The joke is as old as homework. It’s been passed down from generation to generation. It’s part of our collective conscience; it’s rooted in school culture. “My dog ate my homework.” Code for “I didn’t do my homework.” We nod. We laugh. We know.

But, what if we don’t know? What if it really did eat it? I mean lots of dogs, lots of homework…it is possible. Ya never know. And that’s worth considering. And, even if it’s unlikely that a canine actually made a meal out of last night’s assignment, we never really know. Turns out, that there’s a lot we may not know. I didn’t know.

I didn’t know I’d find an email this morning from one of my students from 8:00 PM last night telling me she just got kicked out of her house, fretting over not being able to finish her presentation, worrying that she wouldn’t even be able to get to school, wondering where she was going to spend the night.

Suddenly, my class, my assignment seems small. Really small. In fact, it seems nothing at all compared to the bigger lessons, the bigger consequences at hand in this young lady’s life. At this moment, I am not worried about the assignment. I am worried about her. With only a few days left in the year, will I even see her again? I don’t know, which makes me wonder, what else don’t I know?

In this instance, she let me know. But as I think back on instances near and far, I wonder how often I didn’t know. I mean really know. A younger Sy, didn’t buy. Even a story like this, I may have thought it a dramatized, pathos-infused “dog story.” Fortunately, I have become what I believe is a better person, trading my cynicism for empathy–because I may never really know the whole story. So, I default now with empathy and flexibility. I have to own my view–right or wrong. And if I am wrong, I would rather it be from a place of empathy and flexibility, not cynicism or rigidity.

The dog ate the homework, or not. If so, then let them do it. Dogs do things, and it’s conceivable that it did really happen. If not, then still let them do it. It’s a missing assignment. It’s not a personal affront to us. It’s not a sure sign of one being destined to now live a life of irresponsibility. It’s a missing assignment. And how we react is everything. And, importantly, our response is our choice. We can choose flexibility. We can choose rigidity. After all, it seems we are responsible for the excuse. If not for fear of punishment, then kids would not have had to create it in the first place.

I have to make a choice. I have to put my head together with this young lady to figure out what we are going to do. And instead of my considering what I am going to do to her, I will go into the conversation with the mindset of what I am going to do for her. And then, once we’ve decided, that will be the path we follow.

But what about the other kids? What about the other kids who got their work done on time? Is that fair? What about them? Did they get kicked out of their home? If they had, I would have brokered them the same deal, or at least the same response: empathy, for no two situations are the same. Rigidity in the name of fairness is a farce. It is often sold as a high-minded, righteous response out of consideration of others. Please. Fairness is born of empathy, and it is considerate of all, for it recognizes not that all are the same but rather that all are different, and we need to respond accordingly.

The other kids? The other kids won’t know what I decide. It’s not their business. It’s not their learning. It’s not their life. It’s hers. I just happen to be in the same class as her. I showed up on her schedule, and in a year, we have shared time and space. How she lives in, learns from, and leaves that space is largely up to me. And that adds some weight to the choices I make. As such, I have to live with my choices. And though it wasn’t always so, I have learned I like living with my empathetic mistakes better than my cynical ones.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will experience…

…scrambling to get presentations done.

Happy Tuesday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

Not sure what it means in the grand scheme, but over the weekend, Project 180 finally hit 100,00 views. It only took 763 posts and 3 1/2 years to get there, but we got there. Of course, when I started back in January of 2016, I had no idea, really, that “there” would be here. Not sure what I expected at all. It all simply started as a good-natured dare by one of my students Megan Lavin.

So, I started blogging about education that first spring, which led me to launching year one of Project 180 in the fall. And as I wrap up year three, I am proud of the work behind me. Lots of early-morning musings and finger fumbling (I am a terrible typist) to get to here. But, it has made me a better teacher as I have come to intentionally reflect each day on my experiences in the classroom. It has also connected me with the education world at large, where I have become connected to, inspired and supported by so many amazing educators around the globe. Thank you, all, for the continued, kind support of the work I do. Could not have gotten “here” without you. Thank you.

Do I have another 180 in me? I think so. A lot of work remains, and I think I still have some fumble left in these old fingers. And, in truth, I am excited to share my work around an attempt at a feedback-only classroom next year. I feel like my work is evolving, like I am on to important next better. So, stay tuned, please. Project 180 will be around for at least another year. Thank you again for your support.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we experience…

…scrambling to get all presentations done this week.

Happy Monday, all. Last one of the year.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

I imagine by her peers’ standards she’s strange. She keeps to herself. She has different interests. She says and does weird things. But, really, she’s neither strange nor weird; really, she’s just misunderstood.

Turns out, I have a lot of Ms. (and Mr.) Understood’s in the classroom. Always have. Always will. We are all different. We are all strange. We are all misunderstood. It’s the way of things. But I say this not as an admission of apathy. Rather, I say it as a recognition of reality. In our world, we misunderstand much. Of all, it seems we misunderstand each other. And why wouldn’t we? We don’t know each other. We can’t understand what we don’t know. So, then, to understand, we have to know. The goal has to be to know each other. In room 206, that is the goal.

In my room I want you to feel connected.

This is everything in my room. All else comes second. We work–deliberately and diligently–at this every day. No magic bullet. No shiny, canned, costly program. Just 31 people in a room connecting each day through Smiles and Frowns. I know I often talk about and talk up our daily ritual, gushing about its impact on our classroom community and culture, but it has been a powerful means to a powerful end, an end that I am witnessing from the front row. And from my perch, I am watching in real time “knowing” transforming into “understanding.” And yesterday, was the best yet. For yesterday, Miss Under stood.

She has refused to share her work all year long. Trapped in her anxiety, scarred by bullies and teasers in her past, aware of her socially awkward standing, she has hidden in the shadows, barely showing herself. Occasionally, intermittently, she has shared a smile or frown, but she has never shared her work, which I have always found to be our misfortune, for her work is good–really good. And as we neared the end of this project and approached the presentation part of it, she and I had already reached an agreement that–as always–she would not have to share her work. But, then, yesterday, something happened. Miss Under stirred.

Maybe she was having one of her “less-bad” days (for her, good). Maybe she was inspired by her peers’ sharing their work. Maybe she finally believed me when I told her that she had good stuff. Maybe it was merely a fluke. Regardless the reason, as the period began, and I was asking if anyone wanted to fill the two vacant spots in the presentation schedule, she spoke up.

“Sy, I guess I can go.”

“Really?” (shocked)

“But only my poem.”

“You sure?” I was still in shock.

“I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not” (anxiety coming to life).

“Let’s let the others go first. And if you go, great. If you don’t, all good.”

And then, when it was time, she stood. Miss Under stood. And she shared not only her poem but all of her pieces. Afraid for her, I quickly scanned the room, worried how the kids might respond. But they–and I should have known better–regarded her as one of the “family,” transfixed by the wondrous work the weird girl in the corner shared from atop her moment’s mountain. It was a palpably surreal moment for me, for all of us. And at the end, I marveled as she read through her peers’ kind comment cards, smiling bigger than I have ever seen her smile.

We won’t soon forget what we now better know and better understand about Miss Under. We will all remember the day she stood. More, she won’t forget either. She, I believe, better understands, too.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will experience…

…celebrating our connections. There is nothing else.

Happy Friday, all. Have a great weekend.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

There was laughter. There were tears. There was empathy. There was discovery. There was affirmation. There was honesty. There was courage. There was us.

As I’d hoped, we got off to a great start with our “This Is Me” presentations.

Well, the kids did. I…well, I fumbled the ball a bit. I didn’t plan well. I thought six presentations a day was a good target, thinking 5-7 minutes each would be just about right. I was wrong. Really wrong, for they are taking far longer. The kids wrote more than I expected. Wrote more than I expected. Is that really a problem in an English class? At present, yes.

I apologized every period yesterday. My poor planning put kids in unfair situations, where they now have to deal with the anxiety of presenting again because they did not get to go on their scheduled day. They were gracious in their understanding, but still, I was not pleased with myself. And worse, because time is short–5 days to go–we are in a bit of a crisis mode, a crisis that could have been avoided, and no one’s to blame but me. Consequently, crisis requires action.

Though it breaks my heart and my self-set vow to do Smiles and Frowns every day–no matter what, we will not be doing Smiles and Frowns for the next few days. We need every minute. I have also asked the kids, who have longer pieces, to consider only sharing two instead of three. In the end, we will make it work, but I need to do better in the future, making sure I have allotted enough time. It is not fair to put kids in these situations.

There’s more. I also thought “my plan” would allow me to conduct the end-of-semester learning conferences with each of the presenters after the day’s presentations. Not sure what kind of math I was doing, but…well, it didn’t/doesn’t add up. So, our sacred conferences have now become paper conferences. Instead of a face-to-face, the kids will just submit their select-and-support grade sheets, and I will respond in kind–on paper. For those with whom I agree–the vast majority, I will not confer with them in person. For those with whom I do not agree, I will have to find time to sit and talk with them, until we reach an agreement. Great planning, Sy. Ugh.

But all was not lost. Poor planning aside, the kids rocked it yesterday. I was so proud of what they created and shared. One moment in particular stood out for me. It was during sixth period. She was the the third to go, and she presented a present. Jen (name changed) gave us a gift.

“In here, I am not basketball Jen. I am not hallway Jen. I am not student Jen. In here, I am Jen. This is me.”

This is how she began her self-introduction. What a gift to tell a community that she can be herself among them, that she does not have to be someone that she’s not. She was not done.

She then went on to share a brief personalized message with each person in the room, a testament to her connection with them, a connection that allows Jen to be Jen.

It was a proud moment for me. Connections matter–deeply to me. This is a gift I will cherish. This is fuel for my fire to continue advocating for connections in the classroom. But Jen wasn’t done. She threw me another morsel to feed my crazy convictions in the 180 classroom. This was her response to question one on her learning conference sheet.

As has often been the case in my experience, kids saved the day. I fumbled. They shined. And Jen blinded me with her brilliance. Maybe I should have had her plan the presentation schedule.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will experience…

…connecting through Smiles and Frowns. (this kills me)

…shining in our moments.

…hearing a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Thursday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do (PLAN) Better.

Finally. Been many weeks in the making, but we are finally ready to start presenting our “This is Me” projects. Ranging from lyrical essays to comics to top-ten lists to poems, kids will begin sharing their pieces with their peers today. Each will share a self-introduction and three published pieces of their choice.

Selecting from eight different mode options that could take myriad forms, kids had to write five pieces for the project. The overarching goal was to dig deeper into their own identities and to share their discoveries, their work with our classroom community. Let us know you better were the words behind the work.

In truth, we all know each other quite well. I would even venture so far to say that, in terms of kids’ knowing other kids in a classroom community, there is likely no other room in the building where this is more true than mine. Please know, I am not saying this to brag; I am not saying this to suggest I do it better. I just do it. It’s a priority. Atop my list of self-standards for how I want kids to feel in my classroom is “connected.” I want kids to feel connected: to me, to each other, to themselves. So, we work–diligently, daily–towards that end. Of course our means has been Smiles and Frowns, but even that has its limits at only minutes per day. There is always a better around the bend, and in terms of our knowing each better, this project serves as a “connection capstone” of sorts. We will know better.

Further, never one to miss an opportunity to deepen connections, I have come up with a way to let the presenters know we know better. I will ask my kids to write a brief personal response to each presenter. I will cut out and distribute paper squares, asking kids to write something to their peers in response to the hard work they’ve done to share themselves with their community.

I live for moments like these. I love seeing kids in their moments. I particularly love seeing kids’ moments being celebrated, honored by their classroom community. The next five days will be supremely satisfying for me. I could not ask for a better end to such an awesome year. Of course, it does come with a cost. Knowing better means parting is harder. I will miss these kiddos. A lot. But for now, I am going to soak them in as they share themselves, as we share each other. If there is a better way to end our journey, I know not that better.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will experience…

…connecting through Smiles and Frowns.

…knowing each other better.

…hearing a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Wednesday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

“How much time do you spend up in front of the class?”

I am taking on a student teacher next fall. Been awhile. Hard for me to “give up” my kids. But I also recognize the role we need to play to help those entering the profession, so I agreed to “share” a student teacher with my grade-level partner. Of course, it helped that I knew the candidate prior to my agreeing to take her on. She was in my classroom management course at the university. As such, I knew she’d be a fit, which is key.

Yesterday, she spent the day with us, observing, taking notes, asking questions. Near the end of the day, she asked the question above. “How much time do you spend up in front of the class?”

Very little. In fact, with the arrangement of the room, one may not even be sure where the front is. More, if one were to observe, as she did yesterday, most of my time is spent alongside rather than in front of. But that wasn’t always the case.

I used to spend half the period up there. I thought I had to. And I thought I was good at. I could talk a lesson up like a pro. And the more I talked, the more I liked what I was hearing, so the more I talked. I talked and talked and talked. I thought that was teaching. Man, did I waste a lot of time. Years.

“Very little, kiddo. Very little. I spend my time alongside kids, giving them feedback–as you saw today. That’s what I’ve come to believe is teaching. I will spend no more than 5-7 minutes introducing a task. I just want the kids to have enough to get going because it’s during the going, the doing that teaching and learning occur. I used to think the key was in the frontloading of the lesson. But too often I discovered that my “fantastic frontloads” were falling flat, so I changed. It was a gradual change, to be sure, because I had to let go of what I thought was important, what I ‘knew’ I was good at. Next year, when you and I are co-teaching, we will spend our time among kids, not in front of kids.”

Sometimes, though my I am resolute in my beliefs, I wonder if I shouldn’t be up front more. Of course, I think it’s just the old days, the old ways tugging at me. But tug as they may, I will stay, where I am, alongside kids.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will experience…

…connecting through Smiles and Frowns.

…wrapping up writing. Tomorrow, we start presenting.

…reflecting in our Journey Journals.

…hearing a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Tuesday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

“Sy, I need your help with the introduction.”

“Okay, what’s getting in the way?”

She is one of my best writers, and so I was surprised that something as seemingly simple as a self-intro was giving her trouble.

“Well. Well, I…how do I say this? I don’t know how to write it without sounding rude or conceited. As you know, I am not really into this whole connection thing, and I don’t want to be fake, but I don’t want people to take things the wrong way, either. I’m stuck.”

I do know. A reluctant sharer in Smiles and Frowns, she “passes” most of the time, and I have come to accept and respect that, knowing it’s simply a matter of her wanting to keep to herself. But with the parameters I’ve set for the intro, really for the project, it’s kinda hard to keep to oneself.

For the intro, I asked the kids to approach it from a place of familiarity: Please write this with us and the year in mind. Please write it with a familiar, conversational tone. It’s just us.

“Ah,” I responded, “it’s the familiarity thing isn’t it?”

“Yeah. It’s not that I haven’t found any familiarity or created any connections; I just think it’d be weird to all the sudden “gush familiarity.” It’s not me. When we began the year, and you introduced the idea of community and connection through Smiles and Frowns, I was not thrilled. In fact, my thinking was, ‘No one in here cares what I have to say, and I don’t care what they have to say either.’ I wasn’t here to get to know people. I like classes that are get down to business, and so I was annoyed that we’d have to spend time getting to know each other.”

“I know. Sorry that my class has not been that class for you. It’s just how I do things.”

“I know. And my mind has changed over the year, at least with this class. I do know that people in here care about each other, and they do care about what I say. I have experienced a transformation, but it’s still feels weird to act like we’re all familiar now. That’s why it’s hard. So, I don’t know how to write my intro.”

“I think you just did, kiddo. Just be honest with us. Just be yourself. That’s who we expect and want you to be. On day one, when I introduced Smiles and Frowns, I also told you what your number one role was in here for the year: Be yourself. Just be yourself. Tell us about your struggle, your transformation. Speak your truth.”

“Okay. I can do that. Thank you for talking through this with me.”

“Of course. Thank you for coming to me with this. I don’t ever want you to be who you are not.”

Roles
Here are the various roles that I will need you to play over the course of the year. Sometimes, our day’s path will require you play one specific role; most times, our path will require that you play many simultaneously. Either way, I promise I will not ask you to stretch yourself beyond your limits. You got this.

Role #1: Yourself. This is your most important role. I need you to be who you are. I realize that the setting in which we find ourselves sometimes impacts our ability to be ourselves, but my hope is that the classroom community and culture we create during our time together will give each of us the comfort and confidence to be who we are. This is the role that matters most to me as I join you in your journey this year. I am excited to know YOU.

Not everyone likes the kumbaya of community and connection. I know that. I get that. And that’s why I am so proud of Jessica (name changed) for coming to me with her truth. It could not have been easy for her. In the end, I am glad we could find a way to make it work for her. By the way, the writing that she has prepared to share with her peers is unbelievable. I cannot wait to experience her and their reactions to the shared moment. And though she’s not about connections, I think she will not soon forget this opportunity to connect with her peers. Connections.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will experience…

…reconnecting through Smiles and Frowns.

…growing as writers (2 days till the project wraps up and presentations begin).

…reflecting in our Journey Journals.

…hearing a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Monday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

“I feel so accomplished, Sy.”

“You should. You’ve worked hard. I am proud of you, kiddo.”

I suppose, generally speaking, this is nothing remarkable. This should be how kids feel in every class, every day. Should be.

And though my remarks that follow will not alone make it so, I do find Jill’s experience worthy of remark; I do find it…well, remarkable.

And though there are many things I could point to: the time, the effort, the final products, etc., there is one thing in particular that I’d like to put my finger on. There have been no points. Heck, there have been no “numbers” exchanged at all. Only feedback. Well, and her response to that feedback. Her response to that feedback.

It’s been all Jill. I simply set the stage with the project. I gave the opportunity, and I provided the support, but she has done the work, she has done the learning: without grades. Oh that is not to say that the project has no impact on her final, required transcript mark. It does, for it will be at the center of our select-and-support conference in the coming days, but she already knows what that will be, for in my class she has a great deal of control over her “end,” her story. She wrote it. And she will tell it. She will show me how she responded to feedback. She will show me the “redo’s” she has amassed in her drive to create a quality product for herself. She will show me what she has accomplished. And she will do so with pride.

But what about the other kids? Jill is likely a kid that does well, regardless the approach, but what about the other kids? Are they working as hard?

Fair enough. In a word, yes. Oh, I am not suggesting we have arrived at some magical place in 206 where kids all work, all the time. But I am suggesting that all kids are working towards an end, in their own way, in their own time.

Jack is on the other side. He is not…well, hasn’t been the diligent, driven student that Jill is. Not even close. But this spring, with this project, things have been different. He’s done. A week early. In the past, done “rarely” occurred, and “early,” never. Of course his story is distinctly different from Jill’s in terms of getting there, but I have come to the accept the notion that it has to be. Jill is not Jack. And Jack is not Jill. But they both climbed the hill. On their own. And to me, that is remarkable.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will experience…

…connecting through Smiles and Frowns.

…climbing the hill.

…reflecting in our Journey Journals.

…hearing a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Friday, all. Have a great weekend.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

I wonder if others can feel it? I feel it. I believe my kids feel it. But I wonder if others can as they enter our room. It is there, among and around us. Some days subtle. Other days palpable. But it is always there. Always.

It was there when I started back in ’96, but we were not well acquainted yet. It waited for me. I caught up with it the next year when I followed my 7th graders to the the 8th, giving me the honor of having the same kids two years in a row. I met it through them.

Over the years, I’ve come to know it quite well. It has proven a ready companion, a loyal ally to turn to when things get tough. And it, no matter the need, has always showed me the way. It is full of wisdom.

But it is not exclusive. To be sure, I see it everywhere. It is in classrooms around the nation, around the world. It is even in the classrooms where it has not yet been discovered. It is an omnipresence, but it will not be forced. It has to be welcomed. And once it is welcomed, it changes everything. It alone has that power.

It is it. It is all. There is nothing else. Over the years I have sought to make it mine, but it cannot be owned; it cannot be made; it cannot be bought, imitated, or replicated. It is authentic. So, consequently, it cannot be named. It is simply it. So what is it? It is not mine to name. But I can tell you what it is not.

It is not a text book.

It is not a test.

Nor curriculum or program.

It is not management.

It is not a number or letter.

And never a percentage.

It is never the same.

It changes every year, without exception.

It is neither fleeting nor permanent.

It is not a motto or mission statement.

It is simply and only it. I am so glad I found it all those years ago. And now, as this twenty-third year comes to a close, I feel it–deeply, as I look out at my kids, missing them already.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will experience…

…connecting through Smiles and Frowns.

…growing as writers.

…reflecting in our Journey Journals.

…hearing a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Thursday, all. Sorry for the odd post this morning. I was feeling it.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

We’re on a block schedule (2 hour periods) right now. The kids are taking the math SBA (one of my kids called it the State Bullcrap Assessment yesterday…just sayin’). Anyway, the longer periods were welcomed as it gave us more time to connect through feedback. Feedback. That’s the stuff.

Working pretty hard right now to learn in my current reality to help turn my current ideal into a real reality next fall: the feedback-only classroom. One thing in particular that I am focusing on is identifying what each kid needs and using my knowledge of them to tailor my feedback. I have learned–am still learning–that feedback is about more than just using established success criteria to move my writers; it’s also about using my relationships to connect with my writers. Without connection, our impact is limited. Rubrics matter. Relationships matter. And though it may sound odd to some, when in doubt, I lean on the latter.

Because of my connection with Jack (name changed), I know how to tiptoe around his ego. He has never written anything that he doesn’t like, and so it is a delicate matter to engage him in a way that helps him and doesn’t hurt him. To be sure, his writing is good, and he is a good writer, but good can always be better, so I employ my knowledge of this young man to help him chase his own better. And for this, I find the rubric, no Rosetta Stone. Relationships are better to work from as I try to figure out the universal language of learning, so when I speak, kids like Jack, hear me because they know I see them.

Of course, there are others, one-hundred-forty-one others to be exact for whom I do my best to help them grow as writers as we make our through their unique learning journeys, which will continue long after they’ve left me behind. So, consequently, I do what I can, while I can, and I have found relationships a ready tool.

Too Fast, Too Soon

Okay, I did not plan to go here this morning. I, as has been the case here with the wind down of the year, had no idea what might come from my fingers this morning. And while I am glad my reflections and ruminations nudged me this way, it is too big a topic to dive too deeply into on this late-May day.

So, I am going to put this dive into the depths on hold for now, and save my breath for when I have more time and energy to fully formulate my thinking. I have a lot to say about rubrics. I have a lot to say about relationships. I have a lot to say about learning. But not now. Too fast, too soon.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will experience…

…connecting through Smiles and Frowns.

…growing as writers.

…reflecting in our Journey Journals.

…hearing a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Wednesday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.