account and is that even assessed? How often have I rushed into a text, missing opportunities for real learning?

Daniel Willingham’s ‘Why Don’t Students Like School?’ is a very important book which I think all teachers should read. It questions our approach to planning lessons and to the ways children learn. He questions assumptions about learning styles – not always convincingly in my opinion – but creates a framework for curriculum development where real student learning is at the heart of what we do.

Here’s an excerpt:

A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 3,500 times in 2011. If it were a cable car, it would take about 58 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

6. Pedagoo Friday - Pedagoo.org was an idea initiated by a few Scottish teachers but mainly the inspirational Fearghal Kelly who is the driving force. Pedagoo is ‘an attempt by a loose collection of educators in Scotland to move beyond the rhetoric and inevitable negativity that surrounds most new initiatives in education’. I came up with the idea of #pedagoofriday in September when I saw so many creative ideas happening in schools and little access to sharing. The idea is to share one great thing that happened in your classroom that week. Some of that sharing has been inspirational.

7. Being brave - I’m not sure if it’s a Scottish thing but I know there is a wee voice in my head every time I tweet or blog, whispering, ‘this is terrible. You know nothing.’ Perhaps that is true. But no-one ever achieved anything by doing nothing. Whatever it is you have to say, say it. Maybe it is rubbish; maybe no one will want to read it. But what you will do is reflect upon what you’ve written and be better for it. The world doesn’t need another Blogger but what it does needs is another educator reflecting on his or her practice. It will help you, first of all. And that must be a good thing.

8. Not being afraid of self-promotion - Yes, people will criticise, point a finger, mock. But you want them to read your work, don’t you? Twitter is great for getting your stuff out to your audience; an audience which, remember, has chosen to follow you and what you do. I’ve never really felt bad about publicising my blog. God knows, there have been times when I’ve felt my posts were not as good as they could have been but there is a sense of urgency and immediacy about blogging which I enjoy. Reaction from others can sometimes be the best editing process.

Miracle on 34th Street.

This is part one of my final Blog post of 2011. Exactly a year ago I had written my first one. It  lay untouched for days,  a result of my procrastination and general weak-willed assumption that it was rotten. However, I leapt in and a year later I can happily say that that decision changed my teaching life. I may never be the best writer, the best blogger; I may never win awards: but I am more confident as an educator, more connected to like-minded souls and more prepared to take a risk. If there is one piece of advice I would pass on to anyone in the same position as I was a year ago it would be this. Go for it. To paraphrase someone else, blog like no-ones reading.

So, in the finest tradtion of lazy journalism and even lazier TV programme scheduling, over the next two days I’ll highlight the top ten most important things that have happened as a result of that decision to Blog. In  no  particular  order:

 

1. Teachmeet – I attended many of these this year and spoke at two. Speaking in front of large crowds of your peers may not sound appealing – it was terrifying actually – but it was massively rewarding. The huge confidence I gained from forcing myself up to talk about things which are happening in my class was amazing. There are no cynics, no grumblers. Merely like-minded souls who want to listen. Do it. First chance you get. Just do it. But make sure you keep your shirt tucked in.

2. Persisting with the Blog- From the tentative scribblings of a wannabe blogger to the Guardian in seven months. I had two of my blog posts chosen for the Guardian Teacher’s Network this year and it blew my mind. I genuinely think that my Blog can be good at times but never that good. To see my work on the Guardian website -here and here- and to be able to mail the link to friends and family was hugely important to me and a massive confidence boost.

3. My Scottish PLN – A year ago I wouldn’t have known what a Personal Learning Network was but now can count many great, great educators as friends. In Scotland alone, Fearghal, Colm, Dave, Neil, Liz, David, Ian, Drew, Russell and those too many to mention. You know who you are and I thank you for the unbelievably creative ideas you have shared with me this year.  And the Twitter heckling at Teachmeet, Neil. Thanks again.

4. My worldwide PLN- The great thing about Twitter is that it breaks down barriers in so many ways, not just geographically. I can contact writers, educationalists, anyone around the world and it is amazing how kind people can be. James, David, Mark, Tom, Phil, Lisa, Nina, Eugene, Laura and many others: thank you for opening doors for me and creating the best CPD I’ve ever known. And thank you for your patience and support.

5. Digital Literacy – I started the year with Inanimate Alice and wrote at the time that it was the most incredible learning experience I’d had. I wouldn’t change that looking back. The process as well as the amazing classroom experience is something I would recommend to every teacher who crossed my path.  Student engagement rocketed and we produced some excellent writing as well as our own digital episodes. No experience necessary. Highly recommended. And it does not mean that you throw everything else out. We still studied literature, grammar and everything else you would expect. We just worked harder.

I’mpretty impressed with all of that. It hasn’t been a bad year at all. Tomorrow I’ll get to #pedagoofriday and a few other things.