Showing posts with label Teaching. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Teaching. Show all posts

Monday, May 2, 2016

Where Does Content Fit In Literacy Learning? Learning to Dance and Talk at the Same Time

            Years ago I took ballroom dance. I used to write about those experiences in this space. It was a great opportunity for me as teacher, since with dance I struggled greatly (something there is about having your legs bound for the first year of life that makes graceful movement a challenge).

            This week I was reminded of those lessons; one in particular.

            Usually, Cyndie and I took dance classes together (imagine Ginger Rogers and not Fred Astaire… but Don Knotts). However, one night she had to work and I had our young teacher all to myself. Since I was on my own that night, the teacher decided to break the regular routine. “Why don’t we just dance?”

            That was scary enough. I was used to dancing with Cyndie only, and this drop-dead gorgeous young lady, truth be told, made me very nervous.

            Even worse, she wanted me to talk with her while we danced. Which was the real point of the lesson, to get me to move my feet and maintain my form while paying no attention to either. Usually, Cyndie recognizing my silent struggle would try to help, reminding me what came next, helping me to find the beat, telling me which dance steps matched which melodies, and such. But the teacher wanted to hear about my job and family and insisted that I really lead.

            Of course, I tried all kinds of stratagems to solve my problem. Repeating a particular set of steps while frantically rifling through my dance memories for what might come next was a particular favorite of mine. My attractive young partner immediately recognizing this shopworn trick would reprimand me, “This is getting boring.” One of the longer hours of my adult life.

            Language learning is hard too, and kids in a reading class may get as anxious as me doing the rhumba.

            One of the hardest things about language learning is to engage in language activities while being distracted. Let’s face it we often can figure out what to do during a skill lesson if we concentrate hard enough. In other words, a perfect box step or distinguishing a /p/ from a /b/ are rendered easier by the fact that we are only doing a box step or only distinguishing those phonemes. In real life, it ain’t so simple, of course.

            Recently, I was Twittered an old study about learning French (Lafayette & Buscaglia, 1985). Not a great study, but one that likely got the right answer. The researchers examined two groups of advanced French learners (Level 4); one studied the language and one took a social studies course delivered in French. The results were mixed, but with some clear benefits for the non-direct approach. The students who were being taught about civilization in French, got better in the speaking and listening department, while the ones who worked on language skills outperformed with writing. This doesn’t surprise me much given my own experiences in learning French—as well as my knowledge of reading and writing research. (Students with three years of French likely knew a whole lot about reading it, but writing was still likely to benefit from such direct attention).

            Earlier, Louise Bohr and her colleagues reported that with underprepared college students, bigger reading gains resulted from enrollment in content classes that demanded a lot of reading and writing, than in the developmental reading classes that were supposed to catch them up. One suspects that such students likely “knew” a good deal of what would be taught in remedial reading, but they didn’t necessarily know how to use it. It is also likely that the remedial classes aimed at easier texts. Instead of trying to help the students to do harder things, these efforts tend to provide practice at levels the students are relatively good at.

            Direct focus on language learning is useful, especially at particular time points. For example, when beginning to learn a language, it is really smart to focus on phonology. With young kids learning to read and write, this has a lot to do with learning to hear the sounds in the words, and then figuring out how to match those sounds with spelling patterns and so on (with a foreign language, it means relearning the same kinds of things). You could try to put such decoding practice into a meaningful context, but initially at least, distracting kids from learning to make those associations would be a big mistake.

            Later, however, once kids “know” those skills, it is important that they get practice using them—practice that distracts them from paying attention to the skills themselves. That’s why I’m not a fan of those so-called “decodable texts” or “linguistic readers” that engage kids in pretend practice: “The fat cat sat on the mat.” Kids definitely need to see words with the /at/ pattern, but they need to handle them in a context where they are trying to talk to the girl and not just dance with her.

            E.D. Hirsch and others have long complained that reading lessons don’t do enough with science, social studies, or the literary canon. Reading authorities have somewhat defensively tried to protect language lessons of various stripes. I feel their pain.

            There are times when it is essential to focus on the mastery of skills, strategies, and insights about how language works and we need to get good at teaching those directly and well. But we also need to give our students adequate practice in using those skills in situations that will distract them from focusing solely on the skills themselves.

            When it comes to reading, content learning is the great distractor. Students trying to figure out the scientific difference between fruits and vegetables, have to decode the long vowels, but they have to do so while thinking about everything else. Of course, trying to read such texts without an adequate understanding of spelling patterns would be equally problematic.

            Sound reading instruction definitely needs to include lots of explicit skills teaching—and not just phonics skills, these have just been easy examples to use here—but it also has to include a good deal of distracted application. Increasingly, I’ve come to believe that a really good reading program will have more than a list of reading skills as its objectives, but will also reveal what literary tropes, social studies facts, and scientific information will result from working through the lessons. That would be a very different kind of scope and sequence chart, but that kind of split focus may make it easier for teachers to get students to dance and talk at the same time.
Bohr L.A. (1994). Toward a model of freshman literacy. Unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of Illinois at Chicago.

Lafayette, R.C., & Buscaglia, M. (1985). Students learn language via a civilization course—A comparison of second language classroom environments. Studies in Second Language Acquisition, 7, 323-342.

Sunday, February 28, 2016

Why I'm Not Impressed with Effective Teachers

            I was making a presentation about how to raise reading achievement. I was taking my audience through research on what needed to be taught and how it needed to be taught if kids were to do as well as possible. I was telling about my experiences as director of reading of the Chicago Public Schools at a time when my teachers raised reading achievement.

            When I finished, a teacher approached me. “What do you think is the most important variable in higher reading achievement?”

            My answer was, “The amount of teaching—academic experience—that we provide to our children.”

            She stared at me, horrified. “Not the teacher?”

            We hear that a lot these days, that the trick to high quality education is excellent teachers. Who in their right mind could be against excellent teachers?

            For example, the Center for American Progress (CAP) just released a report showing the importance of quality teachers in Pre-K through Grade 3, particularly for kids from low-income families.

            However, I’m more interested in verbs than nouns. The focus on effective teachers—teachers, a noun—makes it seem like we just are attracting the wrong people into the profession. Man, if teachers were smarter, more teacherly, more better, than our kids would do great.

            Contrarily, my focus is on teaching—teaching, a verb—which shifts my attention to what it means to be effective. Effective teachers are not just nicer people to be around, but they do things that less effective teachers do not.

            For example, effective teaching employs instructional time more wisely.  It is teaching that gets started right away—no 30-minute circle times, no large portions of class time devoted to getting a head start on the homework—and such teaching keeps kids productively engaged throughout the day. Observational studies have long showed that effective teaching avoids long wait times by the kids; avoids disruptions; encourages more interaction per instructional minute; follows a sound curriculum intelligently; gets a lot more reading into a lesson; explains things better; notices when kids aren’t getting it and does something about it.

            What’s the difference?

            I can’t teach you to be an effective teacher. But I can teach you to do the kinds of things effective teachers do. We can figure out what makes them so special and can emulate their specialness. Driving a car like Tiger Woods won’t make you a great golfer (sorry General Motors), but if you can get at what makes him great, then perhaps you can emulate that golf behavior successfully. Experts drool over his golf swing—squaring the head of the club up to the ball time after time. You might lack Tiger’s nerves and reflexes and his muscle memory developed through long hours of practice, but you can work on developing a fundamentally sound golf swing—just like Tiger’s—and that will make you a better golfer.

            If the issue of educational effectiveness turns on effective teachers, then you either are one or you are not. If it turns on teaching effectiveness—knowing how to model effectively, to explain things clearly, to guide practice effectively, to let go at the right moment to let the students try it themselves, to review wisely—then we all have a lot to work on. Great teachers aren’t born, they’re made. Effectiveness isn’t a feature of a person, it is a goal to strive for.

Saturday, August 21, 2010

Welcome Back Teachers, It's a Long Climb

This week lots of school openings and students returning to the university. I always look at this time of the year with lots of anticipation (and some foreboding); teaching is both something to be looked forward to and to dread. The part I love is the chance to share what I know with students who want to learn it; the chance to make a difference, to help others know something that they haven’t yet figured out. What a joy!

The dread? That arises from the inexorability of it all. The demands of teaching go on and on. In the schools, teachers have to bring it all alive everyday; at the university, I only have to climb that mountain weekly, but it just never stops until the term is over. No matter how good I am this week, I know I have to somehow get ready to do it again the following week, with all the preparation that means. And whether you are prepared or not, the students will be back ready to go again.

The best teachers, and I’m obviously not counting myself among them, have a way of surrendering to the constancy of teaching. They appear serene (God only knows what they are feeling within), and seem to neither hurry nor loiter. This is the patience of teaching that is so remarked upon, this unwillingness to give in or give up. To remain tranquil -- even as you explain the same concept for the 30th time. It is the Zen tranquility of the mountain climber who takes one well-paced step at a time and who is so totally focused on placing his crampons in the best possible place while maintaining his vision on the summit (trees and forest, it is all one to the great teacher).

So, given that this week is the beginning of the school season, let me wish you all a happy climb: with an enjoyable arrival at base camp in coming days, followed by the long, patient, steady trudge up the face, and finally the exquisite excitement when you reach the peak. May you and your students have a successful literacy year!

Saturday, January 30, 2010

More Ideas Not Everyone Will Like: Musings on Teacher Education

This week I had the opportunity to spend some time with some old friends. One of them, Mary Beth Curtis, reminded me about a column I had published in Reading Today when I was IRA president. The column was about teaching and teacher education and it provoked a great deal of controversy and comment at the time, so I remembered it quite well. Her reminder seems timely given the big kerfluffle over teacher education right now, so I'm re-issuing that piece here and now (the original title was "More Ideas Not Everyone Will Like"--I've added the post colon description for this wider audience).

Mark Lundholm is a comedian. Like most funnymen he can make an audience uncomfortable. When he takes the stage, he notes the diversity of perspectives in the crowd. And then he says something wise. “If I offend you, don’t walk out. Just understand that it isn’t your turn.”

What a wonderful insight. Since everybody has different views, it would be impossible for any writer, speaker, comic, or president to speak for all of us with any statement. In other words, we should expect differences of opinion, and shouldn't be offended just because it isn't our opinion that is being expressed now. (Our turn will come, or maybe it has passed). In a learned profession, as in a democratic society, we have to be open to hearing lots of opinions—even those we disagree with. And we need to engage those opinions forthrightly and respectfully.

I have taken positions in this column that have admittedly made some readers uncomfortable. I did that by challenging conventional wisdom that has been allowed to dominate our thinking without question. Sadly, some readers have been so upset that any useful discussion becomes impossible (a professor wrote recently to tell me that she couldn’t possibly discuss these issues civilly). And there have been those who exhibited what Bill Maher calls “false outrage.” These plaintiffs haven’t refuted my assertions as much as they have tried to censor my expression of them—usually by claiming to be offended or, even better, claiming to defend someone else that I must have offended.

That is not likely to change soon, since today’s column is also about conventional wisdom, and it seems sure to anger somebody. Conventional wisdom refers to widely held beliefs that may or may not be true, and as such, it tends to be the enemy of useful new theories, explanations, and practices.

If a field is to advance, it has to at least consider whether deeply cherished ideas are correct or not. It might be upsetting to find out that we don’t know how to encourage kids to read successfully or that good teachers often rely on programs, but it would be even worse to proceed with the misconception that the conventional wisdom on such subjects is based on anything more than gut feeling. If we want to succeed in improving children’s reading, we can’t continue to accept “truthiness” over truth.

Teaching expertise may be overrated
Here’s some conventional wisdom that most of us, me included, have accepted as genuine fact: teaching expertise is the key to learning. There is certainly some evidence on this one, though I suspect it wouldn’t be very convincing if we didn’t already believe in it. Maybe we’ve made teaching expertise a fetish and it’s holding us back!

What made me wonder about this was a New Yorker article on obstetrics (“The Score,” October 9, 2006, pp. 59-67). I know, I know. That is not a blue-ribbon panel report or a scholarly article from a refereed journal. But Atul Gawande’s article caught my eye because it claimed that to improve effectiveness it may be necessary to rein in or limit expert practice.

I know that sounds nuts, but Gawande makes a pretty good case that the transformation of obstetrics from a field that stressed skilled craftmanship to one based more on an industrial factory model has led to better outcomes for patients.

It’s easy to reject medical analogies since they so often depend on biological processes which are so different from what we face in teaching. But let’s not reject this one too quickly since delivering babies is more like teaching than most medical specialties. A successful delivery requires extended involvement and engagement, and depends on the physician’s ability to carry out complex behavioral procedures, often under challenging circumstances.

According to Gawande, “If medicine is a craft, then you focus on teaching obstetricians to acquire a set of artisanal skills… You do research to find new techniques. You accept that things will not always work out in everyone’s hands.”

“But if medicine is an industry, responsible for the safest possible delivery of millions of babies each year, then the focus shifts. You seek reliability. You begin to wonder whether forty-two thousand obstetricians in the U.S. really could master all these techniques.”

Gawande goes on to describe the ingenuity of the various delivery procedures (such as the use of forceps) that were invented along the way, and how medical schools emphasized these procedures for difficult births. These approaches were hard to master and few obstetricians ever really learned to use them well (which didn’t stop them—when the use of complex procedures becomes a hallmark of professionalism, then all professionals want to use those procedures no matter what the outcome).

But things changed. Obstetricians adopted rules more like those of the factory floor than of a learned profession or a skilled craft. To discourage the use of complex procedures by the inexpert, even the skilled physicians who could use them well set them aside. The result of the standardized use of “good enough” practices has led to big improvements in the health and safety of babies.

I wonder if we define teachers too much by the procedures they use. I wonder if, due to our zeal to protect educator autonomy, we have championed complex and subtle practice at the expense of overall success. Can 3.8 million teachers really do what many professional development programs push?

The old system of obstetrics created pockets of excellence; some pretty amazing doctors at times pulled off some pretty amazing deliveries. The cost of that, of course, was high: lots of botched deliveries by doctors unable to manage the challenging procedures. Obstetrics eventually surrendered this “heroic physician” model to stress standardization—and the result has been more live births and fewer damaged children. I wonder if we are clinging too tightly to our own traditional “heroic teacher” model and our excellent, but perhaps too ambitious, instructional schemes. We, too, can point to our pockets of excellence, but then think about the very real cost this might represent to the great numbers of children for whom we are responsible.

Two More Provocative Ideas
Two more provocative reading-relevant ideas that might disturb us came up in the same article: Gawande writes that “evidence-based medicine,” the use of randomized experiments to figure out what works (sound familiar?) has played a very limited role in obstetrics! Unlike other medical specialties, there are few of these kinds of studies in obstetrics and those that have been carried out are often ignored in practice. Obstetrics comes in last in the use of hard evidence among medical specialties, and yet it has done more to extend life than any of the others.

There are, to be sure, differences between medicine and education, but it’s interesting to see this successful use of a very different model of research than the one that I use and that is fast becoming the new conventional wisdom of much of our field.

How do obstetricians improve practice without experimental study? That question gives rise to one more compelling idea: it may be due mainly to something else that should sound familiar. Gawande attributes the improvements to the use of informal-but-objective assessment results that are reviewed by both the doctor and principal (okay, chief of obstetrics).

The Apgar score allows doctors and nurses to quickly and objectively evaluate a baby’s condition at 1 minute and 5 minutes after birth. That simple assessment has led obstetricians to try things out—not waiting for research—to see if they can improve their scores. Because they always know the baby’s score, the doctors can easily see the relationship between their actions and the outcomes.

It is hard not to think about DIBELS (or PALS, TPRI, ISEL, and so on). These tests all provide quick information so that adjustments to practice can be made. But the analogy breaks down, too, since those tests give multiple scores, and don’t involve much in the way of professional judgment. In other words, DIBLERS may be onto something that could allow for more successful practice, but maybe it’s not quite the right something, since trying to keep track of 2 to 4 scores for each of 30 kids simultaneously is overwhelming and would not foster the kind of intense focus that the Apgar score seems to provide.

Oh well. Questioning conventional wisdom is not for the feint of heart. Deflating overblown claims risks the anger of one’s friends, but it also threatens the comfort of one’s own beliefs. However, that’s the way it should be in a field that is seriously trying to improve measurable outcomes for students.

If what I have written here about teacher expertise is unsettling to you, don’t get angry, just remember, it may not be your turn.

Sunday, September 6, 2009

An Open Letter to Teachers at the Beginning of the School Year

I started teaching (or tutoring actually) when I was 18 years old. During those early years, in addition to taking courses in teacher education including student teaching, I became a volunteer therapist working with autistic preschoolers, a volunteer teacher’s aide helping teach third graders, a lunch-room lady (really), and I worked summers running a recreation program for a park district. I worked a lot with kids.

When I was running that recreation program, one of the mothers cornered me, wanting to know how she could recognize if her child’s teacher was any good. I wasn't old enough to vote, and hadn’t actually started my first teaching job (though I had a contract). Like lots of guys that age, I was going to answer a question whether I knew the answer or not. I told her that she should notice whether the teacher paid attention to her child. If the teacher really knew her child, things would be okay. Of course, over the next few years, I wondered a lot about that question, and wondered how bad that answer had been.

Then I got to Delaware to work on my PhD, with Russell Stauffer, a real giant of the time in reading education. He was coming to the end of 50 years in education, and he required that I participate in his clinic, working with struggling readers. His first exam was kind of interesting: he wanted to know the color of eyes of the child we were working with. Of course, most of us hadn’t noticed, though we had tested the hell out of the kids to find out how well they could read. He then gave us the dickens for not paying attention to the kids. (Maybe my answer to that parent wasn’t as dumb as I thought).

Then I remembered Bobby. Bobby had been in my first class, a quiet child who blended into the woodwork. About a month into the school year, his parents came to see me. How was Bobby doing? I had no idea, I'd barely noticed him, and I suppose I bluffed my way through that meeting. But, from then on, I noticed Bobby a lot. His parent’s interest had sparked my interest. I wasn’t being a good teacher on my own —I wasn’t paying enough attention to know what Bobby needed— but his parents’ inquiry stimulated my interest and I did a better job with him after that.

There are a lot of things teachers need to know about how to teach and what to teach and how to assess, but all that works in the context of a caring, attentive relationship. When I was younger I would have said that you have to like all the Bobbys, but that isn’t really it. The professional relationship you have with a student doesn’t require affection, just appropriate attention. Successful teachers notice how things are going, what is needed, and they actively and individually get involved enough to help students to engage in learning.

And you can’t wait for parents to stimulate your interest, as some parents will never show up. So, this letter is my question to you: I know it is early in the school year, but how is Bobby doing? And Sara? And Miles? and all of the other kids in your class. Just know that tomorrow their parents are going to ask that question and you ought to be ready to answer--for the kids' sake, if not your own. Take a good look at them, and then teach them.

Have a great school year.