I just remembered this poem and wanted to share it. It is by Eugen Jebeleanu
TOWN ON FIRE
Just before I would set it on fire,
I would yell, Get out of the houses!
But don't take anything with you!
And I would stay motionless --
shadow
and sign of light,
watching
how everyone would come out running,
dressed only in skins,
in their own skin.
Winged, they would leave
furniture the landscape of so many quarrels,
kitchens the site of so many shortages,
those same walls with their boredom
confronting
all those little shelves of books unread
for lack of time,
and time the color
of cold bread.
Now fly! I would shout,
blowing in order to lift them,
and they would fly, all of them,
without ever looking
over their shoulders.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Monday, November 16, 2009
troubling questions
This week, for personal, learner reasons, I am full of questions and, frankly frustrations. I began this semester questioning whether kids (and whether I) could learn this way. Now I realize that I don't even know what “this way” really is. Two weeks ago, Eleanor asked the class if anyone had learned with this method. Two or three people raised their hands; I found myself thinking, snarkily, “Oh really?”
On reflection, though, I wondered what these colleagues' educations had looked like. It seems like this part of the semester is about opening up the method to application in our practice—bringing elements and values of critical exploration into our classrooms. There is a recognition among numerous students, even if Eleanor is often vague and cryptic about her own opinions, that she means critical exploration to be a tool in our kits. If test culture means that we cannot lead our class in critical exploration of subject matter all of the time we spend with them, we can at least infuse it as often as possible so that students get a hint of the richness of a subject matter and the joy of discovering things on their own.
But how is this different from the education I received? The curriculum of many of the classes was project-based and self-directed. True there were rubrics and expectations; we could do what we wanted but we had to do something, and it would be evaluated. There were high expectations implicit in the culture of my school, but there was considerable freedom to explore what interested us and encounter subject matter (as opposed to writings about subject matter). Does this mean that I experienced this pedagogy as it looks in public school practice?
The most salient difference would seem to be the presence of expectations. I fully believe that when Eleanor “teaches,” she is happy with whatever learning happens, so long as the learners truly explore and stay engaged. But how many teachers—even ignoring external assessment pressures—are happy no matter what their students come to? Even Lisa Scheiner, when asked about the “Black” theme in “Progress Report” revealed that she would not have been happy if the students had not explored this. Scheiner, who is dedicated to and values critical exploration as a pedagogy, is hardly typical.
This issue raises the question of transparency—how clear should we make our goals for students? Meg, Kathryn, and Todd have been vocally struggling with as school teachers who place a lot of value on emphasizing class understanding goals, course throughlines, etc.. When we have discussed transparency in section, however, I think we have been doing so falsely. It isn't that the teacher-researcher using a pure form of critical exploration conceals goals, it is that the only goal is to keep the learner exploring and coming up with new questions. Therefore, it is not only meaningless, but I argue dangerous, to remove visual and spoken enforcement of goals while maintaining expectations for students. Unspoken expectations are unfair to learners. At best they result in frustration, at the worst, they could result in extreme self doubt and academic disidentification.
But then, this raises Delpit's point about gatekeepers. Even if a particular teacher doesn't have specific learner goals, the other teachers likely will—to say nothing of society as a whole. If we pretend gatekeepers don't exist, Depit says, we are ensuring that some students will not make it through the gates.
Fundamentally, then, I think these are issues of the philosophy of education, what defines a “good life,” and what are the competing (ethical) responsibilities of teachers. If we accept, for example, that a teacher has a responsibility to prepare students to succeed in a capitalist structure and also to help those students define their own passions, be happy, and be citizens—local and global—who have a commitment to justice and understanding, then the teacher who takes on these responsibilities will find that they sometimes (often?) conflict. Is it in the hand of the teacher to establish a hierarchy of responsibilities? How can this be anything other than a recreation of the inherently biased value structure of the teacher? Standards, however they have been misused in education, exist in theory to protect students for bad teachers (in whatever form 'bad' takes). Coming back overtly to critical exploration—is there a way to standardize such an individual process? Would we want to?
On reflection, though, I wondered what these colleagues' educations had looked like. It seems like this part of the semester is about opening up the method to application in our practice—bringing elements and values of critical exploration into our classrooms. There is a recognition among numerous students, even if Eleanor is often vague and cryptic about her own opinions, that she means critical exploration to be a tool in our kits. If test culture means that we cannot lead our class in critical exploration of subject matter all of the time we spend with them, we can at least infuse it as often as possible so that students get a hint of the richness of a subject matter and the joy of discovering things on their own.
But how is this different from the education I received? The curriculum of many of the classes was project-based and self-directed. True there were rubrics and expectations; we could do what we wanted but we had to do something, and it would be evaluated. There were high expectations implicit in the culture of my school, but there was considerable freedom to explore what interested us and encounter subject matter (as opposed to writings about subject matter). Does this mean that I experienced this pedagogy as it looks in public school practice?
The most salient difference would seem to be the presence of expectations. I fully believe that when Eleanor “teaches,” she is happy with whatever learning happens, so long as the learners truly explore and stay engaged. But how many teachers—even ignoring external assessment pressures—are happy no matter what their students come to? Even Lisa Scheiner, when asked about the “Black” theme in “Progress Report” revealed that she would not have been happy if the students had not explored this. Scheiner, who is dedicated to and values critical exploration as a pedagogy, is hardly typical.
This issue raises the question of transparency—how clear should we make our goals for students? Meg, Kathryn, and Todd have been vocally struggling with as school teachers who place a lot of value on emphasizing class understanding goals, course throughlines, etc.. When we have discussed transparency in section, however, I think we have been doing so falsely. It isn't that the teacher-researcher using a pure form of critical exploration conceals goals, it is that the only goal is to keep the learner exploring and coming up with new questions. Therefore, it is not only meaningless, but I argue dangerous, to remove visual and spoken enforcement of goals while maintaining expectations for students. Unspoken expectations are unfair to learners. At best they result in frustration, at the worst, they could result in extreme self doubt and academic disidentification.
But then, this raises Delpit's point about gatekeepers. Even if a particular teacher doesn't have specific learner goals, the other teachers likely will—to say nothing of society as a whole. If we pretend gatekeepers don't exist, Depit says, we are ensuring that some students will not make it through the gates.
Fundamentally, then, I think these are issues of the philosophy of education, what defines a “good life,” and what are the competing (ethical) responsibilities of teachers. If we accept, for example, that a teacher has a responsibility to prepare students to succeed in a capitalist structure and also to help those students define their own passions, be happy, and be citizens—local and global—who have a commitment to justice and understanding, then the teacher who takes on these responsibilities will find that they sometimes (often?) conflict. Is it in the hand of the teacher to establish a hierarchy of responsibilities? How can this be anything other than a recreation of the inherently biased value structure of the teacher? Standards, however they have been misused in education, exist in theory to protect students for bad teachers (in whatever form 'bad' takes). Coming back overtly to critical exploration—is there a way to standardize such an individual process? Would we want to?
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
final fieldwork part 1
I am having serious questions about how my lesson would have gone with an “ordinary student.” Why would any student be ready and willing to examine a camera for this long? What should I have done to make the encounter with the “it” of the subject matter more engaging? We didn’t get to do the sunprints because it was raining, but what could I have done instead that would have been fun? Should I have brought film? Let her shoot? She figured out key things about the shutter and aperture, which is huge, but she was more willing to explore and notice than many students because she, as she said “knows what we’re doing.”
Also, at a certain point I said something because I knew it would help her explore her question. Specifically, after she had explored what are the aperture and shutter dial for several minutes, she felt that they were distinct but related. She wasn’t sure how. She kept doing the same thing over and over, and I knew what she was doing and knew that I could help her over the hump if I told her that if she set the dial to B then “it” (she had not used the word shutter, so I didn’t either) would stay open for as long as she kept the button down. This really helped her explore her question, but was it too leading? Furthermore, there were earlier, more fundamental decisions I made to help her explore. I opened the camera for her (maybe I shouldn’t have) because I know that many operations of a camera you call examine unless you look inside (because the inside of a camera is necessarily light-tight. Later, after she had been looking through the front of the lens for several minutes, pressing the shutter release and hearing and seeing what happened, she became confused. She thought that there were 2 related things happening, but could only see one of them. I asked her if she thought she would see something different if she looked through the back. This was a leading question, because I knew that seeing the back would help her identify what was happening, and I had begun to think that she might not think to do it on her own. Should I have?
There is a more fundamental question—would/could she have learned more if I had taught this in a more traditional way? This is a different version of a kind of “first lesson” I do in which I tell kids how the shutter and aperture work and then have them explore it on their own, by playing around with the cameras. It is too early to tell how well Kathryn will retain what she discovered about the shutter and aperture, but I feel like she “got it” in a way that students often don’t. But at the same time, I wonder what would have happened if I had started the lesson the way I did, but was more forthcoming with information. Where is the line? How can you tell what the “right” amount of assistance is?
Also, at a certain point I said something because I knew it would help her explore her question. Specifically, after she had explored what are the aperture and shutter dial for several minutes, she felt that they were distinct but related. She wasn’t sure how. She kept doing the same thing over and over, and I knew what she was doing and knew that I could help her over the hump if I told her that if she set the dial to B then “it” (she had not used the word shutter, so I didn’t either) would stay open for as long as she kept the button down. This really helped her explore her question, but was it too leading? Furthermore, there were earlier, more fundamental decisions I made to help her explore. I opened the camera for her (maybe I shouldn’t have) because I know that many operations of a camera you call examine unless you look inside (because the inside of a camera is necessarily light-tight. Later, after she had been looking through the front of the lens for several minutes, pressing the shutter release and hearing and seeing what happened, she became confused. She thought that there were 2 related things happening, but could only see one of them. I asked her if she thought she would see something different if she looked through the back. This was a leading question, because I knew that seeing the back would help her identify what was happening, and I had begun to think that she might not think to do it on her own. Should I have?
There is a more fundamental question—would/could she have learned more if I had taught this in a more traditional way? This is a different version of a kind of “first lesson” I do in which I tell kids how the shutter and aperture work and then have them explore it on their own, by playing around with the cameras. It is too early to tell how well Kathryn will retain what she discovered about the shutter and aperture, but I feel like she “got it” in a way that students often don’t. But at the same time, I wonder what would have happened if I had started the lesson the way I did, but was more forthcoming with information. Where is the line? How can you tell what the “right” amount of assistance is?
Saturday, October 24, 2009
periscope?
Part 2 (which happened before)
How do you get a learner to make a periscope within the critical inquiry method? How do you not give too much away with the materials? Conceal them like the string?
How do you get a learner to make a periscope within the critical inquiry method? How do you not give too much away with the materials? Conceal them like the string?
10/24
I just spent all day at a workshop on teaching with museum objects and it reminded me of other, somewhat contradictory approaches to get students to get at the content. The rest of the participants were classroom teachers, some late in career, most teachers of social studies. We were asked to share observations much in the same way we looked at the poem. I noticed a definitely trajectory when sharing noticings. This group of school teachers seemed very conscious that while it is all well and good to explore, there is content to be learned. Moreover, because the workshop was "Using Art Objects to Study Religion and Sacred Space," the teachers were heavily influenced by their interest in balancing tensions over their own faith practices and the faiths of others in the group as well as ideas about the classroom. Many had come to find out how to productively combat stereotyping and exclusion in the classroom, and therefore, much was at stake in terms of what did and did not constitute appropriate answers. This is not to say that the group was not welcoming of controversial or unpopular opinions; examining assumptions was a key theme and that cannot be done if assumptions remain buried. However, it was central, for good reason, that not all answers could go unquestioned. Because the group comprised self-selecting adults interested in this particular subject, the conversation stayed appropriate. However, a few times, a participant would use a word like "mythology" with regard to Hinduism--a living religion--and we would discuss why a word like "mythology" would exclude practitioners of non-Abrahamic religions. One cannot imagine "getting away" with referring to an image of Jesus as a painting representing "Christian mythology" to a public school classroom in America.
I began to wonder where the lines should be drawn in critical inquiry around issues in which much is at stake. How can we promote open exploration and acceptance of all answers, but also ensure that students reach beyond their experiences and biases? Are we just to put all our faith in long term answers, like providing enough information to contradict assumptions without actively pushing back against them? How would this look when addressing very distant issues and fine distinctions?
I began to wonder where the lines should be drawn in critical inquiry around issues in which much is at stake. How can we promote open exploration and acceptance of all answers, but also ensure that students reach beyond their experiences and biases? Are we just to put all our faith in long term answers, like providing enough information to contradict assumptions without actively pushing back against them? How would this look when addressing very distant issues and fine distinctions?
Sunday, October 18, 2009
frustrations and discoveries
After a week of not noticing many mirrors, I started noticing many reflective surfaces and the predictable and the strange things that they do. For instance, as I was laying in bed talking on the phone late Wednesday night, I looked at the framed poster on the wall. I saw the same reflection that I always see when I look at it from that angle, which is of a fabric vine. I remember in an excited flash that the first time I noticed this reflection a month or so ago I couldn't understand why the I saw something that wasn't in front of the frame. It didn't occur to me then to think about the fact that I also was not in front of the glass. In fact, I wasn't particularly curious about it. I had to interrupt the person I was on the phone with to share this epiphany.
I had a glass reflection confusion waiting for the bus Friday night. Looking at the window of a restaurant about 10 feet from me, I could see a neon sign in the window across the street behind me and perhaps 20 feet to the side. This was not crazy, and in fact, because it was very difficult to tell how angled each building was, I could not learn much from a close looking at this. (This is to say that it was not compatible with what we have been looking at in class, which does not mean that I cannot learn from it, but that is what I wrote first so I thought I would leave it since it says something about what I believe.) What was strange about the reflection of the neon sign was that it was double. Moreover, when I moved my head to one side, the two images diverged. When I moved my head back the other direction, they came closer together , and then moved apart again as I passed the center. Less interesting, but relevant to my mirror noticing, last night I went to see the new A.R.T. Shakespeare Explored production, which was interactive, so-called adventure theater, meaning that the audience wandered around the massive theater space--an old school--and encountered theater. In at least three rooms, I was only or primarily able to see the acting through mirror reflections.
But there were a couple of frustrations this week. In class Wednesday, when we began to explain what we had discovered about the mirrors, I got the impression that A) many people had not pushed themselves in the activity, and B) though this course stresses listening to learners explain, I got the feeling that most of my classmates, and I as well, were not listening to the other learners to understand how the methods they share were related to what that discovered. Even I made assumptions during the activity. I became frustrated when the class did not progress, or move in the direction I wanted to go. I have this problem a lot as a learner, and I believe it is a horrible tendency among teachers. There was a personal frustration which the class closed on because of time. The member of our mirror group who had been so intent on drawing graphs, tried to explain our method for using our body and arms to visually calculate the angles without string. However, she hadn't actually done it, she had only sort of seen Miyoung and I do it, and either she didn't understand it then or she forgot it over the week, because she explained in completely wrong. Not "she was very clear" wrong, but the methods wasn't at all what we had done in class and because she didn't figure it out or understand it, she didn't know how to fix it. ED would not let me chime in because, understandably, she did not want me to interrupt an explanation. But truthfully, because she wasn't explaining an understanding. I feel confident that she could have "re-invented" the technique in different circumstances, but she was surrounded by an impatient, confused crowd and she kept looking at me to help her out. It was not pretty. I threw her a couple of hints, which I was not happy to do, and she got there, but the whole thing was rather unpleasant.
The bigger frustration, though, is that my moon curiosity could not be higher and I cannot find it! I want to know about the bunny ears and its possible spinning, and whether we always see the same side of it, and whether it waxes on and wanes off from the same side, but I cannot find it. It is driving me mad! I almost want to rent a car and drive out to the middle of nowhere and stay up all night taking pictures and notes. I know I am not dedicating myself as fully as I ought to this, but it is so disheartening to go out at night and not be able to find it. No I am hearing from people that it is best seen in the morning right now, but I go out in the morning and I still don't see it.
I had a glass reflection confusion waiting for the bus Friday night. Looking at the window of a restaurant about 10 feet from me, I could see a neon sign in the window across the street behind me and perhaps 20 feet to the side. This was not crazy, and in fact, because it was very difficult to tell how angled each building was, I could not learn much from a close looking at this. (This is to say that it was not compatible with what we have been looking at in class, which does not mean that I cannot learn from it, but that is what I wrote first so I thought I would leave it since it says something about what I believe.) What was strange about the reflection of the neon sign was that it was double. Moreover, when I moved my head to one side, the two images diverged. When I moved my head back the other direction, they came closer together , and then moved apart again as I passed the center. Less interesting, but relevant to my mirror noticing, last night I went to see the new A.R.T. Shakespeare Explored production, which was interactive, so-called adventure theater, meaning that the audience wandered around the massive theater space--an old school--and encountered theater. In at least three rooms, I was only or primarily able to see the acting through mirror reflections.
But there were a couple of frustrations this week. In class Wednesday, when we began to explain what we had discovered about the mirrors, I got the impression that A) many people had not pushed themselves in the activity, and B) though this course stresses listening to learners explain, I got the feeling that most of my classmates, and I as well, were not listening to the other learners to understand how the methods they share were related to what that discovered. Even I made assumptions during the activity. I became frustrated when the class did not progress, or move in the direction I wanted to go. I have this problem a lot as a learner, and I believe it is a horrible tendency among teachers. There was a personal frustration which the class closed on because of time. The member of our mirror group who had been so intent on drawing graphs, tried to explain our method for using our body and arms to visually calculate the angles without string. However, she hadn't actually done it, she had only sort of seen Miyoung and I do it, and either she didn't understand it then or she forgot it over the week, because she explained in completely wrong. Not "she was very clear" wrong, but the methods wasn't at all what we had done in class and because she didn't figure it out or understand it, she didn't know how to fix it. ED would not let me chime in because, understandably, she did not want me to interrupt an explanation. But truthfully, because she wasn't explaining an understanding. I feel confident that she could have "re-invented" the technique in different circumstances, but she was surrounded by an impatient, confused crowd and she kept looking at me to help her out. It was not pretty. I threw her a couple of hints, which I was not happy to do, and she got there, but the whole thing was rather unpleasant.
The bigger frustration, though, is that my moon curiosity could not be higher and I cannot find it! I want to know about the bunny ears and its possible spinning, and whether we always see the same side of it, and whether it waxes on and wanes off from the same side, but I cannot find it. It is driving me mad! I almost want to rent a car and drive out to the middle of nowhere and stay up all night taking pictures and notes. I know I am not dedicating myself as fully as I ought to this, but it is so disheartening to go out at night and not be able to find it. No I am hearing from people that it is best seen in the morning right now, but I go out in the morning and I still don't see it.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
bike gears part 2 and the moon
It has been rainy, which has made it more difficult the test the gears, but I think I am starting to get some good info. It seems like sometimes pedaling is easier but in those cases I feel like I am pedaling more because I do not have the familiar feeling of my muscles "working hard" on the pedals.
The moon has been so awesome lately. In class I realized that I really want to be more methodical in observing it. I have noticed a lot of interesting things about it, like how much and quickly it moves, and especially this week how quickly it goes from full to almost half. I feel inspired by Josh's close attention and careful method, but I am not sure if this is my approach. I like being surprised by the changes I notice spontaneously, even if it means that I will learn about it more slowly.
The moon has been so awesome lately. In class I realized that I really want to be more methodical in observing it. I have noticed a lot of interesting things about it, like how much and quickly it moves, and especially this week how quickly it goes from full to almost half. I feel inspired by Josh's close attention and careful method, but I am not sure if this is my approach. I like being surprised by the changes I notice spontaneously, even if it means that I will learn about it more slowly.
strange disappointment
Early in the semester we were assigned a reading in which a former T440 student retold a story of having someone "spoil" the answer to an inquiry she was undertaking. She was furious. At the time I read that I thought it was a bit silly. What's the big deal? There are plenty of other things to occupy your thoughts.
This week in class we did the mirror fieldwork. I really cannot remember ever having so much fun exploring physics (or whatever we were doing.) I had no idea what the answer was, and was delighted that each time we made a new discovery we would realize there was another variable involved in the question ("but, what if the people aren't the same distance from the mirror?"). When we were at the stage of asking ourselves how one could measure the angles without a measuring device or trial and error, someone in our group said something about angle of incident and something else being equal. She started drawing some graphs and I tried to ignore it but she was insistent. I started getting really angry. I don't want to see your graphs! We are so close to figuring this out on our own! I had to physically disconnect. She and another in our group continued with the graph drawing, while I tried to convince the other group member that we could us our arms to gauge the angles in the absence of string. Eventually, the graph drawers realized that they were no closer to an idea of how to determine where to put the mirror without measuring, so I felt vindicated.
This week in class we did the mirror fieldwork. I really cannot remember ever having so much fun exploring physics (or whatever we were doing.) I had no idea what the answer was, and was delighted that each time we made a new discovery we would realize there was another variable involved in the question ("but, what if the people aren't the same distance from the mirror?"). When we were at the stage of asking ourselves how one could measure the angles without a measuring device or trial and error, someone in our group said something about angle of incident and something else being equal. She started drawing some graphs and I tried to ignore it but she was insistent. I started getting really angry. I don't want to see your graphs! We are so close to figuring this out on our own! I had to physically disconnect. She and another in our group continued with the graph drawing, while I tried to convince the other group member that we could us our arms to gauge the angles in the absence of string. Eventually, the graph drawers realized that they were no closer to an idea of how to determine where to put the mirror without measuring, so I felt vindicated.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
one month check-in
I hadn't originally intended that this entry be a one month status report, but it just seemed at a certain point like that was a good way to describe it.
One of the things I said in my first entry was that I hoped this class would encourage me to figure things out on my own, even if it meant that the answer would be longer in coming and that I was making myself vulnerable by allowing my discovery process to be visible. Honestly, I wasn't optimistic that this would happen. On the one hand, I had read some of ED's writing over the summer and I was excited by the accounts of learning, especially those following mid-career teachers through Duckworth-style activities. But on the other hand, I have a huge amount of educational baggage. My upbringing placed a lot of importance on getting things right, and right in the best way. There always has to be an expert to substantiate a claim. I have always had a lot of difficultly "putting myself out there" as a learner and have consequently avoided letting people see me do things that I'm not good at.
This Monday I was biking to school and I thought about how I never have known what gears on my bike are better for going uphill than others. I never want to ask someone, because I think of it as one of those things you should know by the time you are an adult. So I decided I would look it up online when I got home. Then it occurred to me--I should Duckworth this! So I started messing with my gears to see how biking in a different configuration would feel. It was fun! But that night, when I proudly told my boyfriend about my research and its findings, he told me that they were not correct. Respectful, though, of the excitement I felt with this exploration, he was quick to add that there might be some other factor playing into this (eg since the bike is old, there might be some physical abrasion giving some gears more resistance.) Perplexed and disappointed, I have spent the rest of the week continuing my research (it is a bit difficult because the route involves different terrains, so it isn't very controlled.) I am starting to think that there are two different types of work going on and that I haven't yet gotten a refined distinction between which I am doing when. In other words, sometimes it feels like less work because there is less resistance to the pedaling, but when this happens, it seems like I am pedaling more.
I am still investigating this, not strictly because I don't now the answer--I know I could get it easily. I am still working on it because I haven't figured it out. It reminds me of a professor in college who was telling us about over- and underexposing film from what your meter indicates. Because light meters want to expose everything for 18% gray, you have to make adjustments based on your subject. His example was photographing a white cat in snow. He told us this as a cute little way of remembering the rule, but no one ever remembered it. Many of us eventually figured it out, and at that point, we could remember, but although the charming phrase of photographing a white cat in snow sticks with me, the rule as a rule doesn't.
Also, though, I am sticking to figuring the gears out on my own because it is fun. I have been talking about it with other people (no one seems to think it odd that a 25 year old had never before shifted gears on a bike, or at least, it isn't visible. Or maybe I don't care, so I don't even see it?) It reminds me of being little and playing with small motors and wires. I had many "Gears of My Childhood" moments as a kid, and this class has made me wonder what happened to the lessons I learned there. I think the pressures of adolescent schooling, always looking toward being a successful adult, negate the value of figuring out.
One of the things I said in my first entry was that I hoped this class would encourage me to figure things out on my own, even if it meant that the answer would be longer in coming and that I was making myself vulnerable by allowing my discovery process to be visible. Honestly, I wasn't optimistic that this would happen. On the one hand, I had read some of ED's writing over the summer and I was excited by the accounts of learning, especially those following mid-career teachers through Duckworth-style activities. But on the other hand, I have a huge amount of educational baggage. My upbringing placed a lot of importance on getting things right, and right in the best way. There always has to be an expert to substantiate a claim. I have always had a lot of difficultly "putting myself out there" as a learner and have consequently avoided letting people see me do things that I'm not good at.
This Monday I was biking to school and I thought about how I never have known what gears on my bike are better for going uphill than others. I never want to ask someone, because I think of it as one of those things you should know by the time you are an adult. So I decided I would look it up online when I got home. Then it occurred to me--I should Duckworth this! So I started messing with my gears to see how biking in a different configuration would feel. It was fun! But that night, when I proudly told my boyfriend about my research and its findings, he told me that they were not correct. Respectful, though, of the excitement I felt with this exploration, he was quick to add that there might be some other factor playing into this (eg since the bike is old, there might be some physical abrasion giving some gears more resistance.) Perplexed and disappointed, I have spent the rest of the week continuing my research (it is a bit difficult because the route involves different terrains, so it isn't very controlled.) I am starting to think that there are two different types of work going on and that I haven't yet gotten a refined distinction between which I am doing when. In other words, sometimes it feels like less work because there is less resistance to the pedaling, but when this happens, it seems like I am pedaling more.
I am still investigating this, not strictly because I don't now the answer--I know I could get it easily. I am still working on it because I haven't figured it out. It reminds me of a professor in college who was telling us about over- and underexposing film from what your meter indicates. Because light meters want to expose everything for 18% gray, you have to make adjustments based on your subject. His example was photographing a white cat in snow. He told us this as a cute little way of remembering the rule, but no one ever remembered it. Many of us eventually figured it out, and at that point, we could remember, but although the charming phrase of photographing a white cat in snow sticks with me, the rule as a rule doesn't.
Also, though, I am sticking to figuring the gears out on my own because it is fun. I have been talking about it with other people (no one seems to think it odd that a 25 year old had never before shifted gears on a bike, or at least, it isn't visible. Or maybe I don't care, so I don't even see it?) It reminds me of being little and playing with small motors and wires. I had many "Gears of My Childhood" moments as a kid, and this class has made me wonder what happened to the lessons I learned there. I think the pressures of adolescent schooling, always looking toward being a successful adult, negate the value of figuring out.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
social capital, cultural capital, and alternative schools
These days I'm thinking a lot about access equity and alternative schools. There are clear, logistical barriers to getting low income, non-white students into progressive private, and even charter schools. Working class families possess the types of social capital that are not shown to be beneficial in schools (Horvat, et al. 2003). For instance, working class families are less likely to know teachers or professionals who could help them negotiate challenges related to their children's schooling (disabilities, choosing teachers, etc). Moreover, the cultural capital of working class and non-white Americans is not respected or drawn on in traditional schools (Lareau, 1987), making school-centered social capital even more critical for those who do not tend to have it. Both of these capital limitations pose direct barriers to traditional education as well as access to alternative education. For example, students whose parents are not connected with their teachers and with professionals will be less likely to have access to outside resources for buttressing their child's education, and they will also have less access to information about alternative school opportunities. Private schools are expensive, but even for charters and magnets, parents have to know about and apply to them/enter their lotteries.
This is a preamble to addressing the broad category of readings we have done in this class which could be loosely described as case studies of alternative learning environments. These examples have been largely characterized by, 1) luxury of time, 2) luxury of resources (star stickers are not luxurious, but allowing a student to use as many as she wants is), 3) low teacher-student ratio, and 4) teachers and administrators who share and are driven by a common mission. These characteristics are rare. Teacher attitudes and philosophies run the gamut, and disagreement between and among teachers and administrators can sabotage even the best teachers. Material resources and teacher student ratios are pernicious and common problems, but one could see basic solutions for them. Time, however, cannot be invented, and the tension about time and learning has been a frequent topic raised by this class.
Movement through school and from school into society is structured around a development timeline. Most people, including many educators, do not question the imposition of a developmental schedule for the lives of children. Frameworks, curricula, standards, and even the concept of a classroom, are all based on the idea that there is a certain fact that all children should be learning at exactly the same time. Disagreeing with this idea and seeking out opportunities for your child to learn at his or her own pace is a decision of privilege. The American education discourse revolves around discussions of the achievement gap, and in most cases, efforts to address this have sought to aggressively prep "at-risk" students for standardized tests. Working class parents and parents of color are understandably focused on helping their kids compete in white, middle class society. To this end, they largely channel their energies in support of their children's education in terms of traditional measures of achievement. Lisa Delpit poignantly and critically examines this phenomenon.
This line of thinking is to suggest that in addition to the clearer barriers of access faced by working class parents and parents of color, there are ideological barriers that have been created by the way we as a nation frame educational inequality. Progressive educators are perhaps creating another tiered educational system by emphasizing the need to close the achievement gap as defined by standardized tests while simultaneously devising private, charter, and independent schools that reject standards-based education for its inhumane treatment of children and inability to develop the cognitive and non-cognitive skills we want our kids to have.
Educators should be looking at how children attain sustained, critical learning, but it is our responsibility to make sure that these ways of "having wonderful ideas," if they are truly the "best way" to learn, are accessed by all children.
This is a preamble to addressing the broad category of readings we have done in this class which could be loosely described as case studies of alternative learning environments. These examples have been largely characterized by, 1) luxury of time, 2) luxury of resources (star stickers are not luxurious, but allowing a student to use as many as she wants is), 3) low teacher-student ratio, and 4) teachers and administrators who share and are driven by a common mission. These characteristics are rare. Teacher attitudes and philosophies run the gamut, and disagreement between and among teachers and administrators can sabotage even the best teachers. Material resources and teacher student ratios are pernicious and common problems, but one could see basic solutions for them. Time, however, cannot be invented, and the tension about time and learning has been a frequent topic raised by this class.
Movement through school and from school into society is structured around a development timeline. Most people, including many educators, do not question the imposition of a developmental schedule for the lives of children. Frameworks, curricula, standards, and even the concept of a classroom, are all based on the idea that there is a certain fact that all children should be learning at exactly the same time. Disagreeing with this idea and seeking out opportunities for your child to learn at his or her own pace is a decision of privilege. The American education discourse revolves around discussions of the achievement gap, and in most cases, efforts to address this have sought to aggressively prep "at-risk" students for standardized tests. Working class parents and parents of color are understandably focused on helping their kids compete in white, middle class society. To this end, they largely channel their energies in support of their children's education in terms of traditional measures of achievement. Lisa Delpit poignantly and critically examines this phenomenon.
This line of thinking is to suggest that in addition to the clearer barriers of access faced by working class parents and parents of color, there are ideological barriers that have been created by the way we as a nation frame educational inequality. Progressive educators are perhaps creating another tiered educational system by emphasizing the need to close the achievement gap as defined by standardized tests while simultaneously devising private, charter, and independent schools that reject standards-based education for its inhumane treatment of children and inability to develop the cognitive and non-cognitive skills we want our kids to have.
Educators should be looking at how children attain sustained, critical learning, but it is our responsibility to make sure that these ways of "having wonderful ideas," if they are truly the "best way" to learn, are accessed by all children.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Reflecting on Going to the Movies
The in-class demo of Going to the Movies was very useful insofar as it gave me a model of responses to difficult situations and impasses in this type of field work (e.g. subject's attention drifts, she is unable to explain what she is doing in a manner that illuminates her thinking, she resists suggestions that she review what she has to make sure she doesn't have repeats, etc.) I found the game that Dr. Duckworth played (having subject close her eyes, removing a row, reopening eyes and identifying) to be the most useful aspect of the demo, both in terms of helping me know how to do the work and in helping the child begin to see patterns.
The experience was bizarre; I have never observed a child without interacting with her, and I think it made me more uncomfortable than the situation made her. I did the fieldwork last week with a peer, but seeing it done with a 6-year old made me really want to find a child with whom I could conduct this exercise.
One of the central discomfiting elements was that I could not figure out what the girl was thinking and there were long stretches when she did not seem engaged and I did not feel that she was really trying to figure out the question of the work. In the end she did seem to have figured out something of a system, but I was skeptical about the strength of that experience. In other words, if we were to do an exercise that required her to do essentially the same task, but with a twist, would she begin where she left off with the paperclips? If not, would she at least move more quickly through the task, either consciously or subconsciously drawing on what she learned? The overarching question here is: how do we know when learning has happened? We can see progress in a session, and we can assume that there is a cumulative influence of small lessons over time, but how can educators know when a skill has been acquired, when an idea is understood in such a way that it will be transferable to other types or moments of learning? This same question is relevant in more traditional models of learning. How do we know that a kid really understands equations just because she passed an algebra test? So much is at stake in education, and I believe in non-traditional education, but how can I advocate for a model of learning that would require such a massive overhaul of education when I don't know how to evaluate its efficacy? How do I make other people believe? Do we need more research, or do we just need to publicize and package what there is? How can we combine what we know about the positive effects of this work with what we know about the dehumanizing effects of traditional public education.
A big question for me to consider this semester (and beyond)--How do I synthesize the lessons of my classes and see the arts as a method of learning, humanizing schools, engaging family and community in learning, and reinforcing a positive school-defined social role? When this can happen, schools will be more humane, more efficacious in teaching kids what they need, and students will achieve and attain at higher levels.
The experience was bizarre; I have never observed a child without interacting with her, and I think it made me more uncomfortable than the situation made her. I did the fieldwork last week with a peer, but seeing it done with a 6-year old made me really want to find a child with whom I could conduct this exercise.
One of the central discomfiting elements was that I could not figure out what the girl was thinking and there were long stretches when she did not seem engaged and I did not feel that she was really trying to figure out the question of the work. In the end she did seem to have figured out something of a system, but I was skeptical about the strength of that experience. In other words, if we were to do an exercise that required her to do essentially the same task, but with a twist, would she begin where she left off with the paperclips? If not, would she at least move more quickly through the task, either consciously or subconsciously drawing on what she learned? The overarching question here is: how do we know when learning has happened? We can see progress in a session, and we can assume that there is a cumulative influence of small lessons over time, but how can educators know when a skill has been acquired, when an idea is understood in such a way that it will be transferable to other types or moments of learning? This same question is relevant in more traditional models of learning. How do we know that a kid really understands equations just because she passed an algebra test? So much is at stake in education, and I believe in non-traditional education, but how can I advocate for a model of learning that would require such a massive overhaul of education when I don't know how to evaluate its efficacy? How do I make other people believe? Do we need more research, or do we just need to publicize and package what there is? How can we combine what we know about the positive effects of this work with what we know about the dehumanizing effects of traditional public education.
A big question for me to consider this semester (and beyond)--How do I synthesize the lessons of my classes and see the arts as a method of learning, humanizing schools, engaging family and community in learning, and reinforcing a positive school-defined social role? When this can happen, schools will be more humane, more efficacious in teaching kids what they need, and students will achieve and attain at higher levels.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
role of teacher--re a111a in particular
I am feeling some ideological dissonance between my sets of classes, Dropping Out of High School/School,Family, Community Partnerships v. T440/S300. This resonates with me:
"If being educated means no longer needing a teacher--a definition I would recommend--it would mean that you had been presented with models of teaching, or people playing this external role, and that you have learned how the role was played and how to play it for yourself....What we hope, of course, is that as the formal, institutional part of education is finished, its most conspicuous and valuable product will be seen to be the child's ability to educate himself. If this doesn't happen, it doesn't make sense to say that the processes we try to initiate in school are going to be carried on when people leave school."
I, Thou, and It, p. 54
too much of the education talk in this country is centered around artificial goals, but here is a genuine and legitimate goal for schooling--prepare people to teach themselves. Of course we should be concerned with whether kids can get jobs, but framing the goal of education in terms of economic competitiveness not only obscures a more wonderful goal such as the one above, but it also denies that fact that students with HS diplomas are more likely to get jobs or higher paying jobs because employers assume that a HS diploma is evidence of a host of cognitive and non-cognitive skills they want in an employee. Some of these are probably taught in schools--like obedience. But doesn't every employer want an independent thinker, a problem solver, a "self-starter"?
"If being educated means no longer needing a teacher--a definition I would recommend--it would mean that you had been presented with models of teaching, or people playing this external role, and that you have learned how the role was played and how to play it for yourself....What we hope, of course, is that as the formal, institutional part of education is finished, its most conspicuous and valuable product will be seen to be the child's ability to educate himself. If this doesn't happen, it doesn't make sense to say that the processes we try to initiate in school are going to be carried on when people leave school."
I, Thou, and It, p. 54
too much of the education talk in this country is centered around artificial goals, but here is a genuine and legitimate goal for schooling--prepare people to teach themselves. Of course we should be concerned with whether kids can get jobs, but framing the goal of education in terms of economic competitiveness not only obscures a more wonderful goal such as the one above, but it also denies that fact that students with HS diplomas are more likely to get jobs or higher paying jobs because employers assume that a HS diploma is evidence of a host of cognitive and non-cognitive skills they want in an employee. Some of these are probably taught in schools--like obedience. But doesn't every employer want an independent thinker, a problem solver, a "self-starter"?
Monday, September 14, 2009
I, Thou, and It
"in human affairs generally, "love is not enough." The more basic gift is not love but respect, respect for others as ends in themselves, as actual and potential artisans of their own learnings and doings, of their own lives; and as thus uniquely contributing, in turn, to the learnings and doings of others."
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Initial Thoughts
[This blog will serve as my process journal for T440, "The Having of Wonderful Ideas" with Professor Eleanor Duckworth]
I look forward to surrendering myself to this class; I am pretty sure it will be the most challenging academic experience I have ever had insofar as it is is completely different for every other class I have taken, including art classes. The point is not right answers or end points or researching authorities. The point is to have wonderful ideas.
Before coming to HGSE, I read essays from The Having of Wonderful Ideas and was blown away. I had studied with Freirians before, but never ones who adopted the approach in their own teacher training, nor those who extended the methods beyond the arts and informal learning environments, into the academic classroom. I was thrilled to have the opportunity to study with such a person. When I arrived, however, and began looking through the course catalog at all the offering I began to question the validity of taking HWI as one of my precious few options. Wouldn't I learn more in a class that was more traditional? I realized that in spite of my initial impressions of Dr. Duckworth's approaches and analyses, I--an artist an arts educator--was stuck in a mindset of standards and tests as the ultimate measures of learning. My learning experiences growing up were so competitive and grade-based that my own judgement was trumped by my ingrained values.
"Going to the Movies" was wonderful. Like many in the class, I remembered the formula to answer the question. Only when I later looked at the assignment did I realize that "that question" (how many there are) was not asked. I had heard what I expected to hear. As did the girl with whom I conducted the exercise this weekend. The tendency to answer a question with a rote formula is so pervasive, the impression that we are being tested even when all signs suggest that we are not, is so pervasive that it overpowers our inputs. Why would we be doing this exercise if not to come up with a correct answer? The formula fails us once again when we are asked how we can tell that we have them all and no repeats. My answer was "by looking," but I knew that I had 24. Pressed further, I said something like "well, everything takes a turn being in first place, then in second and then there are only 2 choices an the the next one goes in pace 2." My subject's answer was "because I did it methodically," but she also counted. When I showed her a repeat, it did not shake her much, because she knew the "answer."
I have high hopes for this class. Some are so personal and individual that no class could meet them. I hope that the class liberates me from the need to have the right answer. I hope the class encourages me to figure out things on my own, instead of relying on finding experts, even if other people are watching. This class is already challenging me to rethink the value and functions of my own thoughts on learner confidence, and I think that is the first step.
I look forward to surrendering myself to this class; I am pretty sure it will be the most challenging academic experience I have ever had insofar as it is is completely different for every other class I have taken, including art classes. The point is not right answers or end points or researching authorities. The point is to have wonderful ideas.
Before coming to HGSE, I read essays from The Having of Wonderful Ideas and was blown away. I had studied with Freirians before, but never ones who adopted the approach in their own teacher training, nor those who extended the methods beyond the arts and informal learning environments, into the academic classroom. I was thrilled to have the opportunity to study with such a person. When I arrived, however, and began looking through the course catalog at all the offering I began to question the validity of taking HWI as one of my precious few options. Wouldn't I learn more in a class that was more traditional? I realized that in spite of my initial impressions of Dr. Duckworth's approaches and analyses, I--an artist an arts educator--was stuck in a mindset of standards and tests as the ultimate measures of learning. My learning experiences growing up were so competitive and grade-based that my own judgement was trumped by my ingrained values.
"Going to the Movies" was wonderful. Like many in the class, I remembered the formula to answer the question. Only when I later looked at the assignment did I realize that "that question" (how many there are) was not asked. I had heard what I expected to hear. As did the girl with whom I conducted the exercise this weekend. The tendency to answer a question with a rote formula is so pervasive, the impression that we are being tested even when all signs suggest that we are not, is so pervasive that it overpowers our inputs. Why would we be doing this exercise if not to come up with a correct answer? The formula fails us once again when we are asked how we can tell that we have them all and no repeats. My answer was "by looking," but I knew that I had 24. Pressed further, I said something like "well, everything takes a turn being in first place, then in second and then there are only 2 choices an the the next one goes in pace 2." My subject's answer was "because I did it methodically," but she also counted. When I showed her a repeat, it did not shake her much, because she knew the "answer."
I have high hopes for this class. Some are so personal and individual that no class could meet them. I hope that the class liberates me from the need to have the right answer. I hope the class encourages me to figure out things on my own, instead of relying on finding experts, even if other people are watching. This class is already challenging me to rethink the value and functions of my own thoughts on learner confidence, and I think that is the first step.
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