On Friday, US History students submitted their Immigrant Experience letters. This project is the first substantial independent work students do in the blended learning class. This year I asked them to submit an evaluation of three sources they planned to use a week before the letter was due, just to ensure that they’d given it some thought before the night before it’s due.
Tomorrow is the last day of the UNCC National Writing Project Summer Institute. I’ve written my final reflection, but I also wanted a post in which to collect the posts I’ve written during the Institute.
Inquiry blog posts
Looking at the idea of helping students understand history as a more nuanced and complicated narrative, while at the same time, one to which they can relate.
My Day in the Life post
Continuing the Conversation(s)
My self-selected piece is an article about using Creative Commons licensed images in the classroom. Because I’m hoping to submit it for publication, I’m not posting it publicly, but happy to share via email if you’re interested.
As part of this morning’s improv activity, we were invited to think about what we would take away from the UNCC National Writing Project Summer Institute and what we would leave. I decided to use those categories for my reflection on SI.
What I’ll Leave
The feeling that if I don’t do it it won’t get done and that won’t be ok
The whole group video portfolio project feels like it’s consumed a big chunk of my thoughts over the past several days. It’s reminded me what an incredibly complex kind of text a video can be. Even a six minute video has required hours of work spread across a number of people. At some point, I started to feel responsible for the video and simultaneously frustrated that I didn’t feel like I had the right tech (in this case a Mac) to make it happen the way I’d hoped. In the past, I might have pushed through anyway, volunteering to finish the project anyway. Instead, I talked with other people who were working on the project and we figured out a way to share the load some. (Many props to Laura, who ended up pulling the final cut together.)
The feeling that I’ve somehow escaped “having” to teach writing because I teach history
Last year when I was teaching all history classes for the first time, I breathed a sigh of relief when I realized that I was no longer going to be a “writing teacher.” In some ways this was really freeing, but it also meant that I didn’t work as hard to find creative ways for my students to connect to the material through writing. Many of the demos over the course of SI have given me ideas for writing in different ways as a part of history class. Next year I get to teach writing as part of history class.
A sour taste in my mouth for tech
Over the past year, I’d been really wrestling with my use of digital tech in the classroom, or lack thereof. Tech had started to feel like just a shiny toy, rather than a useful tool. Being able to incorporate tech in useful ways in my demo at SI and seeing the use of tech in others’ demos reminded me of the joy that I used to find in using technology with students.
The sense that all writing has to be directed toward an end product
I’m a goal-orientated person who doesn’t like to feel like I’m wasting effort. I want my writing to be directed toward something- a blog post, an article, even a tweet. I sometimes feel that if writing doesn’t end up in some publishable or shareable form, it’s not worth doing. The sheer amount of writing that we’ve done over the course of the Institute means that there’s no way that it could all make it into a form that makes sense to share. It’s been freeing, though, to let those scraps be.
What I’ll Take Away
A reminder that good teaching requires careful planning to look effortless and create space for messiness
Prepping for my demo reminded me that really good lessons create space for the surprising to happen, but that space requires careful thought to ensure that things don’t get chaotic or seem haphazard. This will be the first year in my teaching career that I’ll be teaching the same classes as I taught the year before. (Yay!) I’m hoping that not having to be in “just one step ahead of the students” mood will allow me to spend some more time thinking about how I craft space for student learning and inquiry.
A reminder of how much I love learning
I’ve heard it said that some people become teachers because they don’t ever want to leave school. Guilty as charged. I don’t see this as a bad thing though. My love of school isn’t about being a sage on the stage or a power trip. It’s about getting to have the opportunity to learn alongside students, to curate sources to pique their curiosity, and to help them ask good questions. It was fun to get to be get to be a student in the formal sense again.
Gratitude for thoughtful, passionate teachers
Throughout the SI, I’ve been impressed by the skill and dedication, both of the Teacher Consultants facilitating the Institute and the other participants. In a country where the media and politicians sometimes portray teachers as lazy and ignorant, it’s been a privilege to work and learn with people who are the diametric opposite of that portrayal. It’s also been fun to have the opportunity to “talk shop” with people who care as deeply about issues of teaching and learning as I do. I’m deeply grateful for the experience and for those who encouraged me to pursue it.
Today I presented my demonstration lesson as part of the UNCC National Writing Project Summer Institute. In part, I based the demo on a lesson that I’ve done with both adults and students, but I also made some changes to it. I’d never used Lino with a group of folks and wanted to try it out as a potential alternative to Wall Wisher, which has been unstable for me and not particularly aesthetically pleasing.
One of the things that I really enjoy about the demos is the chance to give and receive feedback afterward. Several people said is that they felt the use of technology in the lesson was seamlessly integrated. As someone who is constantly thinking about ways to integrate tech in ways that feel authentic and not just flashy, I was really happy to hear this.
The primary sources related to Japanese-American internment during WWII I chose generated some really interesting and passionate discussion and got at several of the larger themes of identity and use of language that I was hoping to address. There was definitely more material than I’d try to pack into a typical 45 minute lesson, but I think it got at the issue of connection to and disconnection from historical material (avoiding an overly simplified historical narrative) that I’m thinking about for my inquiry project.
In Melissa’s demo today, we reflected on our experiences with poetry. I hated poetry in school, mostly because I felt like I didn’t “get” it. There weren’t clear right answers, and it often seemed like analysis of poems was just the teacher or students BS-ing about how it made them feel.
My best teachers of poetry weren’t teachers I had in school. They were friends who shared poems they loved with me. They loved the poems in front of me. (Mister Rogers says teachers are “people who have passion for their art or their science or their craft and love it right in front of us”)
As we were choosing a poem to share for the gallery crawl, I noticed how intently everyone was working. I wanted my poem to be a good representation of what I cared about and found beautiful. I decided to pull together a quick video- a title, a picture from one of my hikes, and my reading of the poem. 10 minutes was not enough time to do it justice, but did give me a sense of having completed something that I could share. I was impressed by the variety of poems people chose- songs, haiku, funny, penetrating.
Today in Tricia’s demo we were invited to express a simple mathematical equation in words. Many of the groups wrote word problems and our group wrote a description of the communicative property. Some groups even drew pictures. As many of us spend less time working with math rather than other areas, this activity forced us to encounter a text (the math equation) differently than we might have otherwise.* By asking us, without a great deal of direction, to represent the familiar in a new way, we were forced to think more creatively about the text and the way our students learn.
The demo led me to continue thinking about how to make what my students encounter in history class fresh or strange, to problematize easy and potentially incorrect assumptions. My high students especially come to American history with some deeply help and often implicit assumptions about history.
Defamilarization was a term coined in early 1900s by Russian formalists to describe the process of making something familiar seem strange for the audience or reader for the purposes of enhancing his or her perception. Although Samuel Taylor Coleridge predates the term, I think he describes the idea well in Biographia Literaria:
To carry on the feelings of childhood into the powers of manhood; to combine the child’s sense of wonder and novelty with the appearances which every day for perhaps forty years had rendered familiar. . . this is the character and privilege of genius.
It’s that sense of wonder and strangeness that’s part of what I’d like to help my students cultivate when they approach historical texts.
*I’m resisting the temptation to call us English people (as opposed to math people) because I think, influenced by Carol Dweck’s Mindset, that those categories are ultimately less useful and limiting.
“I know we don’t need it, but it’s still pretty cool.” -IKEA shopper
I’m wondering about the reactions of the shoppers as we sit here in a living room set writing. Do they think we’re store employees? Paid actors? Squatters? Performance artists? I imagine writing in this space as a quiet protest against the necessity of purchasing things, at least for today.
I think one of the chief lures of IKEA is that it allows us to visualize how our lives might look, going so far as to set up entire (cute, space efficient) houses within the store. I do value that they consider efficiency and beauty and that does make me likely to purchase something here rather than elsewhere if I’d made the decision to buy something. Things are also really cheap at IKEA, at least in terms of dollars. There are hidden costs of things, though. The emotional costs of having to manage stuff, to put it away, to clean it, the energy to replace it.
I’ve been thinking about objects differently over the past several months. From getting rid of 75% of my clothes to parting with several large bags of books and household furnishings, I’ve been trying to donate or trash things I don’t find beautiful or useful, preferably both, rather than asking if I might need the thing one day.
I realize that purging can be a privilege. There are things I haven’t worried about donating because I know I can borrow one from a friend if I need them again. And I don’t have the experience of ever having lived in a situation where I didn’t easily have my basic needs met, which I’m sure affects the way that those who have lived this way relate to material belongings.
The purging can be challenging, but the not replacing is even harder. I’m finding that I often have the impulse to purchase things for reasons other than the thing itself. I want to buy stuff when I restless or tired or lonely. I want to buy stuff that will change the way I feel about my relationships or my job. In the past four months, I’ve bought four items of clothing (recent weight loss made that seem reasonable), a book, and a cake pan. Everything else that I’ve bought has been consumable (toilet paper, food, shampoo, etc.). It’s been an interesting (unintentional) experiment. I’ve been inspired along the way by friends who live significantly more simply than I do and by blogs like Zen Habits and Becoming Minimalist. A slightly strange effect of this is that I’ve found that I’m holding on to the things I do have more lightly. A friend’s friend’s friend, stranger to me, is staying in my house this week while I’m away.
I’m still wrestling with this idea of stuff. Wondering when, if ever, I’ll ever go back to something that looks like my old purchasing habits. For now, I’m resting in this slightly uncomfortable space.
Bride to be in white wedding dress and teal shoes drapes over an armchair
Photographer and assistant flutter around
Someone wryly offers “I got married at the courthouse”
A woman in a steel neck and head brace converses with companions
A three year old asks her dad, “Are you going to write with me?”
Jeweled-tone glass plates and vases perch precariously from a wooden chandelier
A silent piano sits in the corner and piano music roars from overhead speakers
Clothes hangers dangle cockeyed over the bathrooms
Sharpie marker on the wall proclaims “You are here… sort of.”
Dear Charlotte, forgive me for saying you were boring.
Amelie’s French Bakery was the first stop on the UNCCWP Writing Marathon and my new favorite place in Charlotte, if for no other reason than it’s open 24/7.
At the end of the day at UNCCWP SI, I’m wondering about…
A) Ways to use writing to help students connect their experiences to history
B) How to problematize/complicate student assumptions about motivations/beliefs of people in the past
C) How to do both things at once, at least within the space of a class or several class days
I see students (and adults, for that matter) often falling at one of two ends of a spectrum. At one end is the assumption that they think exactly like people in the past, and therefore, drawing conclusions that are erroneous. Or they fall on the opposite end of the spectrum, assuming that people of the past are so removed from them that they are unable to understand their motivations or feelings.
I feel like I do a decent job of encouraging A) in my Upper School class (in assignments like this), but I struggle with ways to invite personal connections to material with which I am less familiar, such as my World History class. B) can feel hard to judge, and it’s often only once I read students answers on a test that I realize they are making assumptions that aren’t historically warranted based on the evidence we have.
Any history is a narrative. I want to think about how to present those narratives and ways of accessing those narratives such that they don’t lend themselves easily to either a simplistic reading or a failure to engage the narrative because it feels so foreign.