Metaphors are Windows

Monte Sibilla as seen from Montefortino, Italy

Friday morning started with our usual Poetry Friday celebration. We read Laura Purdie Salas’ wonderful poem “How is a Meadow an Ocean?” from the Poetry Friday Anthology, K-5 edition.

 

by Laura Purdie Salas www.laurasalas.com

by Laura Purdie Salas
www.laurasalas.com

Then we tried making metaphors, just to play with the concept. At first, they came out kind of literal:

A pencil is a piece of wood with some lead inside.

A marker is a tube with color inside.

A carpet is a rug that lies flat on the floor.

But soon we warmed up to the idea by starting a metaphor, and then figuring it out as we went.

A book is…a bucket…filled with words.

A window is…an eye…that sees the world beyond.

A clipboard is…a tugboat…that hauls around our ideas.

Each time we built a metaphor, we learned a little something about the thing we described, and also a little something about ourselves. We laughed. We stroked our gray beards. We pondered.

*     *     *     *     *

Late in the day we read more from our class read aloud, Katherine Applegate’s,  The One and Only Ivan. It was Friday. We were tired. We came upon this passage. The children listened quietly as I read. They sensed the gravity of the moment.

 

We got very quiet. We listened. We thought.

We got very quiet. We listened. We thought.

Caleb: Oh. That’s sad.

Me: Tell me more.

Caleb: The vine breaks…the vine breaks….its like Ivan’s memory of the jungle and his family, his mom and dad and his sister. It’s broken.

Me: The vine is broken…

I hear you saying that the author used a metaphor to help us understand and feel what Ivan must be feeling. Is that right?

Caleb: Yeah. I guess.

Me: Can you say that metaphor so I can understand better what you mean? The vine is Ivan’s past, his love for his family?…So…Ivan’s memory, his love, is a vine that…

Caleb: …snapped and…left him alone, and he doesn’t have any hope anymore…nothing to hang on to.

(Silence.)

Me: …nothing to hang on to.

Serena: I thought that part meant Tag died, ’cause it said that part about her not seeing him anymore. I thought that meant she died when the vine holding her snapped.

Me: So…life, Serena, Tag’s life? Life is a vine?

Serena: Yeah.

Me: So…help me understand…Life is a vine that…

Serena: …breaks…too soon sometimes.

(Silence.)

Me: Life is a vine…that breaks too soon sometimes…

And sometimes when the vine rips apart, when we lose people or things that are important to us, it can feel hopeless, right? Have you ever felt that way when you lost something or someone really important to you? It might feel like we’ll never be the same again. It might feel like we have nothing left to hang on to.

Tag’s vine snapped. Ivan can’t hang on to what he loved. What will he do? What will we do when we lose things important to us?

Maybe reading about Ivan’s struggle can help us understand our own? Is that possible? That fiction can teach us about life? Will Ivan find a vine to hold onto again?

Metaphors are windows that open to the heart.

On Cages, Time, Thinking, and What is a Teacher to Do?

 Caged!
Photo Credit: Vinoth Chandar via Compfight

Favorite blogger, Vicki Vinton, posted recently about how, in a unit for 9th grade students, the New York State curriculum tamed the unruly wildness of Karen Russell’s short story, “St. Lucy’s Home for Girls Raised by Wolves” by caging it inside 130 text dependent questions, nearly 40 vocabulary words, 200+ pages of lesson plans, and a single interpretation.

In a follow-up comment, Vicki offered this lovely quote from Alice Munro to illustrate the complexity of thought that a bazillion text-dependent questions erases: “The complexity of things–the things with things–just seems to be endless. I mean nothing is easy, nothing is simple.” So true. And that’s why learning is so much fun.

Our school district recently purchased a reading series. Next week will be our first meeting to talk about what are our “expectations for fidelity.” I’m dreading that I will have to come clean that I’ve been cheating on it.

I admit that I feel completely incompetent when I look at the script for teaching the metacognitive strategies in our reading series. I wonder how I’m going to get the kids thinking by reading the script for each day. Furthermore, my brain is small and old. I can’t seem to remember what I have to do and say if that list extends beyond two things. I can’t imagine how daunting it would be to run kids through a mill like that described by Vicki…210 pages.

It’s not that I’m simply incompetent. I’m fine when there’s a conversation going on. I can even listen actively and closely! I remember what’s happening and my old brain makes connections between things pretty well. But I’m downright terrible when I’m trying to remember more than the point or two that will be our learning for the day. And if I can’t feel a certain joy, a touch of new-ness along with the complexity of a good conversation and some good ideas, I’m completely flummoxed.

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

Here’s part of the confession that I’m practicing for next week: I’m unfaithful. I sometimes spend too much time reading aloud to the kids. And that comes at the expense of spending time with “the program.”

We’ve just started reading Katherine Applegate’s The One and Only Ivan. It’s been fun. I’m struck by how much exploring the complexity of things, the “things with things” as Munro says, is facilitated by the simplicity of presentation. I can’t remember 130 questions, but I can remember one big question, and whole bunch of “What makes you think that?” questions to keep the conversation going and growing.

Reading Session 1: Who are these characters?

As usual, when we started Ivan we collected details, thoughts, and wonders about the book. Collecting these helped us notice concrete things about the characters and setting, helped us get to know Ivan and other characters, and it helped us form a “rough draft” about what might be happening in the story. (I learned how to do this kind of thinking from Vinton and Dorothy Barnhouse’s wonderful book, What Readers Really Do, though it also made a lot of sense to me just from life.)

My goal was to read, pause for the kids to notice details, allow them to generate provisional thoughts, and to state their initial questions. They took notes in their reading notebooks while I read. Periodically, we stopped to talk about what they were noticing. My role was to notice what they were saying, name it as a detail, thought, or wonder, and ask them to connect the three areas together so they could see how books create meaning.

For example, when someone thought Ivan was lonely in his cage, I’d ask — What makes you think that? — and we would examine the details the students provided. When someone brought up the mental picture Ivan had of his silverback father in the jungle beating his chest to protect the group, I’d ask: What do you think that means? What does that make you wonder about? (One thought: Maybe Ivan remembers a time when he was in the jungle with his family. And a wonder: I wonder if Ivan was somehow stolen from the jungle, or if his family was killed and he is an orphan?)

Reading Session 2: What does Ivan really want?

What do teachers do if they aren’t asking 130 questions to push children deeper into a story?

One big thing we can do is serve as a collector of ideas, to be the “working memory” in the class brain. Novice readers don’t have as much practice keeping the “stuff” of stories in their heads as do experts; they often don’t know how readers tell and re-tell the story to themselves as they are reading. So, prior to session 2, I sketched out on the white board what we had talked about in session 1. I figured this would provide a space for us to re-tell the story in an exploratory way. I asked the children to add in things that I forgot. Here’s a photo of that sketch:

 

What does Ivan want? Who are these other characters?

What does Ivan want?
Who are these other characters?

We had done a lot of thinking about the characters in session 1. I told them it was a great sign that they knew so much about the characters and what they might be thinking and feeling; that is what readers really do.

My one big idea for this session was that I wanted them to develop a “rough draft” of the story. So I asked the children what they thought Ivan wanted, reminding them of the work we had done on story elements earlier in the year. Almost to a person, the children thought that Ivan wanted freedom, to bust out of the cage and be rejoined with this family. They imagined an almost Rambo-like escape! And they offered lots of evidence that this might be possible:

  • the hole in the glass wall from the baseball bat could be enlarged;
  • the sadness Ivan seemed to feel being locked up in the cage means he doesn’t like it and wants to escape;
  • the way he didn’t really respect humans and how they acted might mean he is ready to take them on physically;
  • the way he had little memories of the beauty of the jungle, and how pathetic the jungle “scene” looked on the wall of his domain showed his longing for that part of his long-gone life;
  • the snippets of memories he had of his father, mother, and his dear sister, Tag, showed his longing, too.

The children even had an idea that Ivan would see a member of his family on the TV in his cage in some show that he watched, and that this would kindle in him a desire to break out. He’d go berserk and rip through the wall and somehow return to the wild. I was struck by how passionate the children felt about Ivan’s future escape.

Basically, all of this discussion came from my one question — What does Ivan really want? — and from what the kids were saying to each other. My job was to clear space for the conversation, ask kids to talk to each other by adding on, or disagreeing respectfully, and for the children to justify their ideas to each other and to themselves. (See an earlier post where I reflected on Peter Johnston’s idea that use of evidence flows from the desire to communicate, not from a mandate from the State.) From this discussion, we were able to find more details in the story that we hadn’t really brought to our consciousness earlier, and we created a more detailed and nuanced “re-telling” of the story. Did we find all of the important pieces of literary craft, pieces that 130 questions would undoubtedly lead us to “discover”? Probably not, but the ones we did find were pretty cool and useful.

And this all felt a lot like what I do when I read.

Reading Session 3: How strongly does Ivan want to escape?

Again, I organized the thinking from the previous session (reading session 2) on the whiteboard. Here’s a photo of what I wrote.

 

How strongly does Ivan want to get out of his cage?

How strongly does Ivan want to get out of his cage?

In this third session, I wanted the kids to consider the very thing they were so passionate about earlier — Ivan’s possible escape from his cage. I asked the kids this question: How strongly does Ivan want to escape from his cage? I asked them to slow down and consider it for awhile, trying to separate out what they would do if they were Ivan, from what they think Ivan would do. Evidence, please!

The first idea was Gabe’s. Surprisingly, he took on our dominant idea that Ivan would burst out of his cell in a blaze of glory. (Brave guy!) He thought Ivan didn’t seem like he wanted to leave his cage very much, which surprised him. After he explained, others agreed. They cited reasons like these:

  • Ivan doesn’t get very mad. You’d have to be pretty mad to break out of a cage and take off from what you’d always known.
  • Ivan seems to like to sit around and just watch TV and eat stuff.
  • He seems depressed and unmotivated.

The next interpretation (Annika’s and Zach’s) built on Gabe’s. While they agreed that Ivan seemed kind of depressed and not able to break out of cage right now, they thought that would change sometime soon. Annika: “I think Stella is going to be important to the story, but we don’t know much about her yet. Maybe she’s going to talk to Ivan and help him change. She might help him see that he can leave. That will make him want to leave more and more until he can’t stand it anymore.”

A third interpretation came from Garrick and others who agreed that Ivan seemed depressed, but thought that he really wanted to break out of the cage, but was scared to try. When I pressed for more, he came up with this explanation: “Ivan might have been taken from his family when he was a kid. He has these memories of them. Maybe he’s scared to go looking for them because maybe they are dead and he doesn’t want to find that out.”

Dylan piped in with a comparison between Bob, the dog, and Ivan saying, “Maybe Ivan and Bob are alike? Bob lost his family when they got killed on the highway. Now he doesn’t really want to settle down. It’s like he’s scared to get close to anyone. He doesn’t like most people and tries to stay away from them. Maybe Ivan is feeling a little the same way because he lost his family, too. Maybe they both don’t want to get close to anything because they are afraid of how painful it will be to lose them.”

What is next?

We haven’t moved on from here yet, but I think the next focus will be a diagram of the three rough drafts of what The One and Only Ivan means. We’ll talk some about how we have revised our draft from “Ivan will bust out of the cage and find his family!” to now several possibilities. We’ll keep our eyes open for the relationship between Stella and Ivan, between Ivan and Bob, and we’ll look for whether Ivan is getting angrier about being put in his cage. These questions will help us as we read further in the story.

What did I learn?

I learned that one of the best things I can do is serve as the “working memory” for the collective brain of our classroom. A good role for me as a teacher is to

  • help the students “chunk” material into meaningful chunks (“Here’s what we said we knew about Ivan.”);
  • name what they are doing (“We’re creating a rough draft of what we think this story is about. That will help us as we read farther.”);
  • ask open-ended, meaning-making questions (“How strongly does Ivan want to leave his cage?”);
  • ask questions that get to the basis for an interpretation (“What makes you think that?);
  • collect and map the evolving interpretation as it unfolds (“Okay. Here’s a map of what we’ve talked about so far. Readers try to keep this stuff in their heads, but since we are practicing that, I’ve mapped it out on the board. Am I missing anything?”).

This all takes time, and lots of thinking that isn’t caged in by a script, (e.g. “Now we are going to learn how to make inferences. Here’s how you do it…”)

Sorry about such a long entry. What do you think? Do you do things like this, too? Do you have to teach from a program? Do you struggle, like I do, with how to fit something like what has happened with our reading of Ivan into the structure of that program?

In Search of Wholeness

 Autumn in New York
Creative Commons License Photo Credit: blmiers2 via Compfight

Somehow September has slipped halfway into the past and the sun, no longer high in the sky when I return home from school, slices low through the spreading branches of the oaks. Across the valley the trees have taken on that tired-leaf look of early fall. Senescence, at least in the world of trees, can be beautiful.

Which makes me think of how I spend my time.

Among other things, I sketched out plans this weekend for another week punctured by tests.

And as I plan, I think about how I’ve used my “Reading” time so far this year. We’ve spent a lot of time doing shared and independent reading. Very little group work so far. Weather related early outs, tests, and other sundry disruptions have derailed our schedules. However, I’ve listened to kids read, talked to kids about books, and connected kids with books and with each other around the topic of books. We’re reading a graphic novel, Rust, together on the document camera.

The discussions have been ferocious and fun.

I chose Rust because it was a nearly wordless graphic novel, new to me, and I wanted the kids to immerse themselves in thinking about something kind of complicated yet without a lot of words, to see what they could do. I wanted them to think out loud to me.

Rust starts with a prologue that dumps the reader into the past, right in the middle of a war between humans and machines, then moves us to the “present” (although the kids are not at all certain about that present part…), to a farm somewhere in the sepia-colored Great Plains. Roman Taylor, probably the main character, writes to his absent father about the arrival of Jet Jones, a mysterious jet-packed boy (?) who is very mechanically inclined and also chased relentlessly by a two-story robot bent on Jet’s destruction.

Do we trust Roman? Why does he want "the power?"

Do we trust Roman? Why does he want “the power?”

Eventually, Roman saves Jet from the robot, and Jet helps Roman around the farm, which has been faltering because Roman’s dad is somewhere, perhaps another war. Roman’s real passion is building robots, so Jet’s help around the farm is welcome. All seems well with Jet’s arrival, except for the giant robot, disabled and rusting in the field.

But is all well? As Weston, one of the students in our classroom said: “Jet has a secret. And he’s not telling anybody about it.” Nearing the end of book one, we are looking carefully for clues to figure out that secret; we’re wondering whether Jet is as innocent as he looks; we’re wondering where Roman’s father is; and we’re wondering about this war and how it came to the Taylor farm now forty-eight years later.

What secrets are not being talked about? How can the truth make things more complicated?

What secrets are not being talked about? How can the truth make things more complicated?

I’ve toggled back and forth on the screen between reading through the document camera and taking notes about our discussion using a simple Details I notice – Thoughts I have – What I wonder chart ala Vicki Vinton, whose  blog and book, What Readers Really Do have made a big difference in my teaching life. (I’ve altered her What I Know – What I Wonder chart just a bit, probably because of defects in the way I teach, but it makes sense to me!)

But I feel a sense of foreboding, and it’s not just about Jet Jones’ secret, or the sepia world he inhabits.

This will be our first year with a reading series and I got my first, dreaded email this week that we teachers are expected to display “fidelity to the program.” I’ve worried about this in the past. Not that I’m one who habitually lacks “fidelity,” it’s just that programs are not what I feel married to.

I’ve loved the immersion in the graphic novel (some readings-discussions have lasted 30 to as many as 45 minutes), the questions that have come from this depth of immersion — the inferences, the way we’ve identified important parts of the story, and how our understanding of what is important has shifted as we learn more about what is going on. That’s cool. And oh so not “gradual release of responsibility.” More like sudden release. My main role has been to read and make sure I turn the pages very, very slowly. 🙂

The reading program (which is better than some!) teaches one metacognitive skill at a time: questioning, inferring, determining importance, etc. using the “gradual release of responsibility” method. In fact, during our before school training, the instructor warned us that we needed to keep our instruction moving, moving, moving, so our mini-lessons would be short, focused on a clear, single-issue think aloud, so the children could experience that responsibility we were about to release. If this week’s topic was questioning, we had to get them asking questions. We didn’t have time for answers, said she.

So, now that September has slipped halfway into the past and the thirty days allotted to set up our classroom routines (and relative freedom from the skill lessons) is nearing the end, I wonder how I’m going to spend my time next month AFTER the leaves have turned golden then dropped from the trees.

After reading Rust with the kids, where many are already inferring, questioning, determining importance even in this first month of school and at a pretty high level, and the kids are lined up to read the second book in the series, I wonder whether I can be faithful to the practice of teaching a single skill, and completing ALL of my mini-lessons in ten minutes. Some? Sure. All?

And questions without answers?

I hate feeling unfaithful. Really. I do.

In Search of Explanations: A “Close Reading” in Science Class

With the Common Core Standards (CCS), educators are thinking a lot about “close readings.” Close readings often are second or third readings designed to deeply understand ideas and meanings, while analyzing how those meanings are conveyed. Close reading is A LOT of work; they require A LOT of motivation. How’s a teacher supposed to DO THAT? And with third graders?

In a recent post, “Finding time for close readings,” Burkins and Yaris urged teachers to see close readings as a thinking activity that we routinely do, not just something we plan to teach at a single moment.

To us, close reading is reader action which involves the synthesis of a host of comprehension strategies, hence it is relevant in any teaching context. Because close reading is performed by the reader, it can be practiced within the context of all teaching structures. When we read aloud, we can reread and ask students to cite evidence and elaborate their thinking in ways that lead to new ideas about text. When students work with texts during guided reading, we can ask questions or lead discussions that require that students return to the story to carefully reread in ways that help them notice details that they didn’t see the first time around.

I think I can share an example of this kind of thinking about close readings.

Our science unit of study has been water and its properties. Last week, I wanted the students to get a sense of the concept of diffusion as a way for them to understand the concept of molecules. Molecules are difficult for third graders to really understand, and since diffusion is difficult to imagine without understanding molecules, I thought it might be good to combine a simple demonstration with a close reading to help them understand how molecules help liquids “mix themselves.”

To do this, I stole a demonstration idea from Walter Wick’s book, A Drop of Water. Rather than have the students read the book and look at the pictures in it, I simply reversed the order of events. To start, we dropped food coloring into a cup of clear water and took some time lapse pictures with our IPEVO webcam. Here are the images we got.

 

A few days later we clicked through the images forward and backwards several times (a close reading of images!), observed the changes, and tried to describe what happened. The kids came up with ideas like these:

  • At first the green kind of burst like fireworks.
  • The green spread out all over the cup.
  • The green seemed to drop down from the dark green spot on top and up from the dark green spot on the bottom.
  • The green looked almost like ribbons sometimes.

I introduced them to two word sets — concentrated/concentration and diffuse/diffusion — to help them explain what happened. “Spread out” became diffused. “Dark green” became concentrated. I was really pleased with how well this worked. Having the vocabulary emerge from their need to describe helped us understand why scientists need a specialized vocabulary: it helps them be more accurate and precise!

Then we asked questions that seemed to demand explanations. Here are some samples.

  • How did the green diffuse through the whole glass so evenly?
  • Why did some concentrated green stay on top?
  • Why did the green look like fireworks when it first dropped?
  • Why did some concentrated green sink to the bottom?

Finally, I told them we were going to read a piece of informational text that might help us answer some of our questions. This is what scientists do when they observe something that is puzzling; they go try to find out if anyone else has thought about those questions, too.

We read this short piece from Walter Wick’s book out loud, pencils and highlighters in hand to find the parts that might help us answer our questions.

From, Walter Wick, (1997). A Drop of Water.

 

I saw some puzzled eyes when we reached the word “molecules” (I had explained what molecules were in a couple of previous lessons, but our knowledge was not yet complete or sophisticated.) Then several children let out a collective “OHHH!” when we reached the third paragraph. Highlighters came out and pencils scratched. When we reached the end, I asked the children if they thought they knew the answer to any of their questions now. Of course, they could see that this helped them answer their question: “How did the green diffuse through the whole glass so evenly.”

I asked the children if they could turn their papers over and explain the answer to another student. That was fun to watch. They struggled and struggled with forming an adequate explanation. Many wanted to turn their papers back over because they forgot many of the details. Talking revealed to them the holes they had in their explanations.

Finally, I told them that they had experienced something a lot of readers experience, myself included; that is, when they find the answer to a question, they often experience an “Ah-ha!” and a sense of satisfaction. But, sometimes a reader has to reach another level, when you have to actually use what you know, and this requires careful reading and thinking. I told them we were going to re-read the part that would help us develop a more complete idea of diffusion so they could explain it to others. I mentioned that this is something that I do all the time when I’m trying to figure out how to explain something to them, or when I want to really learn something well.

We re-read the last paragraph very slowly, pausing at each sentence, sometimes even at each phrase, in order to check to see if we could explain what was happening. To help visualize what was happening on the molecular level, we acted out being molecules. We imagined how we would act if we added heat, took away heat, if we added green food coloring what would happen to that food coloring. It took us about 20 minutes to read and process the text, including reading the entire piece once and the third paragraph one additional time very slowly.

Based on their second explanation attempt, the children came away with a better understanding of how molecules act in a liquid, how diffusion happens, and why diffusion wouldn’t happen very quickly in a solid. In the process, they speculated on how evaporation occurs (“Maybe the molecules bang against each other so hard that some get knocked out of the liquid?”) and even got a rudimentary understanding of electrostatic bonding in molecules (“Water molecules act sort of like magnets. Sometimes they attract each other and sometimes they push each other away.”)

Are we all solid with these concepts? Nope. And I’m sure their understanding will “decay” quickly if we don’t talk about molecules again soon. But this close reading of images and text gave us a solid foundation from which to build.

Not bad for a days’ work. And Burkins and Yaris are right, “close readings” can happen anywhere and with anything.

On meaningful goals, and the paths that might lead us there

over the stileI’ve been struggling with how to write this post until I read Bud the Teacher’s post, Data Dashboards; suddenly things started to fall into place a bit more.

My struggle is this. Every year our district sets goals. Here’s this year’s building goal for my school:

During the 2012-2013 school year, at least 80% now in 3rd and 4th grade and who are performing below benchmark will increase their standard score by a minimum of twelve points on the reading assessment.  The measure used will be the Iowa Assessment reading test.

In a few months we’ll be getting those data back that show whether we’ve met that goal or not. Teachers always fight a variety of emotions when these “data days” happen, ranging from depression to head-scratching puzzlement. Each year some kids make it and others don’t, and we never really know why. We suspect our most successful years are the result of setting lower goals, not necessarily better learning. Each year, it seems, teachers are left wondering how these goals have helped us change things in important ways? Some of us ask ourselves how our teaching lives could have become so circumscribed as to be about moving 80% of the students who struggle twelve standard points on the Iowa Assessment. If goals are a statement of purpose…? Ugh.

Along comes Bud and his book club read, The 4 Disciplines of Execution. Read his post to find out more of what his leadership team is doing, but what I took away was that educators can measure leading or lagging indicators. And that distinction helped me realize why we all feel so depressed on “data days” by both our failures AND our successes; we’re measuring a lagging indicator and we don’t know what effect our efforts have had on whether we reach the standardized test goal. Along with that, we suspect that standardized test scores don’t really tell us much about the complex humans we have in our classrooms.

Enter a new set of “leading” indicator-type measures, rather than the “lagging” student achievement measures. The book, Bud writes, argues for setting meaningful goals (the author calls them something like, “wildly important goals”, which sounds wildly impressive), then developing a set of leading indicators or measures and a mechanism (a scoreboard or dashboard) to keep track of them. Here’s an example. Imagine the meaningful goal we set was for students to become better readers who think deeply about what they are reading. (You could probably think of a better worded one!) Your next step is to think of things that you could track that would “lead” you toward that goal. It helps if you already know there is research and/or theory that backs up these as important.

Just thinking out loud here, but what about these as “leading” indicators that might move us toward our important goal of creating better readers and thinkers:

  • Amount of reading time during the day, along with some sort of “effectiveness” measure, since time alone doesn’t exactly equate to high quality reading;
  • A learning log or portfolio of ideas (blog, digital portfolios, whatever) — completed by the student and/or by a teacher — that documents student learning on specific “habits of mind” in order to demonstrate deep or metacognitive thinking. (FYI, I’m working on such a project now and will blog about it later!);
  • A “flow-o-meter,” since getting lost in a book seems important. I’m sure it’s possible to keep track of this since it is lived experience. (By the way, I’ve never seen a kid who has found themselves lost in a book struggle as a reader for very long. I’ve rarely seen students who can’t get lost in a book make dramatic progress in reading.);
  • A log of learning projects started and completed, since the ability to generate questions and sustain interest in learning seems to correlate to depth of learning. This kind of goal would also require us to set aside time to explore some kind of project-based learning.

Those are just a few ideas. Wouldn’t it be fun to think of what you’d keep track of? How you’d do that? How you could engage the students in keeping track of their own dashboard?

Something like this would be a much more concrete task to complete than moving kids on standardized test scores. Each of these leading indicators begs further conversation and research both of the reading and action kind. For example, we could explore improving instructional strategies around our independent reading time; how to set up learning tasks or improve classroom dynamics; how to set up learning “dashboards”, improve curricular goals, or whatever other important changes might result in higher “scores” on the “leading indicators.” Also, these would be more measurable in real-time than a standardized test score, so you’d know if you were making progress or not.

Finally, as a teacher it would be oh-so-much more fun to teach how to become a deeply engaged learner, to log their progress toward that goal, than to abstractly move 80% of the struggling students twelve standard points on the Iowa Assessment.

Thanks, Bud Hunt! I’ll be thinking more about goals and measurements and how they influence learning and teaching.

Re-reading to discover author choices — more notes on transitional readers

In a couple earlier posts I tracked how some third grade transitional readers interacted with the text of a poem by Ted Kooser and with an early chapter book called The Blue Ghost. I’ve been strongly influenced by Vicki Vinton’s suggestion that teachers teach the reader, not the text. I take that to mean we need to listen closely to what students are doing with text and to plan our teaching to address the needs of the students, rather than offer students explicit questions designed to direct their attention to specific parts of the text. (For more on this, check out Vinton’s recent post on grouping.) My primary goal is to help readers build their own capacity to create meaning from texts so they will be able to make meaning on their own, not rely on me to lead them toward the meaning in texts through ever more direct questions.

frameWhile this framing seems like a subtle difference, since understanding is the result of both methods (hopefully!), the difference has immense implications for how readers engage with texts.

I’m writing to report what happened as a small reading group — Cal and Alice — finished an early chapter book.

Earlier, I reported that these two readers were having difficulty determining what information was important in the text. I could see this because they picked out details, sometimes simply from an illustration, and wove a “logical” story from that information without much regard to information they had read already. Often the story they told was stitched to the written story by a single observation (the face of two characters as shown in an illustration), or a single detail. To compound this difficulty, the story they told themselves became more real than the written story.

Through observing and questioning the children, I came to believe they were not holding a coherent story together if it required using several details from the written text to create that rough draft understanding. These students were noticing details in abundance, but were not able to assign importance to them, or to weave them together into a more coherent whole. As a result, these two readers abandoned details that might have been important to their developing draft. Their understanding often included only a) the most recent details without regard to others they had noticed earlier; or b) a particularly compelling detail (in this case illustrations); or c) details that fit the “logical” story they told themselves, forgetting about the textual details that didn’t fit that story.

How to move beyond that?

One suggestion offered by Vinton was to continue the story to the end (or until it was clear what was happening) and then go back and re-read the text to find clues the author planted early in the story, clues that we didn’t think were important when we read the first time. By doing this, the readers would be able to develop two things: 1) an understanding that authors plant layers of details throughout the story to help their reader build meaning, and that these layers are often redundant; and 2) by seeing how authors do this, these readers would develop their abilities to do this kind of detail sorting on their own. If the readers came to see how authors built a story, then perhaps they would be able to hold a larger number of details in mind as they created their draft understanding.

We finished the story The Blue Ghost and came to understand that Liz was, as was alluded to throughout the story, a “guardian angel” because of her willingness to help Elizabeth (and her grandmother); we saw the importance of the past and grandmother’s place in it; and how sometimes the kind things we do have a lasting importance even though we don’t realize it at the time.

I told the kids that I wanted us to re-read the first chapter of the book again. Now that we knew more about the story, I wanted them to notice details, clues, or hints the author might have been giving us in that first chapter so we might see what we didn’t recognize earlier.

I was fascinated to see how the kids were both completely engaged in this activity and picked out key details that they had missed in their first reading.

Blue Ghost1

First, they noticed the way the author made the distinction between the ghost calling out Elizabeth and the main character’s name, Liz. When they first read that, they didn’t know what to make of it. They realized that Liz was short for Elizabeth, but they didn’t know that it might be an important clue. Reading backwards, they realized that this was a much bigger clue about what was going to happen, and who Liz would meet as the story went along.

Second, they noticed all the space the author spent on the ghost hovering over the trunk, the way the ghost circled the trunk and sank down in front of it. When we first read this, the kids didn’t notice these details at all. They were focused on the ghost, trying to figure out if she was someone to be scared of or not. That’s understandable, but more experienced readers would also be paying attention to the way the author had the ghost hover over the trunk. During their re-reading, the kids saw how much time the author spent on the trunk. They knew the trunk contained Elizabeth’s mother’s Booke of Remedies, which would be crucial to the story later on. The kids were surprised that they hadn’t noticed that before, but clearly saw how the author was signalling something important.

blue ghost2

Next, the kids noticed details that placed the ghost in the distant past. Words like “the long, old-fashioned dress”, and “hair pulled back in a bun” indicated that the ghost was from a time long ago. Early in the story, the kids had focused on the illustration to the right, noticing the similarity in the faces between Liz and the ghost. This was an important detail, since the ghost was a long-distant relative of Liz’s. However, the children had earlier created a “logical” story about how the ghost was Liz’s mother, who had not appeared in the story yet. They carried this confusion into the story quite a ways, despite other evidence that Liz’s mother was not dead, just not present.

As they looked back, the kids could see more clearly how the author was showing them that the ghost was from a time long, long ago. She could not be Liz’s mother.

blue ghost3

Finally, on the re-reading the children noticed the words toward the end of the chapter:

“‘Elizabeth,’ she whispered again. She sounded sad.” and also,

“She motioned, as if for Liz to follow.” and, finally,

“Her fingers touched the place where the figure had disappeared. There was only wall. Solid wall.”

While re-reading, the children could see that these details contained many clues about what we would find out later in the story. The sadness, the motioning to follow, the solid wall all indicted some of the direction the story would take as it unfolded.

What did we learn from this activity? I had told them earlier, of course, that the beginning of a story was important, but by re-reading they were able to see for themselves how densely packed the beginning was with details that were important later in the story. Re-reading also helped the children see how an author can convey meaning through details. Crucially, the children were able to recognize and verbalize how the author was able to plant these details from the very beginning of the story. Thus, readers can reliably keep track of details like this and wonder about them over the course of a story. They can go back and build inferences from not just one detail, but from many. As we read more together, I’ll be asking them to put together pieces from more than one place in the story when they make inferences.

I’m eager to think and write more about this journey.

Thanks for reading! If you’ve gotten this far, you are very patient, indeed!

Sorting through details: Notes on a couple transitional readers

Here’s a story from inside the dog.

In a recent post I began to explore where meaning broke down during a lesson on figurative language, meaning-making, and poetry. I discovered that some students were not entering the text at a very deep level; they sought literal meaning out of the words in Ted Kooser’s poem, A Child Frightened by a Thunderstorm. This observation caused me to regroup some of my students and focus my instruction and observation on how some kids were making meaning. For one group, I chose an easier chapter book, The Blue Ghost as a common text for us to read. I chose it because the words of the The Blue Ghost are not too difficult to read, and the text is laid out on the page in an easier format for these transitional readers. However, I knew that the plot offered some trouble areas — time travel by going through a wall, the story of a grandmother who is trying to hold onto the past, and an evolving plot that reveals bits and pieces of the past to the main character as she moves through the story.

blue ghostWe started out by looking at the cover of the book, which shows a ghostly blue figure floating above a wooden floor, and the title, The Blue Ghost. Obviously, this illustration and title got the kids wondering about this figure: Who was it? Was it a real ghost? Where was it? How did she die?

The two children in this very small group — I’ll call them Cal and Alice — opened the book and began to read. They took note of the main character (Liz), the setting (her grandmother’s house), and began to puzzle out what was happening. As we read, I tried to stay back a bit, asking questions like this: What are you noticing? What are you thinking about? What makes you think that? I took notes on what they said by filling in a Details – Thoughts – Wonders chart.

Blue ghost p1Blue ghost p2

Away from the support of more experienced classmates, Cal and Alice paid close attention to the arrival of the ghost, but did not notice several clues — her arrival over an old chest, her exit through a wall that had been added to separate the room from the rest of the house — as well as an overall “oldness” to the description of the room that Liz was in. I’m positive that the more experienced readers in the classroom would have noticed these descriptions, and connected them to the old-timey clothes the ghost was wearing. They would have begun to form an draft of the meaning (in Vinton and Barnhouse’s language) that included the long-distant past and something that must have happened in the house.

Instead, these readers focused on the faces in the pictures they were offered. In the picture above, Cal noticed that the ghost looked like the girl and speculated that the ghost was the girl’s dead mother. Alice wasn’t so sure about this interpretation, but then began to agree with Cal as he pointed out how the two appeared to be related. I stepped in and mentioned that we need to look at both the text and the picture to verify that the ghost might be the mom. This picture alone might be some evidence; authors usually give readers a lot of evidence or clues. But as in the poem, the draft understanding of this being the girl’s mother was too enticing to drop. When I asked what made him think that, Cal replied: “Liz is by herself. Where is her mother? Maybe her mother is dead and now she wants to warn Liz about something, or see her again.” I brought up the clothes looking old-timey and that didn’t connect with what her mother might wear. But the evidence I offered wasn’t very convincing and my point wasn’t to hammer home an interpretation, but to show how evidence is used. Cal responded that maybe this is just what ghosts wear, and why would the illustrator make the girl and the ghost look so much alike anyway?

The second chapter dropped the ghost and picked up the grandmother, with an enticing title, “Connections.” The author mentioned that Liz was helping the grandmother move out of her house. Also, we learned that Liz’s mother had asked her to join grandmother, which should have been a clue that she was not the ghost. Alice picked up on this and thought that detail proved the ghost wasn’t Liz’s mother. Cal stuck to his original interpretation by bringing in a ‘logical’ (not textual) argument: “Maybe Liz’s mother died after she told her to go to the house and now she is visiting Liz.” We let that sit for awhile and read on.

As we read, we got more clues about the age of the house, but the children had a difficult time putting this new information — about grandmother and the importance of the long-in-the-family house to grandmother — together with the ghost. As Alice said: “Why did the author introduce the ghost and then we haven’t heard anything else about it since the first chapter?” Their attention started to flag a bit in the second chapter as they expected to learn more about the ghost and, instead, learned only about Liz’s grandmother and her love for a house that was in the family for many generations.

That’s as far as we’ve gotten in the story. Standardized testing (don’t get me started!) and some snow days have derailed our journey. It will take a bit to get us back on the track, if we can get our mojo back.

But I do have some preliminary observations about what has happened.

1. Putting more than one or two pieces of evidence together is difficult for these two students. I’m going to need to work on helping them use more evidence to build a draft understanding. It seems the draft they were creating got built out of a small amount of evidence (for example, the way the faces look in an illustration) and additional evidence was based on “logical thinking”, rather than the text. We’re going to have to practice using textual evidence.

2. I must try using these explicit words — rough draft understanding of the story — so they can see that we don’t have to fit all new details into an already existing understanding. We can shift our understanding as we get new information. While we have talked a lot about this in large group, I can see that was especially difficult for Cal to internalize, as he had a very difficult time letting go of the mother-as-ghost draft.

3. The kids missed some crucial details about setting and costume that might have helped them get a better sense of what was happening. They read the details about the house and room, even noted some of them, but weren’t able to use them in their early draft understanding of the story. They didn’t know how to assign importance to them. Is this just experience? What can I do to help them see the importance of setting, especially early in the story?

4. I can see why Cal and Alice abandon early chapter books so readily. The second chapter’s introduction of a new character — grandmother — threw them. They experienced this chapter as a movement away from the real story, the story about the ghost, rather than as crucial background to the story. More experienced readers would have held their early understanding of the ghost next to the new information about grandmother for longer into the book. They would have produced a more nuanced and observant draft of what was happening. Without being able to do that, the second chapter became less relevant, less interesting. If I wouldn’t have been reading with them, they probably would have abandoned the story at that point.

So, I’m hoping to get back to The Blue Ghost after tests are over. What a huge hole these blow in our instructional day/week/year. Whew.

As usual, if you haven’t been reading Vicki Vinton’s blog, especially her last two entries that explore in depth conversations with two readers in reading workshop, please check them out. You’ll also be able to see how they have influenced my thinking, too. Many thanks to her for that work!

When meaning breaks down: Listening below the surface

I promised myself that I’d use this blog space to think through things that I’ve seen in the classroom. Here’s a post that emerges out of noticing the way readers are thinking as they move into more complicated texts.

Both deep and shallow thinking
I’ve been struck by how some kids can seem so brilliant during read aloud — they can come up with really deep and insightful comments and even base them on the details of the story — but they sometimes struggle to make such deep meaning on their own. What was causing them to think so deeply at some times, and more shallowly at other times?

I began to notice that some children missed key ideas as they read independently, or in small groups. As these students developed greater confidence and skills they were able to read the words in more complex text, but seemed to be missing some of the meaning of the words. The words seemed to exist without texture and nuance and, as a result, it was hard for them to pick out the details that were important. My sense from listening to them read, was that they were reading and thinking mostly on the literal level and, as a result, were missing the deeper layers of meaning in the story.

At the same time, I’ve been very happy with using reading aloud as a moment of meeting, conversation, and learning. I’ve seen that my reading aloud provided some scaffold that allowed them to catch the meaning and importance of words that they weren’t able to catch on their own yet. Perhaps my voice inflection and the pacing of my reading conveyed some of the layers of meaning behind the words on the page, something they were not yet able to do on their own. For example, they would sometimes cite as evidence for their ideas how the character sounds, as in: “the character sounds angry”, not putting it together that the character’s “sound” was created by me! This scaffold provided them what they needed to engage in more complicated text on quite a high level, a level they weren’t able to accomplish on their own.

In a sense, while my reading aloud was helping to model how stories sound, and it provided a scaffold for their thinking, it took away some of the responsibility they had for interpreting the layered meanings of the words, too. My mind was prioritizing and interpreting as I read, something they would have to do when they read on their own. Maybe I needed to remove the scaffold and find out what they could do.

Poetry: Diving below the surface
So, last week I conducted a little experiment in the classroom focused around figurative language and poetry. I figured that a dive into figurative language might be at least one way to practice making meaning through looking below the surface of the text. I introduced a Ted Kooser poem to the children and we talked about it. I videotaped the lesson and studied it to see what happened. Here’s what I discovered.

child frightened, Kooser

First, we read the poem together three or four times. I asked them to circle words that seemed important, surprising, or meaningful.

To keep a record of their thinking, I used a modified version a Know – Wonder chart from Vinton and Barnhouse; What Readers Really Do. I put in a middle section called “Thoughts” to separate out the details, and slow down the students down so as to keep them from jumping to conclusions. (This hack was based on the See, Think, Wonder routine from Making Thinking Visible.) I scribed (or scribbled, as my handwriting…welll…sucketh) what they said.

Notes - Kooser poem

We first focused on noticing the details from the poem. You can see what they noticed listed in the detail section of the photo to the left. The video showed me trying to get them to linger on the details before they started drawing conclusions. I wanted us to use the time to go deeper into the details and look deeper into the text. I figured with a richer array of details, we could begin to use them to create thoughts and questions later in the process. This is the idea advanced in the See-Think-Wonder routine from Making Thinking Visible. Within a few minutes, the Detail side had much of its content.

Then we moved to develop thoughts and wonders from the details we had noticed. Looking at the details, a couple kids offered the idea that there seemed to be a lot about a bird in the poem, noticing words like “nested”, “beak”, “outstretched wings.” Soon, two related ideas emerged. First, one boy offered that the thunderstorm was kind of like a bird, but wasn’t exactly a bird. He explained that a thunderstorm can be big and scary like a giant bird, and that this poem might be comparing the two. Another boy agreed and said this poem described the storm like a bird was described in a book from the Beast Quest series. (Yes, these are third grade boys talking, and these are their literary references!)

I thought we might be onto something here. I was surprised by the way these two boys had gotten through the literal into the figurative fairly rapidly. Still, they hadn’t developed this idea much, but…rather than jump in, I waited.

The idea of a comparison sat there for a moment. Then, a third boy offered that the author might have seen a bird in the sky because he was looking up at a thunderstorm. Another chimed in that maybe the red eyes were the moon that he saw up in the sky as he was looking at the bird, which he saw when he looked up at the thunderstorm. His evidence was that branches are up high and so is the moon, so he might have been looking at one and seen the other. Another thought maybe the clouds of the storm looked like a bird because clouds can look like animals sometimes.

All these ideas seemed to reverse the quick move into exploring the figurative language surrounding the bird — thunderstorm metaphor. We were definitely back in the literal, and a quagmire up to our boot tops.

Finally, one boy said: “I disagree with both of you! This is about a thunderstorm!” He pointed us back to the title.

So I said, “What does a bird have to do with a thunderstorm? Like, what does a ‘sharp beak’ have to do with a thunderstorm? Let’s go back and read that line.” So we re-read:

…It’s beak was bright,
sharper than garden shears and, clattering,
it snipped bouquets of branches for its bed.

Suddenly, hands went up and kids offered suggestions:

“The beak is sharp, that’s like lightning!”

“Lightning can cut off branches like garden shears.”

And other revelations came:

“‘Rumpled grass.’ That must be the wind. Grass looks rumpled after a thunderstorm.”

“‘Outstretched wings crushed the peonies.’ That must be the wind, too. Wings make wind and blow everything around.”

“‘Clattering!’ That’s like thunder!”

“‘Snipped bouquets of branches for its bed.’ That’s the wind! A really strong thunderstorm breaks off branches. If you go outside after a really bad thunderstorm there are sometimes branches on the ground.”

Soon most kids were offering ways that the thunderstorm was like a big, scary bird. Finally, the kids tried to figure out what “The thunder’s eyes were red.” meant. By this time most were willing to entertain the idea that it might be more than something literally red. The remaining Literalists thought it might be lightning in the clouds as the storm went away. (Interesting…I thought to myself!) The New-Figuratives thought that the “red eyes” were supposed to make you feel scared of the storm because “red eyes” are often a sign of evil in movies and stories.

We left it as a mystery. I asked them how it would change the meaning of the poem if it was a storm moving away v. a sign of evil. They decided that it would be slightly less scary if the storm was moving away. I told them that they would have to decide for themselves whether the author wanted them to feel scared throughout the whole poem, or if the author wanted them to get a sense of the danger being over. Either way, though, they could prove what they were thinking by showing exactly what the author said.

What I learned
What did I learn from this 21 minute activity? Here’s a partial list:

1. Hold back and don’t talk. I learned a lot about how the kids thought when the initial figurative interpretation wasn’t taken up by other kids. I learned that it wasn’t persuasive, that they felt the need to search for literal meanings first.

2. Keep track of who says what. Watching the video really helped me see some of the suggestions offered by the kids. I had a general sense of where some kids were at from experiencing it, but watching the video helped me identify some kids who were having a really difficult time moving out of the literal and into the figurative. These kids are also some of the ones that have the hardest time catching some of the important parts in more books with more complex writing.

3. I think I’m right about how some are missing layers of meaning. As I listened to the explanations of what the poem might mean, I saw how some children picked up quickly on how Kooser might be using words in one way to mean something else. The kids all got a sense of the poem being scary, but I think that was because of the way I read it. Almost everyone could identify details that seemed important (and they picked good ones!), but moving from that to interpretation required them to leave the literal and move into the figurative. That was hard for some kids.

4. Struggle is good. I think a lot of kids came through this with a greater sense of how language can mean something different than at first glance. I could have told them that, but they wouldn’t have struggled with it. In fact, two of their classmates actually did tell them that early on in the conversation, but the idea was rejected for more concrete ideas. I think they just had to work through it themselves!

5. Going back to the text at some point helps ground the students. A key moment came when we went back into the text to see how a “beak” could be connected to a thunderstorm. Once they had the question in their minds (and could hear the question because they had struggled with it for awhile), then the figurative nature of the words emerged quickly and convincingly.

Next steps
Already this week I am working in a small group with some of the kids that had a harder time reading past the literal meaning of the words. I’ve chosen a fiction story (The Blue Ghost) that I know to be relatively easy to read, word-wise, but more difficult to read (meaning-wise) because so much is conveyed implicitly. I may post later on what I’ve discovered about how they are processing that text.

Also, I’ve read another poem, dog by Valerie Worth, to give them more practice with figurative language and how even concrete details can convey meanings that aren’t overtly “symbolic.” That would be a fun post, too, come to think of it.

Finally, this helped me see how sitting back and listening can help uncover how the kids are thinking. Using those data — which are oh-so-much more fun and powerful than the standardized test data, or even the IRI data — I’m able to address some fundamental issues that impede the meaning-making of the children who are struggling. I’m excited to see where this takes me. In short, listening carefully to the kids try to puzzle stuff out helps me understand the kids, and helps them be receptive to the help.

UPDATE
As I finished writing this post, another fantastic post from Vicki Vinton arrived in my inbox. The subject of her post, I believe, is very similar to the puzzle that I’m facing in my classroom. She explores how meaning-making breaks down for one girl while reading a “good fit” book, and how long, deep conversation helped her uncover the issue. As usual, she is articulate and artful and insightful. Read it.

Deeper Learning: The importance of the learner

ThinkingVisibleI’ve been thinking about whether our school district should buy a reading basal series. Last week I posted three questions about whether such a program would bring us to the Promised Land. I believe the short answer is no. The longer answer has brought me to explore a report on deep learning by the National Research Council (NRC) and the National Academies of Sciences (NAS), and a very good book about thinking, Making Meaning Visible. And that exploration has caused me to think more about how people learn.

So, on to the second question.

Will a basal series help students develop the habits of good learners?
I’ll start the answer with something that seems obvious: if learning is to happen, the attitude or outlook or intention of the learner is very important. You know it is important from your own learning. I do, too. Drive and desire helped me become a potter a long time ago. (Life events brought me away from pottery recently, but I gotta get back into it!) Deep immersion into US history with a cohort of nerds 🙂 helped me really learn history while I was a graduate student. Both of these examples of deep learning could only have happened because, as a learner, I had a very strong inner desire to not just acquire knowledge, but to master it, and I found a community of like minded people who supported those interests. There are more examples of deep learning to cite. You probably have them, too. The point is this: Learners matter. A lot.

Second, like anything else, what we do, if done often enough, can “grow on you”; it can become habit forming. What values are we creating inside ourselves as we learn? Do we learn how to connect our interests? To persevere through hardship? To solve problems as they arise? To see the value in our work with others? Through our learning, what kind of person are we making ourselves?

As teachers, what kind of habits are we helping our learners form?

Which brings me to the reading basal series dilemma. I think packaged programs, in an effort to “teach the skills” leave out of their package the one really important piece: the learner. I’ve tried to teach with a reading basal program before. The kids were busy. Incredibly busy. I’d have them reading books I’d chosen, learning about grammar and punctuation, writing, reading some more, and learning how to spell “age-appropriate” words. They were so busy doing what I asked them to do (or not!) that they didn’t have time to think. They didn’t have time to choose, to struggle, to fail, to try again, to create, to reflect, to succeed. They do have time to react to someone else’s agenda and to complete the duties as they are assigned. Just barely. But is this enough to develop the habits of a good learner?

No.

When I taught the reading basal, I never felt like the kids were really engaged, like really engaged from deep inside. For the most successful students, the learning seemed wide and shallow. For less successful students, the learning didn’t really happen.

Even worse, I came to realize that I was training my students to be CONSUMERS of education, not creators of their own minds. Too often, I believe, education casts students in that consumer role, a role whose agency comes from choosing whether to “buy” what is happening in class or not. We train students into this passive role, and they exercise it by tuning in or out as suits their fancy. They get enough practice as consumers. They don’t need more.

The authors of Making Thinking Visible and the authors of the NRC – NAS report argue that deep learning happens when a student is deeply engaged, when the intentions of the learner draw him into the learning situation. Not when they are engaged in shallow coverage of loads of material. We need to try to carve out times during the day for exploration and projects, to help students develop interests and see themselves as interested, capable people. And school as a place to develop good habits of learning.

If we choose a reading basal series, I think we’ll miss an opportunity. In the long run, we might even do more harm than we imagine.

Next. Will a basal series help teachers develop the skills we need to teach deep learning?

Deep learning — The importance of time

After reading about it in a blog post, I’ve been studying the National Research Council and the National Academies of Sciences report, Education for Life and Work: Developing Transferable Knowledge and Skills in the 21st Century. The authors argue for educators to focus on “deeper learning”, by which they mean learning that transfers knowledge from one domain into another. This requires careful attention to not just the content knowledge of learning, but also cognitive competence (problem-solving, analysis, interpretation), and competence in the intrapersonal (grit, work ethic, integrity) and the interpersonal (collaboration, empathy, communication) realms as well.

Three areas for deep learningFor deeper learning to occur, teachers “should use modeling and feedback techniques that highlight the processes of thinking rather than focusing exclusively on the products of thinking.” So, we teachers should strive for not just knowledge transmission, but developing the student as a thinker. Furthermore, this process isn’t easy. The authors go on:

“sustained instruction and effort are necessary to develop expertise in problem solving and metacognition; there is no simple way to achieve competence without time, effort, motivation, and informative feedback.” (p.10)

Theirs is a holistic model that requires time, sustained effort from learners, and good teaching. It’s also where, I’m hoping, the CCSS are pointing us, if we are able to take control of them from the powers that be.

Which brings me back to some questions I have about the whole reading basal issue that I’ve been obsessing about. Three pop into my mind immediately:

1. Will a basal series help us carve out sufficient time to think and do?
2. Will a basal series help students develop the habits of good learners?
3. Will a basal series help teachers develop the skills they need to teach deep learning?

This is a lot to think about so I’m going to break this into (at least!) three posts.

Here goes with the first question.

Will a basal series help carve out time to think and do?
The National Academies report argued that there is no way to develop deep learning without “time, effort, and motivation…” The cognitive, intra- and interpersonal competencies they’ve outlined take a lifetime to learn. That’s a lot of practice!

I’ve looked at a couple of reading basal series. Wow. They are jam-packed with skill-based instruction. Each day has way more phonics, grammar, writing, and reading lessons than a person could possibly push kids through in a day, unless you were doing just that, pushing kids through them. When you push people through lessons, where can the deep learning happen? How can you explore the same idea in different contexts? Create time for play that engages learners and piques their interest?

The authors of the National Academies study suggest that we need to focus on a few key ideas explored very, very deeply. Sure, with a reading basal we can point to the date and time that we “covered” the material, maybe even when we “assessed” the material, but does that time and attention promote deeper learning of fundamental concepts, develop metacognition and problem-solving expertise, develop solid intra- and inter-personal skills?

Reading basals are wide and shallow. They won’t help us carve out the time, or focus our attention on the kinds of issues the National Academies report highlights. We need to focus on a few, really important ideas; give kids lots and lots of practice developing expertise with these ideas; and allow them the chance to apply these ideas to other domains. That’s the way deeper learning occurs.

Students need to have time to reflect on what they’ve done, and to ask questions. If we are presenting them with “skills” all the time, there will be no time to reflect, explore, try, and fail, then try again.

As you can see, I’m skeptical about all the skills that are supposed to be so necessary for students to learn. If we don’t give students time, then how will the skills be developed in other domains and to the depth they need for life and learning?

I’ll think more about these next two questions in some upcoming blogs posts.

UPDATE: I’ve also been reading a great book, Making Thinking Visible. Thinking and deep learning are connected, obviously. I worry about the way basal series keep learners very, very busy learning skills for the short term, and not so much thinking at a deeper level. Here’s the authors of Making…:

“…coverage is the ultimate delusion of those who place the act of teaching (or presenting) above the act of learning. It is a deceit perpetuated on a grand scale in education. A deceit in which both teachers and learner implicitly agree that in the name of achieving coverage of the curriculum, only superficial and short-term learning will be expected. However, to achieve insight and understanding, one must have the time to think about and with ideas.” (p. 242. Bold added by me for emphasis.)