Archive | Content and Methods RSS feed for this section

Teach Me How to Teach

This post was orig­i­nally writ­ten for the ntcamp blog and is cross­posted there.


Jack Nick­laus was an excep­tional mas­ter golfer. In his leg­endary career, he won a record 18 major tour­na­ments, and had a total of 115 pro­fes­sional wins. Many writ­ers have listed him as the great­est golfer in history.

You’d think the guy who is the world’s best golfer would have noth­ing new to learn about the sport. Yet every year, Nick­laus would go back to his teacher, Jack Grout, and say, “Teach me how to golf.” Grout would treat him as a novice golfer. They started with the absolute fun­da­men­tals: grip, stance, setup, align­ment. Why? Here’s how Nick­laus describes it in his book, Golf My Way:

Apart from rein­still­ing their impor­tance in my mind, this often has the effect of iron­ing out some of the bad habits I may have slipped into the pre­vi­ous year.


This was a habit that Nick­laus main­tained through­out his career, and it is a habit that teach­ers would do well to emu­late. Every year as you plan to begin a new school year, take the oppor­tu­nity to think of your­self as a brand new teacher again. Here are a few steps you can take and the rea­sons they are valuable.

  1. Get your own “teach­ing pro.” Jack Grout would likely be the first to admit that in a round of golf he’d prob­a­bly have no shot at play­ing bet­ter than Nick­laus. That didn’t make him less help­ful as a teacher. Even if you are the most expe­ri­enced, most accom­plished pro­fes­sional in your school, find a col­league whom you trust and respect to part­ner with you. Hav­ing another teacher to give you hon­est feed­back, share ideas, and help you focus your atten­tion on the essen­tials can keep your skills sharp.
  2. Review the fun­da­men­tals. Just as Jack Nick­laus needed to start over every year learn­ing how to grip the club, teach­ers ought to start every year review­ing the fun­da­men­tals of their craft. Revis­it­ing things you may take for granted, like your teach­ing phi­los­o­phy, basic class­room rules and pro­ce­dures, and instruc­tional design, will help you refine your tech­nique. You may also rec­og­nize areas where you have taken short­cuts or allowed bad habits to creep into your teaching.
  3. Keep up with the lat­est changes in the sport…and in you. Many changes hap­pened in the golf world as Jack Nick­laus pro­gressed through his career. Equip­ment improved and golf course design evolved. Advances in phys­i­ol­ogy helped golfers under­stand their swing mechan­ics bet­ter. Sim­i­lar changes hap­pen in edu­ca­tion every year–and some­times every week. Not only that, but your stu­dents are dif­fer­ent. And so are you. To ignore all of those dif­fer­ences and assume that we can con­tinue teach­ing exactly the same way we taught five or fif­teen years ago is to do a dis­ser­vice to our stu­dents. Stay current.
  4. Prac­tice. This cer­tainly means some­thing dif­fer­ent for an edu­ca­tor than it does for a golfer. We don’t have the lux­ury of spend­ing hours at the dri­ving range and on the prac­tice green tweak­ing our swing and our stroke. We are on the course every day, play­ing a match that counts. So we have to prac­tice dif­fer­ently. Reflect every day on what took place in your class­room and what you want to do dif­fer­ently the next day to make it work bet­ter. Share with your col­leagues things that worked well–and that didn’t. Blog reg­u­larly and read blogs. Build your pro­fes­sional net­work and con­tribute to the field.

Even though the start of the year is the log­i­cal time to take these steps, you don’t have to wait. Start tomor­row: what’s one thing you can do now that will make a big­ger dif­fer­ence in your stu­dents and will make you just a lit­tle bit bet­ter than you were yesterday?

The Three I's of Curriculum

Last week I wrote about how design prin­ci­ples should apply to cur­ricu­lum. I’ve been think­ing about one of those ele­ments in par­tic­u­lar: the idea of white space. This isn’t really a new con­cept, but I think it bears some examination.

Cur­ricu­lum today is very full. We do our best to stuff every lit­tle thing that may have some impor­tance or rel­e­vance to a sub­ject into the 180 day school year, and since it won’t all fit, we assign the rest as home­work. Any teacher who has been teach­ing for more than a year knows that there is no prac­ti­cal way to com­plete the entire pre­scribed cur­ricu­lum in one year, even if you take the tour bus approach and just point out the high­lights to the stu­dents as you cruise by at sev­enty miles and hour.

I’m no longer con­vinced that the pur­pose of cur­ricu­lum is to assem­ble in one place all the impor­tant “stuff” that a kid should know by the end of the school year. There’s too much that’s impor­tant any­way, we won’t all agree on which things are truly impor­tant, and the vol­ume increases almost daily.

So what if cur­ricu­lum instead were designed with holes, with a cer­tain amount of white space? In visual design, the white space does a few things: it brings atten­tion to the other ele­ments of the design, it allows them to breathe, and it helps make them dynamic. Tak­ing out some stuff and leav­ing more space in the cur­ricu­lum can do sim­i­lar things for the student.

Invite. Cur­ricu­lum should first be built so that the stu­dent wants to engage with the con­tent. It should be active, it should be inter­est­ing, it should be per­sonal. Make it real and rel­e­vant. Start with where the stu­dents are. Con­nect to their inter­ests and their worlds.

Inspire. Next the cur­ricu­lum should moti­vate stu­dents to want to learn about the sub­ject. The word inspire orig­i­nally meant “to breathe into” or “to infuse life by breath­ing”. There is very lit­tle breath­ing room in today’s cur­ricu­lum. Kids have no time to breathe in and reflect on their learn­ing. They just have to cram it in and move on.

Ignite. Finally, the cur­ricu­lum must light the fire. Leave stu­dents at the end of the unit or school year feel­ing like there is so much more to explore and so much deeper to go. If we ignite their pas­sions and their nat­ural curios­ity, they will con­tinue to pur­sue it on their own.

I remem­ber so many times “dis­cov­er­ing” a sub­ject as a teacher that I thought I had no inter­est in learn­ing about, but when I really engaged it (because I had to teach it), I found it fas­ci­nat­ing and went on to study it on my own. I think a well-​​designed cur­ricu­lum can do that for students.

Under­stand that I don’t believe cur­ricu­lum can do this alone. None of these things can or will hap­pen with­out an excel­lent teacher. Cur­ricu­lum doesn’t live until stu­dents and teach­ers inter­act and engage it. But a strong cur­ricu­lum will give the teacher the tools and resources to accom­plish these things more easily.

Accom­plish­ing this is the real chal­lenge, of course. How do we cre­ate a cur­ricu­lum that does these things? How do we antic­i­pate where kids are when there are so many dif­fer­ent var­ied expe­ri­ences around the world? Per­haps this is an argu­ment for purely locally designed cur­ric­ula, but I’m not sure that’s prac­ti­cal. What do you think? How can we make this hap­pen? Or is it just a fan­tasy that will never become reality?

Developing Knowledge Farmers

While work­ing on my model class­room pre­sen­ta­tion for this after­noon, I dis­cov­ered a metaphor that helped me crys­tal­lize one of the things that makes learn­ing today rad­i­cally dif­fer­ent than it was when I was in ele­men­tary school, and gave me a bet­ter grasp on how and why teach­ing and schools need to be different.

In the 1970s, writ­ing a report was like buy­ing fast food. I remem­ber writ­ing reports on many top­ics in ele­men­tary school: Morse code and Iraq are two that specif­i­cally leap to mind. (When we were select­ing our coun­tries to report on, I picked Iraq because I thought it was cool that the name ended with a Q. Yeah, I know.) I selected my topic, went to the library, found a book, read it (or more likely, skimmed it), then sat down to write my own ver­sion. Report writ­ing really wasn’t research then, it was more like retelling. Like fast food value meals, some­one else had really done all the work of tak­ing the infor­ma­tion ingre­di­ents, pro­cess­ing them, and putting them together into sty­ro­foam con­tain­ers and paper car­tons. All I had to do was pick meal #2 and con­sume it.

School today is still set up for our kids to be fast food knowl­edge con­sumers. State and fed­eral gov­ern­ments have already done the work of select­ing what kinds of things are on the menu. School dis­tricts and text­book pub­lish­ers have already cho­sen the ingre­di­ents, devel­oped the recipes, and pre­pared the food, ready to deliver to the stu­dents. And just like fast food, it all looks and tastes pretty much the same every­where. A Whop­per in Den­ver is iden­ti­cal to one in Philadelphia.

Sim­ply being a con­sumer is no longer suf­fi­cient. In the sev­en­ties, kids (and most adults for that mat­ter) couldn’t access infor­ma­tion directly. We only had lim­ited sources, and all of them had been pre­processed for us by oth­ers. Today, on the Inter­net, we can tap directly into the raw data. The prob­lem is, many of us still just con­sume it the same way we used to. We’re get­ting fresh pro­duce and meat, but we are eat­ing it raw.

We must teach kids not how to pick a good value meal, but what do do with the ingre­di­ents they have. We have to teach them how to cre­ate their own meals. We’ll begin by fol­low­ing recipes, but we have to also teach them the prin­ci­ples behind the recipes, the think­ing that went into cre­at­ing them, and even­tu­ally how to develop their own recipes. They need to know how to select qual­ity ingre­di­ents, and which ones go together well. They need to develop their palates so they can expe­ri­ence the enor­mous vari­ety of ideas and rela­tion­ships that exist in the world. This will involve skills like crit­i­cal think­ing and prob­lem solving.

Even this isn’t enough, though. I believe we need to get kids out of the gro­cery stores and into the fields. Teach them not just to select the right foods, but to grow them. We need to give kids the seeds, the tools, and the tech­niques for becom­ing their own knowl­edge farm­ers, to cre­ate knowl­edge and share it with the world.

And of course, all of this means that teach­ers have to get out of their own value meals and learn how to shop, how to cook, and how to farm. I sus­pect that at least for a while we’ll all be learn­ing these things just half a step ahead of the kids, but that’s okay. What mat­ters is that we rec­og­nize that there’s a world of cui­sine out­side of the food court and that we’re will­ing to live there.

Tech Tools: Student Blogging

Student blogging
Image by Ing­wii via Flickr

Let me just say up front that I know I’m &submit=Search" target="_blank">hardly the first per­son to address this topic, and I’m sure I won’t be the last. In fact, so much has already been writ­ten on the sub­ject of stu­dent blog­ging that I’m not going to spend time here talk­ing about the basic rea­sons or the how-​​tos of doing it. Oth­ers have done that bet­ter than I.

What I want to explore today are a few of my thoughts about why blog­ging is a par­tic­u­larly pow­er­ful tool to give to gifted stu­dents. Gifted stu­dents have some unique needs that blog­ging can help teach­ers to address. Read More…

Tech Tools: Interactive Fiction

Screenshot of Zork in 1980
Image by the-​​tml via Flickr

Though it has taken me much longer than I planned to get back to this topic, I want to share with you today what I believe is an out­stand­ing and prob­a­bly very obscure tool that would be excel­lent for gifted students.

Think back a few years. No, fur­ther back. A lit­tle fur­ther. When home com­put­ers had mem­ory mea­sured in kilo­bytes, an 8-​​color mon­i­tor was high res­o­lu­tion, and disks were floppy.

The cutting-​​edge trend in com­puter enter­tain­ment was some­thing called a “text adven­ture game.” Zork is the clas­sic exam­ple of games in this genre, but there were dozens of them. They had no graph­ics and no need for a con­troller, because the entire means of inter­act­ing with the game was through text.

For those who have never played a text adven­ture, here is a typ­i­cal sequence of moves you might see in one of these games (this is part of the sam­ple tran­script that was in the instruc­tion man­ual for the orig­i­nal Zork): Read More…

Better Tools or Better Teaching?

Ted Williams
Image by GregPC via Flickr

It’s a line you’ve prob­a­bly seen on ads for sports equip­ment:

Bet­ter Tools for Bet­ter Performance


A debate is swirling among many peo­ple in my PLN about what’s more impor­tant: the tools and tech­nol­ogy, or the teach­ing and learning. Before I begin explor­ing exam­ples of great tech­nol­ogy tools to use with gifted stu­dents, I thought it would be worth explor­ing, since it is directly rel­e­vant. The crux of it can be sum­ma­rized in this exchange I had recently with Tony Bal­dasaro (@baldy7) on Twit­ter: Read More…

Staying Humble

Qui vient avec moi?
Image by ““Alia”” (busy) via Flickr

It is impor­tant for teach­ers to get feed­back from knowl­edge­able observers. A good super­vi­sor will help you ele­vate your prac­tice, hone the skills that are already sharp, and iden­tify the areas where you have allowed lax habits to seep in.

Even the best super­vi­sors can only visit a few times a year. Hav­ing peers watch us work is help­ful, but mak­ing that hap­pen is often a logis­ti­cal chal­lenge. We could video­tape the les­son and watch it later, but that too is often com­pli­cated and time-​​consuming.

We often for­get the team of observers that is read­ily avail­able: our stu­dents. Ask your stu­dents reg­u­larly to tell you how you are doing. They’ll tell you. In excru­ci­at­ing detail.

Even bet­ter, do what a col­league of mine did the other day, per­haps with­out even real­iz­ing what would result: Ask your stu­dents to teach. It was fas­ci­nat­ing to watch as stu­dents took on the per­sona of the teacher, then walked around the room, shush­ing other chil­dren, ges­tur­ing, and explain­ing. We saw, in some­times fright­en­ingly accu­rate mim­icry, the pre­cise meth­ods and man­ner­isms that the teacher uses on a reg­u­lar basis.

If you really want to find out what you do well—and will dare to find out what you don’t—put your stu­dents in the front of the classroom.

Reblog this post [with Zemanta]

The Myth of Shortcuts

Shortcut road
Image by Bacon­Stand via Flickr

When I first moved to Bucks County, I knew the major routes to get around the area. I could, by rote, drive from my house to my in-​​laws’ house. I could also drive from my house to the school where I worked. I could flaw­lessly and effi­ciently travel those well-​​worn paths and arrive promptly at my destination.

One day, I received a sim­ple phone call from my wife: “My par­ents are mak­ing din­ner for us tonight. Just come straight from school and meet us there.”

Not a prob­lem. I left work at my usual four o’clock and with traf­fic arrived a lit­tle after 5:30 PM.

What took you so long? Did you have a meet­ing after school?”

No, I left as soon as I could.”

But it should only take a half hour.”

That’s impos­si­ble. It’s more than that just to our house, then another 40 min­utes to your parents.”

Um, no, dear. There’s a more direct route.”

Read More…

Quick Classroom Activity about Authors

Have desk, will write
Image by Bright Meadow via Flickr

Here’s an inter­est­ing idea for a quick class­room activ­ity that has poten­tial for many dis­cus­sions. This could cer­tainly be applied in many dif­fer­ent ways to stu­dents at all levels.

Begin by tak­ing kids to this site: http://​wherei​write​.org. It is a small site with one pur­pose: to show­case por­traits of authors (they all hap­pen to be in the sci­ence fic­tion genre) in the spaces where they do their writing.

A few thoughts come to my mind as I scan through the pictures:

  • Nearly every space is a work space. Cre­ativ­ity isn’t about flashes of inspi­ra­tion. It’s about doing. And effort.
  • Almost every writer sur­rounds him– or her­self with books. Dozens or hun­dreds of them. Writ­ers read. A lot.
  • Writ­ers are ordi­nary peo­ple. They have pets. They even have stained glass thin­gies hang­ing in their windows.

I think there’s a great les­son for stu­dents, espe­cially reluc­tant writers.

Some other ideas for fol­low up activities:

  • Have stu­dents share pho­tos of their writ­ing spaces and talk about them
  • If you could cre­ate a bet­ter space to write, what would it look like? Why not cre­ate it?
  • How could we design our class­room space to make it bet­ter for doing our work?

What do you see in these pho­tos? What ques­tions would you ask of your stu­dents about these pic­tures? What else do they tell you about what writ­ers do and how to be one?

Reblog this post [with Zemanta]

Math is Hieroglyphics

Hieroglyphs typical of the Graeco-Roman period
Image via Wikipedia

Because my job requires me to teach sev­eral dif­fer­ent top­ics to sev­eral dif­fer­ent grade lev­els every day, I fre­quently expe­ri­ence the pro­fes­sional equiv­a­lent of being a par­ti­cle accel­er­a­tor at CERN; two ideas, tiny and unre­lated, swirl around at ever increas­ing speeds until, some­how, they col­lide, cre­at­ing a spray of new ideas and insights.

One of these col­li­sions hap­pened on a recent day when I was teach­ing my fourth grade gifted class about Egypt­ian hiero­glyphs imme­di­ately after a fifth grade math les­son on equa­tions with vari­ables. While explain­ing to my stu­dents that the Egyp­tians often wrote hiero­glyphs out of order, and that some of the sym­bols rep­re­sented sounds, some ideas, some were sim­ply mod­i­fiers or ampli­fiers, and some had dif­fer­ent inter­pre­ta­tions depend­ing on the other sym­bols around them, I real­ized that this is exactly how our math­e­mat­i­cal sym­bol sys­tem works.

One of the frus­tra­tions that I have when teach­ing math is that stu­dents tend to read from left to right, and often when they get to some­thing that hangs them up, they just stop there and try to fig­ure it out. The prob­lem is that beyond the most ele­men­tary num­ber sen­tences (2 + 3 = 5), this approach doesn’t really work. In fact, it is essen­tial for stu­dents to learn that some­times you read from right to left, some­times you read from the mid­dle out, and some­times you have to piece dif­fer­ent parts together in seem­ingly ran­dom order until the whole equa­tion makes sense.

Just as read­ing instruc­tion has to be cen­tered around the mean­ing of the text, not just the sur­face fea­tures, math instruc­tion has to be about prob­lem solv­ing not just com­pu­ta­tion. But the lan­guage of math is a tool for prob­lem solving.

I know I’m not the first to rec­og­nize that math­e­mat­ics is its own lan­guage, but I’m now won­der­ing if it might be wise to explic­itly teach math the way we teach read­ing. How far can (or should) we take the par­al­lel? Would we end up with a math equiv­a­lent of “phone­mic aware­ness”? What about fig­u­ra­tive lan­guage? Sub­text? What might a math cur­ricu­lum look like if it were writ­ten by read­ing spe­cial­ists instead of mathematicians?

Reblog this post [with Zemanta]